30 



FIRST DIVISION OF THE 



On most of the old tombs in the sculpture of which the dog is in- 

 troduced, the greyhound is represented lying at the feet of his master ; 

 and an old Welsh proverb says that a gentleman may be known by his 

 hawk, his horse, and his greyhound. 



The following poetical record of the fidelity, prowess, and ill-fate of 

 G61ert, the favourite greyhound of Llewellyn Prince of Wales, and son- 

 in-law to King John, will be read with interest : 



The spearman heard the bugle sound 

 And cheerly smiled the morn, 



And many a brach and many a hound 

 Obeyed Llewellyn's horn. 



And still he blew a louder blast, 



And gave a louder cheer, 

 " Come, Gelert ! why art thou the last 



Llewellyn's horn to hear ?" 



" Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam ? 



The flower of all his race ! 

 So true, so brave ; a lamb at home, 



A lion in the chace ?" 



'T was only at Llewellyn's board 



The faithful Gelert fed, 

 He watched, he served, he cheered his 



lord, 

 And sentinel'd his bed. 



In sooth he was a peerless hound, 



The gift of royal John ; 

 But now no Gelert could be found, 



And all the chace rode on. 



And now as over rocks and dells 



The gallant eludings rise, 

 All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells 



With many mingled cries. 



That day Llewellyn little loved 



The chace of hart or hare ; 

 And scant and small the booty proved, 



For Gelert was not there. 



Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied. 



When near the portal seat 

 His truant Gelert he espied, 



Bounding his lord to greet. 



But when he gained the castle-door 



Aghast the chieftain stood ; 

 The hound was smeared with gouts of 

 gore 



His lips and fangs ran blood. 



Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise : 



Unused such looks to meet, 

 His favourite check'd his joyful guise 



And crouched and licked his feet. 



Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd, 



And on went Gelert too ; 

 And still wherever his eyes he cast, 



Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view. 



Overturned his infant's bed he found, 

 The blood-stained covert rent ; 



And all around the walls and ground, 

 With recent blood besprent. 



He called his child no voice replied 

 He searched with terror wild : 



Blood ! blood ! he found on every side, 

 But nowhere found the child. 



' Hellhound ! by thee my child's de- 

 voured !' 



The frantic father cried ; 

 And to the hilt his vengeful sword 



He plunged in Gelert's side. 



His suppliant, as to earth he fell, 



No pity could impart ; 

 But still his Gelert's dying yell 



Passed heavy o'er his heart. 



Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, 

 Some slumberer wakened nigh : 



What words the parent's joy can tell 

 To hear his infant cry ! 



Concealed beneath a mangled heap 

 His hurried search had missed, 



All glowing from his rosy sleep, 

 His cherub boy he kissed. 



Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread 

 But the same couch beneath 



Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead, 

 Tremendous still in death. 



Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain I 

 For now the truth was clear : 



The gallant hound the wolf had slain, 

 To save Llewellyn's heir. 



Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's wo : 



" Best of thy kind, adieu ! 

 The frantic deed which laid thee low, 



This heart shall ever rue." 



And now a gallant tomb they raise, 

 With costly sculpture decked ; 



And marbles, storied with his praise, 

 Poor Gelert's bones protect. 



Here never could the spearman pass, 



Or forester, unmoved ; 

 Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass 



Llewllyn's sorrow proved. 



And here he hung his horn and spear ; 



And oft, as evening fell, 

 In fancy's piercing sounds would hear 



Poor Gelert's dying yell ! 



