The Death Of Owain
Lo! the youth, in mind a man,
Daring in the battle's van;
See the splendid warrior's speed
On his fleet and thick-maned steed,
As his buckler, beaming wide,
Decks the courser's slender side,
With his steel of spotless mould,
Ermined vest and spurs of gold!
Think not, youth, that e'er from me
Hate or spleen shall flow to thee;
Nobler deeds thy virtues claim,
Eulogy and tuneful fame.
Ah! much sooner comes thy bier
Than thy nuptial feast, I fear;
Ere thou mak'st the foe to bleed,
Ravens on thy corse shall feed.
Owain, lov'd companion, friend,
To birds a prey--is this thy end!
Tell me, steed, on what sad plain
Thy ill-fated lord was slain.