From the retinue of Mynyddog they hastened forth; in a shining array they fed together round the wine-vessel. My heart has become full of grief for the feast of Mynyddog, I have lost too many of my true kinsmen.
Stanza B20, p. 106.
He glutted black ravens on the rampart of the stronghold, though he was no Arthur.AneirinStanza B38, p. 112.
The men went to Catraeth, swift was their host, the pale mead was their feast and it was their poison.AneirinStanza A8, pp. 118.
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