Before Geraint, the enemy's scourge, I saw white horses, tensed, red, After the war cry, bitter the grave. |
From warriors ravens grew red And with their leader a host attacked. |
I have been a multitude of shapes, Before I assumed a consistent form. |
I praise the Lord, the Sovereign of the royal realm, Who has extended his sway over the tract of the world. |
Reaper of enemies; strong of grip; One kind with his fathers. |
There was a great battle Saturday morning From when the sun rose until it grew dark. |