The tops of the beech tree, Great was the horse in battle,
Have sprouted of late, and the ivy at his prime;
Are changed and renewed The hazel was arbiter
From their withered state. At this charmed time.
When the beech prospers, Uncouth and savage was the fir,
Through spells and litanies Cruel was the ash tree-
The oak tops entangle, Turns not aside a foot-breadth,
There is hope for the trees. Straight at the heart runs he.
I have plundered the fern, The birch, though very noble,
Through all secrets I spy, Armed himself but late;
Old Math and Mathonwy A sign not of cowardice
Knew no more than I. But of his high estate.
For with nine sorts of faculty The heath gave consolation
God has gifted me; To the toil-spent folk,
I am fruit of fruits gathered The long-enduring poplars
from nine sorts of trees- In battle much broke.
Plum, Quince, whortle, mulberry, Some of them were cast away
Raspberry, pear, On the field of fight
Black cherry and white Because of holes torn in them
With sorbs in me share By the enemy's might.
From my seat at Fefynedd, Very wrathful was the vine
A city that is strong, Whose henchmen are the elms
I watched the trees and green I exalt him mightily
things hastening along. To rulers of realms.
Retreating from happiness Strong chieftains were the
They would fain be set Blackthorn with his ill fruit,
In form of the chief letters The unbeloved whitethorn
of the alphabet. Who wears the same suit.
Wayfarers wondered The swift pursuing reed
Warriors were dismayed The broom with his brood,
At renewal of conflicts And the furze but ill-behaved
Such a Gwydion made; Until he is subdued.
Under the tongue root The dower-scattering yew
A fight most dread, Stood glum at the fight's fringe,
And another raging With the elder slow to burn
Behind, in the head. Amid fires that singe,
The alders in the front line And the blessed, wild apple
Began the affray. Laughing in pride
Willow and rowan-tree From the Gorchan of Maeldrew
Were tardy in array. By the rock side.
The holly, dark green, In shelter linger
Made a resolute stand; Privet and woodbine,
He is armed with many spears points inexperienced in warfare,
Wounding the hand And the courtly pine.
With foot-beat of swift oak But I, although slighted
Heaven and earth rung; Because I was not big,
'Stout Guardian of the Door', Fought, trees, in your array
His name in every tongue On the field of Goddeu Brig.
Gwydion the Man
Pwyll Becomes King
Pwyll & Rhiannon
(Verse Taken from: The 21 Lessons of Merlyn-A Study In Druid Magic Author Douglas Monroe)