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 'Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam; The flower of all his race! So true, so brave, a lamb at home— a lion in the chase!'

'Twas only at Llewellyn's board, the faithful Gelert fed; He watch'd, he serv'd, he cheer'd his lord, and sentinel'd 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.

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 his 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,

Unus'd such looks to meet;

His favourite checked his joyful guise,

And crouched and licked his feet.