21 In sooth, he was a peerless hound, The gift of royal John ; But now no Gelert could be found, And all the chase rode on. An 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 portal seat, His truant, Gelert, he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gain'd his castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound 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.
