Poems of Guto'r Glyn

Poems of Guto'r Glyn is in Late Medieval Books.

24th July 1469 Battle of Edgecote Moor aka Danes Moor aka Banbury

24. Elegy for William Herbert of Raglan, first earl of Pembroke

Written after the execution of William Herbert (deceased) on 27th July 1469 following his capture at the Battle of Edgecote Moor

Dawns o Bowls! Doe’n ysbeiliwyd,	A dance of Death! Yesterday, the raid struck,
Dwyn yr holl dynion i’r rhwyd.	All the men were dragged into the snare.
Dawns gwŷr Dinas y Garrai,	The dance of the men of Doncaster moves,
Dawns yr ieirll: daw’n nes i rai!	The earls’ dance — it draws near to some!
Duw Llun y bu waed a lladd,	O God, Monday was blood and killing,
Dydd amliw, diwedd ymladd.	A many-hued day — the end of the fighting.
Duw a ddug y dydd dduw Iau	God took away on Thursday
Iarll Dwywent a’r holl Deau.	The Earl of Gwent and all the South.
Marchog a las dduw Merchyr,	A knight was slain on Wednesday,
Mwy ei ladd no mil o wŷr:	His death more costly than a thousand men.
Syr Rhisiart, ni syr Iesu	Sir Richard — not the Lord Jesus —
Wrthaw er lladd North a’r llu.	By him were the North and his host brought down.
Duwmawrth gwae ni am Domas:	O God Tuesday — woe to us for Thomas:
Duw Llun gyda’i frawd y’i llas.	On God’s Monday he was slain with his brother.
Dwyn yr iarll a’i bedwarllu,	The earl was seized with all his fourfold host,
Dydd Farn ar anrhydedd fu.	A Judgment Day upon the honour that was.
Arglwydd difwynswydd Defnsir	A lord without honour from Devonshire
A ffoes – ni chafas oes hir!	Fled — and did not live long!
Bradwyr a droes brwydr a drwg	Traitors turned the battle to evil,
Banbri i’r iarll o Benbrwg.	Banbury was ruin to the Earl of Pembroke.
Cad drycin am y drin draw,	A storm of battle raged in that far fight,
Carliaid a wnaeth y curlaw.	Carls unleashed the blood-rain’s blight.

Ymladd tost am laddiad hwn	Fierce was the fight that led to his doom,
A wna’r hynt yn Norhantwn.	And his path ends at Northampton's gloom.
Awn oll i ddial ein iaith	Let us all rise to avenge our tongue,
Ar ddannedd y Nordd unwaith	On the teeth of the North, ere long!
A dyludwn hyd Lydaw	Let us march as far as fair Brittany,
Dan draed y cyffredin draw.	To crush the common foe beneath our feet.
Ef â’r gwŷr a fu ar gam	He and the men who dealt in wrong
Oll i ddiawl, yn lladd Wiliam.	All to the devil — for slaying William.
O rhoed, lle bu anrhydedd,	Alas that, where once honor stood,
Ar fwnwgl iarll arf neu gledd,	A blade or weapon struck the earl’s proud throat.
Och Fair, cnodach fu arwain	O Mary! Harsh was the leading forth
Aerwy mawr o aur a main.	Of a great collar of gold and stone to death.
Doe ’dd aeth dan y blaned ddu	Yesterday he passed beneath the darkened star,
Drwy’r fâl draw i ryfelu.	Through the mist beyond, to make his war.
Och finnau – uwch yw f’anun –	Alas for me — higher is my soul’s own pain —
Nad arhôi ’n ei dir ei hun.	That he found no rest in his native plain.
Ymddiried i’r dynged wan	He trusted in frail, false fate —
A’i twyllodd o Went allan.	And it betrayed him out of Gwent.
Tair merched, tair tynged ton	Three women — three tidal fates —
Y sy’n dwyn oes ein dynion:	Who bear the lives of all our men:
Un a gynnail cogeilyn,	One who gathers mocking kin,
Arall a nydd dydd pob dyn,	Another spins each mortal’s day,
Trydedd yn torri edau	The third cuts the thread — and so they slew
Er lladd iarll a’r llu dduw Iau.	The earl and all his host on Thursday too.
Mynnwn fy mod ymannos	Would that I stood, sword in hand,
Yn torri pen Atropos.	To strike off Atropos’s head!
Nid rhan i’r tair a henwais	No right have those three whom I named
Nyddu oes hir yn nydd Sais.	To spin long life on an English day.

Os gwir i blant Alis gau,	If it's true that Alice's lying sons —
Draeturiaid, dorri tyrau,	Traitor-born — have broken towers down,
Ni ddôi’r iangwyr, ni ddringynt	Then let no young men come nor climb
I dai’r gŵr na’i dyrau gynt.	The house or halls of that good man’s line.
Gwinllan fu Raglan i’r iaith,	Raglan was a vineyard for our tongue,
Gwae ni wŷl ei gwin eilwaith!	Woe — we shall not taste its wine again!
Gwae a weles ar Galan	Woe was the sight I saw at Calan,
Gynnal gwledd ar ganol glan!	A feast held high on a bloodied plain.
Gwae a geisio rhodio rhawg	Woe to him who walks too proud,
Gwent dlawd oedd gynt oludawg!	Gwent — once rich — lies poor and bowed.
Ei farw oedd well i fardd iach	Better dead to a sound-minded bard,
Heb ei bwyll, no byw bellach.	Than living now, so lost and marred.
Merddin Wyllt am ei urddas,	Merddin the Wild, for honor’s sake,
Amhorfryn, aeth i’r glyn glas.	To shadowed glen his leave did take.
Af yn wyllt o fewn elltydd	So I go mad among the trees,
I eiste rhwng clustiau’r hydd.	To sit between the wild stag’s ears.
Ef a’m llas, mi a’m nasiwn,	He killed me — and my nation too —
Yr awr y llas yr iarll hwn,	The hour this earl was struck and slew.
Cymro oedd yn ffrwyno Ffrainc,	A Welshman once who reined in France,
Camreol Cymry ieuainc.	Now misrules the youth of Cymru’s chance.
Ofn i bawb tra fu ’n y byd,	He was feared by all while in the world,
Yn iach ofn oni chyfyd!	A wholesome fear — unless it stirs!
Ymgyrchu i Gymru a gân’,	Let songs now march into Cymru’s heart,
Ymsaethu ’m Mhowys weithian.	Let Powys rise and fire its darts!
Doed aliwns, nis didolir,	Let the alliance come — it won’t be turned,
O dôn’, pwy a’u lludd i dir?	From the wave, who can drive them to ground?
Llusgent wŷr, llosgent eu tai,	They dragged our men, burned down their homes,
Lladdwyd y gŵr a’u lluddiai.	And slew the man who held them down.

Traws eto rhag trais atyn’	May a path still turn from force toward us,
Tra ater Syr Rhosier ynn.	While Sir Roger stands to answer fate.
Trimaib iarll, os trwm y byd,	Three sons of the earl — though the world be grim —
Tri a ostwng ein tristyd.	Three who may lower our sorrow’s weight.
Un o’i hil yn Neheuwlad	One of his line in the southern land
A gyrredd dwyn gradd ei dad.	Strives to reclaim his father’s stand.
Iarll oedd, Cymru oll eiddo,	He was an earl — all Wales his due —
Iarll o’i fab arall a fo!	An earl his son shall be anew!

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