Route to Aber—Penmaen Mawr—The pet Goat—Aber—Legend of Llewllyn and the
Captive Knight—Road from Aber to Bangor—Penrhyn Castle—Bangor—Inns—The
Cathedral—The Castle—Free Schools—The Menai Bridge—Song, Farewell to
North Wales, air, Ar Hyd y Nos—Conclusion.
“When the heathen trumpets clang
Round beleaguer’d Chester rang,
Veiled nun and friar grey
March’d from Bangor’s fair Abbaye:
High their holy Anthem sounds,
Cestria’s vale the hymn rebounds,
Floating down the silver Dee,
O Miserere Domine!”
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
ON the following morning, we started for Aber. The coast scenery is
extremely grand; and passing, the promontory of Penmaen Bach, a
semicircular range of mountains, stretching to the overpeering height of
Penmaen Mawr, from a delightful shelter to one of the most beautiful
coast retreats in North Wales.
The present road winds round the waist of Penmaen Mawr, and nothing can
exceed the terrors that, above and underneath it, meet the eye of the
traveller. A few goats are generally seen wandering among the shingly
surface; and their motions, though so light, send the loose fragments
down, like the fall of a glacier. As I stood gazing on the awful depth
beneath, four large pieces of rock rolled into the centre of the road,
not ten yards from the place where I was standing, the smallest of which,
had it touched me, would have caused instant death, or disabled me in
such a manner as to have prevented my venturing upon a second tour. I
turned my eyes above, and thought upon the legend of Dolbadarn; and my
blood chilled to think, if, by any chance, a steed and rider should be
precipitated over its brow—what a spectacle they would exhibit at its
base! But, at the time of the legend, there was scarce footing for a
goat to pass along, and nothing to interrupt the parties from finally
plunging into the sea.
“When last I visited this spot,” said my companion, “I observed a man
sitting by the road side, with his hands clasped, his elbows resting upon
his knees, and his face bespeaking feelings of deep sorrow. I have a
strong aversion to intruding on the secrets of others; but this lorn man,
seated in such a solitary situation, and forming so interesting a
foreground in the picture, made me desirous of entering into conversation
with him, in order to discover the source of his grief.
“‘You seem to be in grief, my friend; can I do anything to relieve it?’
“‘God bless you, sir, you cannot.’
“‘May be otherwise, if you will tell me the cause.’
“‘I’ll tell you, sir; but it is out of your power to repair my loss.’
“He then feelingly related the following simple tale.”
THE PET GOAT.
About three years ago, sir, I married one of the prettiest girls you ever
saw—an inhabitant of the neighbouring village. Her good heart was light,
and her hand always open to the stranger and the poor, as far as our
means could afford. We were married in the little church of Aber, and a
merry one was our wedding day. Her mother gave me a young kid upon the
occasion, which we took home with us and brought up in the cottage, as
you would a dog that you loved for the giver’s sake; and for its own sake
I loved the pretty animal. It was as playful and as gentle as a kitten;
and I taught it a number of tricks that greatly amused all our
neighbours. Truan hyny! At length, my poor Mary brought me a boy, but
she, poor girl, was too delicate to suckle the infant, and my gentle
goat, that had lately brought forth two kids, supplied us with milk for
the child, who did well, and God be praised, still does well;—my poor pet
was the saving of his life. Well, I went to my work, as usual, and Mary
made my home a heaven upon earth;—for she was an angel, and furnished me
with every comfort that mortal could desire. God bless her!—and she is
blessed, if goodness finds bliss in heaven, which no one doubts.
Well, sir, a second year flew away quickly, and my partner brought me
forth twins—the sweetest babes eyes ever looked upon, and so like each
other, you couldn’t tell which was which; so we tied a ribbon upon Mary’s
arm, to distinguish her from Kate. Well, my poor pet goat again stood
wet nurse to the offspring; and my wife recovered her health and
beautiful looks; our evenings passed in talking of what we should do for
them, when they grew up. Ah, sir, it would have done your heart good to
have seen her blue eyes turned up to the sky, imploring blessings upon
their innocent heads, and every night kneel down to pray to her Creator,
for mercy on herself and me! although He knows better than I do, that she
was as free from soil as the waters of the rocky rill, and you might see
her heart as clearly as the pebbles at its bottom. Ah! that was a sight
for good men to look upon, and be thankful that they had seen it. You’ll
excuse me, sir; but I can’t help shedding tears, when I think upon the
fate of poor Mary!—gwae! gwae!
The pet goat, sir, was wandering upon the shelving rocks which now hang
over us, and there were many others above. Do you see that, sir, with
one of its horns nearly straight, just upon the edge of that projecting
mass? Just beneath that she was browsing, when, all of a sudden, a large
piece fell from the brow of the mountain, and, lighting upon the body of
my favourite, she was dashed into the centre of the road, just where we
are now standing; and, when I ran to her the look of her bright grey eyes
went to my heart—poor thing! I never saw anything more affectionate in a
christian; for her looks spoke more than any words I ever heard in the
way of gratitude; and she licked my hand, poor dumb beast! and sighed,
and died without a groan, poor thing! poor thing! (and he wept in the
bitterness of his feeling.)
You may wonder, sir, that I should cry so, when I tell you about the
death of a goat; but it is the consequences attendant upon it that wring
the tears from my eyes. When poor pet died, my wife was obliged to nurse
her young twins, for no woman could be found in the neighbourhood to
assist her, and I couldn’t afford to buy another goat, and I couldn’t
bear to ask for milk which I wasn’t able to pay for, for all somehow went
wrong with me after the loss of our favourite. Mary grew weaker and
weaker every day, and I couldn’t go to my work, and leave her, without
any one to watch over her. My spirit was broken, and I cared for nothing
in the world, but attending the sick bed of Mary and the children. To be
sure, I managed to get enough for the support of life; but the twins
couldn’t eat the food I brought them. The mother had not milk enough to
support them; and I saw her, day by day, sinking under the affliction I
had no power to soften. At length, my two pretty babes died, one after
the other, and Mary’s heart broke to see the stroke of Providence. She
died too, sir, and with her all that made life dear to me, except my poor
little boy. I shall never, never recover! and I know that the sod will
shortly be laid upon my head, by the side of the grave where rest the
bones of my dear Mary.
* * * * *
The numerous accidents that have happened on this mountain render it an
object of awful interest. Mr. Pennant, in his tour, relates the
following circumstances:
“The Rev. Mr. Jones, who in 1762 was the Rector of Llanelian in the
Isle of Anglesea, fell, with his horse and a midwife behind him, down
the steepest part. The _sage-femme_ perished, as did the nag. The
divine, however, with great philosophy, unsaddled the steed, and
marched off with the trappings, exulting at his preservation.”
He relates another accident, that occurred here, in the following words:
“I have often heard of another accident, attended with such romantic
circumstances, that I would not venture to mention it, had I not the
strongest traditional authority to this day, in the mouth of every
one in the parish of Llanfair Fechan, in which this promontory
stands. Sion Humphreys, of this parish, paid his addresses to Ann
Thomas, of Creuddyn, on the other side of the Conway river. They had
made an appointment to meet at a fair in the town of Conway. He in
his way fell over Penmaen Mawr. She was overset in the ferry boat,
and was the only person saved out of fourscore! They were married,
and lived very long together in the parish of Llanfair. She was
buried April 11th, 1744, aged 116. He survived her five years, and
was buried Dec. 1749, close by her in the parish church yard, where
their graves are familiarly shown to this day.”
On the summit of a hill, in the neighbourhood of Penmaen Mawr, are the
ruins of an ancient British camp, of vast magnitude, which was deemed
impregnable. It is a site of considerable interest, as well for its
antiquity, as for the magnificent prospect which it commands of the
ocean, the Isle of Anglesea, the straits, the Ormes head, the island of
Priestholm, the beautiful town of Beaumauris, and the chain of Snowdonia,
of which it is the terminating link.
Having passed round the frightful promontory of Penmaen Mawr, by the
admirable road which, with incredible labour, has been cut by government,
at the expense of £10,000, and forms a belt to the mountain, the country
becomes more fertile; the plantations are larger, and more numerous, and
the hills are clothed with verdure, which never appears upon the wild
forehead of that frowning mass; and hedges rise on either side of the
road, through which the eye is pleased with the sight of waving fields of
grain, until we reach the picturesque village of
ABER.
The name of the inn here is the Bulkley Arms, and a more comfortable
hostel, for one who travels in search of the beauties of nature, cannot
be desired; although, to the fastidious, it may, perhaps, be thought too
small, and to the luxurious it may not offer the viands which he covets.
For myself, give me the room overlooking the beautiful little garden
which sends its thousand perfumes into the apartment, when the sun goes
down and the moon lights up the Menai with her silver beams! Let me sit,
silent and alone, there—there, where “heavenly pensive contemplation
dwells.” At the entrance to the glen, upon its eastern side, is a very
high artificial mound, flat at the top, which is said to be the site of a
castle belonging to Llewellyn the great. On it stands the house of Mr.
Crawley, a sketch of which, with the glen, is annexed. It was taken from
under the arch of the bridge, and gives a better idea of the scene than
words have power to convey.
The mountain, on the eastern side of the vale is clothed with oak and ash
trees; but, upon the west, there is no foliage. The river rushes with
great impetuosity after a flood, from its mountain fall, into the Menai
straits, winding through the glen, and encircling several rocky islets in
its course. The fall is about a mile and a half up the stream, and, at
the extremity of the vale, a convex mountain rises, down which it leaps,
from a height of about sixty feet; and there is said to be a large stone
here, on which the army of Llewellyn sharpened their spears and arrows;
and the marks are still shown to the tourist.
But the prospect from the bridge, which crosses the stream, on the road
to Conway, is the most interesting; from this spot you command a view of
the river, at its greatest magnitude, sparkling along its rock-impeded
course, and behold it dancing and foaming, as if with joy, into the
salts, like a child bounding to its mother.
[Picture: Aber]
The following short poem is founded upon a tradition connected with this
place. It was twilight when the muse flew in at the window, and at that
endearing time I yielded to her influence. The story is well known to
every villager of this delightful neighbourhood.
LLEWELYN AND THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.
Oh! who is he that rides along
So proudly on his charger strong,
Amid yon gay and gallant throng
Through Aber’s lonely vale?
With plumed casque upon his head,
And mace at saddle bow so red,
And battle brand, the foeman’s dread,
And glittering shirt of mail?
’Tis ancient Cambria’s pride and boast,
Her hope, her strength, her chief, her host,
Whose fame she spreads from coast to coast.
And trumpets to the sky!
And Saxon blood is on his mace,
And gouts his shining blade deface,
Hail, bravest of the bravest race!
And pride of chivalry!
And who is she, so peerless fair,
With full dark eye, of lustre rare,
And snowy neck, and raven hair,
On palfrey by his side?
With native gems upon her vest,
Snowdonia’s own—Snowdonia’s best,
Rising and sinking on her breast,
And glance of royal pride?
The noblest lady of the land,
(For she with him joined hand to hand
In wedlock’s stout and holy band),
Llewelyn’s noble dame.
For her do bards their praises sing,
And minstrels strike the sounding string,
Till mountains high and valleys ring
With fair Johanna’s name!
And who is he with drooping plume,
And golden locks, and brow of gloom,
Whose cheek hath lost its manly bloom,
And sorrow speaking eye?
William de Breos is he hight,
A courtier fair and gallant knight,
Ta’en by Llewelyn in the fight
Before Montgomery.
Oh! ’tis a glorious sight to see
The marshalled ranks of liberty,
With banners waving high and free,
Wind down the hollow vale;
Their broad swords flashing in the sun,
And spears too bright to look upon,
Returning from the field they’ve won,
And from the foeman pale.
The prince within his castle wall,
There rose a shout from one and all,
That shook the mountain’s rocky hall,
And made the welkin ring.
And gaily passed the wassail bowl,
While bards poured out the song of soul,
And martial music crowned the whole,
Time moved on pleasure’s wing.
But pleasure’s wing may sometimes lose
Its plumage bright, of varied hues,
And time grow dark with sorrow’s dews,
And cloak itself in care.
And eyes that wanton love inspire,
And blaze with light of fierce desire
Be quenched in floods of anguish dire,
And wither in despair!
Months rolled away, and while in war,
Llewelyn shone the leading star,
The knight and dame, in pleasure’s car,
Rolled rapidly along.
Guilt smiled upon their couch of down,
But o’er them was an angel’s frown,
Till their adult’ry, bolder grown,
Became a ribald song.
Llewelyn to his home returned,
Unconscious of his wrong, and burn’d
To meet the welcome he had earned
In glory’s sanguine field.
Cold was the heart he thought his own,
And colder had his welcome grown,
And on his forehead sat a frown,
Which half his fears revealed.
Unransomed to his Saxon home,
With promises of gifts to come,
Southward he bade De Breos roam,
And gave him friendly grasp.
The lady wept, Llewelyn smiled,
“Yield not, sweet wife, to sorrow wild,
For friendship is a feeling mild;
Her hand De Breos clasp.”
The Knight departed on his steed,
With twenty horsemen for his need,
To guard him over mount and mead,
To fair Montgomory.
But, when he saw the Knight depart,
Full jealous grew Llewelyn’s heart,
“Oh can dissimulation’s dart
Live in Johanna’s eye?”
Dark rumours reached his tortured ear,
He gazed upon his lady near,
And vengeance whispered “Chieftain, here
Must the foul spoiler die.”
A month had scarcely rolled away,
When to the Knight, so proud and gay,
Predestined for revenge’s prey
He sent a Herald light.
With soothing speech, and present rare,
And invitation to repair
With speed of horse, and heedful care,
To Aber’s Castle bright.
The Herald well De Breos knew,
On wings of guilty love he flew,
His foul dishonour to renew
With great Llewelyn’s dame.
But fatal was the meeting now,
Llewelyn knit his dreadful brow,
His angry blood began to glow,
And in his eye was flame.
“Down with the slave to dungeon dark!
Disgrace to knighthood, hear and mark!
Upon the gibbet, cold and stark,
To-morrow shalt thou hang.
“No more to whisper, fawn and lie—
No more to gaze with wanton eye,
No more to mix with chivalry,
Or hear its martial clang.”
Johanna knows not of the fate
That on her paramour doth wait;
But e’er the sun through heaven’s gate
Rolls forth to gild the sea;
Three taps upon her chamber door,
Hath roused her from her dreams of yore,
And stern upon her rush-strewn floor
Llewelyn doth she see.
He seized her by the raven hair
“What wouldst thou give, my lady fair.
To see that Knight, so debonair,
De Breos, once again?”
“Strong Aber’s castle which we dwell in,
Wales, fair England, and Llewelyn,
All I’d give to see my Gwilym,
But all I wish in vain.”
He dragged her from her secret bower,
While thunder on his brow did lower,
And pointed to the falcon tower,
“Behold, false dame,” he cried,
“Behold once more the traitor fell,
On gallows hung, while fiends in hell
Are shouting forth his passing knell.”
The lady looked—and died.
The road from Aber to Bangor is replete with interesting scenery. The
mountains assume a dark and gloomy grandeur, half clad in rolling
vapours, which at intervals reveal their black and purple forms, their
barren summits and deep hollows, to the eye. Towering above them all,
Benclog rises conspicuous, into whose threatening gorge the road to Capel
Curig winds, like a snake venturing into some monster’s jaws which
appears ready to devour it. Upon the right, the shores of Anglesea, with
its luxuriant woods, are seen stretching down to the Menai, and agreeably
diversify the scene. Before us rose the lofty towers of Penrhyn Castle,
with Port Penrhyn and its shipping in the distance. Altogether, the
prospect is glorious, and the finest effects I ever saw produced by
mountain scenery are continually varying here; for, however bright the
day may be upon the straights, and along their shores, the Canaervonshire
mountains are generally half concealed by mists, upon which the sunbeams
fall, causing them to assume countless hues of the most brilliant nature,
which contrast finely with the ponderous forms round which they play in
never ceasing variety.
Near the spot where the London road branches off from the Chester, is the
grand entrance to Penrhyn Castle, the property of G. H. D. Pennant Esq.
The lodge is a beautiful specimen of substantial architecture; it is
protected by a corresponding gateway, massive and imposing. The park
wall extends circularly seven miles, and is thirteen feet high. To
describe the magnificence of the interior of the castle I feel would
prove a vain effort, and I earnestly recommend all tourists who take this
route not to quit the neighbourhood without seeing it, or they will be
reproached for slighting one of the grandest treats old Cambria can
afford them.
BANGOR.
This town derives its name from Ban Cor, which means the high choir.
We stopped at the Penrhyn Arms, a most commodious inn, which is capable,
it is said, of making up one hundred beds nightly. It occupies a
commanding situation, and from the back premises embraces a noble
prospect—the straights, the shore of Anglesea, the bay of Beaumauris,
Penrhyn Castle, Puffin Island, Paenman Mawr, and the Great Orme’s Head,
with the ocean in the distance.
There are other excellent inns in the town, namely the Castle, the
Liverpool arms, and the Albion: the latter, kept by Hughs, is extremely
comfortable, and the landlord civil and obliging, as I most willingly
testify from experience. There is no place in Wales so well calculated
for a tourist to make his head quarters as Bangor. The various spots he
may visit by appropriating a day to each, would supply him with
gratification for a month at least.
THE CATHEDRAL
was founded by Maelgwn Gwynedd, King of Wales, of whom I have had
occasion to speak before, as the patron of Taliesin, the celebrated Welsh
bard.
The original edifice, which was erected in 525, was destroyed in 1071,
and rebuilt shortly after, but was again reduced to ruins by Owen
Glyndwr, and for ninety years was neglected, until Bishop Dean restored
the choir, and the body of the tower was rebuilt by Bishop Skeffington,
in 1532, which still remains in a perfect state of preservation. The
free school was founded in 1557, by Dr. Jeffry Glynn, upon the site of an
ancient parish church, built by King Edgar, within about 400 yards of the
present cathedral, and is considered an excellent preparatory seminary
for Oxford and Cambridge.
The remains of an ancient castle, built by Hugh Lupus, Earl of Chester,
in the reign of Henry II, are still visible upon a rock opposite to the
free school, and some pieces of scoria, found on the spot, lead us to
suppose arrows were manufactured there. At the back of the friar’s
school is another hill, and on the top of it are the remains of a British
encampment.
The town, within the last twenty years, has been extended to nearly four
times its original magnitude, and possesses an appearance of cleanliness
particularly gratifying. The London mail passes to and fro every day, as
does the Chester and Liverpool; and two daily coaches also start for
London, one to Chester and Liverpool, two to Caernarvon, and a mail to
Pwllheli. The great lion of Bangor is
THE MENAI BRIDGE.
The principal opening between the supporting pyramids is 560 feet in
breadth, through which the vessels pass with all their canvass set,
without the least danger of their masts touching the overhanging bridge.
There are four stone arches upon the Anglesea side, and three upon the
Carnaervon, which complete the road way, and have each a span of fifty
feet. The length of the bridge is 800 feet, and its height is 100 feet
above the surface of the Menai at high water. The weight of the bridge
and its suspending chains, between the pyramids, is six hundred and
thirty-nine tons, nineteen hundred and nine pounds; and that of the
ironwork from one extremity of the chains to the other is estimated at
2130 tons, 1800 consisting of wrought, and three hundred and thirty of
cast iron.
The first stone of this astonishing work was laid by W. A. Provis Esq.,
on the 10th August, 1820; and on the 20th April, 1825, the first main
chain was thrown across the strait. This important step being completed,
three of the workmen, in the height of their enthusiasm, ventured to walk
along the chain from pyramid to pyramid; and a cobbler no less daring and
enthusiastic, seated himself in the centre of the curve, and, while
suspended at the fearful height, with sky above and the deep water of the
strait gliding beneath him, drove the last sparable into one of those
convenient comforts called clogs.
The view from the centre of the bridge beggars description. Waving
woods, barren precipices, distant mountains, Bangor and Beaumauris,
Penrhyn Castle, Paenman Mawr, the Great Orme’s Head, the ocean, and the
strait, are objects that dazzle and astonish from the exquisite beauty of
their natural arrangement.
My task is done. I have taken leave of my phrenological friend; the
steam boat is dropping slowly to Garth point to take in passengers for
Liverpool; and I must now quit this lovely land—never perhaps to see it
more. But let me hope the sketches I have given of its various charms
will induce others to take the path which I have pursued with so much
pleasure. It leads through the most interesting portion of the country.
For the artist, there is an inexhaustible store of beauty. The geologist
and mineralogist will find the lore they thirst for, in almost every hill
and valley, through which they pass. The smoke-dried citizen may have
the London _blacks_ blown from his garments by the healthful mountain
breeze, and drink huge draughts of the pure air until he feels
intoxicated with pleasure, while he is enabled to supply himself cheaply
with a valuable stock of delightful recollections that will enable him,
at any time, to raise a visionary paradise around him—to banish painful
thoughts; for, in fine, pain must give place to pleasure, gloom to
sunshine, blue devils to hilarity, and sickness to invigorating health,
in the enchanting principality of NORTH WALES.
APPENDIX.
SNOWDON
FIRST received its name from the Saxons, and signifies a mountain covered
with snow. It was held sacred by the Ancient Britons, who believed that
those who slept upon it became inspired. The perpendicular height of the
mountain is 1190 yards, and, as the state of the atmosphere hindered me
from attempting the ascent, I have selected the accounts of the most
celebrated tourists for the benefit of those who may be more fortunate
than I was.
MR. PENNANT’S ASCENT.
“Ascend above _Cwm Brwynog_ a very deep bottom. In the course of our
ascent, saw on the left above the Cwm, _Moel y Cynghorion_, or the Hill
of Council; pass through _Bwlch Maes-y-cwm_, and skirt the side of
Snowdon, till we reach _Bwlch Cwm Brwynog_, where the ascent becomes very
difficult on account of its vast steepness; people here usually quit
their horses. We began a toilsome march, clambering among the rocks. On
the left were the precipices over _Brwynog_ with _Llyn Du yr Arddwy_ at
their foot; on our right, were those over the small lakes _Llyn Glâs_,
_Llyn y Naddroed_, and _Llyn Côch_. The last is the highest on this side
the mountain; and on whose margins, we were told that in fairy days,
those diminutive gentry kept their revels.
“This space between precipice and precipice formed a short and no very
agreeable isthmus, till we reached a verdant expanse which gave us some
respite before we laboured up another series of broken crags; after these
is a second smooth tract, which reaches almost to the summit, and by way
of pre-eminence is styled _Y Wyddfa_, or The Conspicuous. It rises
almost to a point, or at least there is but room for a circular wall of
loose stones, within which travellers usually take their repast.
“The view from this exalted situation is unbounded. In a former tour I
saw from it the hills of Yorkshire, part of the north of England,
Scotland, and Ireland; a plain view of the Isle of Man, and that of
Anglesey lay extended like a map beneath me with every rill visible. I
took much pains to see this prospect to advantage, sat up at a farm on
the west till about twelve, and walked up the whole way. The night was
remarkably fine and starry: towards morn, the stars faded away, and left
a short interval of darkness, which soon dispersed by the dawning of the
day. The body of the sun appeared most distinct with the rotundity of
the moon, before it rose high enough to render its beams too brilliant
for our sight. The sea which bounded the western part was gilt by its
rays, first in slender streaks, at length glowing with redness. The
prospect was disclosed like the gradual drawing up of a curtain in a
theatre. We saw more and more till the heat became so powerful as to
attract the mists from the various lakes, which in a slight degree
obscured the prospect. The shadow of the mountain was flung many miles,
and shewed its bicapitated form; the _Wyddfa_ making one, _Crib y
Dysdyll_ the other head. I counted this time between twenty and thirty
lakes either in this county, or Merionethshire. The day proved so
excessively hot, that my journey cost me the skin of the lower part of my
face before I reached the resting place.”
At another visit, the same celebrated traveller remarks—“On this day, the
sky was obscured very soon after I got up; a vast mist enveloped the
whole circuit of the mountain; the prospect down was horrible. It gave
an idea of numbers of abysses concealed by a thick smoke, furiously
circulating round us. Very often a gust of wind formed an opening in the
clouds, which gave a fine and distinct view of lake and valley.
Sometimes, they opened only in one place, at others in many at once,
exhibiting a most strange and perplexing view of water, fields, rocks or
chasms, in fifty different places. They then closed at once, and left us
involved in darkness; in a short time, they would separate again, and fly
in wild eddies round the middle of the mountains, and expose in parts
both tops and bases clear to our view. We descended from this various
scene with great reluctance, but before we reached our horses a thunder
storm overtook us. Its rolling among the mountains was inexpressibly
awful, the rain uncommonly heavy. We remounted our horses, and gained
the bottom with great hazard. The little rills which on our ascent
trickled along the gullies on the sides of the mountain, were now swelled
into torrents, and we and our steeds passed with the utmost risk of being
swept away by these sudden waters. At length, we arrived safe, yet
sufficiently wet and weary, to our former quarters.
“It is very seldom that the traveller gets a propitious day to ascend
Snowdon; for often when it appears clear, it becomes suddenly and
unexpectedly enveloped in mist by its attraction of clouds, which just
before seemed remote and at great heights. At times, I have observed
them lower to half their heights, and notwithstanding they have been
dispersed to the right and to the left, yet they have met from both sides
and united to involve the summit in one great obscurity. The quantity of
water which flows from the lakes of Snowdonia is very considerable; so
much, that I doubt not but collectively they would exceed the waters of
the Thames before it meets the conflux of the ocean.”
MR. BINGLEY’S ASCENT.
This industrious and persevering traveller observes: “I had made a
determination soon after I came into Wales, that I would ascend Snowdon
by all the tracks that are usually pointed out to travellers.” This
gentleman had already accomplished the task in three instances, his
routes being first from Dôlbadarn Castle, secondly from Llanberis, and
thirdly from Llyn Cwellyn. The fourth, the description of which we are
about to borrow, as more descriptive than any of the others, is the route
from Bedd-gelert. He says: “The distance from Bedd-gelert to the summit,
being reckoned not less than six miles, and a lady being one of our
number, it was thought most eligible for her to ride as far as she could
without danger, and for the rest to walk the whole of the way. In this
manner therefore, we set out, commencing our _mountain_ journey by
turning to the right, from the Caernarvon road, at the distance of about
two miles and a half from the village. We left the horse at a cottage,
about half way up, from whence taking a bottle of milk to mix with some
rum that we had brought along with us, we continued our route over a
series of pointed and craggy rocks.
“Stopping at different times to rest, we enjoyed to the utmost the
prospects that by degrees were opening round us. Caernarvon and the Isle
of Anglesey, aided by the brightness of the morning, were seen to great
advantage; and Cwellyn below us, shaded by the vast Mynydd Mawr, with
Castell Cidwu at its foot, appeared extremely beautiful.
“In ascending the mountains, which from below seemed of immense height,
they began now to appear beneath us; the lakes and valleys were more
exposed, and all the little rills and mountain streams by degrees became
visible to us, like silver lines intersecting the hollows around.
Towards the upper part of the mountain, we passed over a tremendous ridge
of rock, called _Clawdd Côch_, the Red Ridge. This narrow pass, not more
than ten or twelve feet across, and two or three hundred yards in length
was so steep that the eye reached on each side, down the whole extent of
the mountain. And I am persuaded that in some parts of it if a person
held a large stone in each hand, and let them both fell at once, each
might roll above a quarter of a mile, and thus when they stopped they
might be more than half a mile asunder.
“The lady who accompanied us, to my great surprise, passed the ridge
without the least apparent signs of fear or trepidation. There is no
danger whatever in passing Clawdd Côch in the day-time, but I must
confess that I should by no means like to venture along this tract in the
night, as many do who have never seen it. If the moon shone very bright,
we might, it is true, escape unhurt, but a dark cloud coming suddenly
over would certainly expose us to much danger. Many instances have
occurred of persons who having passed over it in the night were so
terrified at seeing it by daylight the next morning, that they have not
dared to return the same way, but have gone a very circuitous round by
Bettws. I was informed that one gentleman had been so much alarmed, that
he crawled over it back again on his hands and knees. In the hollow on
the left of the ascent are four small pools, called _Llyn Côch_, the red
pool; _Llyn Glâs_, the blue pool; _Llyn y Nadroedd_, the adder’s pool;
and _Llyn Ffynnon y Gwâs_, the servant’s pool.
“Soon after we had passed Clawdd Côch, we became immersed in light
clouds, till we arrived at the summit of the mountain, when a single
gleam of sunshine, which lasted but for a moment, presented us with the
majestic scenery on the west of our station. It served only, however, to
tantalize our hopes; for a smart gust of wind again obscured us in
clouds. We now sheltered ourselves from the cold, under some of the
projecting rocks near the top, and ate our dinners, watching with anxiety
the dark shades in the clouds, in hopes that a separation might take
place, and that we should be once more delighted with a sight of the
grand objects around us. We did not watch in vain, for the clouds by
degrees cleared away, and left us at full liberty to admire the numerous
beauties in this expansive scene. The steep rock of _Clogwn y Garnedd_,
whose dreadful precipices are some of them above two hundred yards in
perpendicular height, and the whole rock, a series of precipices, was an
object which first struck one of my companions with terror, and he
exclaimed almost involuntarily,
How fearful
And dizzy ’tis to cast one’s eye so low!
The crows and choughs that wing the mid-way air
Scarce shew so gross as beetles.
“We now stood on a point which commanded the whole dome of the sky. The
prospects below, each of which we had before considered separately as a
grand scene, were now only miniature parts of the immense landscape. We
had around us such a variety of mountains, valleys, lakes, and streams,
each receding behind the ether, and bounded only by the far distant
horizon, that the eye almost strained itself with looking upon them.
These majestic prospects were soon shut from our sight by the gathering
clouds, which now began to close in much heavier than they had done
before; and it was in vain that we waited near an hour for another
opening.
“We were, therefore, at length obliged to descend, in despair of being
any more gratified with these sublime prospects. We again passed Clawd
Côch, and soon afterwards, turning to the left, descended into the
mountain vale, called _Cwm Llan_. We followed the course of a stream,
which flows from thence into Llyn y Dinas, in Nant Gwynant. This little
rivulet entertained us much in its descent, being in many places thrown
over low rocks, forming small but sometimes elegant cascades. After a
walk of two hours, we arrived in Nant Hwynan, the vale that I had
traversed with so much pleasure a day or two before; and passing by Llyn
y Dinas, and Dinas Emrys, soon afterwards reached Bedd-gelert, not a
little fatigued with our mountain ramble.
“I observed near a cottage in Cwm Llan, that several children were
employed in gathering the berries of the mountain ash. On inquiring of
the guide to what purpose this was done, he informed me that the Welsh
people brew from them a liquor which they call _Dïod Grïafol_. This, he
said, was done by merely crushing the berries, and putting water to them,
which, after remaining a fortnight, is drawn off for use. The flavour,
as I understood him, was somewhat like that of perry.”
ASCENT FROM DOLBADARN.
This account is taken from a small useful publication, entitled “Guide to
Bangor, Beaumaris, and Snowdonia,” by Mr. John Smith, of Liverpool. The
narrative is written by a friend of Mr. Smith, who, the latter informs
us, was a companion of the late lamented Belzoni, and the period when the
ascent was performed was the summer of 1825.
“It was about half-past twelve when we left our inn at Dôlbadarn, and I
think a more lovely morning we could not be favoured with: nature did
indeed seem at rest; not a cloud appeared to move, and a bright and
nearly full moon, which had passed the meridian, seemed as if waiting to
light us on our way. Our party consisted of three of the ladies, (the
fourth not having strength for the task) Mr. M., myself, two gentlemen
who joined us at Dôlbadarn, our guide, and his faithful dog. The ladies
were furnished with a stout pony each, but the gentlemen preferred
climbing on foot the steep ascent, and I believe, before they returned,
repented heartily having done so. The guide was equipped with a leathern
belt, to which was buckled a tin vessel containing water, and a staff
which seemed well worn with the hard service in which it was employed.
“We proceeded across a small rivulet a short distance from the inn, and
soon entered on a kind of mountain horse-path, composed of loose slate
and stones, of which our pedestrians soon began to be weary. After
ascending this about a mile, we arrived at a rough fence of turf and
stones, where the road wound round the side of a mountain, and entered a
kind of defile, through which we had to proceed. Here our guide desired
us to look back at the view beneath us, and when we did so, our feelings
and expressions of delight and astonishment were general. Below us, the
lake of Llanberis lay stretched like an immense mirror in the shade, with
one bright silvery ray resting on its glassy surface, in which part of
the steep mountains that surrounded it appeared reflected. To attempt to
describe the beautiful and varying tints on those mountains would be as
useless a task, as the most vivid colours would be foolishly employed in
trying to represent them. In the distance and on our right, Dôlbadarn
tower was just visible at the head of the lower lake, and on our left the
inn, surrounded with the only trees in the neighbourhood, formed a
striking object: we reflected with pleasure, as we looked towards it,
that the lady whose health would not allow her to accompany us, was there
enjoying a refreshing sleep, and would, when awake, be anxiously waiting
for our return, and to hear the various accounts we should give of our
expedition.
“We again turned our faces towards Snowdon, on the same road I have
before mentioned, and the mild, yet awful and magnificent scene before us
afforded abundant themes for conversation and remark. In three or four
places light fleecy clouds, edged with silver by the moonbeam, and which
at first appeared resting on the sides of the mountains, now seemed to be
slowly rolling down their steep sides, and generally mixing with the deep
gloom of the valleys below us. Though surrounded by nature’s grandest
works, I fancy some of the party were tired even here, as many inquiries
had been made relative to the distance we had still to proceed. However,
the guide, suddenly stopping, informed us we were now at the ‘half-way
house;’ but no house was to be seen, and on looking round for it, we
could perceive nothing but a small stream which trickled down the steep,
and which replenished our guide’s water vessel, which had been emptied
some time before by the continual demands upon it. {384}
“We had proceeded now about three miles, and left our slate road by
passing through a small wicket which opened on the heath, near which the
sagacity of one of the ponys surprised us. The poor animal was blind,
and on arriving within three feet of the wicket, which was open, it drew
up, and would not proceed till led through by the bridle. One would
fancy it had almost numbered its paces. It is surprising with what
safety and agility these animals walk over the steep paths and stones
they have to pass; and the guide assured us that he had been in the habit
of going with travellers nearly twenty years, and never knew a single
accident occasioned by them.
“The soft heath we were now passing was a relief to our feet, though it
was so steep that we were sometimes obliged to wait to regain breath. At
this time, we were on the top of a hill, which we fancied was the last we
had to mount before the peak of Snowdon, and willingly thought the summit
of the bold front before us was to be the end of our journey. Thence the
way was over a kind of ridge, perhaps forty yards wide, one side of which
was perpendicular for several hundred feet, and the other so steep that
no one could stop or steady himself upon it. Daylight now began to
appear, to show us more distinctly the steeps we were amongst; and,
though we well knew the breadth of the ridge was such that there could be
no danger, yet I am sure we all felt that unpleasant sensation which few
can approach the edge of a precipice without experiencing in some degree.
Tremendous gusts of wind, too, which passed the long heath with a
singular whizzing noise, giving warning of their approach, and almost
blowing us off our feet as they assailed us, did not make any of us feel
easier.
“However, we went boldly on without accident, except a hat and bonnet
blowing off, which were fortunately recovered, and nearly reached the top
of what we had all taken to be our journey’s end, when the guide
exclaimed, pointing to a high peak before us, “There is Snowdon top;” and
we had the mortification to find that we had still a climbing of
three-quarters of a mile before us. This powerfully reminded us of a
couplet by Pope:
‘The increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes,
Hills peep o’er hills, and alps on alps arise.’
A few minutes more brought us to a small inclosure of stones, where the
horses were put up, as they could proceed no further, and now the ladies
were obliged to foot it. Here one of the gentlemen gave in, declaring he
would proceed no further, and laid down on the moss, saying he would wait
our return. Perhaps a little rest was of service to him, for he
afterwards joined us on the top of Snowdon. The road here is along the
edge of the steep side of the mountain, which is almost perpendicular,
and is broken with large fragments of slate, stone, and spar, of various
kinds, to the very summit, which to our great joy, we at last attained
about half-past four o’clock. Had we waited for months we could not have
had a more beautiful time; as the guide expressed himself, ‘Snowdon has
its days, and this is one of them.’ We sat down; in a few minutes the
moon, which had so favoured us, declined behind one of the western
mountains, and almost at the same instant the red tints on the eastern
horizon foretold the approach of the king of day, the effect of whose
rising on such a scene as that below and around us, was the most
magnificent sight we ever beheld.”
The descent is not related by the writer of the above description. I
understand, however, it was merrily performed by all the party, whose
fatigue in the expedition well qualified them to feel the luxury of a few
hours’ repose at Dôlbadarn.
PROSPECT FROM THE SUMMIT.
In the foregoing descriptions by three of our most respectable tourists,
sufficient is contained to afford the traveller a tolerably good idea of
the nature of the ascent to the top of Snowdon; and we shall only add the
subjoined animated description of a view from its summit, by the author
of the “Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature.”
“After climbing over masses of crags and rocks, we ascended the peak of
Snowdon. Arrived at its summit, a scene presented itself, magnificent
beyond the powers of language! Indeed, language is indigent and impotent
when it would presume to sketch scenes on which the Great Eternal has
placed his matchless finger with delight. Faint are thy broad and deep
delineations, immortal Salvator Rosa! Powerless and feeble are your
inspirations, genius of Thompson, Virgil, and Lucretius!
“From this point are seen five-and-twenty lakes.—Seated on one of the
crags, it was long before the eye, unaccustomed to measure such
elevations, could accommodate itself to scenes so admirable:—the whole
appearing as if there had been a war of the elements; and as if we were
the only inhabitants of the globe permitted to contemplate the ruins of
the world. Rocks and mountains, which when observed from below, bear all
the evidence of sublimity, when viewed from the summit of Snowdon, are
blended with others as dark, as rugged, and as elevated as themselves;
the whole resembling the swellings of an agitated ocean.
“The extent of this prospect appears almost unlimited. The four kingdoms
are seen at once: Wales, England, Scotland, and Ireland! forming the
finest panorama the empire can boast. The circle begins with the
mountains of Cumberland and Westmorland; those of Ingleborough and
Penygent, in the county of York, and the hills of Lancashire follow; then
are observed the counties of Chester, Flint, Denbigh, and a portion of
Montgomeryshire. Nearly the whole of Merioneth succeeds; and drawing a
line with the eye along the diameter of the circle, we take in the
regions stretching from the triple crown of Cader Idris to the sterile
crags of Carnedds-David and Llewellyn. Snowdon, rising in the centre,
appears as if he could touch the south with his right hand, and the north
with his left. ‘Surely,’ thought Colonna, ‘Cæsar sat upon these crags
when he formed the daring conception of governing the world!’
“From Cader Idris the eye, pursuing the orbit of the bold geographical
line, glances over the bay of Cardigan, and reposes for a while on the
summit of the Rivals.—After observing the indented shores of
Caernarvonshire, it travels over a long line of ocean, till in the
extremity of the horizon the blue mountains of Wicklow terminate the
perspective. Those mountains gradually sink along the coast till they
are lost to the eye; which ranging along the expanse, at length, as weary
of the journey, reposes on the Island of Man, and the distant mountains
of Scotland. The intermediate space is occupied by the sides and summits
of mountains, hollow crags, masses of rocks, the towers of Caernarvon,
the fields of Anglesea, with woods, lakes, and glens, scattered in
magnificent confusion.
“A scene like this commands our feelings to echo, as it were, in unison
to its grandeur and sublimity. The thrill of astonishment, and the
transport of imagination seem to contend for the mastery, and nerves are
touched that never thrilled before. We seem as if our former existence
were annihilated, and as a new epoch were commenced. Another world opens
upon us; and an unlimited orbit appears to display itself as a theatre
for our ambition.”
* * * * *
Page 266, line 5.
Among other ceremonies performed in the preparations for knighthood, the
candidate went into a bath, which was symbolical of the purity of the
soul. He was then placed in a bed, which signified the rest he was
hereafter to enjoy in Paradise; and when he had slept, the Neophyte was
clothed in a shirt, which white dress betokened the purity of his new
character.—_See Miles’s History of Chivalry_.
* * * * *
Page 367.
“The lady looked—and died.”
According to poetical justice she certainly should have died. But the
lady recovered, and her good natured lord not only forgave her this slip,
but many others of a similar nature, and for her _earthly virtues_ had
her proclaimed a _heavenly saint_, after she had paid the debt of nature.
INDEX.
Aber, the ‘Bulkely Arms,’ at, 360; scenery near, 360, 367.
Aber Glas Llynn, bridge at, 237.
Abernodwydd, brook of, 114.
Actor, adventures related by an, 34.
Alphabet, Welsh, power of some letters of the, 5.
Appendix, 385.
Ardudwy, pass of, 187.
Arran Fowddwy mountain, 150.
Arrenig Vawr, hill of, 156, 187.
* * * * *
Bala, scenery near, 145; inn at, 151, 157; Llyn Tegid, 155, 159; the town
of, 159; Tommen-y-Bala, _ib._
Bardsey Island, bards of, 186.
Barmouth, the ‘Commercial Inn’ at, 81; town of, 183.
Beddgelert, the ‘Goat Inn’ at, 240; the grave of Llewellyn’s hound,
Gelert, 241.
Bettwys-y-Coed, iron bridge near, 293.
Birmingham, halt at, 21.
Butler, Lady Elinor, and Miss Ponsonby, their residence described, 97.
Bwlch Tyddiad, romantic scenery of, 207.
* * * * *
Cader Idris, altitude of, 171; traditions of, 172; views of, 179, 209.
Caernarvonshire chain of hills described, 185, 210.
Capel Curig, chapel, etc. at, 286, 291.
Car, jaunting, in Wales, 163.
Cardigan Bay, scenery and rivers of, 219, 233.
Carreg-y-Saeth, 191; its summit visited, 209.
Celylin Point and Bay, 181.
Chirk and the Ceriog river, 57.
— castle, 68.
Closs, John, story of and monument to, 282.
Conway, the ‘Castle Inn’ at, 324; venerable buildings at, 325;
description of the castle, 326; old customs at, 331; muscle pearl
fishery, 333; ford at Dynas Gonway, 334.
— river, scenery of the, 293, 310, 323, 331.
Corwen, ‘the Welsh Harp’ and ‘Owen Glyndwr’ inns, 138; church and
monuments, 139; new road, 161.
Crafnant, the residence of Mr. Owen, 190.
Cricaeth Castle and Promontory, 218.
Cwym Bychan, Llyn-y, 191; traditional story, 192.
* * * * *
Dale, Ann, 124.
Dee, vale of the, 86, 96, 121, 129; the river described, 150.
Dinas Bran Castle, Llangollen, 114.
— Gorten, _see_ Gorten.
Dolbadarn Castle, and Llyns Peris and Padarn, 262.
— legend of, 264, 279.
Dolgelly, vale of, 165, 171, 173; town of, 173; best inns at, 175.
Doluwcheogryd, the residence of Roland Williams Esq. 179.
Dolwyddelan castle, 287.
Drwstynrnt vale, 164, inn of, _ib._
Dunchurch, the inn at, 20.
Dwyryd, valley of the river, 230.
* * * * *
Edeyrnion, vale of, 149.
Edward I. his wars in Wales, and strongholds built by, 215, 218, 328.
Einion, gallantry of Dafydd-ap Ivan-ap, 215.
— Howel-ap-, 109, 112.
Eliseg, pillar of, 128.
Ellesmere canal, and aqueduct at Chirk, 58.
Elphin, the Consolation of, a poem, by Taliesin, 323.
Evans, Hugh, story of, 166.
* * * * *
Festiniog, inns of the village of, 231.
Fron Fawr, the mountain of, 126.
* * * * *
Geirionydd, Llyn, antiquities at, 322.
Giant’s Nightcap, tradition of the stone so named, 262.
Giraldus, Topography of Wales, 288.
Glan Mawddach, loch at, 180.
Gloddarth, the mansion of Lady Mostyn Champneys, 334.
Glossary, Welsh, 6.
Glyndwr, Owen, his manorial possessions, 129: War Tramp of, 131;
traditions of, 134, 174, 178; warfare of, 215.
Gôch Owen, his imprisonment, 263; tomb of Griffith Gôch, 293; Howel
Coetmore, 319.
Gorten Dinas, encampment on, 186; traditions relative to, 187.
Griffith, Mary, or ‘the Deserted,’ 59.
Gwarine, Fitz, or the family of Warrenne, 51.
Gwrydd, public-house at, 251; romantic scenery at, 252.
Gwydir castle, estate of Willoughby d’Eresby, 308.
— chapel, built by the Wynne family, 315.
Gwynant Llyn, and Llyn Dinas described, 247, 248.
Gwynedd, Prince Owain, 290.
* * * * *
Harlech Castle, 214; description of, 215; besieged by the parliament
forces, 192, 207; the ‘Blue Lion’ 283; beauty of the scenery near, 218.
Herbert, Sir Richard, 216.
Hill, Lord, pillar to, 28.
Howel Coetmore, 319.
— Voel, ode by, 263.
— ap-Eynion, 109, 112.
* * * * *
Idris, _see_ Cader Idris.
—, and Dyn Ddu, giant brethren, the legend of, 256.
Idwal, Llyn, and cleft of Twll Du, 290.
* * * * *
Jones’s Edward, ‘Bardic Museum,’ 171.
— Rev. Mr. his escape at Penmaen Mawr, 358.
Jorweth, Llewellyn-ap-, tomb of, 319, 325.
* * * * *
Llyn Tegai parish, 291.
Llanberis church and tombs, 253, 280, 281.
Llanderfell, view from the bridge of, 150.
Llandrillo, village of, 148.
Llandysilio Hall, 132.
Llangollen, vale of, 88; ‘Aqueduct Tavern’ near, 87; inns at, 93; female
club at, 101.
Llanthyn, the estate of Sir W. W. Wynne, 164.
Llanrwst, ‘Three Eagles’ inn at, 310; plays at the Town Hall, 311; town
of, described, 310, 321.
Llewellyn, Prince of Wales, 263, 361.
— and the captive knight, 362.
Lloyd, Griffith, the rector of Llanrwst, 321.
Llugwy river, 291.
* * * * *
Madoc, port, slate exported from, 232.
Madock, William Alexander, Esq. 232; his mansion, Tan-y-allt, 232, 235.
— Miss, mansion of, 177.
Maentwrog, village of, 218, 219; the shoemaker of, 220; the ‘Oakley arms’
at, 221; the Maentwrog inn at, 230.
Mallow, Mick, story of, 102.
Mawddach, river, 173, 178; embouchure of, 183.
Menai strait, the, 361, 368.
Merionethshire mountains, 230, 235.
Minstrel Fay, the ‘My Fawny Vychan,’ 108.
Moel Siabod, view from, 247, 286.
Mortimer, Roger, Earl of Wigmore, 70.
Mostyn Hall, the mansion of the Hon. E. M. L. Mostyn, 185, 188.
Myttwn, General, besieges the castle of Harlech, 192, 200.
* * * * *
Nannau park, 171, 178.
* * * * *
Ogo-ap-Shenkin, cave of, 295; adventure of Jordan-ap-Jordan at, 305.
Ogwen, Llyn, and falls of Benclog, 287.
Orme’s Head, the Great, the promontory described, 335.
Owain, William, account of, 201, 217.
* * * * *
Pedestrians, fashionable, in Wales, 32.
Pembroke, William Herbert, earl of, 215.
Penmaen Bach, promontory of, 353.
Penmaen Mawr, precipice of, 277; the pass, and modern road, 353; fearful
accidents at, 358; ancient British camp near, 359.
Penrhyn Castle, and Port Penrhyn, described, 368.
Peveril family, the, 51.
Phrenologist, adventure of a, 344, 351.
Pistyl-y-Cain, and falls of the river Mawddach, 178.
— Rhaidadr, waterfalls of, 69; _see_ Rhaiadr.
Pont-y-Pair, bridge of the cauldron, 294.
Powell’s History of North Wales, 288.
Price, Mr. his estate and mansion of Rhewlas, 151, 155, 158, 160, his
plantations, 161.
Pwllhely, town of, 186.
* * * * *
Rhaiadr-y-Wennot, or Spout of the Swallow, 292.
Rhaiadr-y-Parc Mawr, time to view the fall of, 322.
Rhaiadr Du, cataract of, 177, 231.
* * * * *
Scott, Sir Walter, note to his Marmion, 179; quotation from, 352.
Severn, river, Mountford bridge, etc. 31.
Shrewsbury, and vicinity of the town, 29.
Smuggler’s daughter, the, 335, 343.
Snowdon and Snowdonia, 172, 286, 172, 240, 251, 360, 286; _see_ Appendix.
Songs, etc.:—The Lament, 66; the Rose of Llangollen, 90; the Minstrel’s
Knell, 115; Lines at Valle Crucis, 123; Farewell to fair Rewlas, 162;
Farewell Hugh, handsome Hugh, 170; Witch of Cwm Bychan, 194, 196;
dialogue, the Traveller, 227; Lines written at Aber Glas Llyn, 237; Llyn
Gwynant, 249; Poem of Llewellyn and the Captive Knight, 362.
Stag, the enchanted, a legend, 71.
Stage-coach, society of a, 15.
* * * * *
Taliesin, the bard’s abode, 322; poem extant relative to, 323.
Tan-y-Bwlch, mansion of W. G. Oakley Esq. 230.
Tevi, river, 288.
Traeth Mawr and Traeth bach, arms of the sea, 218, 232, 233.
Trefriw, village of, 323.
Tremadoc, the town of Madoc, 232, 234.
Trifaen, crags of, 289.
Trout fishing in Wales, 14, 145, 156, 222, 231, 252.
Tudor-Trevor, family of, 109.
* * * * *
Valle Crucis, Abbey of, 121.
Vaughan, Margaret, poems by, 320.
— Sir R. W. Bart. estates of, 171, 178.
Vortigern’s Hill, near Beddgelert, 247.
* * * * *
Welshwomen, particulars relative to, 143, 149.
Whiffler, Mr., an amateur traveller, 130.
Wittington, village of, 48; the castle described, 50; church and tombs
at, 54.
Wnion, the river, 165, 173.
Wolverhampton, the road to, 22.
Wynne, account of the family of, 293, 309, 315, 316, 320, 325.
Wynnstay, mansion of Sir Watkin W. Wynne, Bart., 85.
* * * * *
END.
* * * * *
LONDON:
SCHULZE AND CO. 13, POLAND STREET.
FOOTNOTES.
{107} THE FAIRY’S SERENADE. (With an Accompaniment for the Pianoforte.)
Arranged by W. FORDE. _Allegretto_. G. BENNETT.
[Picture: Music Score for The Fairy’s Serenade]
The breeze hath left the Berwyn hills,
The dew was on the flower;
The bee had sought his honey comb,
The bird was in his bower;
When swifter than the mountain gale,
On Alban steed I flew
My bee I sought your honey home;
My bird I flew to you.
My bee I sought your honey home;
My bird I flew to you.
My peerless steed is white with foam
And droops his arched neck;
The flood, the mountain, and the glen,
He crossed without a cheek.
Oh! listen while my harp I strike,
And rouse its sweetest tone;
And hear the language of a heart,
Which beats for you alone.
The breeze hath left the Berwyn hills,
The dew is on the flower;
And I must hie to fairy land,
Ere chimes the midnight hour.
Arise bright star of beauty rise,
And when from you I roam,
Send forth the lustre of your eyes
To light me to my home.
{130} BATTLE SONG. (_Air_—“The Swan’s Note.”) Arranged by W. FORDE.
_Bold and expressive_.
[Picture: Music score for Battle song]
March to the battle,
Drums loudly rattle,
Trumpets are braying,
Proud steeds are neighing,
And armour clashing,
While torrents dashing,
Loudly thunder down below.
Bright helms are glancing,
Gay plumes are dancing,
Brave hearts are beating,
For the death meeting;
And Freedom rallies,
Sons of the valleys,
Forward then and face the foe!
Scion said Father round us come,
Gather bare the sword and strike the blow.
From rock and heather,
Spring up together,
Fierce as the eagle,
Staunch as the beagle;
From the heart’s fountain,
Sons of the mountain,
Shout the war cry of Glyndoor!
England advances,
Proud of her lances,
Gallant and sightly,
Noble and knightly,
Wales frowns before her,
Death hovers o’er her—
Forward to the battle moor;—
Fate hath decreed ’em,
Victims to freedom;
And banners flying,
O’er dead and dying—
Wave for Cambria’s great Glyndoor!
{143} JENNY DAVIES. (_Air_—“Llwyn-onn.”) Arranged by W. FORDE.
_Allegretto_.
[Picture: Music score for Jenny Davies]
I’m call’d Jenny Davies,
The fairest of Ladies,
And dwell on the bank-side where primroses grow;
My cheeks are like cherries,
My lips sweet strawberries,
My eyes are as black as the wild mountain sloe.
My heart’s warm and tender,
My waist small and slender,
I bound o’er the hills like the young mountain row;
I’m blithesome and witty,
Then sure ’tis a pity,
That I for a husband should sight forth heigh ho!
With sighing and suing,
Young Arthur came wooing,
But he was too shy for a buxom young lass,
Then came handsome Harry,
Who press’d me to marry,
But he was too fond of his toilet and glass;
Then followed brave Rowland,
Who lives in the low-land,
But he was too rough for a delicate maid;
Sure, sure ’tis a pity,
A young girl so pretty,
Should sigh for a husband and pine in the shade.
Young Carlie abused me,
And sadly misused me,
He vow’d to be mine and ran off with Miss Jones;
And last came a Quaker,
A grave undertaker,
Who promis’d he’d soon make me bone of his bones;
But he late and early
Is peevish and surly,
No longer I smile, and to dance I’m afraid;
I can’t bear to choose him,
And yet if I lose him,
Perhaps, (Oh, my stars!) I shall die an old maid.
{176} MOUNTAIN MARY. (_Air_—“Cader Idris.”) Arranged by W. FORDE.
_Allegretto_.
[Picture: Music score for Mountain Mary]
The sun had gone down, and the monarch of mountains
Had robed his dark form in a mantle of cloud;
The primroses slept by the summer dried fountains,
And beauty’s own river seem’d dreaming aloud.
In the dale of the Hazel all nature seem’d weeping,
And mild was the moon-light that silver’d the grove;
But wakeful was morn flew my own mountain Mary,
To gladden my heart with the breathings of love.
She looked down to blush, from the gaze of her lover,
Her snowy lids veiling her heaven-blue eyes;
More sweet was her breath than the dew-sprinkled clover,
When morning first breaks through the gates of the skies.
The land-breeze sprang up, and my bark tripp’d her anchor,
Ah me, how we started to feel that fair wind,
“Remember,” she cried, “the dear dale of the Hazel
And poor mountain Mary left weeping behind.”
Far, far did I wander in climes hotly burning,
Till fortune repaid me with wealth in good store;
Then swift as a bird’s flight o’er high waves returning,
Our vessel was wafted to Abermaw’s shore.
With the speed of the roe-buck I flew to my Mary,
Joy’s tears from her eyes fell like midsummer rain;
And now in Dolgelley by wedlock united,
The world and its wealth shall ne’er part us again.
{240} See appendix.
{250} The Blue Well, one of the pools in the recesses of the great
mountain, which discharges its waters into Llynn Gwynant.
{266} See appendix.
{304} DAFYDD AP SHENKIN. (For Three Voices.) Arranged by W. FORDE.
[Picture: Music score for Dafydd ap Shenkin]
Oh! Shenkin was a noble fellow,
As ever rov’d in Conway vale;
He drank till he was mellow, drank till he was mellow,
He drank till he was mellow,
And fought till his foes turn’d pale.
Well did he strike for merry freedom,
And England fear’d his great renown,
For laws—himself decreed ’em,
And gallantly held his own.
Then drink boys to the outlaw’d ranger,
And let us seek old Dafydd’s cave,
Where oft he cheer’d the stranger,
And dug for his foes a grave.
{384} FAREWELL TO NORTH WALES. (_Air_—“Ar hyd y nos.”) Arranged by W.
FORDE. _Andante espressivo_.
[Picture: Music score for Farewell to North Wales]
Mountain, glen, wild rock, and heather,
Now farewell!
Lakes and fairy dells for ever,
All farewell.
Land of love and softest blisses,
Casket of my dearest wishes,
I would cover thee with kisses,
But farewell.
Burning tears proclaim my anguish,
Fare—farewell.
When away from thee I languish,
Fare—farewell.
Friends and kindred when I’m sleeping,
To my beating heart come creeping
Morning brings me woe and weeping,
Fare—farewell.
Land where beauty ever glances,
Fare—farewell.
And where joy for ever dances,
Fare—farewell.
Surly winds are round me blowing,
Wildly are my white locks flowing,
Drear and dark the day is growing,
Fare—farewell.