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THE POEM OF GERLERT


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just an amazing poem I think of Prince Llewellyn's mythical welsh hound Gelert Ihope you enjoy 8). bring a tear to a glass eye and I think its sums up a working dog.Some of you might of heard it before but for those who haven't hope you enjoy

STOATY

 

GELERT

William Robert Spencer

 

The spearmen heard the bugle sound,

And cheerily smiled the morn;

And many a brach, and many a hound

Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a lustier cheer,

"Come, Gelert, come, wert never last

Llewellyn's horn to hear.

 

"O where does faithful Gelert roam

The flower of all his race;

So true, so brave - a lamb at home,

A lion in the chase?"

 

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.

 

That day Llewellyn little loved

The chase of hart and 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 gained the castle-door,

Aghast the chieftain stood;

The hound all o'er was smeared with gore;

His lips, his fangs, ran blood.

 

Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise;

Unused such looks to meet,

His favourite checked his joyful guise,

And crouched, and licked his feet.

 

Onward, in haste, Llewellyn passed,

And on went Gelert too;

And still, where'er his eyes he cast,

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

 

Overturned his infant's bed he found,

With blood-stained covert 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.

 

"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured,"

The frantic father cried;

And to the hilt his vengeful sword

He plunged in Gelert's side.

 

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,

Some slumberer wakened nigh;

What words the parent's joy could tell

To hear his infant's cry!

 

Concealed beneath a tumbled heap

His hurried search had missed,

All glowing from his rosy sleep

The cherub boy he kissed.

 

No hurt 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 Llewellyn's pain!

For now the truth was clear;

His gallant hound the wolf had slain

To save Llewellyn's heir.

Edited by stoaty
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only had my photo taken on gelert,s grave a few weeks ago,when we where up snowdonia judging a show.very harsh landscape, steep and very rocky, tough hunting i bet, but looking at the landscape you can really go back and imagine wolves and bears roaming the valleys.

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