King of Dyfed:

A strange song, I guess: aweful lyrics (tribal raids in the ancient celtic Wales)
and musically not that unhappy. Remarkable are at least two further aspects
of the song: The instrumental middle section with the attempt to write a celtic
“War Dance”, where a reel-like melody of the violin rivals a weird brass section
and Albrecht’s moody flute solo at the end.

Lyrics King of Dyfed:

(Music: Fastenmeier / Lyrics: Peacock/Shelley, arr. Fastenmeier)

The mountain sheep are sweeter
But the valley sheep are fatter
We therefore deemed it meeter
to carry off the latter
We made an expedition
we met an host and quelled it
We forced a strong position
and killed the men who held it
– on Dyfed’s richest valley –.

We made a mighty sally
on Dyfed’s richest valley
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us
They struggled hard to beat us
As we drove our prize at leisure
his rage surpassed all measure
The king marched forth to catch us
but his people could not match us
– on Dyfed’s richest valley –

When the lamp is shattered – the light in dust lies dead
When the cloud is scattered – the rainbow’s glory’s shed
When the lute is broken – and the dew is gone
When the lips have spoken – and the cold winds come

We orphaned many children
and widowed many women
The eagles and the ravens
the heroes and the cravens
We brought away from battle
two thousand head of cattle
We made a mighty sally
– on Dyfed’s richest valley –