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And att his dry and boney heele
No spur was left to be;
The scythe and hour glasse see.
And charnel fires outbreathe;
The mayde from underneathe.
And shrekes from vaults arose,
Her living eyes unclose.
Through myste and moonlight dreare,
And hollowe inn her eare: • Be patient, though thyne herte should breke,
Arrayne not Heven's decree; Thou nowe art of thie bodie refte, Thie soule forgiven bee!'
THE GRAVE OF THE GREYHOUND.
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn,
Obey'd Llewellyn's horn. • The story of this ballad is traditionary in a village at the foot of Snowdon, where Llewelyn the Great had a house.
And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a lustier cheer,
Llewelyn's horn to hear,
The flower of all his race?
A lion in the chase!'
'Twas only at Llewelyn's board
The faithful Gêlert fed;
And sentinel'd his bed.
The gift of royal John;
And all the chase rode on.
The gallant chidings rise,
The many mingled cries!
The chase of hart or hare,
For Gêlert was not there.
When, near the portal seat,
Bounding his lord to greet,
The greyhound, named Gelert, was given to him by his father in law, King John, in the year 1205, and the place to this day is called Beth Gelert, or the Grave of Gelert.
But when he gain'd his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood : * The hound all o'er was smear'd with gore;
His lips, his fangs ran blood.
Unused such looks to meet,
And crouch'd, and lick'd his feet.
And on went Gêlert too,
Fresh blood-gouts shock'd his view.
With blood-stain'd covert rent;
With recent blood besprent.
He search'd with terror wild;
But no where found his child. • Hell hound! my child by thee's devour'd!'
The frantic father cried;
He plunged in Gelert's side.
No pity could impart;
Pass'd heavy o'er his heart.
Some slumberer waken'd nigh : What words the parent's joy could tell
To hear his infant's cry!
Conceal'd beneath a tumbled heap
His hurried search had miss'd:
The cherub boy he kiss'd.
But the same couch beneath
Tremendous still in death.
For now the truth was clear,
To save Llewelyn's heir.
* Best of thy kind, adieu!
This heart shall ever rue.'
With costly sculpture deck'd;
Poor Gelert's bones protect.
Or forester, unmoved;
Llewelyn's sorrow proved.
And there, as evening fell,
Poor Gelert's dying yell.
And cease the storm to brave,
ALWYN AND RENA.
Ask you, why round yon hallow'd grave
The myrtle and the laurel bloom? There sleep the lovely and the brave,
0, drop a tear upon their tomb! Ah! cease, my love, these fond alarms!'
For war prepared, young Alwyn said, • For I must quit my Rena's charms,
My bleeding country asks my aid.' “Yes, I will hush this struggling sigh,
Yes, I will check these flowing tears, A smile shall brighten in my eye,
My bosom shall dispel its fears.' • You try indeed to force a smile,
Yet sorrow's drops bedew your cheek;
Your tears will scarcely let you speak,'
She bids you go to fields of death;
Go, and return with Victory's wreath.' A thrilling blast the trumpet blew,
The milk white courser paw'd the ground; A mix'd delight young Alwyn knew,
But Rena shudder'd at the sound : Yet strove to hide the rising fears
Which now in quicker throbbings swell, And faintly smiling through her tears
She falter'd out a long farewell!