The Death of Owain by Aneurin

Lo! the youth, in mind a man
Daring in the battle’s van;
See the splendid warrior’s speed
On his fleet and thick-maned steed
As his buckler, beaming wide
Decks the courser’s slender side
With his steel of spotless mould
Ermined vest and spurs of gold!
Think not, youth, that e’er from me
Hate or spleen shall flow to thee;
Nobler deeds thy virtues claim
Eulogy and tuneful fame
Ah! much sooner comes thy bier
Than thy nuptial feast, I fear;
Ere thou mak’st the foe to bleed
Ravens on thy corse shall feed
Owain, lov’d companion, friend
To birds a prey—is this thy end!
Tell me, steed, on what sad plain
Thy ill-fated lord was slain