The Harpist of Deceit

	Girdles, the chains of love,

	and the tongue's praise, fair girl,

	and gold (I know how to appease you)

4	I have handed you in your court.

	Sleeplessness, bright splendid maid, and hurt,

	and tearful pining (eyes ardent with passion),

	my enemies (such bold claims),

8	a great crowd — those were my reward.

	And a fair silk garment, hue of falling snow,

	I did give for your sake;

	love-pangs worse than those of holy men

12	were all I received through sorrow.

	A countess bright as snow

	I called you, like fine parchment;

	to my face with grievous abuse

16	you called me a wretched knave.

	You are a fine girl, I am Gwaeddan,

	love's commerce goes from bad to worse.

	You have driven me the same way

20	that Gwaeddan once went after his cloak,

	through enchantment and some frightful transformation

	and magic, most deceptively.

	It is through deceit

24	(frequent discourtesy) that you delude me;

	you are a radiant, innately gifted girl,

	perfectly formed, from the land of Dyfed.

	This is no school of sorcery

28	nor mere playing at trickery (a grievous remark),

	nor the magic of Menw, nor frequent longing,

	nor betrayal of men, nor splendid battle —

	a terrible grip, a fierce assault —

32	but your very own magic and your word.

	You rarely keep a single tryst,

	it's just like the predicament of Llwyd fab Cel Coed.

	There were three warriors (riches will come my way)

36	who knew magic before now:

	a man used to battle, he upholds his epithet —

	the first and gentlest was Menw;

	and the second (a day of fine understanding)

40	is Eiddilig Gor, the wily Irishman;

	the third, near the ramparts of Môn,

	was Math, splendid ruler, lord of Arfon.

	At festival time you walked

44	the bards' domain, a tough bargain;

	you fully deserve, wise–natured maid,

	a silver harp, deception's string.

	You shall be called, as long as man may live,

48	Enchantress of the Fair Harp;

	you'll be made famous (a sure assertion),

	[this is my] prophesy, harpist of deceit.

	The harp was fashioned

52	from love's dignity, you are a splendid girl;

	it has a carving of obstruction's scale

	and an engraving of duplicity and pretence;

	its edge (no unrefined wood)

56	is shaped by Virgil's mighty art;

	its pillar brings me certain death,

	through true enchantment and cruel longing;

	its pegs are made of deceit

60	and falsehood and flattery and guile.

	Your hands as they pluck the string

	are worth two bars of gold;

	Ah, what a splendid song, my lady refined as wine,

64	you are able to make from a clever metre!

	Better craft, so they say (a long enchantment),

	colour of a dazzling seagull, than wealth.

	Accept from me — betrayer of many, Nyf's likeness,

68	candle of the land of Camber,

	fortune's gift, of loving reverence —

	the place [of honour at] the feast, my swan–hued girl.