TRADITION OF GELERT. 201 



O'erturn'd his infant's bed he found, 



With blood-stain'd covert rent, 

 And all around the walls and ground 



With recent blood besprent. 



He call'd his child no voice replied ; 



He search'd with terror wild ; 

 Blood, blood he found on every side, 



But nowhere found his child. 



: Hellhound ! my child's by thee devour'd !' 



The frantic father cried, 

 And to the hilt the vengeful sword 

 He plunged 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. 



Aroused 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 mangled heap, 



His hurried search had miss'd ; 

 All glowing from his rosy sleep 



The cherub boy he kiss'd. 



Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread ; 



But the same couch beneath 

 Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, 



Tremendous still in death. 



