beth gelert poem

''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! This poem has not been translated into any other language yet. 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! There is no comment submitted by members.. © Poems are the property of their respective owners. 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. 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. 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 or email "admin [at] poetrynook [dot] com"). '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!

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.

by thee my child's devoured!' William Robert Spencer (1770-1834). Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes. Copyrighted poems are the property of the copyright holders. 'Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? Blood!

All poems are shown free of charge for educational purposes only in accordance with fair use guidelines. THE spearman heard the bugle sound And cheerly smiled the mornAnd many a brach and many a hound. 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. The poem was widely copied and published in a variety of publications and a Welsh translation was published in 1859 (see below). The frantic father cried;And to the hilt, his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side! Beth Gelert, or the Grave of the Greyhound. 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. The flower of all his race!


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