A distant sound the spell hath broken,
The lady and her hound
Together caught the joyful token,
And down the stair they bound.
"'Tis Trwst Llywelyn! dear sisters speed,
Our own Llywelyn's near;
I know the tramp of his gallant steed,
'Tis music to mine ear!"
* * * * *
Yes, 'twas his lance gleamed blue and bright,
His horn made the echoes ring;
He is safe from a glorious field of fight,
And his sisters round him cling:
And Gelert lies at his master's feet,
The page returns to his slumbers sweet,
The minstrel quaffs his mead,
And sings Llywelyn's fame and power,
And, Trwst Llywelyn, names the tower,
Where they heard his coming steed.
* * * * *
That tower, no more, o'erlooks the vale,
But its name is unforgot,
And the peasant tells the simple tale,
And points to the well-known spot.
Oh, lady moon! thy radiance fills
An altered scene, to-night,
All here is chang'd save the changeless hills,
And the Severn, rippling bright.
We dwell in peace, beneath the yoke
That roused our father's spears,
The very tongue our fathers spoke,
Sounds strangely in our ears.
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