Beddgelert - (pron. Beth-gelert)

‘There once was a Prince called Llywelyn, Dai bach,

The Lord of this Snowdon Wales,

Back in the mists of the mountain, when times

Saw wolves leave their blood-stained trails.’

 

(I sat by the Church of St. Mary out there,

The vicar stared out on his fold,

His rheumy old eyes held the myth and the lies

That the Welsh told the people of old!)

 

I listened, he spoke, and I doubted him then,

The story he told so bizarre,

But when he had finished, I bated my breath,

Walked musingly back to my car.

 

Llywelyn, the hunter, was given a hound,

A present from England’s King John,

A mighty wolf hound that he treasured and took

On his hunting trips, loping along.

 

The Prince had an heir that was merely a babe,

Still swaddled in linens and veils,

The child was his joy, he’d been blessed with a boy,

He was one of the Princes of Wales.

 

Llywelyn went hunting abroad with his pack,

The hounds were all baying the way,

The buglers followed, their blasts on the horn

Drove the hogs that were leading the fray!

 

The hunt brought them venison, gammon and fowl,

The hunt brought them mutton and game,

But Gelert, the hound, was nowhere to be found

Though the Prince called, and bellowed his name.

 

Llywelyn rode back to the palace at dusk,

Dismounted and looked for his son,

The cot was all bloodstained, the covers were torn

And a sign of the child, there was none!

 

Then Gelert leapt up, and he greeted the Prince

With a loud joyous cry in the dark,

His fur was all bloodied, his teeth dripped with gore,

And Llywelyn shrank back at his bark.

 

In thinking his son had been slaughtered, the Prince

Cried out as he lifted his sword,

And ran through the hound as he fell to the ground

And he cursed and he cried, the good lord!

 

But then came an answering, pitiful cry

From the child that lay under a bed,

The boy was uncut, but was smeared with the blood

Of the wolf that lay next to him, dead!

 

The throat had been torn from the wolf by the hound,

Brave Gelert defended the son,

And now that the Prince held the child in his arms

He reflected on what he had done!

 

He cradled the body of Gelert and wept,

And buried in honour his hound,

He set up a stone with the tale that it told

And it stands there today, on its ground.

 

The place is Beddgelert, in Gwynedd, look you,

And hundreds of years have gone by,

But history tells us, Llewelyn the Great,

Was never again seen to smile!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Arielle Ann]

a heartrending tale ...we often keep pets and claim to love them but never can return their loyalty the same...you wrote a tale in old english, in an ancient era but the truth reflects in modern society too...as for your write, as usual you are fantastic with an amazing plot and your awesome way of saying it in rhymes!

[Irfan Bashir Shah]

Great piece of work...... Wish i could be a 10% the writer you are.....
The legendary David Lewis Paget strikes again......
I'm a great fan of your work..... Hardly have i ever found a writer with such great capability to narrate.... Everything about this poem was absolutely perfect.... The rhyme and the rhythm, the emotion, the imagery, Everything........
In this modern age you sure represent the past and present in your ever dazzling way..... Hats Off!
P.S. Keep writing!..... Its an honor to just read...

[AK]

That was beautiful...I seldom read such wonderful works anywhere. You rock!

[emmajoy]

Having been to Beddgelert i know this wonderful but sad tale and have to say your poem echoes each and every word beautifully, absolutely! What impresses me most, however, is the way you tell the story in such fine meter .. goodness knows how long it takes you to create such a work but, however little or long, you really do have a master's touch. Nuff said, don't want to overdo it, but, tis grand! :)