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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