BOUT the stars' nature and their hue

'BOUT the stars' nature and their hue Much has been said, both false and true; They're wondrous through their countenance— Signs to us in the blue expanse. The first that came, to merit praise, Was that great star of splendid rays, From a fair country seen of old High in the East, a mark of gold; Conveying to the sons of Earth News of the King of glory's birth. In the advantage I had share, Though some to doubt the event will dare, That Christ was born from Mary maid, A merciful and timely aid, With his veins' blood to save on high The righteous from the enemy. The second, a right glorious lamp, Of yore went over Uther's camp. There as it flam'd distinct in view Merddin amongst the warrior crew Standing, with tears of anguish, thought Of the dire act on Emrys wrought, And he caus'd Uther back to turn, The victory o'er the foe to earn; From anger to revenge to spring Is with the frank a common thing. Arthur the generous, bold and good, Was by that comet understood. Man to be cherish'd well and long, Foretold through ancient Bardic song: With ashen shafted lance's thrust He shed his foe's blood on the dust. The third to Gwynedd's hills was born By time and tempest-fury worn, Similar to the rest it came, In origin and look the same, Powerfully lustrous, yellow, red Both, both as to its beam and head. The wicked far about and near Enquire of me, who feel no fear, For where it comes there luck shall fall, What means the hot and starry ball? I know and can expound aright The meaning of the thing of light: To the son of the prophecy Its ray doth steel or fire imply; There has not been for long, long time A fitting star to Gwynedd's clime, Except the star this year appearing, Intelligence unto us bearing; Gem to denote we're reconcil'd At length with God the undefil'd. How beauteous is that present sheen, Of the excessive heat the queen; A fire upmounting 'fore our face, Shining on us God's bounteous grace; For where they sank shall rise once more The diadem and laws of yore. 'Tis high 'bove Mona in the skies, In the angelic squadron's eyes; A golden pillar hangs it there, A waxen column of the air. We a fair gift shall gain ere long, Either a pope or Sovereign strong; A King, who wine and mead will give, From Gwynedd's land we shall receive; The Lord shall cease incens'd to be, And happy times cause Gwynedd see, Fame to obtain by dint of sword, Till be fulfill'd the olden word.