Nid hyder ond bwa
There is no dependence but on the Bow
Before computers, before cars and aeroplanes and possibly just after smoke signals there was a system in place in ancient Britain, before it was split into Scotland, Wales and England to call the men from every farm, parish and valley to come to defend their kingdom. When the men were needed for defence of the land a bowman would be sent out to each settlement on horseback, he would raise aloft a bow as he passed through. Unstrung the bow called the men to arms, strung the men would return home and the danger passed. This is ancient communication and the poem following is built around this custom.
The Bended Bow
There was heard the sound of a coming foe,
There was sent through Britain a bended bow,
And a voice was poured from the free winds far,
As the land rose up at the sign of war.
‘Heard ye not the battle horn?
Reaper, leave thy golden corn!
Leave it to the birds of heaven,
Swords must flash, and shields be riven!
Leave it for the winds to shed,
Arm, ere Britain’s turf grow red.’
And the reaper armed like a freeman’s son,
And the bended bow, and the voice pass’d on.
‘Hunter, leave the mountain chace,
Take the falchion from it’s place;
Let the wolf go free today,
Leave him for a nobler prey!
Let the deer ungall’d sweep by,
Arm thee, - Britain’s foes are nigh!’
And the hunter armed ere his chace was done;
And the bended bow, and the voice passed on.
‘Chieftain, quit the joyous feast!
Stay not til the song hath ceased;
Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fires give ruddy light,
Leave the hearth, and leave the hall-
Arm thee, Britain’s foes must fall.’
And the chieftain armed, and the horn was blown,
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
‘Prince thy father’s deeds are told,
In the bower, and in the hold!
Where the goatherd’s lay is sung,
Where the minstrel’s harp is strung !-
Foes are on thy native sea!-
Give our bards a tale of thee!-
And the prince came armed, like a leader’s son,
And the bended bow, and the voice passed on.
‘Mother stay though not thy boy!
He must learn the battle’s joy.
Sister, bring the sword and spear,
Give thy brother words of cheer!
Maiden bid thy lover part,
Britain calls the strong of heart,’
And the bended bow, and the voice passed on;
And the bards made song for battle won.
Unknown
