The Story of Gelert

Probably one of the most famous legend of Wales, of Prince Llewelyn and his dog Gelert. Llewelyn is very fond of hunting and in the summer he lives in hunting lodge at the foot of Snowdon. Although he has many dogs, his favourite is Gelert, because not only is he fearless in the hunt he’s also a loyal friend and companion at home.

One day Llewelyn and his wife go out hunting, leaving their baby son with a nurse and a servant to look after him. The nurse and the servant go for a walk in the mountains leaving the baby alone and unprotected.

Llewelyn is absorbed in his hunting, but after a while, he notices that Gelert isn’t with the pack. The Prince knows something is wrong as Gelert is always at the front of the pack. He reasons that the only place Gelert would go is back to the lodge, so he calls off the hunt and heads back home.

As the party is dismounting, Gelert comes running out of the lodge towards his master, covered in blood and wagging his tail. The Princess, calling her child’s name, faints. Llewelyn rushes into the baby’s room to find the cradle overturned, the bloodstained bedclothes thrown all over the floor - and no sign of his son. Filled with anger and grief he draws his sword and runs Gelert through. As the dog dies, he whimpers and his cries are answered by the sound of a baby crying from behind the overturned cradle.

When Llewelyn pulls aside the cradle he finds his son unharmed and the bloody body of a huge wolf next to him. Gelert had in fact killed the wolf as it tried to attack Llewelyn's son.

Filled with remorse, Llewelyn buries Gelert in a meadow nearby and marks his grave with a cairn of stones. The village of Beddgelert ('Gelert’s grave') owes its name to this site.

A Poem about Gelert

The spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerily smiled the morn;
And many a brach and many a hound,
Obeyed Llewelyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast,
And gave a lustier cheer:
"Come, Gelert, come, wert never last
Llewelyn'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?"

'Twas only at Llewelyn's board
The faithful Gelert fed;
He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,
And sentinelled 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 Llewelyn little loved
The chase of hart and hare;
And scant and small the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased Llewelyn 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.

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

Onward in haste, Llewelyn passed,
And on went Gelert too,
And still, where'er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood gouts shocked his view.

O'erturned his infants bed he found,
With blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.

He called his child-no voice replied-
He reached with terror wild;
Blood, blood, he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child.

"Hell-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 prone 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 parents 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,
The 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 Llewelyn's pain,
For now the truth was clear:
His gallant hound the wolf had slain.
To save Llewelyn's heir.

Vain, vain, was all Llewelyn'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 pass
Or forester, unmoved;
There oft the tear-besprinkled grass
Llewelyn'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 storms to brave,
The consecrated spot shall hold
The name of Gelert's grave.

W.R.Spencer (1769-1834) | Back to the top