When the host of Pryder {189b} arrives,
I anxiously count {190a} the bands,
Eleven complete battalions;
There is now a precipitate flight {190b}
Along the road of lamentation.
Affectionately have I deplored, {190c}
Dearly have I loved,
The illustrious dweller of the wood, {190d}
And the men of Argoed, {190e}
Accustomed, in the open plain, {191a}
To marshal their troops.
For the benefit of the chiefs, the lord of the war {191b}
Laid upon rough {191c} boards,
Midst a deluge of grief,
The viands for the banquet,
Where they caroused together;--he conducted us to a bright {191d} fire,
And to a carpet of white and fresh {191e} hide.