Two Poems from
Merlin through the Ages
by John Matthews and R.J. Stewart
1. THE DIALOGUE OF MYRDDIN AND TALIESIN
Myrddin
How sad with me, how sad,
Cedfyl and Cadfan are fallen!
The slaughter was terrible,
Shields shattered and bloody.
Taliesin
I saw Maelgwn battling
The host acclaimed him.
Myrddin
Before two men in battles they gather,
Before Erith and Gwrith on pale horses.
Slender bay mounts will they bring,
Soon will come the host of Elgan.
Alas for his death, after a great journey!
Taliesin
Gap-toothed Rhys, his shield a span-
To him came battle's blessing.
Cyndur has fallen, deplorable beyond measure.
Generous men have been slain
Three noble men, greatly esteemed by Elgan.
Myrddin
Again and again, in great throngs they came,
There carne Bran and Melgan to meet me.
At the last, they slew Dyel,
The son of Erbin, with all his men.
Taliesin
Swiftly came Maelgwn's men,
Warriors ready for battle, for slaughter armed.
For this battle, Arderydd, they have made
A lifetime of preparation.
Myrddin
A host of spears fly high, drawing blood
From a host of vigorous warriors
A host, fleeing; a host, wounded
A host, bloody, retreating.
Taliesin
The seven sons of Elifer, seven heroes,
Will fail to avoid seven spears in the battle.
Myrddin
Seven fires, seven armies,
Cynfelyn in every seventh place.
Taliesin
Seven spears, seven rivers of blood
From seven chieftains, fallen.
Myrddin
Seven score heroes, maddened by battle,
To the forest of Celyddon they fled.
Since I, Myrddin, am second only to Taliesin,
Let my words be heard as truth.
2. A FUGETIVE (sic) POEM OF MYRDDIN IN HIS GRAVE
He who speaks from the grave
Knows that before seven years
March will die.
I have drunk from a bright cup
With fierce and warlike lords;
My name is Myrddin, son of Morvran.
I have drunk from a goblet
With powerful warlords;
Myrddin is my given name.
When the black wheel of oppression
Comes to destroy exhausted Llogres
Defence will be bitter and sustained.
Protection won't be found
From the Boar of the Hosts,
Even in the heights of Ardudwy
Or the Cymry's secret ports.
When the red Norman comes
And a castle is built at Aber Hodni
Greatly taxed will be the Llogrians
Even predictions will be costly.
When the Freckled One comes
As far as Ryd Bengarn,
Men will face disgrace,
Their sword-hilts will break,
The new King of Prydain will he their judge.
When Henri comes to claim
Mur Castell on Eryri's border
Trouble across the sea will call him.
When the Pale One comes to London
Upon ugly horses
He will call out the lords of Caergain.
Scarce the acorns, thick the corn
When a young king appears
Who will cause men to tremble.
A youth of great renown
Conqueror of a hundred cities
Tender and frail will be his life.
Strong to the weak will he be
Weak towards the strong of the upland
One whose coming will bring dark days.
Wantonness will rule,
Women will be easy prey
Even children will need to confess.
A time of order will follow
When even churls will do good deeds;
Maidens will be lovely
Youths resolute.
A time will follow, towards the end of the age,
When the young will fail from adversity
And cuckoos die in Maytime.
There will be a time of great hunting dogs,
And buildings in secret places,
When even a shirt will cost a fortune.
There will be a time of great profanity,
When vices are active, and churches empty.
Words and relics will be broken
Truth will vanish, falsehood spread
Faith will grow weak, and disputes abound.
There will be a time when everyone delights in clothing
When the lord's counsellors become like vagrants;
Bards will go empty-handed, through priests will be happy;
Men will be despised, and frequently refused.
There will be a time of windless days, without rain,
With little ploughing and less food,
One acre of land worth nine.
Men will be weak and unmanly
And corn grown under trees
Though feasts will still occur.
When trees are held in high estate
There will be a new spring
An evil king
The cowhouse worse than a single stake.
On Wednesday, a time of violence,
Blades will wear out,
Two will be bloodied at Cynghen.
At Aber Sor there will be a council
Of men following on the battle,
A bright ruler ruling the camp.
In Aber Avon the host of Mona congregate
Angles gather at Hinwedon;
Meryon's valour will be long remembered.
In Aber Dwyver the leader will fail
When the actions of Cwidig occur
After the battle of Cyvarllug.
A battle will be on the River Byrri,
Where Britons will have victory;
Gwhyr's men will be heroes.
An Aber Don a battle will occur
And the spears be unequal.
Blood on the brows of Saxons.
Servile you are today, Gwenddydd!
The mountain-spirits come to me
Here in Aber Carav.
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