OGWEN Lake is contained within a circumference of about three miles,
presenting itself in rather an oval form. It is encircled by mountains,
except at the eastern extremity, which fall abruptly into the water, and
afford scenery in the highest degree romantic. On the left the broken
shattered crags of Trifaen {48} hang over the margin of the lake, and
throw the surface into an everlasting shadow. The distant forms of
Francôn mountains are, if possible, still more grand and picturesque; but
the side skreen of Braich-ddû slopes down more smoothly and gradually to
the water’s surface. Perhaps there are too many broken summits hovering
over Ogwen; probably the mind of true taste may think the simplicity and
grandeur of the scene interrupted by their repetition, but this is too
refined a criticism. Ogwen is generally acknowledged to present the
finest lake scene in Caernarvonshire, the very Derwent of North Wales,
and, like it, well described as “Beauty sleeping in the lap of Horror.”
The waters of Llyn Ogwen abound in a species of red trout, easily taken
with the fly, and not inferior in flavour to salmon. The surplus waters
discharge themselves at the western end of the pool through a chasm in
the rocks, and tumbling in three noble cataracts down a height of about
one hundred feet, are concentrated into a bed in the green meadows of
Nant Francon; flowing by Dolawen and Penrhyn Castle, they are lost at
length in the Mænai straits.
The noble line of road constructed through the Welsh mountains, under the
surveillance of parliamentary commissioners, is carried along the very
margin of Llyn Ogwen, amidst the great debris that continue annually
falling from the rocky sides of Trifaen. In the winter of 1831 upwards
of one thousand tons of rock fell from the dizzy heights of Benclog, a
little below the Ogwen cataracts; part rolling straight across the road
fell into the valley and river in the bottom, while another part having
acquired a less momentum rested on the ledge the road supplied them. The
intercourse of travellers was for some days impeded, although one hundred
miners were engaged in clearing and restoring the surface of the road. A
gentleman from the vale of Llanrwst had just passed along in his phaeton,
on his way to Bangor, when the terrific sound of the dissolving mountain
fell upon his astonished ear.
About one mile from Llyn Ogwen, in a deep hollow of the Glyder mountains,
lies the dark pool, called Llyn Idwal. The gloomy horrors of the
surrounding scene exceed even those of Ogwen; the encircling cliffs are
overhanging, broken, and dark; in one part the whole mountain is rent
asunder, and the chasm of “Twll ddû,” or the “black cleft,” gapes between
the terrific masses. The solitude of Cwm Idwal proved favourable to the
perpetration of a deed of blood, and it was here that young Idwal, the
infant heir of Prince Owen Gwynedd, was treacherously assassinated by
order of his foster-father Nefydd, to whose care his father had consigned
him:—
And thou, O Idwal, of immortal fame,
Dying, to the vale hath left thy name.
PONT-Y-PAIR {50a}.
THIS curious and picturesque bridge is thrown over the rapid river
Llugwy, {50b} at the village of Bettws-y-Coed, {50c} in the county of
Caernarvon. Though flung high above the surface of the water it consists
of but little masonry, the natural rock supplying piers the most solid
and enduring. One of the arches affords an open transit for the waters
which flow from the noble fall and salmon leap above the bridge, and
produce by their impetuous rotatory motion a deep reservoir or caldron
below it, whence this graceful structure derives its appropriate name.
Four of the arches are dry except in rainy seasons, when the torrent
rises with such rapidity as would endanger a less substantial work, at
which period these openings are found perfectly necessary.
The history of the origin of Pont-y-Pair possesses a singular though
simple interest. Howel, a mason, from Penllyn, having occasion to attend
the assizes then, A.D. 1468, held at Conway, found his passage over the
Lleder, which flows through Dolwydellan, obstructed by the violence and
greatness of the flood. This suggested to him the idea of removing to
the spot and of erecting a bridge there, at his own expense, trusting to
the generosity of travellers for compensation. The success of one
project engendered a second, and Howel next resolved upon the erection of
the beautiful bridge at Bettws-y Coed, called now the Pont-y-Pair; but he
did not live to see its final completion.
To the right of the Pont-y-Pair is the “Carreg y gwalch,” or rock of the
Falcon, a beautiful hill of singular and broken forms, clothed with wood
for the most part, a few fine bold rocks occasionally elevating their
fronts above the foliage, and producing a noble and great effect. In
this rock is a deep recess, called Ogo ap Shenkin, or the Cave of Jenkin,
in which that famous outlaw took shelter during the Lancastrian wars. A
large rock now blocks up the entrance, like the grotto of Polyphemus, and
there is a tradition that this was once rolled away by some inquisitive
persons, who, advancing a few yards, discovered a huge oak chest clasped
with iron, on the top of which stood a monstrous goat bowing his aged
head, and following with his horns the direction of those who had the
courage to approach. The chest of course continues in this dreary
treasury, and the character of its guardian is hinted at by the
discoverers, but never openly declared.
Dafydd ap Shenkin held the fastnesses of Nant-conway for fifteen years,
during which period he was unrelentingly pursued by the captains of
Edward the Fourth. From their persecution, when he could no longer keep
the open country, he sought refuge in his mountain cave. Howel ap Jevan
ap Rhys Gethyn, a contemporary of Jenkin, and the Robin Hood of those
times and this country, was also Shenkin’s or Jenkin’s mortal foe. Being
expelled from the castle of Dolwydellan, and from his strong hold at
Penanmen, he was compelled to flee into Ireland, where he continued for a
year or more, and then returning appeared with his followers all clad in
green, spent the residue of his life as an outlaw, seeking a fortuitous
existence amongst the mountains and forests of his native land. There is
a township in the parish of Bettws-y-Coed still bearing the name of
Hendre-Rhys-Gethyn; it is the estate of Dafydd D. Price, Esq., and was
once probably part of the possessions of the brave but unfortunate Howel,
the consistency of whose politics constituted his greatest offence.
The village of Bettws, an attractive and fascinating spot, is situated
near the meeting of the Llugwy and Conway rivers. The few cottages
composing it, though poor in detail, are rich in composition, no village
in the principality presenting a more beautiful landscape than Bettws,
viewed from the road to Coed Cynheliar. The village church stands in a
little cemetery in the centre of the vale, resembling in some degree the
church of Beddgelert. It is enclosed by a few stately forest trees, and
forms a venerable and interesting object. Within is shown a fine
effigiated tomb of Gryffydd ap Dafydd Goch, son of Dafydd Goch, who was a
natural son of Dafydd, brother to the last reigning Prince of Wales. The
figure is recumbent, clad in armour, and the outside border of the torus
is inscribed with these words,
Hic jacet Grufud ap Davyd Coch, Agnus Dei misêre mei.
Above the village, on the stream of the Llugwy, is the famous waterfall
called Rhaidar y Wennol, or the cataract of the swallow. It consists of
three noble falls, differing in character, though all conspicuous in
picturesque interest; the highest consists of innumerable frothy streams,
gliding with great velocity down a sloping rock but little broken; the
second is a concentrated volume, rushing with impetuosity into a foaming
caldron; and in the third the whole is dashed away in spray. A huge
perpendicular rock rises abruptly from one side to a height of five
hundred feet and upwards, while the opposite side is formed of broken
banks and rocky patches, clothed with noble aged oaks. In the solemn
depths of the lowest fall the spirit of the turbulent Sir John Wynne, of
Gwydyr, which had haunted the glen for many years, is supposed to be laid
at rest beneath the waters.