The Amazing Adventures of Archibald Esq.
William Robert Spencer: Llewellyn and His Dog
This poem by William Robert Spencer tells the tragic tale of a Welshman’s noble hound. The tale is much the same as the story of Saint Guinefort, a sainted French greyhound – previously reported on by yours truly in my ’sainted dogs’ phase.
Spencer’s poem was published as part of a children’s literature compilition entitled ‘Childhood’s Favorites and Fairy Stories, originally published as a series in the 1920s — now published on-line by the Gutenberg Project.
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheer’ly smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound,
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?
So true, so brave—a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase.”
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 the 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;
Unused such looks to meet,
His fav’rite checked his joyful guise,
And crouched, and licked his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn passed
(And on went Gelert too),
And still, where’er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood gouts shocked his view!
O’erturned his infant’s bed he found,
The blood-stained cover rent;
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He called his child—no voice replied;
He searched with terror wild;
Blood! blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child!
“Hell-hound! by thee my child’s devoured!”
The frantic father cried;
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plunged in Gelert’s side.
His suppliant, as to earth he fell,
No pity could impart;
But still his Gelert’s dying yell
Passed heavy o’er his heart.
Aroused by Gelert’s dying yell,
Some slumberer wakened nigh;
What words the parent’s joy can tell,
To hear his infant cry!
Concealed 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 all Llewellyn’s woe;
“Best of thy kind, adieu!
The frantic deed which laid thee low
This heart shall ever rue!”
William Robert Spencer was a Georgian poet who in his time was friends with Pitt, Fox, and Sheridan, and admired for his wit and graces of society. Sadly he died in poverty in Paris in 1834.
In a guide-book, published in Portmadoc in 1899 and entitled Bedd Gelert: Its Facts, Fairies and Folklore, the author Mr. D.E. Jenkins tells another story, founded on local research. It is that in the year 1793, a certain David Pritchard came north from South Wales to Bedd Gelert to take over the Royal Goat Hotel.
This more cynical take on the local Welsh legend has it that the new innkeeper installed the gravestone and wanted to attract custom by relying on the local legend. Apparently it was at the Royal Goat Hotel that the story of Gelert was told to William Robert Spencer.
And now a gallant tomb they raised,
With costly sculpture decked;
And marbles storied with his praise
Poor Gelert’s bones protect.
Here never could the spearmen pass,
Or forester, unmoved,
Here oft the tear-besprinkled 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.
A poem by William Robert Spencer
SuperWoof to Gelert … even though he is a hound who came to a bad end!
Awoof! Archie
Posted 11 Jun 08
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©2008 Roleta Archibald, Awoof!™