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 Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap, his hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, his cherub boy he kissed!

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 Llewellyn's woe: best of thy kind adieu! The frantic deed which laid the low, this heart shall ever rue!

And now a gallant tomb they raise, with costly sculpture decked; And marbles, storied with his praise, poor Gelert's bones protect.

And hear he hung his horn and spear; and oft as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear poor Gelert's dying yell.

Spencer.

Chief in silence strode before, And reached the torrent's sounding shore, Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks,