Were he to narrow {198a} my dominions through extortion, {198b}
The arrival of no enemy would prove to me more formidable. {198c}
The man has not been nursed who could be more festive in the hall
Than he, or steadier in the field of battle.
On the ford of Penclwyd {198d} Pennant were his steeds;
Far spread was his fame, compact was his armour;
And ere the long grass covered him beneath the sod,
He, the only son of Morarch, {198e} poured out the horns of mead.