Like all early songs, the poem was handed down through centuries by oral tradition.  It is now preserved in the ‘Book of Aneurin,’ a small quarto manuscript of nineteen leaves of vellum, of the end of the thirteenth century.

The ‘Gododin’ has been published with an English translation and notes by the Rev. J. Williams (1852); and by the Cymmrodorion Society, with a translation by Thomas Stevens, in 1885.  Interesting information covering it may be found in Skene’s ‘Four Ancient Books of Wales’ (1866), and in the article ‘Celtic Literature’ in this work.

THE SLAYING OF OWAIN

[During the battle a conference was held, at which the British leaders demanded as a condition of peace that part of the land of Gododin be restored.  In reply, the Saxons killed Owain, one of the greatest of the Cymric bards.  Aneurin thus pictures him:—­]

     A man in thought, a boy in form,
     He stoutly fought, and sought the storm
     Of flashing war that thundered far. 
     His courser, lank and swift, thick-maned,
     Bore on his flank, as on he strained,
     The light-brown shield, as on he sped,
     With golden spur, in cloak of fur,
     His blue sword gleaming.  Be there said
     No word of mine that does not hold thee dear! 
     Before thy youth had tasted bridal cheer,
     The red death was thy bride!  The ravens feed
     On thee yet straining to the front, to lead. 
     Owain, the friend I loved, is dead! 
     Woe is it that on him the ravens feed!

THE FATE OF HOEL, SON OF THE GREAT CIAN

[From various expressions used by Aneurin in different parts of his great poem, it is evident that the warriors of whom he sang fortified themselves, before entering the field of battle, with unstinted libations of that favorite intoxicant of those days, sweet mead.  He mentions the condition of the warriors as they started for the fray, and tells of Hoel’s fate.  This son of Cian had married the daughter of one of the Bryneish.  His marriage caused no abatement of a feud existing between the tribes to which the husband and wife respectively belonged.  He repudiated her family, disdained to take her away, and was sought and slain by her insulted father.]

     The warriors marched to Cattraeth, full of mead;
     Drunken, but firm of array:  great the shame,
     But greater the valor no bard can defame. 
     The war-dogs fought fiercely, red swords seemed to bleed. 
     Flesh and soul, I had slain thee, myself, had I thought,
     Son of Cian, my friend, that thy faith had been bought
     By a bribe from the tribe of the Bryneish!  But no;
     He scorned to take dowry from hands of the foe,
     And I, all unhurt, lost a friend in the fight,
     Whom the wrath of a father felled down for the slight.