Reely's Poetry Blog

(from The Misfortunes of Elphin)
by Thomas Love Peacock (1785-1866)

THE MOUNTAIN sheep are sweeter, 
But the valley sheep are fatter; 
We therefore deem’d it meeter 
To carry off the latter. 
We made an expedition; 
We met an host and quell’d it; 
We forced a strong position 
And kill’d the men who held it. 

On Dyfed’s richest valley, 
Where herds of kine were browsing, 
We made a mighty sally, 
To furnish our carousing. 
Fierce warriors rush’d to meet us; 
We met them, and o’erthrew them: 
They struggled hard to beat us,
But we conquer’d them, and slew them. 

As we drove our prize at leisure, 
The king march’d forth to catch us: 
His rage surpass’d all measure, 
But his people could not match us.

He fled to his hall-pillars; 
And, ere our force we led off, 
Some sack’d his house and cellars, 
While others cut his head off. 

We there, in strife bewildering, 
Spilt blood enough to swim in: 
We orphan’d many children 
And widow’d many women. 
The eagles and the ravens 
We glutted with our foemen:
The heroes and the cravens, 
The spearmen and the bowmen. 

We brought away from battle, 
And much their land bemoan’d them, 
Two thousand head of cattle 
And the head of him who own’d them: 
Ednyfed, King of Dyfed, 
His head was borne before us; 
His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, 
And his overthrow, our chorus.