The more I research the legend the muddier the waters become!

The basic story itself, of a man who rashly kills his hound only to learn he had made a terrible mistake apparently has roots so ancient, no one origin can be pin pointed. The nearest to an original is an old Buddist story, told as a warning against rash action. Like all good proverbs, it struck a chord, and so was retold over and over throughout Asia, Indian, and finally, the Celtic lands.

Thus, the story, in general, already existed when an enterprising innkeeper decided to turn it into a local legend, to bring in more business. The innkeeper was the manager of the Royal Goat Hotel, built in 1803 in Beddgelert. He and some local businessmen created the "Grave of Gelert" with a lovely statue and plaque, to create what we could call these days, a "tourist destination" out of what was already quite a lovely, and picturesque mountain town.

Beddgelert does translate to the Grave of Gelert, however, it is thought that it is actually named for an early ruler of the region, Celer. The innkeeper was further inspired by an ancient Welsh proverb; "Yr wy'n edivaru cymmaint a'r Gur a laddodd ei Vilgi" translated as "I repent as much as the man who slew his grey-hound".

By the way, the Irish Wolfhound people like to say Gelert was an Irish Wolfhound. Personally, I like to think he was a greyhound - given the proverb. Of course, since Gelert never actually existed, you can think what you want!

No matter - the story has grown in the telling, and even inspired a famous poem, which I'll share below.

The spearman heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn; And many a brach,

and many a hound, Obeyed Llewellyn's horn.

And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer: "Come, Gelert, come, why are thou last

Llewellyn'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 Llewellyn's board The faithful Gelert fed; He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,

And sentinel'd 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 over rocks and dells The gallant chidings rise, All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells

With many mingled cries.

That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare; And scant and small the booty proved,

For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied, When, near the portal-seat, His truant, Gelert, he espied,

Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gained the castle-door, Aghast the chieftain stood; The hound all o'er was smeared with gore --

His lips, his fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with fierce surprise, Unused such looks to meet, His favorite checked his joyful guise,

And crouched and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed -- And on went Gelert too -- And still, where'er his eyes were cast,

Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!

O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The bloodstained covert rent, And all around, the walls and ground,

With recent blood besprent.

He called his child -- no voice replied; He searched -- with terror wild; Blood! blood! he found on every side,

But nowhere found the 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 parent's joy can tell,

To hear his infant 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 Llewellyn's pain, For now the truth was clear;

The gallant hound the wolf had slain, To save Llewellyn's heir.: L