are in harmony with the age and the country to which it is referred."

Like all early songs, the poem was handed down through centuries by oral
tradition. It is now preserved in the 'Book of Aneurin,' a small quarto
manuscript of nineteen leaves of vellum, of the end of the
thirteenth century.

The 'Gododin' has been published with an English translation and notes
by the Rev. J. Williams (1852); and by the Cymmrodorion Society, with a
translation by Thomas Stevens, in 1885. Interesting information covering
it may be found in Skene's 'Four Ancient Books of Wales' (1866), and in
the article 'Celtic Literature' in this work.

THE SLAYING OF OWAIN

[During the battle a conference was held, at which the British leaders
demanded as a condition of peace that part of the land of Gododin be
restored. In reply, the Saxons killed Owain, one of the greatest of the
Cymric bards. Aneurin thus pictures him:--]

A man in thought, a boy in form,
He stoutly fought, and sought the storm
Of flashing war that thundered far.
His courser, lank and swift, thick-maned,
Bore on his flank, as on he strained,
The light-brown shield, as on he sped,
With golden spur, in cloak of fur,
His blue sword gleaming. Be there said
No word of mine that does not hold thee dear!
Before thy youth had tasted bridal cheer,
The red death was thy bride! The ravens feed
On thee yet straining to the front, to lead.
Owain, the friend I loved, is dead!
Woe is it that on him the ravens feed!

THE FATE OF HOEL, SON OF THE GREAT CIAN

[From various expressions used by Aneurin in different parts of his
great poem, it is evident that the warriors of whom he sang fortified
themselves, before entering the field of battle, with unstinted
libations of that favorite intoxicant of those days, sweet mead. He
mentions the condition of the warriors as they started for the fray, and
tells of Hoel's fate. This son of Cian had married the daughter of one
of the Bryneish. His marriage caused no abatement of a feud existing
between the tribes to which the husband and wife respectively belonged.
He repudiated her family, disdained to take her away, and was sought and
slain by her insulted father.]

The warriors marched to Cattraeth, full of mead;
Drunken, but firm of array: great the shame,
But greater the valor no bard can defame.
The war-dogs fought fiercely, red swords see