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 over rocks and dells
The gallant chidings rise.
All Snowdon’s craggy chaos yells,
With many mingled cries.
That day Llewellyn little lov’d
The chase of hart or hare,
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.
Unpleas’d Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding, his lord to greet.
But when he gain’d the Castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood—
The hound was smear’d with gouts of gore
His lips and fangs ran blood!
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise;
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 Llewellyn past,
And on went Gelert too;
And still where’er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood gouts shock’d his view.
O’erturned his infant’s bed he found,
The 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 the child;
“Hell-hound, by thee my child’s devour’d,”
The frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gelert’s side.