TRADITION OF GELERT. 195 



What breaks the silence on the hill ? 



What wakes the starting hare ? 

 The rustling copse, the splashing rill, 



The pack's release declare : 

 O'er heath and moss, through moor and brake, 

 Their deep-mouth'd tones the echoes break. 



Llewelyn, on his fiery steed, 



Calls to him every hound ; 

 And all obey the call with speed, 



Save one, which ne'er was found 

 Till now neglectfully to scorn 

 Llewelyn's voice, Llewelyn's horn. 



" Ah ! where is faithful Gelert gone, 



The fleetest of his race ; 

 The high-prized gift of royal John, 



The leader of the chase ; 

 So bold, so staunch, so keenly true ? " 

 Again his horn the monarch blew, 



But Gelert came not. " Oh ! away, 



While yet the dews are sheen, 

 We '11 track the deer, ere shines the day 



Through Glaslyn's valley green 

 On, on ! ere Wyddfa's j- peak is won, 

 Our eye shall greet the rising sun." 



From bracken couch up springs the deer ; 



Behold him stand to listen, 

 Shake his wet flanks, his antlers rear, 



Which yet with dew-drops glisten ; 

 Then, bounding our the vales afar, 

 Vanish like meteoric star. 



f- " The conspicuous; " the highest peak of Snowdon. 



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