Elegy for Angharad

	Tears flow from my eyes (a long distraint)

	because the putting of gay noble Angharad

	under the earth is so heavy to my piteous mind,

4	she with the black eyebrows.

	It is grievous that the one with the horns of vintage wine is not alive,

	demise of an inspired poet;

	wealth on the firm foundation of a patron,

8	lavish was the service from her fair hand.

	She served wine, so say all, fine Indeg's sheen,

	before the one day of mortality;

	there is no life of peace but the Lord of heaven,

12	life is illusory for many.

	Many hearts are breaking in Pennardd for her,

	a second Isolde, modest and beautiful;

	there are many well-attired poets of mourning

16	who play not, laugh not, complete woe.

	The faithful well-equipped poet does not laugh

	since Angharad went, aspect of a foaming torrent,

	a mighty lament from my breast is never quiet,

20	I am betrayed, it is a grievous cry.

	Too grievous, open abduction,

	(proud dark eyes like blackberries,

	aristocratic girl, she dispensed benefit)

24	was the necessity to bind oak between us and her cheeks.

	I am a thin pale-cheeked youth sick from lamenting

	the fine linen-clad candle,

	because the pure noble girl's long end

28	has come, cause of deep tears.

	Angharad frail of form was the noblest, sweetest,

	best maid in Caer,

	sprightly cheer, good education, no one

32	was her equal, sun of the sky.

	Who had such a short lifespan as my golden girl?

	Frequent floods of tears oppress me.

	Gracious sense, grievously sudden loss,

36	sun's radiant niece, what heart does not break?

	Golden chieftain of praise, my rebuke

	about Angharad is to You, Lord God,

	that You gave such a fulsome splendid array

40	of blessings, righteous acquisition, generous Man, and grace,

	since You insisted (she was level-headed) on taking her

	too terribly suddenly by the treachery of thick soil.

	You made the course of her lifespan most wretched,

44	her relationship with God the Father was unjust.

	There is vicious pressure on my bones, it was a cruel massacre,

	descendant of Cynwrig, pillar of a battalion's front rank.

	Lovely brightness of Eigr, Uthr's one love,

48	we were despoiled in one awful attack.

	Radiance of a swift wave's crest flowing over a white beach,

	her foster-brothers know a web of grief,

	dark brow in linen, sad that she is not alive,

52	woe the kin of Eigr's one lord from the wine-serving fortress.

	Anxious pain pierced my breast from her departure,

	grasp of cold despair.

	Flourishing of the honour of a gold-giving knight,

56	womanly beauty, moon of women,

	comely gentle partner of a battle champion,

	Ieuan of the fiery spear, battle slaughterer,

	bloodied lance of a lord, bond and support of a land,

60	much-praised, grey noble lord, upholder of a host,

	opposer of enemies, companion of stronghold's defender,

	wine-loving hero, mighty his rage, lord of perfect song.

	Pain stabbed me suddenly, it may be called a tribulation,

64	colour of grief is to be seen on many.

	A fair bee who knew her gift,

	gossamer of Ceredigion, her abduction was cruel,

	a fair girl whose ancestors were of long noble stock,

68	she allowed no vain speech, modest deportment.

	After lamenting the taking of a life I am a brokenhearted singer,

	countenance like a layer of snow covering grass, good lady of Builth,

	splendid white maid, generous pourer in a banquet,

72	wine-table and riches, feeder of fair poets.

	A spear thrust through me from the memory of her holds me captive,

	jewel of a bright diadem, woe my eye!

	A shower of tears wets the face, savage hurt,

76	my cheek is green and furrowed, most grievous elegy.

	The lament for her is poison for me, it cannot be moved from my body,

	buttress of a true court, scarlet gown.

	Ceaseless weeping would be bad work for the eyes,

80	worse is the memory of Angharad, terrible grief.