The Hon. WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER (1770-1834). His poems, though written in a simple and unaffected style, are marked by deep and genuine pathos.

20

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 portal-seat
His truant Gelert he espied,*

Bounding his lord to greet.*

25 But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood;

30

*

*

;

*

Hied, made haste home.

The hound was smeared with gouts of gore;

His lips and fangs * ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet;

His favourite checked his joyful guise,
And crouched * and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed,
And on went Gelert too;

35 And still, where'er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

40

45

50

*

"Monster! by thee my child's devoured!"*
The frantic father cried;

And to the hilt* his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gelert's side.

His suppliant,* as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart;

But still his Gelert's dying yell,*
Passed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,

Some slumberer wakened nigh;

55 What words the parent's joy can tell To hear his infant cry!

RALPH WALDO EMERSON (1803-1882) is a distinguished essayist and journalist, and was born at Boston, U.S. In style and manner he greatly resembles Carlyle. This poem is taken from his essays on Society and Solitude.

Bard, a poet and

singer of the ancient Celts.

MEN have done brave deeds,

And bards have sung them well:

I of good George Nidiver

Now the tale will tell.

In Californian* mountains

A hunter bold was he:

Keen* his eye and sure his aim *
As any you should see.

A little Indian * boy

Follow'd him everywhere,
Eager to share the hunter's joy,
The hunter's meal to share.

And when the bird or deer
Fell by the hunter's skill,*
The boy was always near

To help with right good-will.

One day as through the cleft *
Between two mountains steep,
Shut in both right and left,
Their questing* way they keep,
They see two grizzly bears,

With hunger fierce and fell,

*

Rush at them unawares*

Right down the narrow dell.*

The boy turn'd round with screams,
And ran with terror wild ;
One of the pair of savage beasts
Pursued the shrieking * child.

The hunter raised his gun,

He knew one charge was all,

And through the boy's pursuing * foe*
He sent his only ball.

The other on George Nidiver
Came on with dreadful pace :

The hunter stood unarm❜d,

And met him face to face.

I say unarm'd he stood.

Against those frightful paws
The rifle butt* or club of wood

Could stand no more than straws.

George Nidiver stood still

And look'd him in the face ;
The wild beast stopp'd amazed,*
Then came with slackening* pace.

California, a mountainous country of North America, on the Pacific coast. Keen, sharp or quick. Aim, to point or level a gun at some particular object.

Indian, name given to the ancient inhabitants of America, Eager, having an earnest desire, being anxious.

Skill, cleverness.

Cleft, a narrow rocky passage between mountains or hills.

Questing, searching, looking for.

Fell, cruel, wicked.

Unawares, suddenly, unexpectedly.

Dell, a low place between two hills, as it were, separating them.

Shrieking, screaming, crying out very loudly.

Pursuing, running after.

Foe, the person or thing one is fighting with, an enemy.

Rifle butt, the wooden stock of a gun.

Amazed, astonished, surprised. Slackening, becoming slower and slower.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER.*—Byron.

LORD BYRON (1788-1824) was born in London, and died at Missolonghi in Greece, whither he had gone to aid in the struggle for Grecian independence, He was one of the greatest English poets, but it is much to be regretted that he degraded his genius in his last poem. Chief poems: English Bards and Scotch Reviewers; Childe Harold, one of the greatest poems of the century; The Prisoner of Chillon; Manfred; and Don Juan.

Sire, father.

Vow, a solemn promise.

Mourning, sorrowing for the dead.

Ere, before.

Soothes, comforts.

And the voice of my mourning* is o'er,
And the mountains behold me no more:
If the hand that I love lay me low,
There cannot be pain in the blow :

And of this, O my father! be sure-
That the blood of thy child is as pure

*

As the blessing I beg ere it flow,

And the last thought that soothes * me below.

5

ΙΟ

Jephtha, one of the judges of Israel. Before going to battle with the Ammonites he swore that on his return, if he gained the victory, he would offer in sacrifice the first thing he met coming out of his house-it happened to be his own daughter.