(pronounced Thlangothlen) completely environed with mountains, with a
high hill to our right, bearing on its narrow peak the small remains of
Castle Dinas Brân. The bridge, adjacent to the town, thrown over the
rapid Dee, consisting of six arches, and formerly esteemed one of the
principal wonders of Wales, by no means answered our expectations. Some
difficulty, no doubt, attended its first erection, as the foundation is
built on the solid rock.
The elegant description of the valley in the kingdom of Amhara, by Dr.
Johnson, is very applicable to Llangollen; for “all the blessings of
nature seemed here to be collected, and its evils extracted and
excluded.” Without a sigh of regret, not like the discontented Rasselas,
I could here pass the remainder of my days, “in full conviction, that
this vale contains within its reach all that art or nature can bestow. I
could pity those, whom fate had excluded from this seat of tranquillity,
as the sport of chance, and the slaves of misery.” Such is the enviable
situation of Lady Eleanor Butler and Miss Ponsonby; who, thus veiled in
obscurity, have fitted up in a true characteristic style an elegant
little cottage, at the west extremity of the town, situated on a knoll.
The two rooms which are allotted for the inspection of strangers are very
handsomely furnished: the dining-room is ornamented with drawings, the
most favourite spots in the vicinity being selected as the subjects. The
window commands a prospect of the mountains, which awfully rise in front.
The study, looking on the well-arranged plantations of the garden, was
appropriately furnished with a choice collection of books. We regretted,
in the absence of the gardener, that we could not gain admittance to the
grounds. The vale of Llangollen, and this enviable retreat, have been
the subject of much admiration, both in verse and prose; and highly
deserve the praises which have been lavished upon it:
“Say, ivy’d Valle Crucis; time delay’d
Dim on the brink of Deva’s wand’ring floods,
Your ivy’d arch glitt’ring through the tangled shade,
Your grey hills tow’ring o’er your night of woods;
Deep in the vale recesses as you stand,
And, desolately great, the rising sign command;
Say, lovely ruin’d pile, when former years
Saw your pale train at midnight altars bow;
Saw superstition frown upon the tears
That mourn’d the rash, irrevocable vow;
Wore one young lip gay Eleanora’s {265a} smile?
Did Zara’s {265b} look serene one tedious hour beguile?”
The bridge of Llangollen is thus described by the elegant pen of Mr.
Pennant:—“The bridge, which was founded by the first John Trevor, bishop
of St. Asaph, {265c} who died in 1357, is one of the Tri Thlws Cymru, or
three beauties of Wales: but more remarkable for its situation than
structure. It consists of five arches; whose widest does not exceed
twenty-eight feet in diameter. The river usually runs under only one;
where it has formed a black chasm of vast depth, into which the water
pours with great fury from a high broken ledge, formed in the smooth and
solid rock, which composes the whole bed of the river. The view through
the arches, either upwards or downwards, is extremely picturesque.”
Having satisfied our curiosity, Dinas Brân, or Crow Castle, next invited
our attention; and having attained the summit of a steep and craggy hill,
commanding a pleasing view of Llangollen, we arrived at the ruins, which
crest this precipice. The remains of this castle are now so trifling,
that it scarcely repays even the enthusiast the trouble of ascending.
Its appearance is by no means picturesque; not a tree to give effect to
the crumbling walls: nor has time spared one of the towers. It was
formerly the residence of Myfanwy Vechan, so celebrated in verse. The
castle is built of the stone which composes the hill, on which it is
erected.
The prospect is very pleasing. Chirk Castle, Wynnstay Park, {266} and
many other seats of respectability, more particularly conspicuous. Great
part of the vale, and the meandering course of the Dee, may here be
traced; whilst the opposite hills are shelved off in an extraordinary and
unusual manner, resembling so many walls or fortifications.
The Author of the Beauties, Harmonies, and Sublimities of Nature, thus
describes his ascent up this mountain. “The sun was shooting its evening
rays along the vale, embellishing every thing they touched. It having
rained all the morning, the freshness with which spring had clad every
object, gave additional impulse to all our feelings. Arrived at the
summit, the scene became truly captivating: for nature appeared to have
drawn the veil from her bosom, and to glory in her charms. The season of
early spring, which, in other countries, serves only to exhibit their
poverty, displayed new beauties in this. Nature had thrown off her
mantle of snow, and appeared to invite the beholder to take a last look
of her beauties, ere she shaded the cottage with woodbine, or screened
with leaves the fantastic arms of the oak. The clouds soon began to form
over their heads, and a waving column lightly touched their hats. Around
was one continued range of mountains, with DINAS rising above the river.
Immediately below, lay a beautifully diversified vale, with the
Dee,—Milton’s ‘Wizard Stream,’—combining all the charms of the Arno and
the Loire, winding through the middle of it: while on the east side of
the mountain several villages seemed to rest in calm repose. This
beautiful scene was soon converted into a sublime one. For the clouds
assuming a more gloomy character, the tops of all the mountains around
became totally enveloped; and our heads were now and then encircled with
a heavy vapour. A more perfect union of the beautiful and magnificent it
were difficult to conceive. No object was discernible above; but below,
how captivating! Their feet were illumined by the sun, their heads, as
it were, touching the clouds. Above, all was gloomy and dark; below, the
sun, from the west, still illumined the villages and spires, the cottages
and woods, the pastures and fields, which lay scattered in every
direction; while the Dee, at intervals, swept, in many a graceful curve,
along the bottom of the vale. These objects, so variously blended, and
so admirably contrasted with the sombre scene above them, called to the
imagination the golden thoughts of Ariosto; and inspired such a
combination of feelings, that, for a time, they were absorbed in silent
meditation. While they were indulging in this repose, the sounds of
village bells, in honour of a recent marriage, came floating on the
breeze from below. The sounds, softened by the distance, and coming from
a region so far beneath, lulled them with a choral symphony, that excited
the most delightful sensations. And such must ever be the effect on
those whose happiness has not been smothered beneath a load of splendid
vacuities; in whom society has not engendered an infinity of wants; in
whom ignorance has not awakened pride, arrogance, and vanity; and in whom
content has the power of lulling every fever of illegitimate desire.”
Having descended this steep eminence, we continued our route to Vale
Crucis Abbey, about two miles distant from Llangollen. It would be
advisable for strangers first to visit Valle Crucis, and take Dinas Brân
Castle in their way back to their inn. The transmutations of time are
frequently ridiculous: the long aisles of this monastery, which were once
only responsive to the slow-breathed chant, now repeat the rude
dissonance of ducks, cows, and all manner of poultry. Instead of these
emblems of rusticity, the mind’s eye is more accustomed to appropriate
these antique edifices to the midnight procession of monks issuing from
their cells to perform the solemn service. These neglected walls are too
deeply shrouded by the melancholy grove of towering ash, contiguously
formed, to be seen to advantage. An axe, judiciously used, would be of
service to the ruin, as the elegant window of the chapel is completely
concealed by the luxuriant vegetation around; still, however, a pleasing
melancholy pervades the whole scene. The abbey is beautifully skreened
on all sides by woody hills, which entirely protect it from the
inclemency of the winter.
This ancient Cistertian monastery was founded by Madoc ap Griffith
Maelor, in the year 1200, and is sometimes called Llan-Egwiste, or
Llanegwast. In this vale is the pillar of Eglwyseg: but the country
people appeared quite ignorant of its situation. Returning to
Llangollen, we pursued the turnpike road to the neat village of