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The spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn,
Attend Llewellyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a louder cheer; “ Come Gelert! why art thou the last
Llewellyn's horn to hear ?
“Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam ?
The flower of all his race !
A lion in the chase!”
That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare,
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 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;
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'erturn'd his infant's bed he found,
The blood-stain'd cover rent,
With recent blood besprent.
He call'd his child—no voice replied;
He search'd-with terror wild ;
But nowhere found the child !
“ Hell-hound! by thee my child's devoured !"
The frantic father cried,
He plunged in Gelert's side!
His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart;
Passed 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 kissed !
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread
But the same couch beneath,
Tremendous still in death!
Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain,
For now the truth was clear;
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 marbles storied with his praise,
Poor Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman pass,
Or forester, unmoved;
Llewellyn's sorrow proved.
And here he hung his horn and spear,
And oft, as evening fell,
SPENCER. Let this pathetic and sorrowful poem teach you how fearful and wrong it is to act from passion.
How many and dreadful are the consequences of passion. Had Llewellyn calmed his temper, and not have acted from the passion of the moment, his dog, as well as his child, would have been preserved to him. May you learn from this never to act in a passion.
THE STORMY PETREL.
“A thousand miles from land are we,
BARRY CORNWALL. The Stormy Petrel is a small bird, and distributed over every portion of the ocean. It is thus described by a writer on Natural History. “The flight of the Petrel is very swift, it wheels round the labouring ship descends into the trough of the waves, and mounts over their curling crests, secure amidst the strife of waters; often with wings expanded is it seen to stand, as it were, on the summit of the billow and dip its bill into the water, no doubt in order to pick up some small animal; and again, on vigorous wings it pursues its way." It follows the course of a ship on account of the refuse which is thrown from time to time overboard. The Sailors hold this bird in great awe, and never on any account destroy one. The body is so oily that the inhabitants of the Ferroe and other islands sometimes convert it into a lamp by drawing a wick of cotton through the body, which will burn till the oil be exhausted.
Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
Thou art walking the billows and ocean smiles,
I looked on the peasant's lowly cot,
MRS. HEMANS. (1) Arcades—a number of arches in succession.--(2) Quiveringtrembling.-(3) Fire-flies—a species of fly found in eastern countries, which like the glow-worm in this country, emits, or throws out light. (4) Lattice--a window made of grate-work---(5) Hues—tints.