The Celtic Literature Collective

The Spoils of Taliesin, a Song to Urien
Llyfr Taliesin XXXVII
Four Ancient Books of Wales

In manliness he will greet my trouble,
Should I be bled, I should evidently get better;
Truly I saw no one before, who saw not in me
Every indisposition, he will cultivate his business.
I saw a feeding about a lion for plants,
I saw leaves of luxuriant growth.
I saw a branch with equal blossoms.
Did I not see a prince? most liberal his customs,
I saw the ruler of Cathraeth beyond the plains
Be my oak the gleaming spirit of the Cymry.
The value of my cry great will be its advantage to degrees.
The chief of men, shield of warriors.
The extensive booty of the ashen shaft is my fair Awen.
A shield before a prince, bright his smile,
Heroic, aspiring, the most heroic is Urien
A merchant will not oppose me. Tumultuous
The slothful one, brightly shines the blue of the enamelled covering; prolific and highly exalted
Every one; a step without skill on the side of the watery fronts of the Mordei
A chief excessively active to us he will come of thy will.
Active the yellow-gray one in the hall.
Full of people. A protector in Aeron.
Great his energy, his poets, and his musicians,
Very fierce is Ial against his enemies.
May great strenght of men beconnected with Brython.
Like the wheeling of a fiery meteor over the earth.
Like a wave that governs Llwyvenydd.
Like the harmonious ode of Gwen and Gweithen,
Like Mor the greatly courteous is Urien.
In his early career an intrepid hero.
He is such a ruler of kings as Dyawr,
He is one as a chaser of the swift horses of the multitude.
In the beginning of May in Powys, in battle array,
He is one, coming when he visits his people.
Eagle of the land, extensive thy glance.
I would have requested an active courser
Of vigorous trot, the price of the spoil of Taliesin.
One is the violent course on the bottom and the summit,
One is the gift of a baron to a lord.
One is the herd of stags in their fight.
One is the wolf not covetous of broom,
One is the country where a son is born,
And of one form and one sound is the battle-place of warriors.
Of one sound they will evilly yoke
And Ceneu and Nudd Hael, and an extensive country under him.
And if I obtain for myself a smile, 
He will make the bards ever joyful.
Before that I could wish dead the sons of Gwyden,
May the happy country of Urien be filled with blood.