196 TRADITION OF GELERT. 



Meantime, with noses on the ground, 



In silence through the glen, 

 The pack move on ; the leading hound 



Now marks the scent, and then 

 Gives tongue ; now bursts the joyous cry, 

 The hunter's glorious minstrelsy ! 



Along Snowdonia's gentler sweep 



Awhile at ease they run ; 

 Now clamber up the rugged steep, 



Just kindling in the sun ; 

 And now they dash into the hollow, 

 Where neither man nor horse can follow. 



Again rejoin'd, the lengthen'd train 



Like magic lantern pass, 

 In momentary shadowy chain, 



O'er thy blue lake, Llynglas ! 

 With nostrils wide, nerve, joint, and sinew strain'd, 

 Panting with toil, the high red ridge is gain'd. 



Here, on the dizzy height, they pause 



To catch the fresh-blown air ; 

 Terrific nature overawes 



The boldest rider there. 

 From either hand a pebble hurl'd, 

 Would plunge into the lower world : 



'Tis but another step to dare 



Eryri's * loftiest peak 

 " Press on, my steed, the hounds are there ! " 



So did the chieftain speak. 

 His well-tried charger soon the point has won ; 

 Llewellyn waves his cap the chase is done. 



* The " Eagle's Craig ;" the name for Snowdon. 



