Volume Ii Part 14 (1/2)

Onward in haste Llewellyn pa.s.sed (And on went Gelert too), And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood gouts shocked his view.

O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The bloodstained cover rent; And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent.

He called his child--no voice replied; He searched with terror wild; Blood! blood! he found on every side, But nowhere found his child!

”h.e.l.l-hound! 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 Pa.s.sed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell, To hear his infant cry!

Concealed beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kissed!

Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread, But the same couch beneath Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead,-- Tremendous still in death!

Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain!

For now the truth was clear; The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.

Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; ”Best of thy kind, adieu!

The frantic deed which laid thee low This heart shall ever rue!”

And now a gallant tomb they raised, With costly sculpture decked; And marbles storied with his praise Poor Gelert's bones protect.

Here never could the spearman pa.s.s, Or forester, unmoved, Here oft the tear-besprinkled gra.s.s Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And here he hung his horn and spear, And oft, as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear, Poor Gelert's dying yell.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

FIDELITY.

A barking sound the shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts--and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks: And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake of fern; And instantly a dog is seen, Glancing through that covert green.

The dog is not of mountain breed; Its motions, too, are wild and shy; With something, as the shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry: Nor is there anyone in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; What is the creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow; A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand.

There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud-- And mists that spread the flying shroud; And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past; But that enormous barrier holds it fast.

Not free from boding thoughts, a while The shepherd stood; then makes his way O'er rocks and stones, following the dog As quickly as he may; Nor far had gone before he found A human skeleton on the ground; The appalled discoverer with a sigh Looks round, to learn the history.