Over the hill of Pen-garreg, the road
Is seen that leads from Llandovery,
Maes-y-velin’s green hill is opposite,
The mansion below—oft on either height
The lovers are making discovery.—
But envious eyes were on the watch,
And the genius of evil hover’d;
The brothers, who wish’d their sister unmatch’d,
For any approach of a lover watch’d,
At length their two flags discover’d.
They have hatch’d a scheme to enmesh the youth,
And see him at length on the mountain;
His flag they answer—he runs down the hill—
Now forth rush the wretches resolved to kill,
And waste his young heart’s warm fountain.
Like prey-beasts they hide on the Teivy’s banks
In the covert of thick-leaved bushes;
The youth, he dashes across the river,
And ardent to meet his fond receiver
He seeks her fair form in the rushes.—
He deems she plays him at hide and seek,
Her heart he knew was gayful—
“Oh come from thy covert my Ellen dear!
Oh come forth and meet thy lover here!”
He cries in soft accents playful.
No Ellen appears—rustling steps he hears—
Perhaps some perfidious stranger;—
He stops in the rushes, and steals to a copse,
But there not an instant for breathing stops
Peril’s presentiment suddenly drops,
And he flies for his life from danger.
He knew not his foes, up the hill he goes,
With the speed of a hart that’s hunted;
The brothers pursue, till fatigued they grew,
To Maes-y-velin his course they knew,
And eager revenge is blunted.—
They saw him enter—“the foe is snared!”
Exclaim’d then the elder brother;
“To kill him surely be firmly prepared
Accurst be the arm by which he is spared!
Let’s stab him, or drown, or smother.”
“Let’s do him dead and no matter how,
And our sister’s fortune is ours;
No brats of her’s shall supplant our hope:
Prepare we a dagger, a sack, and rope,
For brief are the stripling’s hours.”
Now rush’d the youth through the mansion door.
And fell at the feet of Ellen;
Ere he could speak the brothers appear,
The maiden shrieks with terrific fear,
The heiress of Maes-y-velin.—
She fell in a swoon, the brothers soon
Gag his mouth and proceed to bind him,
His hands they fasten’d behind his back,
And over his head they drew a sack,
They jump on his body—his rib bones crack,
Till a corse on the ground they find him.
Oh God! ’twas a barbarous bloody deed;
’Twas piteous to hear his groaning:
A demon’s heart might relent to hear
The sobs of death and convulsions drear—
Oh Christ! is no merciful angel near,
Call’d down by this woeful moaning?—
Oh murderous fiends! the eye of God
Hath flamed on this heartless murther!
They grasp at his throat to check his breath—
With knees on his breast—oh merciful death!
Thou sav’st him from anguish further.
And dead in the sack his body they bore,
And sunk in a pool of Teivy;
After many days when the body was found,
No tongue could tell was he smother’d or drown’d,
Or crush’d by men’s buffets heavy.
Thus fell in his bloom the blameless youth;—
Insanity seized on poor Ellen,
The lovely maniac! with bosom bare,
And eyes of wildness, and streaming hair,
Roved frantic o’er Maes-y-velin.
She said he was thrown in the Teivy’s stream,
The Flower of fair Llandovery;
She cross’d o’er the hills to his father’s town,
And he bless’d the maid like a child of his own;
But Ellen was past recovery.
Rhys Prichard wept long o’er his murder’d son,
And buried the hapless Ellen;
He cursed her brothers—the land of their birth
He cursed their mansion, its hall and hearth,
And the curse is on Maes-y-velin.
Strong was the curse on the savage race,
The murderers and their kindred;
Their bosoms possess’d by the furies of hell,
Oft vented the scream, the curse, and the yell:—
All men stood aloof and wonder’d.
They quarrell’d and stood forth in mortal strife,
Each one opposed to the other;
They never, oh never! are doom’d to agree,
While dividing poor Ellen’s property—
Two murder their elder brother.
And yet the murderers still are foes,
Furious and unrelenting;
Each coveting all his sister’s share:
At length one falls in the other’s snare,
Ere yet of his crimes repenting.
Now lived the survivor, a man forbid,
For murder his brow had branded—
Shunn’d by all men, none bade him God speed,
But solitude work’d wild remorse for his deed,
In madness he seized on a poisonous weed,
And a suicide’s grave was commanded.
Maes-y-velin became a deserted spot,
The roof of the mansion tumbled;
The lawns and the gardens o’er-ran with weeds,
And reptiles, vile emblems of hellish deeds,
Bred there—and the strong walls crumbled.—
They crumbled to dust, and fell to the earth,
And strangers bought Maes-y-velin;
Vain, it is said, their attempts to rebuild,
Vain was their labour in garden or field,
Snakes, toads, baneful weeds alone they yield,
Not a stone to another adhering.
The possessors fled, and oft others came,
But all their aims unavailing;
The peasants protest that at midnight hour
The spirit of Ellen is seen in her bower,
While on Pen-garreg hill stands Llandovery’s Flower,
And shrieks burst from Maes-y-velin.
When Rhys had finished reading his ballad, Twm riveted his eyes on the
ruins of Maes-y-velin, the two hills, the banks of the Teivy, and scenes
now subordinate to the modern grandeur of the new college at Lampeter:
and still remaining silent, seemed, by the force of his imagination, to
bring before his eyes the whole action of this domestic tragedy. Rhys
assured him that all the particulars of the murder, as narrated in the
ballad, were well authenticated, both by the evidence of the unhappy
young lady herself, and that of a countryman who beheld the murderers
bearing the body by night, and who distinctly saw, as the moon shone upon
them while in the act of casting their burthen into the river, the
shining spurs of the murdered youth, projecting from the end of the sack
which contained his body. But in so disordered a state was the country
at the time, from the civil wars between the king and the parliament,
that no cognizance was taken of the atrocious circumstance. The cursing
of Maes-y-velin, and the perpetrators of the bloody deed, by the youth’s
father, he said was no fiction; it was set forth in a pathetic and
nervous poem, in his volume of Divine Carols, entitled “Canwyll y Cymry,
or the Welshman’s Candle,” one of the most popular books ever published
in the Welsh language. With this explanation they both rose from their
stony seats, and pursued their way to Llandovery.