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Of no man's presence Isaac felt afraid;
At no man's question Isaac looked dismay'd:
Shame knew him not, he dreaded no disgrace;
Truth, simple truth, was written in his face:
Yet while the serious thought his soul approved,
Cheerful he seemd, and gentleness he loved;
To bliss domestic he his heart resign'd,
And with the firmest had the fondest mind:
Were others joyful, he look'd smiling on,
And gave allowance where he needed none;
Good he refused with future ill to buy,
Nor knew a joy that caused reflection's sigh ;
A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast
No envy stung, no jealousy distress'd;
(Bane of the poor! it wounds their weaker mind,
To miss one favour, which their neighbours find:)
Yet far was he from stoic pride removed ;
He felt humanely, and he warmly loved:
I mark'd his action, when his infant died,
And his old neighbour for offence was tried ;
The still tears, stealing down that furrow'd cheek,
Spoke pity, plainer than the tongue can speak,
If pride were his, t'was not their vulgar pride,
Who, in their base contempt, the great deride ;
Nor pride in learning,—though my clerk agreed,
If fate should call him, Ashford might succeed ;
Nor pride in rustic skill, although we knew
None his superior, and his equals few:-
But if that spirit in his soul had place,
It was the jealous pride that shuns disgrace;
A pride in honest fame, by virtue gain'd,
In sturdy boys to virtuous labours train'd;
Pride in the power that guards his country's coast,
And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast;
Pride in a life that slander's tongue defied, -
In fact a noble passion, misnamed Pride.
He had no party's rage, no sect'ry's whim;
Christian and Countryman was all with him:
True to his church he came; no Sunday shower
Kept him at home in that important hour;
Nor his firm feet could one persuading sect,
By the strong glare of their new light direct;
“On hope, in mine own sober light, I gaze,
But should be blind, and lose it, in your
In times severe, when many a sturdy swain
Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain;
Isaac their wants would soothe, his own would hide,
And feel in that his comfort and his pride.
I feel his absence in the hours of prayer,
And view his seat and sigh for Isaac there:
I see no more those white locks thinly spread
Round the bald polish of that honour'd head;
No more that awful glance on playful wight,
Compell’d to kneel and tremble at the sight,
To fold his fingers, all in dread the while,
Till Mister Ashford soften'd to a smile;
No more that meek and suppliant look in prayer,
Nor the pure faith (to give it force), are there:
But he is blest, and I lament no more
A wise good man contented to be poor.
The spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn,
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Obey'd Llewellyn's horn.
But 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,
66 A lion in the chase!"
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.
Unpleas'd Llewellyn homeward hied;
When, near the postal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gain'd 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 favourite check'd his joyful guise,
And crouch'd and lick'd his feet.
Onward in haste Llewellyn pass'd
And on went Gelert too-
And still, where'er his eyes were cast,
Fresh blood gouts shock'd his view!
O'erturn'd his infant's bed, he found
The blood-stain'd covert rent;
And all around, the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.
He call'd his child, -no voice replied ;
He search'd with terror wild;
Blood! blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child! “Monster! by thee my child's devour'd ! "
The frantic father cried,
And to the hilt his vengeful sword
He plung’d in Gelert's side !
Aroused by Gelert's dying yell,
Some slumb'rer waken'd nigh; What words the parent's joy can tell,
To hear his infant cry! 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-
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 !
6. The frantic deed which laid thee low,
“ This heart shall ever rue! ”
And now a gallant tomb they raise,
With costly sculpture deck'd;
And marbles, storied with his praise,
Poor Gelert's bones protect.
Here never could the spearman 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 ev'ning fell,
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear
Poor Gelert's dying yell!
Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post;
Yet round the world the blade had been
To see whatever could be seen ;-
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before.
Whatever words you chance to drop,
The travell’d fool your mouth will stop-
Sir, if my judgment you'll allow,
“ I've seen, and sure I ought to know.”
So begs you'll pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabian wilds they pass'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,