Original Poeby, 
[Aiig. 1, 
Oh where does faiihful Gelert rosm^ 
The flow’r of all his race ?■ 
So truCj so brave ; a Iamb at home, 
A lion in the chace !” 
> 
Twas only at Llewelyn’s board 
The faithful Gelert fed ; 
He watch’d, he serv’d, he cheer’d, his lord, 
And sentinel’d his bed. 
In sooth he was a peerless hound. 
The gift of royal John j 
But now no Gelert could be found. 
And all the chace 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 lov’d 
The chace of hart or hare, 
And scant and small the booty prov’d. 
For Gelert was not there. 
Unpleas’d Llewelyn homeward hiedj 
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 gaz’d with fierce surprize. 
Unus’d such looks to meet, 
His fav’rite check’d his joyful guise. 
And crouch’d and lick’d his feet. 
Onward in haste Llevvelyn past, 
And on went Gelert too. 
And still, where’er bis eyes he cast, 
Fresh bloud-gouts shock’d his view. 
O’erturn’d his infant’s bed he found, - 
With bloud-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 j 
Blood, blood he found on ev’ry side. 
But no where found his child. 
Hell-hound! my child by thee’sdevour’d,” 
The frantic father cried: ' 
And to the hilt his vengeful sword 
He plung’d in Gelerc’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. 
Arous’d 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 tumbled heap, 
H is hurried search had miss’d : 
All glowing from his rosy sleep. 
The cherub boy he kiss’d. 
Norscath ’sad he, nor harm, nor dread. 
But the Sime couch beneath 
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead. 
Tremendous still in death. 
Ah, what was then Llewelyn’s pain } 
For now the truth was clear, 
His gallant hound the wolf had slain. 
To save Llewelyn’s heir. 
Vain, vain was all Llewelyn’s woe: 
Best of thy kind, adieu ! 
The frantic blow which laid thee low. 
This heart shall ever rue.” 
And now a gallant tomb they raise. 
With costly sculpture deck’c ; 
And marbles storied with his praise. 
Poor Gelert’s bones protect. 
I'here never could the spearman pass, 
Or forester, unmov’d; 
There oft the tear-besprinkled grass 
Llewelyn’s sorrow prov’d. 
And there he hung his horn and spear, 
And there, as evening fell, 
In fancy’s ear he oft would hear 
Poor Gelert’s dying yell. 
And till great Snowdon’s rocks grow old. 
And cease the storm to brave, 
The consecrated spot shall hold 
The name of “ Gelert’s Grave.” 
Dolymelynllynj August 11, 1800. 
THE IRISH HARPING BOY. 
^NE clear night in autumn, when Cynthia’s 
bright vest 
O’er the surge-heaving waters of Shannon 
gleam’d pale. 
Young Phelim sat down on the cold banks,to 
rest. 
And thus to his rude harp attun’d his sad 
tale: 
Ah now hapless Phelim, tir’d, hungry, and 
poor. 
Where,where shall thy footsteps a resting- 
place find, 
Doom’d to wander alone, misery’s pangs to 
endure,. 
Neglected by heaven and scorn’d by man¬ 
kind ? 
Once on those blue mountains when I was a 
child, 
I bounded for joy and was proud of my lot. 
For there dwelt my father, the lord of the 
wild. 
With his wide-wandering flock and his clod- 
roofed cot. 
I liv’d with him alone, for my mother was 
dead. 
He taught my weak hands his long crook 
soon to hold. 
To collect the white sheep when too far they 
vvere spread. 
And at evening to drive them into the 
W’arm fold. 
He 
