Am I not worthy of fame and song for ever,
In the four-cprnerend castle in the island of the strong door,
Where twighlight and pitchy darkness meet together,
And bright wine is the drink of the host?
Thrice enough to fill Arthur's ship we crossed the waters.
None but seven returned from the castle of the rulers,
None but seven returned from Caer Rigor.
I allow the kings of the story little honour
That beyond the glass castle saw not the prowess of Arthur.
Three-score hundrets arrayed along those ramparts
With their watchmen we could scarce confer.
Thrice enough to fill Prydwen we went with Arthur.
None but seven returned from the castle of treasure,
None but seven returned from Caer Colur
I will not allow much praise to those of drooping courage.
They know not on what day the ruler arose,
Nor in what hour of the serene day the owner was born,
Nor of what kind was his silver-headed beast.
Ah, when we went with Arthur, mournful the memory,
None but seven returned from Caer Ochren