LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG. I'd brave the eagle's tow'ring wing, In vain it tried to soar away: How oft my foolish heart inclines T' oppose that lot which Heav'n assigns! For something more, or something higher! A fall more dreadful had been mine. NEWTON. Llewellyn and his Dog. THE spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerly smil❜d the morn; And many a brach* and many a hound Attend Llewellyn's horn. * A species of dog which hunts by scent. And still he blew a louder blast, 66 And gave a louder cheer, 'Come, Gelert, why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear? O where does faithful Gelert roam ? So true, so brave—a lamb at home, That day Llewellyn little loved And scant and small the booty proved, Unpleas'd Llewellyn homeward hied, But when he gain'd the castle-door, The hound was smear'd with gouts of gore, Llewellyn gaz'd with wild surprise, His favourite check'd his joyful guise, Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd, O'erturned his infant's bed he found, He call'd his child-no voice replied; "Hell-hound! by thee my child's devour'd!" The frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword His suppliant, as to earth he fell, Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer waken'd nigh: What words the parent's joy can tell Conceal'd beneath a mangled heap, His hurried search had miss'd; All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kiss'd! Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread: Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead- Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain! Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe- The frantic deed which laid thee low And now a gallant tomb they raise, Here never could the spearman pass, Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass 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. HON. W. SPENCER. Prospect of Eton College. YE distant spires, ye antique tow'rs, And ye, that from the stately brow Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey — Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow'rs among Wanders the hoary Thames along His silver-winding way: Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Ah, fields belov'd in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow; * Henry VI., founder of the college. |