LLEWELLYN.
The joy was almost more than man might bear!
And still my thoughts are lost in wild amaze—
The child unhurt—this blood—the hound—in troth,
The riddle passes my poor wits.
The joy was almost more than man might bear!
And still my thoughts are lost in wild amaze—
The child unhurt—this blood—the hound—in troth,
The riddle passes my poor wits.