Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
VI. Animate NatureBeth Gêlert
William Robert Spencer (17701834)T
And cheerily smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Obeyed Llewellyn’s horn.
And gave a lustier cheer,
“Come, Gêlert, come, wert never last
Llewellyn’s horn to hear.
The flower of all his race;
So true, so brave,—a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase?”
The gift of royal John;
But now no Gêlert could be found,
And all the chase rode on.
The chase of hart and hare;
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gêlert was not there.
When, near the portal seat,
His truant Gêlert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound all o’er was smeared with gore;
His lips, his fangs, ran blood.
Unused such looks to meet,
His favorite checked his joyful guise,
And crouched, and licked his feet.
And on went Gêlert too;
And still, where’er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.
With blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He searched with terror wild;
Blood, blood he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child.
The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gêlert’s side.
Some slumberer wakened nigh:
What words the parent’s joy could tell
To hear his infant’s cry!
His hurried search had missed,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
The cherub boy he kissed.
But, the same couch beneath,
Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead,
Tremendous still in death.
For now the truth was clear;
His gallant hound the wolf had slain
To save Llewellyn’s heir.