Quick rising the sun, summer hurries on.
Splendid the song of birds; fine, smooth weather,
I am of golden growth, fearless in battle.
I am a line, my attack a flash against a host.
I watched through the night to keep a border.
Murmuring ford water in heavy weather,
The open grassland green, the water clear;
Loud the nightingale's familiar song'
Gulls play on the bed of the sea,
Their feathers glistening, their ranks turbulent ...

From Gwalchmai's Boast
translated from the Welsh