CHAPTER XII.

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.