14
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 adicu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low,
'This heart shall ever rue!'
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture decked;
And marbles, storied with his praise,
Poor Gelerts bones protect.
Here never could the spearmen pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
Here oft the tear-besprikled 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!
Spencer.
FITZ-JAMES & RHODERICK DHU.
The Chief in silence strode bcfore,
And reached that torrent's sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the plain, and ccaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Rome, the Empress of the World,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurled,
And hcre his course the Chieftain staid,
Thrcw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said:—
