why art thou the last, Llewellyn's horn to hear? And here he hung his horn and spear, And there, as evening fell, In fancy's ear he oft would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell. Page Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. The flower of all his race! All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge... Recite this poem (upload your own video or voice file). Poem, 1800, Beth-Gêlert, by W. R. Spencer William Robert Spencer (1769-1834) wrote the following ballad in 1800 while he was staying at Dolymelynllyn, a property owned by William Madocks near Tremadoc. So true, so brave — a lamb at home, A lion in the chase!" 'And now a gallant tomb they raise, With costly sculpture decked;And marbles, storied with his praise, Poor Gelert's bones protect.Here never could the spearman pass, Or forester, unmoved;Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved.And here he hung his horn and spear; And oft, as evening fell,In fancy's piercing sounds would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell! In sooth, he was a peerless hound, Here never could the spearman pass, Or forester, unmoved; Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved. I-IV Poor Gelert's bones protect. by William Robert Spencer. 1876-79. A poem about Gelert The spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn; And many a brach and many a hound, Obeyed Llewelyn's horn. William Robert Spencer and was titled “Beth Gelert, or the Grave of the Greyhound”. ''Twas only at Llewellyn's board The faithful Gelert fed;He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, And sentinelled his bed.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.And 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 gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood;The hound was smeared with gouts of gore, His lips and fangs ran blood.Llewellyn gazed with wild 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 were cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!O'erturned his infant's bed, he found The 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! And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a lustier cheer: "Come, Gelert, come, wert never last Llewelyn's horn to hear- Or, The Grave of the Greyhound The SPEARMEN heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn, And many a brach and many a hound ... All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines. If we have inadvertently included a copyrighted poem that the copyright holder does not wish to be displayed, we will take the poem down within 48 hours upon notification by the owner or the owner's legal representative (please use the contact form at http://www.poetrynook.com/contact or email "admin [at] poetrynook [dot] com"). If we have inadvertently included a copyrighted poem that the copyright holder does not wish to be displayed, we will take the poem down within 48 hours upon notification by the owner or the owner's legal representative (please use the contact form at http://www.poetrynook.com/contact or email "admin [at] poetrynook [dot] com"). THE spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerly smiled the morn;And many a brach, and many a hound, Attend Llewellyn's horn:And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer —'Come, Gelert! All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines. By registering with PoetryNook.Com and adding a poem, you represent that you own the copyright to that poem and are granting PoetryNook.Com permission to publish the poem. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes. It was published in Spencer’s Poems in 1811 on pages 78-86. Copyrighted poems are the property of the copyright holders. —His suppliant, as to earth he fell, No pity could impart;But still his Gelert's dying yell Passed heavy o'er his heart.Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh:What words the parent's joy can tell, To hear his infant cry!Concealed beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had missed,All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub-boy he kissed!Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread — But, the same couch beneath,Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead — Tremendous still in death!Ah! from Wild Wales by … Copyrighted poems are the property of the copyright holders. Beth Gêlert. by thee my child's devoured!' Beth Gelert, Or The Grave Of A Greyhound Poem by William Robert Spencer - Poem Hunter. he found on every side, But no where found the child!'Monster! Blood! There is no comment submitted by members.. © Poems are the property of their respective owners. The tale is also alluded to by John Critchley Princein lines 24 to 29 of his poem "North Wales:" "Thou hast not trod with pilgrim foot the ground / Where sleeps the canine martyr of distrust, / Poor Gelert, famed in song, as bra… The frantic father cried;And to the hilt, his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side! 'Twas only at Llewellyn's board The faithful Gelert fed; He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, And sentineled his bed. Beth Gelert, or the Grave of the Greyhound. England: Vols. Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? 'Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? " Come, Gelert, come, wert never last Llewellyn's horn to hear! THE spearman heard the bugle sound And cheerly smiled the mornAnd many a brach and many a hound. By registering with PoetryNook.Com and adding a poem, you represent that you own the copyright to that poem and are granting PoetryNook.Com permission to publish the poem. The flower of all his race!So true, so brave; a lamb at home, A lion in the chase! William Robert Spencer (1770-1834). The poem was widely copied and published in a variety of publications and a Welsh translation was published in 1859 (see below). All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines. what was then Llewellyn's pain, For now the truth was clear:The gallant's hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe; 'Best of thy kind, adieu!The frantic deed, which laid thee low, This heart shall ever rue! This poem has not been translated into any other language yet. This story formed the basis for several English poems, among which are "Beth Gêlert; or, the Grave of the Greyhound" by William Robert Spencer written around 1800; "Beth Gelert" by Richard Henry Horne; "Gelert" by Francis Orray Ticknor and the dramatic poem "Llewellyn" by Walter Richard Cassels.
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