Llewellyn and his dog

Llewellyn and his Dog The spearman heard the bugle sound And cheerily smiled the morn, And many a Brach and many a hound Attend Llewellyn’s horn; And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer, - "Come Gelert! Why art thou the last? Llewellyn’s horn to hear? "Oh where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race! So true, so brave! – a lamb at home, A lion in the chase. That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare, And scant and small the bounty proved, - For Gelert wasn’t there. Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied; When near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied. Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gained the castle door, Aghast the Chieftain stood; The hound was smeared with drops of gore, His lips and fangs dripped blood. Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise- Unused such looks to meet, His favourite checked his joyful guise, And crouched and licked his feet. Onward in haste Llewellyn passed (and on went Gelert too), and still, where’re his eyes were cast, fresh blood drops shocked his view. O’erturned his infant’s bed he found! The blood stained cover rent, And all around the walls and ground With recent blood bespent 2 He called his child, no voice replied! He searched with terror wild, Blood! Blood he found on every side, But nowhere found the child. "Monster! By thee my child’s devoured!" the frantic father cried; and to the hilt his vengeful sword he plunged in Gelert’s side. His suppliant as to earth he fell, No pity could impart; But still his Gelert’s dying yell Passed heavy o’er his heart. Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh, What word’s the parent’s joy can tell To hear his infant’s cry! Concealed beneath a mangled heap His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kissed. Nor scratch had he, nor harm nor dread; But the same couch beneath Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead, Tremendous still in death. Ah, what was then Llewellyn’s pain! For now the truth was clear: The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn’s heir. Vain, vain was all Llewellyn’s woe: "Best of thy kind adieu! The frantic deed, which laid thee, low This heart shall ever rue." 3 And now a gallant tomb they raise, With costly sculptured decked; and marble storied with his praise, Poor Gelert’s bones protect. Here never could the spearman pass, Or forester, unmoved: Here oft the tear besprinkled grass Llewellyn’s sorrow proved. And here he hung his horn and spear; And oft as evening fell, In fancy’s piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert’s dying yell. .