" Hellhound ! my child's by thee devour'd," 



The frantic father cried ; 

 And to the hilt his vengeful sword 



He plung'd in Gelert's side. 



His suppliant looks, as prone he fell, 



No pity could impart ; 

 But still his Gelert's dying yell 



Pass'd heavy o'er his heart. 



Arous'd by Gelert's dying yell, 

 Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh ; — 



What words the parent's joy could tell 

 To hear his infant's cry ! 



Conceal'd beneath a tumbled heap 

 His hurried search had miss'd, 



All glowing from his rosy sleep, 

 The cherub boy he kissed. 



Nor scath had he, nor harm, nor dread ; 



But, the same couch beneath, 

 Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, 



Tremendous still in death. 



Ah, what was then Llewelyn's pain ! 



For now the truth was clear ; 

 His gallant hound the wolf had slain, 



To save Llewelyn's heir. 

 109 



