24
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 wo:
'Best of thy kind adieu!
The frantic deed 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.
Here never could the spearmen pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass
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!
FINIS.
