When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
      The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;
    With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
      And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: 
    Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;
    In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming,
    Far adown the long isle the sacred music is streaming,
      Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

    But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
      To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,
    When, ’wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature,
      And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
    And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
    Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,
    With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,
      In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.

WALTER SCOTT.

* * * * *

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

    The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
      And cheerily 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 drops of gore;
      His lips and fangs ran blood.

    Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
      Unused such looks to meet;
    His favorite 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-drops 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 the child!

    “Monster, 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.