fell, while Henry himself fled. A rumour of the king's death aided NE to intimidate the English; and the earl of Essex, hereditary standard. Tt bearer of England, seized with the general panic, threw to the ground las the royal stndard, and fled, crying aloud, “The king is slain!" The
tie terror became universal, when the Welsh attacked the English with such impetuosity, that a general rout followed. Thus Owen, with his small army, against a very superior one, became again victorious Di
EDITOR.
From Coed Eulo's bloody ground
Heralded by trumpet sound,
And the hollow roll of drum,
Breathing death, the Normans come ;
Reckless that their boasted blood
Soon should be the raven's food;
Fiery Henry at their head,
Raging for his vassals dead.
Was the bittern's cry too harsh
From her bed in Saltney-Marsh ?
Haughty monarch, did it tell
Their death who at Hawarden fell?
Did it prophesy his doom,
That thou seek’st him, man of gloom !
Him, who doth thy pride alarm,
Owen of the mighty arm?
On they rush ;--in Counsyllt strait
Silent Cambria's warriors wait,
Fill its dark defile within ;
Then was heard the horrid din :
Wrathful shouts, and painful cries,
From their ambuscade arise,
As, like madd’ning wolves, they go
Headlong on the wond'ring foe;
So come forth the eagle's brood
From their barren solitude,
And with force and sudden shock;
Goad the hunter on the rock.
So the wild wolf in his lair
With his howl affrights the air,
Rushing forth, in hot career,
Heedless on the barbed spear.
Stones and arrows fly around,
Dying warriors bite the ground;
Wrested from their rugged bed,
Broken rocks around are spread;
All that hate can grasp in wrath,
Checks the Norman in his path.
Nought avail'd proud Henry then
His armed steed, and mail-clad men,
'Gainst the naked-bosom'd few,
To their king and country true,-
Men, for valour known afar,
Unsubdued, till now, in war ;
Pent within the narrow strait,
'Cumber'd by their iron weight,
Hesitating how to meet
Their foes,-unknowing to retreat,
Or resist, they fall beneath
The thirsty steel that asks their death ;-
Vain is now the strength and speed
Of the Saracenic steed,
Reckless of the spur and rein,
He gnaws the bloody earth in pain.
Wav’ring the tide of combat flows,
With Cambria now, now with her foes.
Proud De Courcy's bubbling blood
Is curdling in the underwood;
And the soul of stout Fitzjohn
To the realms of air has gone :
Low has sunk the battle cry
Of Montford and Montgomery :
Haughty Pulford's sable shield
Shiver'd lies upon the field ;
And his cross, so white before,
Reddens with its owner's gore :
But the blade of Vernon yet
Gleams, with gore of Cambria wet.
Fiery Dutton, on his knee,
Still maintains it gallantly :
And the cry of battle swells
Of Humphreville and Venables ;
Though their great and haughty one,
Henry, from the field has gone.
Thanks unto the noble beast
That bore thee, king, thou ow'st at least.
Like, the vermin, from the wood
Scared by fire, the Norman brood,
In confusion, seek the plain ;
Terror holds a while her reign :
Hark! the bollow trumpet's bray
Speaks, at once their wild dismay,
And the fortune of the day,
Heralding the victor ;-now
Proudly tow'rs the Cambrian's brow,
Brightly flashes Owen's eye
As he sees the boasters fly.
See the hand of Essex' earl
Feeble as a pining girl,
Drop to earth the standard there-
Hark! the cry that rings through air!
Hark! the thrilling voice of dread
From the foe,-“ The king is dead!"
Like a fire, from man to man,
Swift the sound of terror ran;
Proud, above his native bands,
Like the vulture Owen stands,
Darkly watching o'er his prey,
Where to pierce their thick array ;
Joyful he beholds the foe
Scattering on the plain below,
Down upon them from the steep
Fierce they rush, with furious sweep.
As the lightly-waving corn
Rudely on the field is borne
By the blast that lately slept,
So the foe from earth were swept,
Till the dark’ning cloud of night
Spread o'er heaven, then ceased the fight.
Bedd Gelart, or Gelart's Grave.
By the Hon. W. R. Spencer.
LLEWELYN AB GRIFFITH, prince of Wales, who had married Joan, he natural daughter of king John, of England, received from his ither-in-law the present of a fine greyhound named Kill-hart, (sincc Velshified into Gelart,) which became a great favorite with the rince. The following beautiful ballad is founded on a tradition arrent in North Wales, that Llewelyn, missing his favorite dog, eturned discontented, from the chace, and on entering his castle, he faithful Gelart sprang to meet him, and by fawning, leaping, nd wagging his tail, evinced unusual joy: but his bloody mouth, nd the blood-stained floor, excited his master's astonishment-and is great horror, on beholding the cradle which contained his infant pset. Supposing the dog to have killed his child, he instantly hrust him through with his hunting spear, when the poor animal are a piteous cry, and died. On turning up the cradle, he found nder it his child, alive, and wrapt in rosy slumbers, beside a dead 'olf, which had been killed by Gelart. Llewelyn's regret may asily be imagined. He erected a tomb over the grave of his ithful dog, thence called Bedd Gelart, which designation was also iven to the parish church afterwards built there, that became the intre of a town, to this day called Bedd Gelart. From this incident
derived the common Welsh proverb, “Yr wyf yn edifarhau maint a'r gwr a laddodd ei filgi.” “I am as sorry as the man ho slew his greyhound."
EDITOR.
The spearmen heard the bugle sound,
And cheerly smiled the morn;
And many a brach,* and many a honud,
Obey'd Llewelyn's horn.
And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a lustier cheer,
“Come Gelart come! wert never last
Llewelyn's horn to hear.
“Oh where does faithful Gelart roam.
The flower of all his race,
So true, so brave, a lamb at home,
A lion in the chace ?"
'Twas only at Llewelyn's board
The faithful Gelart fed ; He watch'd, he served, he cheer'd his lord,
And sentinel'd his bed,
In sooth he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John ;
But now no Gelart could be found,
And all the chace rode on.
And now, as o'er the rocks and dells
The gallant chidings rise,
All Snow don's craggy chaos yells
The many-mingled cries.
That day Llewelyn little loved
The chace of hart or hare,
And poor and scant the booty proved,
For Gelart was not there.
Unpleased Llewelyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal seat
His truant Gelart he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.
But when he gain’d his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood,
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