Froze on my lips that Alpine night when He
Stood glimmering there, the Skeleton, with me,
While avalanches rolled from peaks beneath?

Each billow bears me nearer to the verge
Of realms where she is not--where love must wait.
If Gelert, there, could hear, no need to urge
That friend, so faithful, true, affectionate,
To come and help me, or to share my fate.
Ah! surely I see him springing through the surge.
[_The dog, plunging into the tide and striking
towards his master with immense strength,
reaches him and swims round him._]

Oh, Gelert, strong of wind and strong of paw,
Here gazing like your namesake, 'Snowdon's Hound,'
When great Llewelyn's child could not be found,
And all the warriors stood in speechless awe--
Mute as your namesake when his master saw
The cradle tossed--the rushes red around--
With never a word, but only a whimpering sound
To tell what meant the blood on lip and jaw!

In such a strait, to aid this gaze so fond,
Should I, brave friend, have needed other speech
Than this dear whimper? Is there not a bond
Stronger than words that binds us each to each?--
But Death has caught us both. 'Tis far beyond
The strength of man or dog to win the beach.