’Twas only at Llewellyn’s board
The faithful Gelert fed;
He watch’d, he served, he cheer’d his lord,
And sentinel’d his bed.
In sooth he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John; [46]
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 loved
The chase of hart or hare,
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
When near the royal seat,
His truant Gelert be espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gain’d his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;
The bound was smear’d 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 crouch’d and lick’d his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn pass’d,
And on went Gelert too,
And still where’er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood gouts shock’d his view.
O’erturn’d 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 no where found the child!