You’ve seen Olympic sprinters
Who move at the speed of light
But here’s a boy with the wind at his heels
And the grace of an eagle’s flight.
No other runner could catch him,
Not a boy, but a lightning streak,
And he’d clear every obstacle in his path
As he raced to the mountain peak.
Guto Nyth Brân
His soul on fire
With love for Siân
His heart’s desire.
Not a creature could outrun him,
Not even the swiftest hare,
And neither dog nor stallion
Could with his speed compare.
So fleet of foot was Guto
The sheep came to his call,
Before his father blinked an eye
He’d lured and penned them all.
When running teatime errands
Guto really showed his mettle,
For he’d be home before his mam
Had time to boil the kettle.
Guto Nyth Brân
His soul on fire
With love for Siân
His heart’s desire.
Now Guto was a boy whose speed
Is celebrated still
And men turned pennies into pounds
By betting on his skill.
A challenger arrives – John Prince –
Whose horse won all its races.
‘I know we’ll beat the lad,’ he jeered.
‘Let’s put him through his paces.’
But Guto liked a challenge
And he slept a dreamless sleep,
His rival’s boasts could not disturb
A confidence so deep.
Throughout the night he dreamt that he
And Siân together lay,
Her body nestled in his arms
Beneath a quilt of hay.
Next day he jogged his way to town
Appearing in no hurry,
Despite the crowd’s excitement
He knew he needn’t worry.
‘Get going, Guto!’ roared the throng,
‘For Prince and his horse are flying,
Siân’s the prize you’re going to lose,
And clearly you’re not trying.’
But Guto knew that at the start
He shouldn’t run too fast.
To win a steeplechase like this
His strength would need to last.
How right he was, for mile by mile
The horse began to tire,
Whilst Guto’s stamina increased
With every passing spire.
He bounded like a year-old stag,
All obstacles he cleared,
He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead
As the finishing post he neared.
With Newport far behind him
And Bedwas next in sight,
A little church and journey’s end
Filled Guto with delight.
And as he crossed the finishing line
The crowd all cheered, ‘Hurray!
All honour to our champion,
For Guto’s won the day.’
Guto Nyth Brân
His soul on fire
With love for Siân
His heart’s desire.
He stepped towards his darling girl
For a longed-for lover’s greeting.
‘Well done!’ said Siân, and clasped him close:
With that, his heart stopped beating.
The race it ended with the day
And with the winner’s death,
That mountain runner swift as thought
Had breathed his final breath.
No winner’s purse could comfort her,
His broken-hearted Siân,
For she had valued nothing more
That the love of Guto Nyth Brân.