200 TRADITION OF GELERT. 



In sooth, he was a peerless hound, 



The gift of royal John ; 

 But now no Gelert could be found, 



And all the chase rode on. 



And now, as o'er the rocks and dells 



The gallant chidings rise, 

 All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells 



The many-mingled cries. 



That day Llewelyn little loved 



The chase of hart or hare ; 

 And scant and small the booty proved ; 



For Gelert was not there. 



Unpleased, Llewelyn homeward hied ; 



When, near the portal seat, 

 His truant Gelert he espied, 



Bounding his lord to greet. 



But, when he gain'd his castle door, 



Aghast the chieftain stood; 

 The hound all o'er was smear'd with gore 



His lips, his fangs ran blood. 



Llewelyn gazed with fierce surprise, 



Unused such looks to meet ; 

 His favourite check'd his joyful guise, 



And crouch'd, and lick'd his feet. 



Onward, in haste, Llewelyn past, 



And on went Gelert too ; 

 And still, where'er his eyes he cast, 



Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view* 



