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 loved The chase of hart and hare : And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.
Unpleased Llewelyn homeward hied, When near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet.
But, when he gained his castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound all o'er was smear'd with gore; His lips, his fangs, ran blood.
Llewelyn gazed with fierce surprise ; Unused such looks to meet,
His favourite check'd his joyful guise, And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.
Onward, in haste, Llewelyn pass'd, And on went Gelert too;
And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view.
O'erturned his infant's bed he found, With blood-stain'd covert rent; And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent.
He called his child—no voice replied— He search'd with terror wild;
Blood, blood he found on every side, But nowhere found his child.
"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devour'd," The frantic father cried ; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert'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.
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer waken'd nigh: What words the parent's joy can tell To hear his infant's cry!
Conceal'd beneath a tumbled heap His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, The cherub boy he kiss'd.
Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread, But, the same 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'd; And marbles storied with his praise Poor Gelert's bones protect.
There, never could the spearman pass, Or forester unmoved;
There, oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewelyn's sorrow proved.
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."
FRIENDLY MEETING OF FRENCH AND ENGLISH FLEETS AT CHERBOURG.
TWO giants oft, in olden times,
Essayed their strength in quarrel,
And wrestled till their sinews cracked, To win the victor's laurel; "And I alone," each giant said, As blows fell fast and faster, "Alone, with none to doubt my rule, Of ocean will be master."
With mighty strokes, as giants strike, Nor wounds nor peril heeding, The warriors fought, till wearied quite, They side by side lay bleeding: And still the mighty sea rolled on, And neither owned as master; But o'er the waves came healing balm To soothe the sad disaster.
'Twas long ago, and since those days The giants have waxed stronger, But live in peace, as neighbours should, And wish for war no longer.
They've lightly laid their weapons down, Yet keep them in fit order,
To show the world how strong they are Should license breed disorder.
And armed from top to toe in steel, With gallant helm and feather, They sometimes join in knightly clasp Their mailed hands together;
And tell their children how they strove, And what the struggle cost them; What wounds they had-what dear delights And mutual good were lost them.
England and France together joined, Gay warriors in alliance,
Their armour decked with garlands bright, To Evil bid defiance;
And iron clad, 'neath festive robes,
Are each to each a brother,
For each one knows how great and goodAnd yet how strong-the other.
HE head is stately, calm, and wise, And bears a princely part;
And down below in secret lies The warm, impulsive heart.
The lordly head that sits above, The heart that beats below, Their several office plainly prove, Their true relation show.
The head erect, serene, and cool, Endowed with Reason's art, Was set aloft to guide and rule The throbbing wayward heart.
And from the head, as from the higher, Comes every glorious thought; And in the heart's transforming fire All noble deeds are wrought.
Yet each is best when both unite To make the man complete;
What were the heat without the light?
The light without the heat?
THE RETURN OF THE ADMIRAL.
HOW gallantly, how merrily,
We ride along the sea!
The morning is all sunshine; The wind is blowing free. The billows are all sparkling And bounding in the light,
Like creatures in whose sunny veins The blood is running bright.
All nature knows our triumph, Strange birds about us sweep; Strange things come up and look at us, The master of the deep.
In our wake, like any servant, Follows ever the bold shark; Oh, proud must be our Admiral Óf such a bonny barque !
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