Rhiannon
Pwyll dines at Arberth; great hosts of men are at his side
When to the barrow, Gorsedd Arberth wanders he at eventide.
“Beware, good King!” his men remind him, “Those who seek this mound
By fate or feud must come to blows, or else some wonder’s found!”
“To come to blows I do not fear, with true men at my side!
To Gorsedd Arberth! For some wonder shall I there abide!”
Hoofbeats they hear from o’er the lee,
Then echoéth from every tree:
Rhiannon! Rhiannon!
No maiden is fairer than thee!
So soon they see her riding forth, arrayed in gold brocade,
Upon a pale and graceful horse, a soft, enticing maid.
“Behold!” Pwyll’s men cry, “See! She rides so easily, and slow!”
“Let one of you to meet her ride; this maiden would I know!”
Pwyll’s squire takes his horse and follows on her trail:
Faster he rides; further she goes, through the evening pale.
“O! She is fine! Her hair blows free!
Enchanted must her palfrey be!
Rhiannon! Rhiannon!
No maiden is fairer than thee!”
The squire’s horse, she steams and stamps amid the growing night,
“To give chase is idle sport, for no lady rides so light!
I gave my steed the spur and whip, yet still she ambled on,
Further, further, through the dusk, ‘til at last they both were gone!”
“Then we return tomorrow night,” Pwyll strikes his breast,
“The fleetest charger shall we bring, put her palfrey to the test!
The fastest knights on horse are we –
This damsel shall be brought to me!
Rhiannon! Rhiannon!
No maiden is fairer than thee!”
So they return to Arberth barrow at cold dusk again;
Eagerly Pwyll sits to watch, along with all his men.
Her hoofbeats cross the lee once more, the squire his charger mounts;
A full half hour he chases her, and more by all accounts.
Yet still her palfrey canters on; the gap between them grows:
The squire returns, his horse dismounts. His whip to ground he throws.
“I sought her over field and lee;
Still she rides away from me!
Rhiannon! Rhiannon!
No maiden is fairer than thee!”
“Then I’ll give chase tomorrow night!” Pwyll makes his resolve,
“If not this maiden for to win, this mystery to solve!”
And so the King gives chase next night; she wanders father off,
Until Pwyll is saddle-sore; his horse begins to cough.
“Maiden! Maiden! Stay for me!” distracted Pwyll cries.
Rhiannon turns upon the mare, smiles and softly sighs:
“’Twere better for thy horse and thee
If thou had called at first for me!”
“Rhiannon! Rhiannon!
No maiden is fairer than thee!”
Source material: The second tale in Branch I of the Mabinogion, ‘Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed’, adapted into verse from the translation by Gwyn and Thomas Jones (1974). The Mabinogion is preserved in two Welsh manuscripts, the White Book of Rhydderch (scribed between 1300 and 1325) and the Red Book of Hergest (1375-1425). Rhiannon is a goddess, thinly disguised. Normally she is associated with flocks of birds which sing and fly in her train, but in this tale and in others, she is also an effortless equestrian, and may well share her origins with the Celtic horse-goddess Epona, whose badge, some say, remains to this day on White Horse Hill in Uffington. In the text of the Mabinogion, her divine status is attested not only by the magic of her palfrey, which can easily evade a knight pursuing at full gallop if he does not do her the courtesy of addressing her, but also by her eternal youth, for she outlasts her lifelong marriage to Pwyll, and marries Manawydan, the friend of his son Pryderi, and is quite clearly as young and beautiful as ever. I dedicate the re-worked lyric to my daughter, Hannah-Rose, who turns eighteen in just a few days, and whose portrait I have adapted for my own drawing of Rhiannon.Lyric by Giles Watson, 1999; revised 2009.
