# Translations into English Verse from the Poems of Davyth ap Gwilym/To the Ship

TO THE SHIP
In which Hunchback sailed to France in company with a detachment of three hundred men, under the command of Rhys Gwgan, to join the army of Edward III. in that country. The bard expresses a wish that Hunchback may be drowned on the voyage.
The following extract from Dr. Lingard’s History of England furnishes an interesting comment on this poem:—“Among them (i. e. the foot soldiers of Edward III.’s army) was constantly a large proportion of Welshmen armed with lances, and dressed in uniform at the king’s expense. These proved of great utility wherever the country was mountainous and ill adapted to the operations of cavalry. The muster-roll of the army which besieged Calais is still extant; it included 4474 Welsh foot; each man received fourpence a day, which was double the pay of the rest of the infantry, which was only twopence per man.”
To-day on high achievement bent, With Rhys to join the wars he went, And radiant Morvyth’s kin lament— Whilst I upon the Virgin call, From the fierce shock of France to save The barons bold, and warriors brave, That marched from Cambria—may they all (Brethren in battle—ever first Through breach in hostile walls to burst) Home from the South return—save one! Thou last, a drone, O Gwgan’s son! Amid thy proud and warlike guard, If thou retainest in thy band
The odious foe of Morvyth’s bard, And all the bards of all our land. How oft with indignation sore I’ve fled the hunchbacked elf of yore, Humped like the crooked elder tree, The tyrant of the maid and me! Yon wild grey ship chafed by the tide, If e’er the sluggard mount her side, If e’er she take her watery road With such an inauspicious load, Alas! her flowing sails will sink, Deeply of ocean’s brine to drink, The spiral surges of the sea The raiment of her masts will be! Fling from her deck the luckless thing, And let the swine-souled monster sleep Beneath the quicksands of the deep! O generous billow, ocean’s wing! Soon wouldst thou pay the debt I owe To Jealousy, the poet’s foe. Like bird of ocean he would whirl From wave to wave, and shoal to shoal, As the wild surges fiercely curl Around the shores, O sordid soul! May Hwynyn, demon of the sea, Thy headsman on the voyage be! Oh, Rhys! illustrious warrior, thou Mayst free me from my foeman now; Let not the hollow boat divide The poet from his glorious bride:
And thou, cross-bowman true and good, Thou shooter with the faultless wood, Send me an arrow through his brain, (Who of his fate will e’er complain!) Then from thy quiver take and aim A second arrow through his frame; Well will the varlet’s corpse be known By the stiff beard so scantly sown; Haste! with thy stirrup-fashioned bow, To lay the hideous varlet low! Long may he roam on distant shore— Ill luck attend upon the boor; The poet’s anger will not burn, E’en should he ne’er again return! To-night the lady of my choice With me will laugh, with me rejoice; With me confess, with me will pray, That Eithig of malignant tongue, The churlish foe of joy and song, In foreign realms may ever stay.
* ↑ By this expression he alludes to the return of Hunchback.
* ↑ ‘Stirrup-fashioned bow’—the cross-bow, of which this epithet is very descriptive.