The Lion of Gwynedd

'Perfect the lad killed by hostile men's hands,
Perfect his forebear's honours in him.
Candle of kings, strong lion of Gwynedd,
Throne of honour, there was need of him.
With my prop cut down, gold-handed prince,
With Llywelyn's death, gone is my mind.
See you not the rush of the wind and rain?
See you not the oaks lash each other?
See you not the ocean scourging the shore?
See you not the truth is portending?
See you not the sun hurtling across the sky?
See you not that the stars have fallen?
Have you no belief in God, foolish men?
See you not that the world is ending?
Ah God, that the sea would cover the land!
What is left us that we should linger?
No place to flee from terror's prison,
No place to live, wretched is living!
All retainers were true to his trust,
All warriors were his defenders,
All stern men would swear by his hand.
All leaders, all lands were his own.
All counties, all towns are now troubled,
All households, all clans are collapsing.
All the weak, all the strong he kept safe:
All children now cry in their cradles.
Little good it did me to dupe me,
Leaving me a head, with him headless.
Head that slain made fear unhateful,
Head that slain made surrender best,
Head of a soldier, head of praise,
Head of a duke, a dragon's head,
Head of fair Llywelyn, sharp the world's fear,
An iron spike through it,
Head of my lord, harsh pain is mine,
Head of my spirit left speechless,
Head that had honour in nine hundred lands,
Nine hundred feasts for him,
Head of a king, his hand hurled iron,
Head a proud hawk, he forced a breach,
Head of a kingly wolf thrust foremost,
Head of kings, heaven be his haven!
Blest king, great deeds were his, blest company,
Who longed to reach Llydaw (Brittany),
King right royal of Aberffraw,
May heaven's fair land be his home.'