Children's Literature Part 131

"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam.

The flow'r of all his race, So true, so brave,--a lamb at home, A lion in the chase?"

'Twas only at Llewellyn's board The faithful Gelert fed; He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, And sentineled his bed.

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.

And now, as o'er the rocks and dells The gallant chidings rise, All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells The many-mingled cries!

That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart and 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 his castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound all o'er was smeared with gore; His lips, his fangs, ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise; Unused such looks to meet, His favorite checked his joyful guise, And crouched, and licked his feet.

Onward, in haste, Llewellyn pa.s.sed, And on went Gelert too; And still, where'er his eyes he cast, Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view.

O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The blood-stained covert 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.

"h.e.l.l-hound! my child's by thee devoured,"

The frantic father cried; And to the hilt his vengeful sword He plunged in Gelert's side.

His suppliant looks, as p.r.o.ne he fell, No pity could impart; But still his Gelert's dying yell Pa.s.sed heavy o'er his heart.

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, Some slumberer wakened nigh: What words the parent's joy could tell, To hear his infant's cry!

Concealed beneath a tumbled heap His hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, His cherub boy he kissed.

Nor scathe had he, nor harm, nor dread, But, the same couch beneath, Lay a gaunt wolf, all torn and dead, Tremendous still in death.

Ah! what was then Llewellyn's pain!

For now the truth was clear; His 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 blow which laid thee 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.

There, never could the spearman pa.s.s, Or forester, unmoved; There, oft the tear-besprinkled gra.s.s Llewellyn's sorrow proved.

And there he hung his horn and spear, And there, as evening fell, In fancy's ear he oft would hear Poor Gelert's dying yell.

And, till great Snowdon's rocks grow old, And cease the storm to brave, The consecrated spot shall hold The name of "Gelert's Grave."

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This old ballad is one of the best of the humorous type. Many old stories turn upon some such riddling series of questions, generally three in number, to which unexpected answers come from an unexpected quarter. Of course the questions are intended to be unanswerable. As a matter of fact they are, but a clever person may discover a riddling answer to a riddling question. King John bows, not to a master in knowledge, but to a master in cleverness.

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY

An ancient story I'll tell you anon Of a notable prince, that was called King John; And he ruled England with maine and with might, For he did great wrong and maintein'd little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merrye, Concerning the Abbot of Canterburye; How for his house-keeping and high renowne, They rode poste for him to fair London towne.

An hundred men, the king did heare say, The abbot kept in his house every day; And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I fear thou work'st treason against my crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were knowne, I never spend nothing but what is my owne; And I trust your grace will do me no deere For spending of my owne true-gotten geere."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is highe, And now for the same thou needest must dye; For except thou canst answer me questions three, Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie.

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead, With my crown of golde so faire on my head, Among all my liege-men so n.o.ble of birthe, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worthe.

"Secondlye tell me, without any doubt, How soone I may ride the whole worlde about.

And at the third question thou must not shrinke, But tell me here truly what I do thinke."

"O, these are hard questions for my shallow witt, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet; But if you will give me but three weekes s.p.a.ce, I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace."

"Now three weekes s.p.a.ce to thee will I give, And that is the longest thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three, Thy lands and thy living are forfeit to mee."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word, And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford; But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold, And he mett his shephard a-going to fold: "How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home; What newes do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad newes, sad newes, shephard, I must give; That I have but three days more to live: For if I do not answer him questions three, My head will be smitten from my bodie.

"The first is to tell him there in that stead, With his crowne of golde so faire on his head, Among all his liege-men so n.o.ble of birthe, To within one penny of what he is worthe.

"The seconde, to tell him without any doubt, How soone he may ride this whole worlde about: And at the third question I must not shrinke, But tell him there truly what he does thinke."

"Now cheare up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet That a fool he may learn a wise man witt?

Lend me horse, and serving-men, and your apparel, And I'll ride to London to answere your quarrel.

"Nay, frowne not, if it hath bin told unto mee, I am like your lordship, as ever may bee; And if you will but lend me your gowne, There is none shall knowe us at fair London towne."

"Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have, With sumptuous array most gallant and brave; With crozier, and miter, and rochet, and cope, Fit to appeare 'fore our fader the pope."

"Now welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say, "'Tis well thou'rt come back to keepe thy day: For and if thou canst answer my questions three, Thy life and thy living both saved shall bee.

"And, first, when thou see'st me here in this stead, With my crown of golde so fair on my head, Among all my liege-men so n.o.ble of birthe, Tell me to one penny what I am worthe."

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Among the false Jewes, as I have bin told: And twenty-nine is the worth of thee, For I thinke, thou art one penny worser than Hee."