Main Page || Celtic Lore || Celtic Poetry || About Me || Lukewarm Links || The Feedback Loop || Sign Guestbook || View Guestbook



Preiddeu Annwyn






Praise to the Lord, Supreme Ruler of the Heavens,
Who hath extended his dominion to the shore of the world.
Complete was the prison of Gwair in Caer Sidi
Through the spite of Pwyll and Pryderi.
No one before him went into it;
A heavy blue chain firmly held the youth,
And for the spoils of Annwn gloomily he sings,
And till doom shall he continue his lay.
Thrice the fullness of Prydwen we went into it;
Except seven, none returned from Caer Sidi.

Am I not a candidate for fame, to be heard in the song?
In Caer Pedryvan four times revolving,
The first word from the cauldron, when was it spoken?
By the breath of nine damsels it is gently warmed,
Is it not the cauldron of the Chief of Annwn, in its fashion
With a ridge around its edge of pearls?
It will not boil the food of a coward or one forsworn,
A sword bright flashing to him will be brought,
And left in the hand of Lleminawg,
And before the portals of the cold place the horns of light shall be burning.
And when we went with Arthur in his splendid labours,
Except seven, none returned from Caer Vediwid.

Am I not a candidate for fame, to be heard in the song?
In the four-cornered enclosure, in the Island of the Strong Door,
Where the twilight and the black of night move together,
Bright wine was the beverage of the host.
Three times the fullness of Prydwen, we went on sea,
Except seven, none returned from Caer Rigor.

I will not allow praise to the Lords of Literature.
Beyond Caer Wydr they behold not the prowess of Arthur.
Three times twenty-hundred men stood on the wall.
It was difficult to converse with their sentinel.
Three times the fullness of Prydwen, we went with Arthur.
Except seven, none returned from Caer Colur.

I will not allow praise to the men with trailing shields.
They know not on what day, or who caused it,
Or at what hour of the splendid day Cwy was born,
Or who prevented him from going to the dales of Devwy.
They know not the brindled ox, with his thick head band,
And seven-score knobs in his collar.
And when we went with Arthur of mournful memory,
Except seven, none returned from Caer Vandwy.

I will not allow praise to men of drooping courage,
They know not on what day the Chief arose,
Or at what hour in the splendid day the Owner was born;
Or what animal they keep of silver head.
When we went with Arthur of mournful contention,
Except seven, none returned from Caer Ochren.


"May the road rise to meet you"
Unknown


Main Page || Celtic Lore || Celtic Poetry || About Me || Lukewarm Links || The Feedback Loop || Sign Guestbook || View Guestbook

Created by Vixen
Please read the Disclaimer.

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws

1