But when he gain'd the castle-door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;
The hound was smear'd with gouts of gore,
His lips and fangs ran blood!
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet;
His favourite check'd his joyful guise,
And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn 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,
The bloon-stain'd cover rent;
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He call'd his child-no voice replied;
He search'd with terror wild:
Blood! blood! he found on ev'ry side,
But nowhere found the child!
"Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured !" The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gelert's side!
His suppliant, as to earth 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 cry!
Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap,
His hurried search had miss'd,
All glowing from his rosy sleep,
His cherub boy he kiss'd!
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! what was then Llewellyn's pain!
For now the truth was clear-
The gallant 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."
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture deck'd;
And marble, storied with his praise,
Doth 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.
My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,
Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old:
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I commune day by day.
With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,
My cheeks have often been bedew'd
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the Dead, with them
I live in long-past years,
Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears;
And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead; anon
My place will with them be;
And I with them shall travel on
Through all futurity;
Yet leaving here a name, I trust
That will not perish in the dust.
KING HENRY V. AND THE HERMIT OF DREUX.
HE pass'd unquestion'd through the camp,
Their heads the soldiers bent
In silent reverence, or begg'd
A blessing as he went;
And so the Hermit pass'd along,
And reach'd the royal tent.
King Henry sat in his tent alone,
The map before him lay:
Fresh conquests he was planning there
To grace the future day.
King Henry lifted up his eyes
The intruder to behold;
With reverence he the Hermit saw,
For the holy man was old;
His look was gentle as a saint's,
And yet his eye was bold.
Repent thee, Henry, of the wrongs
Which thou hast done this land!
O, king, repent in time; for know
The judgment is at hand.
I have past forty years of peace
Beside the river Blaise ;
But what a weight of woe hast thou
Laid on my latter days!
I used to see along the stream
The white sail sailing down,
That wafted food in better times
To yonder peaceful town.
Henry, I never now behold
The white sail sailing down:
Famine, Disease, and Death, and thou,
Destroy the wretched town.
I used to hear the traveller's voice,
As here he pass'd along;
Or maiden as she loiter'd home,
Singing her even-song.
No traveller's voice may now be heard,—
In fear he hastens by;
But I have heard the village maid
In vain for succour cry.
I used to see the youths row down,
And watch the dripping oar,
As pleasantly their viol's tones,
Came soften'd to the shore.
King Henry, many a blacken'd corpse
I now see floating down;
Thou bloody man, repent in time,
And leave this leaguer'd town."
"I shall go on," King Henry cried,
66 And conquer this good land;
Sees't thou not, Hermit, that the Lord
Hath given it to my hand?”
The Hermit heard King Henry speak,
And angrily look'd down;
His face was gentle, and for that
More solemn was his frown.
"What if no miracle from Heaven
The murderer's arm control;
for that the weight of blood Lies lighter on his soul?
Thou conqueror king, repent in time,
Or dread the coming woe!
For, Henry, thou hast heard the threat,
And soon shalt feel the blow!"
King Henry forced a careless smile,
As the Hermit went his way:
But Henry soon remember'd him,
Upon his dying day.
CROMWELL, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries: but thou hast forc'd me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell,
And,-when I am forgotten, as I shall be ;
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,-say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,—
Found thee a way, out of his wreck to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by't?
Love thyself last cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends, thou aims't at, be thy country's,
Thy God's and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king:
And,-Prythee, lead me in:
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