!iiiiiiiiii!i;Mi!tii|i I" ^ til SKETCHES AND LEGENDS A MIL) THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. IN BY JANET W. WILKINSON. LONDON: T. & W. BOONE, NEW BOND STREET. MDCCGXL. LONDON : IMCINTKH BY MOVES AND BARCLAY, CASTLE STREET, LF.ICKSTER SQUARE. TO THE CRITICS OF THE BRITISH PRESS. I FEEL that a girl of fifteen cannot do better than dedicate her first literary effusions to you, in the hope that, profiting by your judgment in kindly pointing out her faults, she may in riper years produce something more worthy of your notice. I am, Your very obedient Servant, THE AUTHOR. Brymbo Hall, August, 1840. 4J4914 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. CANTO I. I. MOST glorious Wales ! thou Eagle of the Rock ! That nestlest 'mid high mountains and wild streams, Where mighty tempest's dread resounding shock Alternate rules with sunlight's richest beams Hail ! throned within thy realms of awe and might, O'erlooking ocean canopied by clouds; Admit us to thy haunts of dusky night, Where floating mist thy frowning grandeur shrouds ! SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID II. Dominion of the free ! when from the chain Of foreign victors Britain's chiefs withdrew, Guarding with arm and life thy stern domain, Which round the heroes like a fortress grew, Secure 'mid towering cliff, or savage cave, Or tangled mazes of recesses deep, High o'er the foes they bade Defiance wave, And still the baffled chase o'er deserts sweep. III. Now vale and hill are bright with joy and peace. No echoes startle to the combat's din ; The vengeance and the strife of ages cease, And Plenty reigns around, beneath, within ! There lurks no danger in the forests old There gleam no weapons in the distant glen ; Deserted stands each patriot's rugged hold, And flocks lie scathless by the wolf's lorn den, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. IV. The morn is come the morn of light and song, To lure us gently from our own loved home, And whisper to us as we glide along, " How sweet amid the mountain paths to roam ! The dew is glistening on the bending grass, The sun is beaming gladly from on high, The green boughs rustle as beneath we pass, And cloudless azure decks the distant sky ! V. The air is redolent of summer flowers, Opening their petals to the laughing day; Earth ne'er seem'd fairer than amid these bowers, Yet from their magic bounds we haste away ; But once again we backward turn our gaze To take short farewell of these smiling shades, E'en now illumined by the morning rays, Then onward through the far-inviting glades! 4 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID VI. Brymbo! dear Brymbo ! with thy time-stahi'd walls, Thy sculptured portals, and thy shrine of yore, O'er which the ivy like a mantle falls, Scattering its tendrils o'er the carvings hoar, Adieu ! a fleeting and short-lived adieu ! Utter'd with glances that gay Pleasure breathe ; Farewell thy yew-clad walks, and boundless view, And roses that around the terrace wreathe ! VII. Long through the fresh, sequester'd lanes we wind, Glowing with hope, wild fancy, and glad mirth, Where trailing buds have clustering circlets twined, And blush along the dark, deep-furrow'd earth. The fields are golden with the waving grain, The streamlets babble gaily to the breeze, Happiness seems to shine along the plain, And ripening fruits hang thickly on the trees. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. VIII. Now, Wynnstay ! comes thy wide, far-spreading park, With its green bosom, grateful to the eye, Stretching all brightly to the valley, dark And shelter'd from the scorching beams on high. Still through the old, rich-tinted trees we gaze Down the wild vistas of th' encircling wood, While startled deer and fawns, in sportive maze, Fly from the knolls where they have browsing stood. IX. Through that enchanting and most fair domain In summer hours have I full often stray 'd ; Yet to each spot whene'er I come again, It ever seems with beauties fresh array'd : Smiling unto my pleased and wondering view Some novel charm, I heeded not before ; The banks, the groves, still wear some softer hue, The very skies a brighter radiance pour ! SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID X. Though, since my foot last trod its fertile bowers, Dark shades have pass'd o'er all with weeping gloom, The wing of Death has brush'd the princely towers, (1) And Heaven sent forth irrevocable doom ! Along the stately paths a train hath wound In funeral pomp, with noiseless step and slow, Thousands have throng'd in long lament around, And mingled in one sob of heartfelt woe. XI. There need no proud memorials here to tell The worth of him whose noble soul hath fled 5 His deeds outlive him, and for ever dwell His loftiest monuments ; his virtues shed A veil of hallow'd radiance o'er his name : While still responsive from each mournful breast, And from a grateful country, swells his fame, Who was of Cambria's sons the first and best! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. XII. Sweet Nant y Bele! through thy calm retreat I love to trace the wanderings of the Dee, Whose silvery beams ne'er with the sunlight fleet, But dance and sparkle still with wanton glee, Bounding along the rocks with liquid sound, Greeting the drooping boughs with snowy spray ; Anon with placid ripple slumbering found, Stealing along where'er the shadows lay. XIII. Most like the wanderings of the human heart, First fresh and glad, as are these limpid waves, And flush'd with glories that too soon depart, Or linger sadly but in Memory's caves ; The music of its pulse grows faint and still, And the path deepens into rayless gloom, Then sinks away, as does that gleaming rill, And glows no more on this side of the tomb. SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XIV. A tower doth o'er me now all massive rise, Not more enduring than the deeds it drew Its first creation from, for to the skies - It rears its strength to honour Waterloo ! (2) I sit again beside its casement wide, Following, with watchful eye, the distant vale, And leaning on the old oak's chisell'd side, With carved figures that from age look pale; XV. Rich as it is with plumed casque and shield, Quaint mottoes, and elaborate device, With bearded warriors panting for the field, And fables with antiquity concise : Here, too, grotesque old masks, with quip and beck, Mock at the stranger from the sombre walls, Relics that Time hath spared amid the wreck, Which, save these gothic fantasies, crush'd all ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. XVI. Again come back my former visions now Of England's heroes and of England's boast, And of that plain where verdant laurels grow, Still wreathing round the proud, victorious host; And that bright pennon, waving to the wind, Has not its hue before been Conquest's sign? Calling high dreamings to the lofty mind That throbb'd at its own spirit's flame divine! XVII. Memory of Waterloo ! not dimmer yet Beam thy stern glories to the eye of Fame: Can British bosoms e'er thy claims forget, While many a cheek grows crimson with thy name? Crimson with still fresh joy and conscious pride Of the brave souls that could so nobly fight, And the high banner that the storm defied, Unshaken as its country's sword-girt might ! 10 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XVIII. Beside me stands a form whose martial mien Betrays his history, when of old he fought In that fierce struggle, for his glance is keen, As if from flashing blades its light were caught. Full many a scene of blood that glance hath scann'd ; For who (that dwells in peace) may tell the lore Of misery cull'd from each far distant land Which o'er his memory doth in sadness pour? XIX. Not here his home : some quiet, shelter'd spot In merry England claims the veteran's love : But old companionship, which changes not, Hath tempted him awhile from thence to rove ; And seeking here a friend of other days, To live with him his years of war again, While o'er his brow the joy of conquest plays, And glowing words depict the battle's reign. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 11 XX. Well pleased that o'er his head so proudly smiles An emblem of the glory of his age, He oft, with newer incident, beguiles The careless hour, and many a varying page Of truth uncloses, such, as now, with tone Of fiery interest, to my listening ear He doth relate ; his furrow'd face hath grown Bright with the thoughts his mind re-summons here. THE SOLDIER'S STORY. (3) Mine is no tale of tragic woe, Where high-wrought griefs fantastic glow, Nor seek I Fiction's friendly art To fire the soul or melt the heart. No ! Truth shall guide my simple lay, And lend her charms to cheer the way. SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Were mine a Homer's matchless lyre, To higher themes I would aspire ; Would sing those deeds that grateful Fame To distant ages will proclaim ; Which shed new lustre round the brave, That brightens life and mocks the grave ! Such shines in him, whose dauntless host Is Britain's safeguard and her boast : Immortal WELLINGTON! thy praise Breathes not alone in minstrels' lays, But in each heart the tribute dwells, And every voice thy greatness swells ; Thy name each high, rejoicing strain, Blends with yon far and hard-won plain, Where British swords with victory crown'd, Turn'd Waterloo to hallo w'd ground ! Oh, War ! how bright the guerdons that await Thy hero's brow, with pride and hope elate, When to his native air the banners stream, And glittering steels flash forth a radiant gleam ! While pawing steeds champ o'er the trembling ground, With happy thousands crowding swiftly round ; THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 13 When martial notes in liquid music rise, And echoed fame in mellow cadence dies. But dearer are the mingled sounds that greet His ear from human lips, ay, far more sweet To hear his country's welcome load the gale, And countless voices bid the conqueror hail ! Yet, though fond eyes with joy and triumph glow, What are th' unheeded truths that lurk below ? They speak of those who cold and silent lie, And hearts that sink beneath their misery; Of scenes of blood, of lov'd delusions gone, And many a home left desolate and lone ! These are the woes that rent yon distant land, Where Nature's bounties blush on every hand, And Earth has borrow'd from the glowing skies A glory like their own celestial dyes. The country of the olive and the vine, These woes, oh, Lusitania ! these were thine! When he, whose very life would almost seem Some fabled tale some wild and transient dream, He, who had rear'd an empire with his sword, And sought to be the universe's lord, 14 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Who boldly fought on Egypt's fiery sands, And led his troops to Russia's frozen strands : NAPOLEON ! cradled by the boundless sea, Its rocks his home, its roar his lullaby ! He, in ambition boundless, mind as great, Despising fortune and defying fate, Rent kingdoms, as tliat ocean's wildest wave Rends the high cliff when storms insatiate rave, Engulphing all things in its raging deep, While o'er its breast the circling eddies sweep ! He would have hurl'd thee to the nations' grave, But British arms were there to help to save! Then, when to promised triumphs France was led, How deep the griefs with which the Lusians bled ! For they must leave their dear their cherish 'd homes, For distant cities' strange and crowded domes. And must they now in weeping sadness fly From all they loved, or linger but to die? Yes ! for the voice of War is on the blast, And every burst comes nearer than the last. Oh ! grant them but one short, one fleeting day, Ere they shall speed them on their mournful way, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 15 One day, to mark the sun's ascending beams Rouse the hush'd world from sleep to waking dreams, Gild the far peak, and light the smiling vale, Sport on the stream, and quiver on the dale, And on the hoary mountain's brow diffuse The glowing lustre of his rainbow hues ! Where every spot with Memory's sweets is rife, And hallow'd by the by-gone scenes of life ! There, on yon bank, perchance, a careless child, The sorrower pluck'd the blooming flowers and smiled ; Through yon wild pass, with footsteps sad and slow, Led his tired mules to the loved home below ; Or, at his cottage door, with laugh and song, Chased the gay evening's mirthful hours along. Those happier times, alas ! have vanish'd now, And darker cares have dimm'd his thoughtful brow. Why lingers he in this enchanting scene, And what to him are woods and valleys green ? Alas ! he sees not Nature's varied smile, No more her charms his storm-rent mind beguile ; That it is home dear home, alone he knows, Soon his no more, the refuge of his foes ! 16 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID He lingers but to weep a last farewell Hope's parting sigh, and Happiness's knell ; To treasure in his heart that fatal hour, And call in anguish on th' avenger's power. Hark! heard ye not that shrill and warning cry? " The foe! the foe! Fly! hapless loiterers, fly!" i The storm has raged itself to rest On steep Busaco's frowning crest ; The thunder's roar has died away From heights that trembled with the fray, While far from peak to peak it rung, From distant hill and valley flung, Sent back with new, redoubled sound, From lofty mountains piled around ; On every blast it louder came, And pour'd some hero's meed to Fame ! Oh ! sterner than the bolts of fire That wing from Heaven their signals dire, Flushing the earth with sudden light, Blighting its fruits with ceaseless might, Each peal that now re-echoes here, Gives hundreds to a glorious bier; THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 17 A bier with laurel-wreaths entwined, In many a weeping heart enshrined ; A memory by a nation hail'd, A fate that nation's tears bewail'd ! That tumult wild is lull'd at last ; The strife, the struggle almost past : Save, now and then, a shot that breaks The new-born calm, or tramp that shakes The furrow'd earth ; and far below, Where still the martial terrors glow, There still the deadly lightnings flash There still the blades ensanguined clash ! But here the cries resound no more, The battle's din is hush'd and o'er ; Repose hath seem'd to sink around The ghastly sight that strews the ground ; As when the whirlwind sweeps away, Wearied and sated with its prey ; The goodly forest's honours green, Rent from their hoary stems, are seen Recumbent on the aged earth, Crumbling to that which gave them birth. c 18 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID The tender sapling, and the oak That long has braved the tempest's stroke, Lie thickly scatter'd, side by side, Torn from each crest its noble pride ; While crush'd beneath ah! who may tell The hopes that wither'd as they fell ! A form is wending down the height, That frowns beyond in darksome might, And onward comes through savage hosts, Thronging along their watchful posts. It is a girl, whose youthful mien Scarce seventeen fleeting years hath seen ; Whose wayworn guise, and peasant dress, The toils of poverty confess. Her wearied look and tardy feet Betray her from some far retreat: Yet in her face the interest lives Which Youth inspires and Beauty gives ; The more when friendless sorrow seems To mingle with life's earliest dreams, And Innocence a halo throws On childhood's hours, that just disclose THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 19 The promise of matnrer age, Expanding 'mid the tempest's rage. With one small hand she seems to guide A laden mule, that by her side Obedient trudges ; and with gaze Of love and faith doth frequent raise Its glance to hers, as in surprise, Or as in sorrow, that she flies. While she, sometimes, will kindly press Its long sleek ears with tenderness, As if her feelings warmly cling E'en to the love of that dumb thing. Her mantle (wound around her brow, Shading its rich and sunny glow, And falling in long folds of night Upon her form of beauty slight,) Half veils the charms it cannot hide, And flutters in redundant pride ; Yet, oft escaping from its bound, Her silken hair the light hath found, Flickering and dancing on the gale Like shadows swept across the vale. 20 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID How young she seems ! not hers the mind Inured by time, to fate unkind, Not hers the heart, whose every tie, When rent, in sullen grief can lie, And chill'd and warp'd by sorrow lone, Shrink to its cell and freeze to stone! Her face is like a summer cloud, Which scarcely can the sunlight shroud, A silvery mist, that every breath Wafts into fair and magic wreath, Each moment varying, every thought A new expression there hath brought, Of sadness or of mirth, to fleet, Like strains of music, dying sweet, O'er woodlands wild, at evening's close, When drowsy sleep weighs down the rose ! Thus she advances, yet full oft Looks round afar, with glances soft, As if uncertain of her road, And what these sights of fear may bode. For she has reach'd a spot where still The combat's fading horrors thrill ; THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 21 Before, behind her, and around, Foe meets with foe ; the heaving ground Shakes with an army's mighty tread, And trampling hoofs of chargers dread. The clash of arms the cannon's roar The sounds that in succession pour The mingled cries from foreign tongue, Through the girl's aching brain have rung. Sharp from the rifle hiss the shot, Loud echoes boom from peak and grot ; The bursting shells, with fragments dire, Bear death upon their wings of fire, And chattering wildly 'mid the rocks, Tear up the mountain with their shocks ! But she is scathless ! shot nor blade, With grazing touch, hath her dismay 'd : It seems as if some viewless hand Has stay'd them with a stern comma/id, Has caught the bolts in midway flight And bid their rage on others light ! No mortal's hand no mortal's care, But His, who, o'er that maiden fair, SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Since infancy's first helpless hour, Has spread the safeguard of His power, And watch'd each path her footsteps trod, Whose care but His? the orphan's God! For she is friendless, since her birth No love for her has shone on earth, No pitying fondness dries her tears, No kindred voice her silence cheers ; Nor can her memory ever trace Faint record of a dearer face ! Is there not solitude on shores Where gleam no sails, where sweep no oars ? And in the depths of desert isle, Where all unseen earth's beauties smile ? Oh ! that is glad to pangs that dart In desolation o'er the heart! Yet she has turn'd, amid her grief, And sought and found in Heaven relief. Now slowly up Busaco's height, Where British soldiers rest from fight, She toils, and many a curious eye Doth her approach amazed descry. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 23 Surprise and pity, both in turn, In each admiring bosom burn : And she, with trembling finger, tells Her holy beads ; the sacred spells Are moisten'd by her falling tears ; Her agitated soul appears To pour itself away in prayer, Which to her forehead pure and fair, Fresh beauty lends; lip, eye, and heart, In the low-whisper'd sound have part. Not that the anguish of alarm Her mind dismays she fears no harm; But scenes of blood ill suit the gaze Of timid girlhood ; and the blaze Of conquest, with its laurels proud, From it is hid by danger's shroud ! She marks a kind and cheering smile Mantle along each warlike file, And sees no frown, for every brow Wears a warm, sympathising glow. As she from rank to rank hath pass'd, There seems some hallow'd influence cast. SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID It is, in truth, a wondrous sight, To see a girl so young and bright, With trusting step and placid face, And form whose every turn is grace, Moving, with warlike thousands near, In such a spot of awe and fear ! She gains the dark Sierra's crest, And scans the onward valley's breast ; But still in vain she strives to trace The unknown path her feet must pace : In vain in vain she wistful tries, Standing awhile in sad surprise, Then slowly, but with gentle mien, And bearing modest but serene, She hastes the nearest group to greet, And murmurs forth, in accents sweet, Her simple, but still touching tale ; How fugitive o'er hill and dale, By the stern mandate, far from home, Compell'd through dangers wild to roam. An orphan, without hope or friend, That can the wish'd assistance lend. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. Save one high stay in Heaven above ! With none to help, and naught to love, But this poor mule that feebly bears Her little all ! Her pearly tears Glisten in her large, speaking eyes, Whose eloquence hath no disguise ; And she inquires, which rugged way Will thence to distant Lisbon stray? Answer'd by many a kindly voice, Once more her thoughts with Hope rejoice ; And, reassured from doubting pause, Her mantle's folds she closer draws, And passes from the battle-field, For Heaven has been the Orphan's shield ! SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXI. His friend, a veteran, who had sat apart When first the tale began, had long drawn near, With growing interest. " My old soldier heart," He now burst forth, " such history to hear, Has well-nigh melted, though unused to own Narration's influence o'er the attending soul ! But this poor orphan, did she toil alone Thro' life's rude path, or reach some sheltering goal?" XXII. His comrade smiled ; but ere he could reply, Sweet music floated from the vale below, And we could catch distinctly there on high The breathings of a harp in cadence slow. Up sprung the Welshman, and delighted glanced On his companion ; then ecstatic said, " Now shall you be by Cambrian lays entranced, For hear them streaming from the ravine's shade ! " THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. XXIII. "That strain! I know it well; would that the words Could reach you too ; they murmur of a theme Which overjoys me like the clash of swords, Now I recall their memory like a dream!" He stood a moment, listening to the air The harper play'd ; then with abstracted mien He mutter'd forth the lay, while calm and fair Woods waved beneath us round the sylvan scene. THE WELSH HARP. There breathes a sound among the hills, I hear it wild and loud, And in my heart an echo thrills, And stirring thoughts upon me crowd, Of Cambria's ancient Harp ! SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Where are her sacred minstrels fled Who once awoke the hallow'd lay ? The last was number'd with the dead When on the conqueror's murdering day Fell Cambria's slaughter'd bards ! Yet still a wild and plaintive note Blends like a mournful wail ; And seems in sad regret to float The minstrel's dirge o'er hill and dale, From Cambria's ancient Harp ! Wake! thrilling chords! oh, wake again Beneath the harper's hand, And with thy sorrowing for the slain Breathe deep devotion to the land Of Cambria's hallow'd Harp ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 29 Oh ! still through fancy's eye I view Llewellyn lead his band, Up mountain steep, to freedom true, And struggle boldly for the land Of Cambria's cherish'd Harp ! But now, that fearful strife is done, Succeed these peaceful days The Southron's martial power hath won ; Yet still are heard the mournful lays Of Cambria's ancient Harp ! 30 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXIV. But noon is here, with all its burning sun, Flashing upon the deep enshrouded vale ; Day's orb his loftiest throne in heaven hath won ; Faint whispers steal along the panting gale ; The deer forsake the wide and scorching glade, And lave themselves within the crystal stream, Or crouch'd beneath the cool, o'erhanging shade, Sink gently into slumber's softest dream. XXV. And we, Llangollen! in thy vale of song With blest enchantment pass the pleasing hours; Deeming each moment, as we glide along, Thy charms are borrow'd from some fairy bowers, And still retain some sweet and potent spell To lure the wanderer from his home of yore, Within thy realms of life and light to dwell, Till all that pleased of old delights no more ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 31 XXVI. Where'er I turn I view each favour'd spot By Heaven in generous bounty richly blest, From the bright flowers that wreathe around each cot, To the far mountain's cloud-encircled crest. Yes, Dinas Bran ! (4) with upturn'd, wistful eyes, I mark the crumbling of thy massive walls, And think to hear once more the minstrel's sighs Pour'd to the fair one of thy princely halls, XXVII. When Howel swiftly flew on Alban steed To lay his laurels at Myfanwy's feet, While sparkled high the song-inspiring mead, His bardic lays were wont her ears to greet. Alas ! those gay inhabitants have fled, With all their thoughts of chivalry and love ; And the stern tower, as mourning for the dead, Frowns in most lone oblivion above. SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXVIII. Sacred Valle Crucis ! thou deserted fane ! Half hidden by the tall, entwining trees, Thy greatness all is o'er : no more again Will chant or organ swell upon the breeze, Or vesper's low and music-breathing bell, Sounding at evening, reach the traveller's ear, Like a celestial voice from that deep dell, Murmuring a warning that life ends not here ! XXIX. No more Llangollen's soft and dreamy vale Sees the worn pilgrims throng in weary line, With downcast eyes, and brow with travel pale, To weep and worship at thy far-famed shrine ; Or, wandering through the dark and moss-clad wood, The cowled monks in silent sadness roam ; Perchance, o'er their lone minds would oft intrude Unhallow'd thoughts of worldly joys and home ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 33 XXX. Sinking like poison'd arrows to the heart, With pangs too deep, and calling back again Memories and hopes, from which the strife to part Had been as death, torturing the harrow'd brain For crime like this, what penance must atone, Of midnight worship and of vigils wild, And supplications to the Heavenly Throne, Rending the life-strings of Earth's sinning child ! XXXI. Misguided men ! ah ! surely not for this Spoke Heaven's pity unto mortal ears, Promising glad eternity of bliss, Only to make this world a vale of tears ? No ! 'twas to soothe with faith life's dreary close, As at this hour, when evening sinks around, Sunset, with golden rays and hues of rose, Spreads its rich smiles around the horizon's bound, 34) SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXXII. Farewell, Llangollen ! yet one more farewell, As the sad notes swept from each lyre of old ; Farewell ! the poetry of thy bright dell, And the rapt songs that Time may yet unfold. Never in dim Arcadia's woody maze, Nor on the high Olympus' fabled brow, Breathed there more lofty theme for poet's lays, Than J mid these dark and purple mountains now ! XXXIII. Ah ! here at least our mighty Shakspeare's hand (5) Has given the patriot's thrilling deeds to fame, Sending his memory forth to every land, And rousing distant ages with his name. Owen Glyndower ! thou unforgotten chief 1 Thy trace is stamp'd for ever on this spot, Pressing upon the mind a fond belief Of thy strange, stormy, and still wayward lot. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 35 XXXIV. Mysterious omens fearfully hail'd thy birth, When blood sprang upward from the heaving soil,- A warning that thy steps should still on earth Be track'd in gore memento of thy toil. Thou wert but instrument of mightier wrath, A thunderbolt by hand Eternal thrown To scatter human pride, and in thy path To blast the world with- vengeance not thine own. XXXV. Yet thou, (unconscious of thy bounded power, And that Unseen, who check'd thy onward flight, Dashing thy fire in His appointed hour, To the scathed ground, and healing every blight ! ) Thou sought'st to tamper with a magic creed, And arm thyself with shield of darker lore, With demon learning that could gladly feed Thy love of rule which thirsted still for more. 36 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXXVI. And here was, then, thy palace ! here thy word Call'd up the spirits from their viewless cells, While Deva's banks with awe-struck wonder heard The midnight echo to thy secret spells ! And from yon cliff, with anxious, straining eye, Glanced thy stern gaze afar o'er hill and dale, Spanning each deep defile and mountain high, With watchful frown and visage dark and pale. XXXVII. In Corwen's lone and heather-tinted vale Hear the Welsh harp its plaintive wailings breathe, In full, confiding softness to the gale, Which trembles near its strings as if to wreathe The mournful chords with a caressing love, While, one by one, the harmonies around Their cadence roll, and to the heights above Their dreamy melodies and songs resound. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 37 XXXVIII. None richer than thine own, thou swelling strain, (6) Whose every note hath influence o'er the heart, Beauteous as Cader Idris, whence was ta'en Thy lofty name! how precious were the art To draw such tones from every slumbering wire, As he, the Bardd Alaw ! when first thy lay Stole from his touch, and, fill'd with Cambrian fire, Burst forth, rejoicing to the golden day ! XXXIX. Silently falls the shroud of evening now, Dimmer and dimmer fades the soft twilight, O * Sadder the river pours its whispers low, Day's last beam fleets away and all is night ! Night ! yet not darkness ! no ! for high afar The pallid moon, in majesty serene, Floats through the heavens, with many a circling star Set like a diadem, herself the queen ! 38 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XL. Unbounded realms of beauty round her shed Their cloudless lustre, yet she glides alone, Unrivall'd by the beaming train she led Of old, to gem the night ! bright' then she shone, And silvers now the ripples of the Dee, Which joyous spreads its dimpled surface wide Over the verdant bank, kissing the flow'ry lea, Or pebbly shoal, in glad, fantastic pride ! XLI. It is a fount of pleasure, clear and deep, Gliding through many a varied, lovely spot, Sometimes where drooping woods around it sweep, And veil its current, till almost forgot By careless wanderer; then once more it flings Itself 'mid open plains or meadows gay : Methinks 'tis like a spirit, for it brings Life and sweet minstrelsy where'er it stray. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 39 XLII. Is it not hallowed ? (7) Yes ! the humble brow Of many a votary bent before its shrine In ages past, with adoration low, Quaffing the waters pure they deem'd divine. The stalwart warriors, in stern bands, were seen To kneel beside it in heart-prompted praise, Ere battle raged along its margin green, And foe met foeman's eye with haughty gaze. XLIII. Still, Dee ! thy stream is sacred, for its name Is blended with the treasures of the past, Recalling mighty 'deeds and brilliant fame, Which shall, like thee, for ever stainless last. For thou hast sprung amid these silent hills At heavenly mandate, that the earth might -gain Freshness and plenty from thy blessed rills, And like thy source, thou dost divine remain ! 40 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XLIV. Breathe softly ! let no harsh or jarring sound Break on the dewy stillness of the air ; For Nature's harmony now steals around, Soothing each sense with melody so rare, 'T is like the echo of ideal strains, (Caught from the lyre of Orpheus when he swept Its chords with Love's own skill!) that still retains The lingering pathos at which rocks have wept. XLV. Edeyrnion ! dreamiest of my varied themes ! How in huge masses of intensest shade Rise thy hoar cliffs ! by Cynthia's purest beams, With lustrous beauty the ravine array'd. How peaceful and how holy seems the hour To rest upon the hush'd and slumbering earth, A moment form'd to pass in such a bower As this, far from th' intruding noise of mirth ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 41 XLVI. A moment but for silent, pensive thought, Like those which oft across the fancy sweep, As if from other worlds the night had caught A hallow'd influence for the dawn of sleep ! So consecrated for poetic joys unbroken, Save by the murmur of some ''antique song; Or whispering words like liquid music spoken, Faint links of memory, sinking along ! ' SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID CANTO II, I. BALA ! how dim appears the wish'd-for day That bids us blithely hail thy pleasant hills ; How thick the shadows thy mild bosom sway, While feathery haze the far horizon fills ; Shrouding with soft obscurity the vale, As if the vision had been all too fair, While sullen murmurs break along the dale, And breezy coolness stirs the languid air ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 43 II. O lonely,, lonely lake ! I hear thy waves Dashing upon the beach with hollow roar, While the rough bases that thy billow laves Come back to me like scenes I view'd before 1 Speaking most eloquently to my heart, That hush'd with awe humbles before thee now, Owning that all those truths which ofttimes dart Conviction to the soul, from Nature flow ! III. Far, far I gaze upon thy heaving tide, Which ever rolls with melancholy sound, As if some unquiet pulse of grief or pride Urged the swollen waters o'er their rocky bound. The grey and lowering clouds that flit on high, Weigh'd down with the same sadness, seem to weep ; A thousand feelings rous'd, I know not why, Across my troubled mind all chilling creep. 44 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID IV. But onward onward ! on our mountain way, Through barren pass and desolated moor, Let not such musings our slow steps delay, But leave behind the valley and the shore. Farther and farther on the wild we wend, Till not a form or sound attracts us now, Save cloud-capt rocks which misty grandeur lend To solitude and all its echoes low ! V. Inspirer of the poet's waking dreams, And nurse of Superstition's thrilling fears, That read dread warnings in the moonlight beams, And consecrate the visionary seers. Queen of these silent moors and darksome vales, With elfins gay and fairy's mirthful ring, What fancy hath not fed, beloved Wales ! Upon the legends that around thee cling? THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 45 VI. Thou hast thy magic lays, thy wildering glee, Thy forms that flit along the wan twilight, Thy voices and thy wind-borne melody, And spells that work within the mystic night ! What if stern reason fiction's smiles reprove, And bid credulity no more believe ; Who from delusion's plains of joy would rove, Or sad reality's dim truths receive ? VII. Oh ! what were life without the short-lived bloom, Which scatters radiance o'er man's lorn abode? And sheds a lustre through the chilling gloom, Like that which now illumes our weary road, As far o'er turf-clad paths the purple heather And spreading gorse with golden blossoms crown 'd, Twining and mingling joyously together, Profusely mantle the else barren ground. 46 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID VIII. And casting on the earth a rainbow shade, Softening and changing with cameleon hue, Bright'ning o'er every cliff and every glade, With sportive loveliness our glances woo. Yet broken here and there by silver streams, Forming anon pools that like diamonds glow, Fringed by the graceful cotton-plant that seems To veil the dark morass with flakes of snow. IX. But other charms have burst upon my gaze, The curtain of the mist is rent aside, The wakening sun looks from his couch of haze, As when Earth first beheld his new-born pride, Oh, Nature ! here amid thy grandest scenes, To thee thy votary lifts her wondering eyes, From the deep precipice o'er which she leans, To the immeasurable distance of the skies ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 47 X. Mountains on mountains, thick and hugely piled, Bursting confusedly on the wanderer's view, With their high chasms and their ravines wild, And the wide billows of the ocean blue ! Bounding that fearful and majestic vale, As with a girdle, yes, a spanless zone! Bending our souls with sinking awe to hail And bow before Creation's glorious throne ! XI. And here are cataracts thundering to the main, Foaming and boiling o'er the dizzy height, That leap o'er all, and scornfully disdain The barriers they have loosen'd in their might : Lashing the aged rocks in their descent. Stunning with their loud fall the gleesome air, The voice of rushing waters strangely blent With eagles screaming from their unseen lair! 48 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XII. Earth ! earth ! with all thy splendour everlasting, Raising our spirits to the far-off heaven, And from our nothingness the mantle casting, Till we can only pray to be forgiven, For the vain murmurings of our stubborn life Bound in the fetters of a paltry dross, And led away by every whirlwind's strife, Buying false joys by an eternal loss ! XIII. Ffestiniog ! yes ! one fleeting hour like this, Of gazing on thy matchless realms of might, Is worth a century of meaner bliss, Far from thy beauty's spirit-kindled light, Whose rays through many a care-distracting day, Returning freshly to the anguish 'd mind, Will bid us fling such worldly thoughts away, And love the lessons in thy depth enshrined ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 49 XIV. The travellers pause on Aberglasslyn's steep, While evening dews weigh down the misty air; They muse upon the arch 'neath which there sweep The torrents that have left their dizzy lair High on the precipice's rugged brow, And like a mountain of the snow-white foam, Rush onward to the darker depths below, Which yawn to woo them to their sullen home ! XV. Far far above, enshrouded in the sky, The pathless cliffs, with melancholy frown, Louring o'er all, echo th' ascending cry Of the mad waters as they thunder down ; And grimly seem as if at once bereft Of every tie to bind them back to earth, Save one lone tree, that from a dreary cleft Hangs drooping with a sort of pensive mirth, 50 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XVI. Waving its fresh, green foliage to the wind, The sole, bright vision on that scowling rock : Like as when in the heart some impulse kind Still lingers meekly, proof 'gainst every shock ; And casts such sweetness on the soil around, Clinging more fondly when the tempest rages, And ever with its weeping tendrils found In deathless constancy through mental ages. XVII. 'T was here, in years that long have pass'd away To pale oblivion (8) with their treasured woe, The minstrel loved in visions dark to stray, With steeps above and raging streams below, That gave an answer to the thoughts that urged His brain almost to frenzy, and which fired His bardic hand, while all emotion merged Into the gulf of that which most inspired, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 51 XVIII. His glowing strains! no hope of wide renown His lays impell'd, his high, heroic aim To tear dishonour from his country's crown, And rouse from slavery every heart of flame, Which 'mid the victor's shackles panted still With thirst for vengeance! Some he sought to wake From dull despair which did their bosoms chill, And bade their patriot swords their bondage break ! XIX. Then hence his summons wide and distant rung, Till at the sound the startled stranger quail'd ; And when the accents of his native tongue The Cambrian heard, wildly its tones he hail'd; They spoke to him of freedom and of life In words of burning memory, which did peal As from his birthplace, till the mental strife Grew all too keen, and arm'd his flashing steel ! SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XX. And now the glad reward of trustful days, (Spent in bright picturings of this distant scene, And the high breathings of historic lays That hallo w'd this fair valley's charms serene,) Beams on my soothed and happy view at last, And richer than were e'er my dearest dreams, Smiles with the fond traditions of the past, And closely wreathed with noble memory seems! XXI. Beddgelert ! thou most loved and shelter'd gem, Buried among these sharp, o'erhanging rocks, From whose rough bases rise the aged stem Of many a stunted oak, that strangely mocks The laughing verdure of the plain below, Deck'd with the freshness of undying springs, O'er thee, calm Evening, with her footsteps slow, Her robe of purple melancholy flings. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 53 XXII. Snowdonia towers above us with its throng Of gloomy clouds and loudly howling gales, Which sweep their savage bands the clefts along, And screen each summit from the peaceful vales ; Save on some favour'd days when sunny ray Breaks through the robe of mist, and tears aside Its coiling shadows, wafting them away, While loom the mountains in their native pride. XXIII. This is the realm which wild Romance hath made Her hallow'd region, her most mystic shrine ; Where every lofty peak and dreary shade Thrill through the heart with promptings half divine ; And summon to the mind of yielding man A thousand dim beliefs and wondrous dreams ; While every breath and murmur serves to fan The wavering terrors with which Fancy teems. 54< SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXIV. Each glad creation of the bards of eld Has woven here its most unfading wiles ; And still with each deceit their eyes beheld In inspiration, this their haunt beguiles The loitering traveller, and around him spreads A maze of loveliness, from which his feet Refuse to pass ; Delusion o'er him sheds Her brilliant lures, and whispers legends sweet, XXV. Which round our fair Snowdonia love to shower Their balmy memories ; fain would all receive As truth her prattlings of each moss-clad tower And grassy mound, and what she sings, believe. Oh ! surely if the charms of outward earth Have influence on the mind, what wildering lore Must nurture childhood here, where, from its birth, Majestic Nature's bounties round it pour ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 5,5 XXVI. Surely the soul must draw from yonder height Some portion of its grandeur, which may swell The trembling pulse with intellectual might, And cause more noble feelings there to dwell. Snowdon ! thou art that spirit's brightest home, Which to Imagination doth instil Its worthiest visions ! Oh ! how wildly foam The springs of fancy on thy sacred hill ! XXVII. I know a token of thy glorious power, Which years ago did sink into my heart, And there hath slumber'd, till this silent hour Did to the scene such eloquence impart : Then rose it to my memory, fresh and clear, As now but recent heard ; these spots recall Its wondrous meanings, which anew appear To twine around me a redoubled thrall. 56 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID THE DREAMER OF SNOWDON. (9) The moon is up on Snowdon's cloud-capt height, The stars are on the mantle dark of Night Hanging like jewels : all the earth is stil And motionless; even that lofty hill Has lost some measure of its terrors now ! The very torrents (that from its stern brow Swept with a rushing murmur fierce and deep,) Are silent ; they have wept themselves to sleep, As infants ; and the snow of countless ages Looks as if Peace were written in its pages. The breath of June is on the sultry air, Like a sweet song whisp'ring of visions fair And pleasant regions, where each fresh, green bough Within hath unseen minstrels, who do grow A part and portion of its verdant life, Which is with soothing concert ever rife. But what is this to Snowdon, with its crest Of boundless grandeur shrouded into rest ; THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. Or, silver'd by the radiance of the moon, The soft, bright planet of that lulling June ! Midsummer's night the glory of the year Broods o'er the earth, shedding a lustre clear On every summit, every mountain-pass, And rock-bound lake, that, like the mocking glass, Gives back her image from its crystal waves, As if another sky lurk'd in its fairy caves ! Oh ! marvel not that Fancy should have wove Her own lone dreamings with the nights above, And fabled that unearthly spells have power Most in Midsummer's hush'd and lovely hour; And that on that sweet eve have oft been seen The elfin bands to trip upon the green In tiny circles, leaving here and there The trace of footsteps on the verdure fair. Then, too, the wondering peasants ofttimes hear Low strains of music stealing on the ear, Half imperceptibly from distant dells, Like the soft chiming of some far-off bells. Such is this night! breathing of worlds unknown, Yet as if melancholy with the tone 58 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Mingled, and on old Snowdon's stern domain Had fix'd the empire of her mournful reign, To watch more fondly o'er a slumbering child That hath sunk down upon that mountain wild, And sleeps unconsciously, his careless flocks Roaming and pasturing 'neath the frowning rocks, Where'er a tuft of fresh, inviting grass Woos them along the slippery side to pass, Cropping the short, crisp blades that lurk between The greyish cliffs that intersperse the scene. He heeds them not, for on his youthful brow So lovingly and soft the moonbeams glow : He cannot but all calmly, gently sleep, While o'er his flushing cheek the night-winds sweep, And dreams of joy weigh on his childish heart; Who could have wish'd such happy friends to part? There is a smile upon that quiet face, And on that lip, curved by the lingering trace, That seems to whisper of some hidden power, Soothing his spirit in this tranquil hour ; And bringing back the infant hopes of yore That will return to bless him now no more. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 5Q For, with his fancies glad, a sound is clinging, A cherish'd voice, remember'd music singing ; Yet with a sadness in the changing tone, As if from some fair star that dwelt alone The faint, low melody has sweetly come, To bear him tidings of its happy home. And mild, dark eyes are mingling with his dream, Like scatter'd radiance from the pure moonbeam ; Looking so kindly on the gazing child, Though with their light unearthly glances wild Blending, while some fond hand would gently press His silken curls with tender, slow caress. Whose hand was that ? whose were those large clear eyes ? And who breathed forth those long-drawn, melting sighs? Whose memory was it that so sadly crept O'er his young mind, till e'en in sleep he wept? His mother's! for she was to him indeed A vision ; like the crush'd and wounded reed, Her heart had wither'd, every day had stole Some lustre from her brow, joy from her soul ; What did she with the world of scorn and pride ? Droop'd like a fading flow'ret, and so died! 60 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID But not before within the infant's breast Her holy memory had been deep imprest ; And now in slumber's moments rose her voice, To bid the dreamer's guileless mind rejoice. Half audibly her faltering accents fell Upon the ear that loved those sounds so well ; A shade has pass'd across his earnest brow, Dimming the lustre of its spotless snow : As when athwart the blue, refulgent sky, The sudden mists in circling eddies fly ; The louring heaven weeps down the sultry rain ; The mists disperse, and all is bright again. E'en so, o'er dimpled cheek the slow tear steals, Giving a token of the grief he feels ; The shade is gone, a silvery ray is shed Upon the sleeper's gently resting head. Anon, a thousand changing forms flit by, Swift as the eagle skims the beaming sky ; And all is alter'd, every soothing thought A new emotion has inspiring caught. There come strange mutterings on the wailing breeze, Like the storm raging amid lofty trees. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 6l The heavens seem flush'd with an unearthly fire, The portent of some wonder wild and dire ; The very rocks shake with an inward heave, Spirits are roaming through the mystic eve ! And he, the boy, lies softly sleeping still Amid the glories of that mighty hill. A form has swept above him, and with wings Outstretch'd, a shadow wide and deepening flings ; Honey from those dark pinions dropping fell, Delicious, as just loosen'd from the cell, Upon the sluinberer's fresh and rosy lip, Like the ambrosia that the gods would sip. Again again! the vision now has spoke, And with its thrilling voice the echoes woke, While back from every desolate defile The sound has come, and every valley's smile Hath brighten'd, as its viewless depths return The haughty fire that in those accents burn ! " I am the soul of Cambria!" thus it cried, " The rocks the skies are emblems of my pride ; My voice is in the torrent's ceaseless roar, My fame in the undying lays of yore ; 62 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID My memory hallow'd by my heroes' death, My praises in my minstrel's latest breath ! Snowdon itself will sooner pass away Than will my empire's majesty decay. Boy ! thou hast ventured in its precincts high, The pathless regions far above thee lie ; 9 And from my star-built throne have I swept down, To bind thy forehead with my deathless crown ! Thou shalt be known in poesy and story, And distant years will waken to thy glory ; Kings will bow down before thee, and thy song Will kindle nations as it peals along. Child of the mountain ! rise ! but from thy heart The spell of Awen (10) never will depart ; Thou shalt have power, oh ! thou above thy kind, To hear the spirits on the moaning wind, To lift the veil that shrouds the future's page, And with the elements tierce war to wage ; For thou hast slumber'd here, with mind where stain Hath linger'd not, and all thy thoughts remain Pure as the snow where never foot hath trod, Unsullied as when given from thy God ! " THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 63 The morning broke on Snowdon's lofty brow, The torrents rush'd with sullen sound below ; The mountains in their might stood proud and lone, The dream was fled, the slumberer was gone! 64 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID CANTO III. I. HARK ! hark ! the morn has roused the eager hounds, In hot pursuing of the crafty prey ; (11) O'er peak o'er heath the panting hunter bounds, And with loud cry salutes the rosy day ! The hills are echoing to the well-known notes, As gaily as Llewellyn's train of yore Rent the high cliffs with the dogs' baying throats Foaming and tearing o'er the barren moor. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. II. Then backward turning on the doubling trace, With cautious scent, and wide-distended eye, Scouring along the rugged mountain's base, Again again renew the deafening cry ! Higher they dash, and higher along the height, Toiling amid the crags with restless leap, Till in the shadow of the summit's might We lose them in some chasm dark and steep. III. E'en so, perchance, Llewellyn's thrilling horn Rang through the pass at break of earliest day ; Startling the drowsy slumbers of the morn, While on the chase he took his eager way : E'en so, he often wistful gazed behind, To see his Gelert rush along the heath, To hear his mellow bay upon the wind. Alas ! that they should only meet in Death ! 66 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID IV. For in the mind are many tender strings That to mute objects of affection bind Our love; some cherish'd friend that ever clings Unchanged, though all on earth should shrink behind ! So felt Llewellyn, when the speaking eyes Of his dumb favourite meekly gazed on his ; Whose gentle touch would seek to soothe his sighs, Or whine of joy give answer to his bliss. V. While couch'd his Gelert at the monarch's feet, When festive mirth and jest went round the hall ; Or when glad bound his wish'd return would greet, Or cry of rapture for attention call : Ah! then, when oft he pass'd his fondling hand O'er the sleek head, and the slight ears caress'd, Little he thought that 'mid the courtly band His steel alone should pierce that faithful breast ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 67 VI. And who may tell the prince's anguish'd pangs, When, home returning, Gelert met his view, Triumphant bounding, with blood-dropping fangs, While earth and rushes flush'd with kindred hue? The cradle tenantless, the infant fled, Told to his dread-struck brain a tale of fear ; He dreamt not that, conceal'd, the wolf lay dead, And his fair child in safety slumber'd near ! VII. Beddgelert ! must I bid thee now farewell ? Thou, where the heather blooms so rich and deep, And the stream dances through the joyous dell, Where evening dews so clear and silent sleep ! Farewell! but still my heart will rest with thee Whene'er the breeze is fresh, the sunshine bright, And the green leaves are gleaming far and free, My memory will be glowing in that light : 68 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID VIII. The music of thy vale will to me come, When o'er those farther hills I fondly stray, Blending with the dear sounds of life and home Thoughts of the scenes that smile so far away ! Then will I dream my wanderings o'er again, And the loved incidents of by-gone hours, When summer mantled every rock and plain, And we were lingering in thy sylvan bowers. IX. Or when by Dinas' fairy lake we pass'd, While morning rays lit up the tiny waves, Which with a gentle, liquid ripple, cast Their silvery waters on the scowling caves ; Upon our toilsome road, then farther wending, Llyn Gywnnant's murmurs, chiding softly near, And with the sheep-bells lone and distant blending, Float on the breeze from depths serene and clear, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 69 X. Fair picture ! deck'd with every richest hue, And brightest features of our ancient Earth, Woven to one glad vision, calm and new, As if first waken'd to its beauteous mirth. Thou seem'st a fresh creation, here where spread Around, above dark battlements of rock ; Or like some child that, 'mid these scenes of dread A truant, lingers still their gloom to mock. XI. Not here, fair Muse ! we may not loiter now, This is too high a theme for idle song ; The flushing throbs that beat upon my brow In honey 'd whisperings may not die along. No ! for my heart has leap'd into my eyes, And with such ecstasy my spirit urges ; As when far flashing to the burning skies, The ocean madly flings its snowy surges ! 70 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XII. Is there a love more pure, or thought more bright, Than those which speak of Nature's wide domain ; Deeming naught dearer than her golden light, Nor Fancy's wanderings fairer than her reign? Thus on the Gorphwysfa I stopp'd to gaze, As from a throne, upon those glorious vales, And on old Snowdon, wrapp'd in shrouding haze, The eternal crown of our own storm-girt Wales ! XIII. Behind, thou fair Llyn Gwynnant ! with thy smile Of quenchless beauty, and thy mellow'd shade Of deepening purple, softening the defile With hues of living joy that never fade. And that clear lake, with its untroubled waves So calm, scarce ruffled by the passing wind ; And guarded by each lofty rock that braves For countless years the elements combined. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 71 XIV. Fit dwelling for one desolate and lone, (12) And weary of the stormy, hollow world, One who, with suitable reward, had grown The victim of the bolts himself had hurl'd, Unhappy, but unpitied Vortigern ! Here 'mid these mountains often did he roam, With vain regrets and with forebodings stern, Of slavery and unnumber'd woes to come. XV. From the false allies he had lately sued For help and safety from the Pictish arms ; They, of whose people he had fondly woo'd The fair Rowena of the guileful charms. Well might the monarch mourn, who thus had sold His country's freedom for the Saxon's child, And stifle in his heart the rage untold, Scarce breathing forth those passions deep and wild ! 72 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XVI. If aught could calm that struggle, it had been The lulling whispers of the moaning stream, The placid stillness of that fairy scene, The realising of some poet's dream ! Not so ; the ghastly vale that starts aside In thrilling grandeur from that spot of peace, Through which the foaming rivulets that glide With their hoarse rush, the thickening gloom increase. XVII. The gloom of toppling crags, sharp, straight, and dark, And lost amid the low'ring misty sky, As if a breath might scatter them : yet, hark ! What burst like thunder rolls and groans on high? (13) Yet not a stone is loosened ! far more strong Hath been the tumult which once rent that height And dash'd confusedly the rocks along, As if unearthly powers had met in fight ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. XVIII. Or as a doom had fallen on all around, Smiting the Cwm-glas with its iron wrath, And sweeping vegetation from the ground, Till broken barriers mark alone the path. Thus looks this valley, as if chill'd by Death! Vast and inanimate, a dreary pile, The very moss seems half-afraid to wreathe The fallen fragments with its sombre smile! XIX. Yet here has life a humble life been spent, Years since, when yet more sad this wondrous glen, Ere smoothing time had civilising lent Its aid, and hither drawn the steps of men ! There is a huge and shapeless mass of stone, (14) Hurl'd from the cliff by some convulsion past ; Grim, dark, and mighty, it reclines alone, Amid the deep morass where it was cast ! 74 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XX. Within there is a hollow, small and low, Where solitary 'mid those mountains grey, To the old cromlech did a female go, To end her mournful hours, perchance to pray. How dreary must have been the livelong night, With the wild storm borne on the sultry air, And the wind rustling past with savage might, As if to mock her in her rocky lair ! XXI. And gathering hollow voices as it flew, From every cliffy summit, chasm, brake, And wafting shadowy forms of dismal hue Upon its wing, on to the distant lake. Here with a sadden'd step the traveller strays, While wondering peasants point to Hetty's isle, Memorial of long months and lonely days, With scarce a friendly voice or kindly smile. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. XXII. Yet not all cheerless! no; for she could love The hand of Heaven that guarded her so well, And hear the voice that whisper'd from above, Shedding a lustre o'er the gloomy dell : Happier, perhaps, than if in lordly bowers Her life was spent with every folly vain, Striving to deck with joy the lagging hours, Only to feel their weight return again ! XXIII. As thus I said, I turn'd, and leaning near, Beheld an aged man, whose long white hair Fell o'er his brow ; like Autumn ere 'tis sere He truly look'd, though old, unchill'd by care. He seem'd no peasant, though his garb was plain An oaken staff his frame assistant propp'd : As slowly he advanced, nor yet in vain, I curious gazed ; close to my side he stopp'd. 76 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXIV. His ear had caught my words, and in reply He pointed to the dark recess, and said : " A century or more hath fleeted by Since Hetty of this rock a dwelling made. It was not always thus with her; of old A thousand times I heard my father tell Her simple history; when, a stripling bold, He knew and loved the gentle creature well ! '' XXV. The story seem'd to tremble on his tongue; Nor did I fail to urge that he would pour Unto my listening mind the tale that clung So closely on his memory from of yore ! Then, all compliant to my earnest will, He sat him down upon a rugged stone ; And wove his legend with a rustic skill, Which found an echo 'mid those mountains lone ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 77 THE LEGEND OF THE CROMLECH. Once, o'er the spring- enamell'd mead, No lighter foot the dance could lead, No form more swiftly mid the throng Could thread the graceful maze along ! Where'er the sweetest voice was heard, Carolling like a summer bird ; Where'er 'mid autumn-tinted bowers, A cheek glow'd brighter than the flowers, That voice that cheek gave warning true That there young Hetty, fawnlike, flew ! Ne'er on her brow a vestige play'd Of grief or transitory shade ; To her the very name of care Seem'd idle mockery; all so fair The lovely world that round her spread, She deem'd no winter e'er could shed A dimness o'er it, or impart A chill and discord to her heart ! 78 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Thus, when the aged of sorrow told, She smiled to hear their counsels cold ; Nor heeded when, with warning sigh, They bade her think that youth pass'd by As fleeting as a morning dream ! She laugh'd with such a guileless gleam Of triumph in her eyes, that all Forgot their wisdom in her thrall ! And then she wedded : one though young, More thoughtful than herself. There hung No pomp or wealth around their home, It rose beneath the heaven's blue dome, A lowly hut, shelter'd by hills That chafed with many swelling rills ! But Hetty's face was still as bright, Her words as gay, her heart as light ; And ever grew her thoughts more glad, And fearless of reverses sad ! Some years pass'd by, and then there fell Dark changes on the peaceful dell ; No longer when the sunset flush'd The mountains hoar, and evening blush'd, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 79 The cheerful hearth, more freshly stored With turf, its radiance wider pour'd : No more stole Hetty forth to view The distant scene and gathering dew, To watch with glance of anxious love The paths that wound the hills above ; Straining her all-expectant gaze, While round her sank the twilight's haze, To hail him who from moorlands grey Was wont to take his homeward way. Ah! ne'er again his foot would tread Those cherish'd haunts; his spirit fled, Rejoiced on high in endless rest, No more by earthly cares oppress'd ! And she her rounded cheek had grown A tint less rich, and grief had thrown A softness on her deep dark eyes, More like the colouring of the skies. No longer from her lip there rung Such gleeful strains, for now she sung Only in whispers sweet and low, Till sleep had kiss'd her infant's brow. 80 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID I have not told you of her child, Which most her lonely hours beguiled, Nor how the widow's feelings twined Their all around him, and did bind A thousand aspirations there, Picturing a future calm and fair ; And hanging many fond, fond dreams Upon one stay; as flattering gleams The distant sail on ocean blue, A glad, perhaps, deceptive view To one, who, shipwreck'd on an isle Of barren solitude, sees smile For him no ties of kindred love, Or friendly aid, save from above ! With eagerness like that which rends His very life, as there he bends, And gazes on the shadowy speck, Sole hope that hath survived his wreck, Did Hetty watch her noble boy ; And mark with strangely bounding joy Each passing day, and month, and year, Dispel each doubt, soothe every fear, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 81 For blithe and swift as mountain gales, He frolick'd through his native vales, While every summer left a trace Of rosier health upon his face. Often with venturous foot he stray 'd Along the rocks, and gleeful made Their echoes ring with merry shout ; And free, wild song so sweet chimed out, You would have thought a fairy's voice Did from her unseen home rejoice ; Warm, frank, and fond, his infant heart Imbibed no chill, conceal'd no art : But, like a fount of crystal tide, Which deep and pure beneath doth glide, Although it sparkle bright above, His spirit breathed of guileless love To all around, but to her most, Whose life he was, and noblest boast ! Poor and alone, with honest pride, Her nimble distaff Hetty plied ; And when across the dreary moor The produce of her toil she bore G 82 - SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID To neighbouring towns, sometimes her son By her loved side would sportive run, Light'ning her of some trifling load, And prattling on the lonely road. But now, when winter's sullen blast Along the snow-clad valleys pass'd, No more she yielded when he press'd On. her glad ear the bold request. t6 Look forth! my child, how dim the sky! See ! mists are circling far on high ; Scarcely my strength will thither bear Myself, so rough the whirlwinds tear ; But if I had thy steps to lead, The way were cumbersome, indeed. Here, then, in calm content remain: When summer days return again, We will once more together go, And trace the upward paths, or low 'Mid valleys wander, plucking flowers, Which Heaven in gracious bounty showers. Rest then! nor venture forth to stray, By stream or precipice to play, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 83 Early I shall return to see Thy welcoming eyes beam out with glee !" Now o'er the earth Night drives apace His dusky steeds, till scarce a trace Of lingering day the twilight breaks ; While swiftly ravening tempest wakes, And hovering on the horizon dim, Summons his clouds in masses grim ; While deathlike silence reigns around, Till falling on the thirsty ground Large flakes of snow are slowly seen, At first, so thin and far between, That more they seem like eagle down, From rapid wing, in passing, blown. Now cowers the boy beside the fire, And piles its turf-fed embers higher, While oft within each burning heap, His fancy sees strange figures creep, Odd, grinning faces, herds and cots, Sparkling along the reddest spots, 84 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Until his eyes, so laughing bent, Ache with the toil, and mirth is spent! Then ponders he on mountain nooks, Then from the tiny casement looks, And wonders when his mother's feet His anxious, listening ear will greet. Darker and darker grows the dale, Partly because the snow-clouds veil The heavens, but still no Hetty's form Her son beholds : he marks the storm Mantling the earth, and sweeping loud, Where barren peaks all densely crowd. A thousand fears his mind distress, A thousand plans his thoughts oppress ; He gazes from the humble door, And thinks upon the dismal moor O'er which her painful steps must pass, Shunning deep cleft or damp morass. Large tears his wistful eyes bedew, Which seek to pierce the mist-clouds through ; Would that he were a man, to guide Her faltering way with guardian pride, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. And shelter with his sturdy arm Her tender frame from blast or harm ! Fired by these thoughts, his peaceful home He musing leaves, alone to roam. At first, he only means to tread The road which o'er the mountains led, As he remembers, when before He did in summer rocks explore " For thence," he mutters, " I can see If near at hand my mother be ! " So speeds he up the dreary path, While howling storms pour forth their wrath Deserted gleams the rustic cot, That seems by human foot forgot ; The fire in sinking, glowing light Derides the dimness of the night ; No cherub face beside it smiles, No babbling voice the hour beguiles, No busy hand prepares the meal, Or winds the flax on careful reel. Forth from each cranny, starting gay, The chirping mice delighted play, 86 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID And scour along the echoing ground, With black-eyed joy and sportive bound. Now on its hinges turns the door, The timid train forsake the floor, And Hetty's voice, in fondling tone, Vibrates along the chamber lone. " My own dear child ! " she eager cries, Then starts and trembles with surprise, With frantic haste each spot surveys, In vain, for nothing meets her gaze; 'With voice of agony she screams His cherish'd name, but answering streams A burst of wailing from the heights, O'er which the whirlwinds wing their flights ; His voice is mute! Till now restrain'd, * The tempest's rage is swift unchain'd ; And thundering from the frowning sky, The snow doth pour, and drifting fly " . In blinding wreath ; while hill and dell Seem groaning with some demon spell ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 87 Now learn why thence to this sad den Poor Hetty fled ; the haunts of men Bore not a charm for one whose grief, Deep and eternal, scorn'd relief, She could not bear to linger still Where once such joy her heart did fill ; Yet could she not the scenes forsake Where he had died ; nor sternly break Old fancies from her anguish'd brain, When they, intruding, turn'd again. Hither she came, for in this wild, On dismal mount, was found her child ; The heavy snow above him lay, As it had done for many a day; And yet his brow was still and sweet, As if his death were calm to meet ; And pillow'd on his arm his head, As gentle sleep were o'er him shed. Alas ! when from her lonely cell She gazed along the sombre dell ; His form would glide before her view, Not blooming, but with pallid hue: 88 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Then would she turn to weep and pray With anguish 'd memory : smiling day Had lost all gladness to her eye, And the breeze seem'd one endless sigh ; Yet could she not lie down and die, For Heaven had laid upon her brow This heavy weight ; till like the snow Her heart was chasten'd, and she raised In humbleness her voice, and praised The hand that struck her, then from life She vanish'd. Whene'er the shepherd here at eve Doth wander, peasants still believe, That oft upon yon gloomy height Shrill cries disturb the mournful night. The wailings of the noble child, Lost in the mazes of the wild ; Which, sounding to his awe-struck ear, Chill every pulse with dread and fear. But I, by no such thoughts oppress'd, Shun not this valley's dismal breast ; For well I know in yon blue dome Mother and child have gain'd their home! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 89 XXVI. Llanberis ! I may never see thee more, Or gaze upon thy summits wrapp'd in cloud, But thoughts of awe I never felt before Will still recall to me thy mountains proud ; And that my wondering eyes have fondly drank Long draughts of joy from the eternal well, The well of earthly beauty; they have sank Deep to my heart an all-entrancing spell ! XXVII. For I have loved them, yes! in scenes like this, And in the softer charms of other vales, Glowing with radiance, as if steep'd in bliss, Loved them in all ; but most in thee, O, Wales ! For thou it was that first to me didst give A shadowing of fair Nature's stores untold Of loveliness, and taught'st me that to live Was but to live in her, as once of old ; 90 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXVIII. When shepherds watch'd their feeding flocks by night In Chaldea's land, and gazing up on high Drew learning from the stars' enshrined light, And read bright science in the azure sky : Then every stone had meaning, every flower And leaf they trod on pour'd its wealth unknown ; Fresh secrets where unveil'd with every hour; They knelt below, but worshipp'd Heaven's own ! XXIX. Oh, mortals ! it is Thought alone that raised Our minds from dust, then leave her glories free! Can we volcanoes quench that long have blazed, Lull the swift whirlwind, curb the mighty sea? Look up to Heaven ! that far, majestic dome, Whether its vault be dimm'd by vapoury cloud, Or azure smiles, just tipp'd with snowy foam, Mantle its realm ; can thine eye pierce that shroud, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 91 XXX. Which hides from mortal gaze transcendant light? Can it above that all-un fathom 'd veil Survey man's fate as traced in letters bright? And can thy lips breathe forth the mystic tale ? Oh ! Thought is like that whirlwind sweeping by Uncaged, untamed, ne'er to return again; And like that ocean's billows dashing high, And like that flame's ungovernable reign ! XXXI. Tis as that vast expanse of ether spread Above the world, untrodden and unknown, Save by the spanless orbs whose path is sped Far, far on high, some girdled, some alone ! Thought is unchain'd ! her ever-rapid wing Sweeps, like the lightning, o'er the mighty earth, Till coiling to her nest, her fancies bring Rich treasures of a momentary birth ! 92 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXXI. Then broods she o'er the past, with all its crowd Of spectral forms and long-remember'd hours ; While voices from the tomb, re-echoing loud, Mutter dark lore : and mournful memory showers Tears o'er the visionary, night-robed page, Freshening the tides of sorrow in the heart ; Or, calling scenes of some inspired age, A new existence o'er her seems to dart : XXXIII. For then she wanders 'mid the things of yore, While beats each pulse with feelings all her own, Or on the future meditates the more, Looking on all from her immortal throne ! Time bears away upon its waveless tide The monuments of human worth and fame, Annihilating every trace of pride, Engulfing nations and each blazon'd name! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 93 XXXIV. The frame of man may moulder to decay, The sky itself be robb'd of heavenly light, The earth, the ocean may be swept away, But Thought shall live through every storm and blight ! For 'tis a ray from that Eternal Power Which survey'd chaos ere the world began : And now o'er all its influence doth tower, Loftiest of blessings God vouchsafed to man ! XXXV. Then bind her not, when panting forth to roam Through realms unseen, soaring on pinions proud, Seeking again her own primeval throne, Or, 'neath the wave, or on the circling cloud. And force her not to wander when, oppress'd With lengtheri'd flight, she silently sinks down, And slumbers for a moment in the breast, Veiling the glories of her radiant crown ! 94) SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID CANTO IV. I. FAR have I wander'd o'er this land of song, 'Mid craggy hills and plains bedeck'd with heath ; Have loiter'd sometimes as I pass'd along, And sought the secrets that were twined beneath. Yet not like those, the minstrels of times fled, Who idled blithely on their lengthen'd way, And wheresoever they stray 'd enchantment shed, With the sweet blending of their harp and lay. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 95 II. Then when at eve they stopp'd by cottage door And ivied porch, the old man smiling praised The tuneful tones that from their chords would pour, And childhood's voice a gleeful chorus raised. Or else in banquet hall, or beauty's bower, They strain'd their skill and struck their softest measure, With tales of love or war beguiled the hour, And soothed the whispering maze of courtly pleasure. III. The poet's verse, the minstrel's balmy spell, Have lost their freshness, fabled worlds grow dim, While fades Romance with hollow-toned farewell, Hallowing no more the tower or mountains grim, Few now the lyres that can essay to wake Her languid slumbers, from fair Fancy's home Scarcely faipt echoes low and plaintive break, Tis icy Silence reigns within her dome! 96 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID IV. Whence flows the change ? Does Wisdom guide us now More brightly than when mighty Shakspere sang ; And we believed, that on each knoll's green brow The elfins danced, and groves unceasing rang With magic laughter? Are our hearts more warm Than when we wept to hear of tragic woe ? Or have our fleeting lives a purer charm Than hover'd o'er them some short years ago? V. I rest upon an ancient, rustic bridge, Sweet Capul Curig! which doth lightly span Thy lake, while far appears the snowy ridge Of Cambria's monarch. Breezes slowly fan The tall trees clustering round the placid glade, Which, like a timid nursling, fondly sleeps, As if secure 'neath giant Snowdon's shade, Nestling and crouching near the jagged steeps ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 97 VI. And breathed on by the gentlest wind of Heaven, Stirring so lovingly the limpid waves, Gladly at morn, and soothingly at even, Bearing a wailing murmur from the caves, Which, frowning, fortify the smiling vale, Like a sad lamentation from the dead, Or a reproachful voice upon the gale, From the old forest's glories that have fled. (15) VII. Others have been around me ; eyes grew bright With novelty and friendship ; mirth and jest Sprung up, accordant to the sultry light That fill'd each incident with sunny zest. All had some sprightly word, some graver thought, Or wondrous history of the scenes that lie Basking around, as if each, laughing, sought To weave their imagings o'er earth and sky ! ii 98 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID VIII. I mingled in the converse of the group, And we were merry ; for the heart ne'er thrills With blither feelings than when o'er us droop Green branches, and beyond vast, lofty hills, Spread generously their beauties to our gaze; The mountain air that flushes every cheek Illumes in turn the spirit ; every haze Flies swiftly off, till naught but joy doth speak, IX. 'Twas then I mark'd beside the bridge there roved Young children, who with rosy, sunburnt face, Betray'd the glowing haunts they dearest loved ; While sporting o'er the sward with artless grace, Oft here and there, along each lovely bank, They cull'd the fairy offspring of the soil : Beneath their touch the cowering blossoms sank, And pranksome mischief led the pleasing toil. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 99 X. We watch'd them long it was indeed a scene Of happy innocence : the buds, half blown, Wore semblance to their gatherers, youth serene Alike in both with equal freshness shown. Yet one fair idler who behind me leant Grew sad with musing, and the silence broke ; First on the infant throng her glances bent, Then pensive sigh'd, and in soft accents spoke : XI. " This strikes us all with pleasure ; those who shear These meadows of their harvest of gay wreaths, Will only twine them in their hair, or rear Some palace with them which all fragrance breathes Yet they have been the instruments of wrath In other hands, yes! even woman's heart, Fired with ambition, straying from the path Of right, hath there instill'd a fearful art. 100 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XII. " Who can believe the gifts that Heaven bestows Could shelter crime ; that e'er in frenzied hour Revenge would seek his poison to inclose, And give destruction, lurking in a flower? Such though has been ! The spot which late we view'd, Where Vortigern once dwelt, recalls a story Of his brave son, and is with truths imbued Of the invasion which quench'd Britain's glory!" XIII. We gather'd round her, all with anxious look Of expectation, for we knew her mind Was stored with history : then her seat she took ; And while we round attentively reclined, She paused an instant, as if back to bring Her wandering fancies, which capricious play'd, And gazing archly on our listening ring, Commenced her legend, thus in words array 'd. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 101 VORTIMER. (16) A LEGEND OF THE SAXON CONQUEST. Morning was over all! the East grew red And flamed with light, while o'er the world there spread Responsive glory. Every wave and tree, Wood-circled dale, and open-stretching lea, Sleep-buried city, and unbroken wild, Felt genial day approach, and grateful smiled ! The hind went forth to toil : the conqueror rose To feast his gaze upon his victim's woes ; The conquer'd turn'd them from the joyful beam, It brought no hope, it but dispell'd the dream ! And they who still on Britain's sea-girt strand Defied the invaders with unshrinking band, Shudder'd to think that on their native earth A stranger drew his troops, and raised his hearth ! 102 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Yet when they saw the sun his disk uprear, And with his rays the dark horizon clear Of every vapoury fog and saddening shade That o'er the night-ruled heavens had sullen play'd, They hail'd him as an emblem of that king Who rallied them, within whose breast did spring Those noble virtues which inspired their swords, And flash'd just vengeance on barbaric hordes! Fair shone each spot, for morn was over all, And brightly on the monarch's stately hall It loved the most to sport, for loiter'd there By a wide portal one of beauty rare ; Like that which poets dream of, when they sing Of fancied Edens, and entranced cling To their own visions : like the snow her brow, And on her cheek a warm and brilliant glow, As it were steep'd in summer, or were dyed By deep-cored roses in their budding pride. Blue were her eyes, like ocean's azure breast, When 'neath the Orient skies its surges rest ; Yet there was in their glance a fitful gleam, Even as that ocean, when the lightning stream THE MOUNTAINS OF NOKTH WALES. 103 Quivers along it in unsteady line ; The very smile which on her lip did sKine (Which should have breathed the accents of the dove !) Had more of bitterness in it than love. No daughter of a British realm was she, But of a tribe who dwelt beyond the sea : Her loveliness, which Fame still lauds through time, Spoke of a Saxon birth and northern clime. " It will be sweet," she murmur'd, as she turn'd Her look on gardens which with lustre burn'd, " It will be joy to mark him ere he tread The dewy borders which for him have spread Their odorous bloom, although the blushing wreath May hide the venom'd snake which coils beneath. I have no throne, and from my head is torn Its rightful crown ; but ere another morn All may be mine once more, and from my heart The pangs of slavery. and disgrace depart! I came not from my own ancestral land To live a subject on a foreign strand, I came not here to waste my youthful days, Where none will bask within their royal blaze, 104 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID But each averted brow wears angry cloud While / am nigh ! When Vortigern the proud Pledged me in Hengist's hall, I deem'd my wiles Had gain'd the empire of these fertile isles, When Saxon swords were baffled ; that my charms Had conquer'd swifter than my kindred's arms : And so it shall be ! Vortimer, you come ! Fate seems to lure you to your final home ; Now, faithful servant ! now unshrinking haste, By thee the sting with clustering flowers be graced!' She clasp'd unconsciously her hands, for rose To recollection all her fancied woes, And something too of memories more fond, Which thrall'd her yet within their gentler bond. For think not that the soul at once can gain, Without a pang, guilt's last and darkest stain, Can plunge at once into the yawning deep, Nor pause an instant ere the fatal leap, Still, still intrudes a thought of happy youth, A fading dream of innocence and truth ! Such with Rowena were : her brow regain'd Unusual softness, hopes and griefs restrain'd THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 105 Till now, in varying chase, across it play'd, First radiant beam'd, then shed a fleeting shade, And every feature with fresh sweets array 'd ! There stood beside her one whose foot had pass'd So noiselessly, the walls no echo cast ; And he had stopp'd to mark her as she leant Unheeding there : his calm, deep eyes were bent Inquiringly upon her, and it seem'd As something of surprise within them gleam'd. Perhaps he marvell'd that she loved to stray Where his accustom'd haunts were known to lay ; Perhaps he sought to pierce the plans conceal'd Within her heart, or did unwilling yield Tribute of wonder to her beauty's spell, And doubt if evil there could seek to dwell ! It may have been the last : he ne'er had seen Such strange emotion in her graceful mien ; He ne'er had gazed on her for space so long. Within him still were nourish'd thoughts too strong Of deep aversion for the smiles that won His father's love, and Britain had undone ! 106 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Scarcely so much astonish'd at the deed, Which caused his wretched country thus to bleed, As now he linger'd, for a feeling came That he had wrong'd her ; but that very name Of wrong awoke him from his wildering trance, As o'er his brain the stunning truths did glance, Of her who for Rowena had been slighted, Shorn of her rank, heart-broken and life-blighted, Of her who once had been as young and fair, And still, though bow'd and worn by galling care, Look'd upwards with a countenance resign'd And regal port, which breathed unsullied mind. He could not think upon his anguish'd mother, And harbour aught of pity for another, Who in her fate such agony instill'd As might have madden'd and had all but kill'd ! He pass'd before her, and her sudden start Betray'd the tremor which did o'er her dart ; Yet she look'd up, and met his steadfast eye With brow undaunted, though with stifled sigh: Gravely he greeted her, and few the words With which she answer'd, but they struck like swords THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 107 Upon his ear; for in that silver tone The accent of her hated tongue was thrown, And spoke too plain her origin ; he turn'd Quick from her presence, in his semblance burn'd The emotions of his spirit, which still shrank With loathing from the sound his senses drank. Onward he went, and from that princely hall Enter'd a spot of loveliness where all Murmur'd of peaceful pleasure, and along Stretch'd a fair vista of delight and song! Rowena follow'd him with gaze which grew Wildly intense, as farther still he drew ; Awhile she scarcely breathed, but forward bent With straining anxiousness which almost lent Her face unearthly meaning! Harrowing years Seem'd to roll o'er her in that moment's fears ! Forth stray 'd the monarch through the gardens wide, Where slumber'd Summer in its joyous pride. And every blade of grass and tiny flower Seem'd animate with glee that morning hour. Nor yet alone within that calm retreat Were stretch'd those beauties which he held most sweet, 108 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID For dimly shadow'd, far as human ken Could wander, hill and valley, wood and glen, In distance lay, and clothed the nurturing earth With verdure; and clear streams, that .took their birth From tangled thicket, or sun-glistening height, Which peer'd above them all in barren might. Fondly the monarch paused upon a mound, And ponder'd o'er the scenes that slept around ; While many a yearning thought his bosom swell'd, To deck with bays the lofty post he held ! For he was young, and strong in hope and trust; Seldom o'er human heart hath ever gush'd A nobler tide of patriotic schemes, Hallowing the future with their golden dreams. Already pictured to his radiant mind, Arose chivalric deeds by virtues shrined, Back to their sterner home the invaders dash'd, The snowy cliffs by unquell'd surges lash'd ! Each peasant cot by calm contentment bless'd, Each velvet mead by plenty's smiles caress'd, And free as air his own unconquer'd land, Girt by his steel and guarded by his hand! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 109 Yes ! country of the brave ! for thee he fought, From thee each urging impulse swiftly caught, In thee was all his wealth ! Thou wert the mine Within whose depths reposed each prize divine For which he strove ; Religion, Honour, Life, His people's freedom mingled in the strife ! Yet Care intruded ; never prospect spreads Invitingly, but Care its canker sheds To strip it of its verdure, and decay The loveliest feature that within it lay. T was thus with Vortimer ! there sudden stole A sense of sadness o'er his gallant soul, All was not won ! still danger hedged him round, Still roved the Saxon in his kingdom's bound, And many a fiery struggle, quench'd in gore, Must Britain rend ere Tyranny be o'er ! He, too, was lone ! there lived no trusty friend To share his grief, or bid his mind unbend In soothing confidence. His chiefs could fight When he was nigh to lead their armed might. They gloried in him ! he was as a star Guiding their actions from his throne afar; 110 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Their only prop, the sole uncrumbling rock Where they might lean, nor fear the warfare's shock! They loved him ! for he was a jewel richly set With generous virtues, and there fell not yet A shade upon his lustre that could dim Its light with shame. Their country breathed in him ! But none could aid him ; none had spirit great, Or pure enough, to mingle with his fate. They could not see the end to which he trod, Nor guess the spring to which his Genius' rod Pointed ! There dwelt no eagle 'neath his sway To gaze undazzled on his brilliant ray ! He pass'd his hand across his brow ; he felt Too sternly ! When he rose, before him knelt A youth in menial garb, which likeness bore To their's who culPd the garden's varied store. A dark expression o'er the stranger's face Most wildly rush'd, and left a painful trace Upon his pallid countenance ! The king Smiled kindly on him, for he seem'd to cling Upon his robe : within his grasp he had Fair flowers together wove in garland glad ! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. Ill Full, pouting, bright with forms and colours rare, They quiver'd to the oft-leaf-stirring air; Sparkling and dropping with morn's crystal dew, Matchless in fragrance, bloom, and sunny hue ! Murmuring some words which breathed of love, yet fear, The suppliant bent, and did so meek appear To place his graceful offering at his feet, The monarch's heart rejoiced in meed so sweet, And graciously he listen'd to the tale His artful suitor told ; nor did he fail To bid him wait within for his return, When further of his history he might learn. Again he was alone, and gently sank Upon a shady and turf-mantled bank, Then pressing to his lip the glowing wreath, Seem'd from its honey 'd cells delight to breathe. It was a precious omen, as if sent From Heaven in guerdon, where were richly blent A thousand promises of high success, And every charm that could existence bless ! He had had days of toil, when hours lagg'd by ; Not as the peaceful feel their moments fly, SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID But weigh 'd by leaden misery, and crush'd down By the dark care that lurk'd around his crown ! He had had nights, uncheer'd, unsought by sleep, And tortured by the pangs that ofttimes sweep The couch of state ! when he had musing drawn o Such fantasies as made him long for dawn, While still revolving through his aching brain What might restore his sceptre's strength again ! All was forgotten now, entranced he lay, And felt delicious fancies round him play ; The poison through each vein had lulling crept; He bow'd his princely head and calmly slept, But waken 'd with a cry ! No tongue can tell The anguish that betray'd the passing knell Which rung for him, one pain reveal'd the truth : Death claim'd him in the prime and pride of youth ! His warriors came ! heroic to the last, He strove to fling aside the shades which cast Their dimness o'er him, and, with faltering tone, Conjured them by their country and his throne To strive unceasing, not to quail or fly, To fight for stainless freedom, or to die! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 113 He almost knew, he said, whose hate had riven His thread of life, but that he had forgiven ; And were his country safe, he could not pray For happier doom than thus to fade away. Heaven seem'd to ope before him, yet he turn'd Still to the theme for which on earth he burn'd : "I sink," he rnurmur'd, " 'neath a trait' rous hand, Do you avenge me, brave and trusty band ! Not by the baser arts which rage inspires, But by such courage as a hero fires. Bear me to where the Saxons, landing, seek Their usual harbour, ere their rage they wreak On hapless Britain, there where heaves the main, And the wild blasts their utmost fury strain, Lay me to rest, and high above me spread A sepulchre in honour of the dead : That when the foeinan's foot shall touch the shore, My tomb may greet him, as / used before ; That every breeze which doth o'er cliff rejoice Shall seem the menace of my warning voice ; And as I once struck terror to each heart Of Saxon race, my memory still may dart I 114 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID Awe and confusion their wide ranks along, For e'en in death is Patriotism strong!" Rowena, thus, who dyed her hand with crime, Shall live in history through the realms of time Detested ! Yet no lay records her fate : But if remorse and anguish e'er await The sinner here, surely they closely wove Their chains around her with a serpent love. A veil now hangs around her fearful lot, In guilt unrivall'd, in all else forgot! So sweeps the wing of Time, so rolls along The flood of years in ever-changing throng ; So fade the hours of life, the joys of youth, The summer's verdure, and sweet childhood's truth: Wave after wave the ocean foams away, And Hope's chameleon tints delusive play ! When to the ground the storm-torn branch low bends, And time-sear'd foliage from its height descends, Mantling the sombre earth with wither'd hues, Where slow Decay his gnawing power imbues ; THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 115 Hast thou not mark'd some autumn-shaded leaf, Which glisten'd freshly through existence brief, Borne by the gale that dashes reckless past, Now circling swiftly, now neglectful cast On some lone path ; again, by caprice tost, And wafted high, in rapid motion lost ; Blown here, blown there, by each returning breath, Slumbering below, or mix'd in rnazy wreath, Till, whirl'd by onward air, the brawling stream Receives the wanderer, which awhile doth gleam In darksome guise, along the rippling wave : Then hurries to the depth of unseen cave, With headlong speed, as eddies wake around, And lash the rock-banks with a dirge-like sound? Such such is man ! the sport of every wind, And every passion, mingled with his kind In smiling friendship > while with beauty gay, And dazzling with Prosperity's bright ray, High 'mid fair clusters on the waving bough He views with scorn the meaner herbs below, And glancing proudly to the dome on high, Claims in his joy a kindred with the sky ! 116 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID But let the tempest gather, fortune low'r. In vain in vain, in that despairing hour He calls, remorseful, on the sheltering stem Which once he clasp'd, (Time's lost and priceless gem !) Before the blast of Fate he wildly flies, Sinks from the world, and thus unheeded dies! Perchance, repentant, in celestial spring To bloom once more ; o'er other scenes to fling A purer radiance, where th' unfading trees, Eolian, echo back a heavenly breeze! XIV. Now fir-clad hills salute me on my way, Dense forests mantling to their loftiest crest, And valleys lie between, in rich array, Wooing the noon-tide on their slopes to rest; Wildness and cultivation here have thrown Their fondest lures, and Nature's nurturing lap Hath each delight her tender care to crown, Trees, grass, and fruit, that swell with freshening sap, THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 117 XV. The winding road bends gently through a mass Of flushing beauties, gleaming in the light Of golden Phoebus, who doth, ere he pass To other lands, pour rays profusely bright On every spot ; that, through the night's long hours, They still within may glow with vital heat, And when again he seeks their favour'd bowers A sympathetic warmth his beam may greet! XVI. There break around me many a wildering sound (17) Of rushing streams and waters dashing high ; Scarce can my foot retain the mossy ground, And massive cliffs rise grimly to the sky. Dark, ivied oaks are drooping o'er my head, With knotted trunks and foliage mingling dim ; Beneath, the thundering cataract is spread, And white, wave- spangling froth doth o'er it swim. 118 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XVII. The river, which in peace hath hither roved With vagrant joy, singing itself to sleep As on it sped through nooks and scenes it loved, Turning sometimes, in fondling jest, to peep Once more on beauties rare, which o'er its course Redundant hang, and murmuring praises soft, Till, startled from its trance by brawlings hoarse, Now plunges headlong from its path aloft ! XVIII. Severing its liquid waves, in sudden maze, That all in tiny threads of silver run Swift o'er each jutting peak ; while quivering sprays Leap sportive up, and sparkle in the sun Their diamond showers, which half appear to hide The strange, fantastic crag, whose broken ridge, Lurking beneath, seems as in mouldering pride The ruin'd arch of some far-spanning bridge ; THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 119 XIX. Or, like a crumbling doorway which doth close The entrance to a world of airy sprites, Who there, in lulling harmony, repose When wearied of their rapid, feathery flights ; Perchance e'en now they nestle in the flowers Which, glowing brightly, cluster high and low, Creeping (through tardy day's long summer hours) Around the rock's damp base, binding ofttimes its brow. XX. Once more the waters gather in a sheet Of clear, broad crystal, whose fresh glories flash Like lightning, till abysses, yawning, meet The bounding torrent, when the currents lash Themselves to swelling foam-clouds, and so fall, Precipitately with a stunning cry, away ! Hurl'd 'neath the sheer, abruptly rising wall, Which Nature rears as if to screen the day. 120 SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXI. Yet still the sunlight ventures here to dart Through the small chasm that is cleft above, Lingers around, as loathful to depart, And draw aside the splendour of its love, Making all beautiful, o'er which it flings E'en momentary radiance ! Horror fades From ghastly peak or crevice where it clings Gladly; and, howling, seeks the shades, XXII. Where (as the superstitious cowering tell) A spirit does at last in silence rest, That did for years flit wildly through the dell, And each recess and moaning tree infest. Most turbulent in death, as once in life, He haunted still this surge-distracted glen ; And, melancholy, gloried in the strife, Unquiet yet, as when he mix'd with men! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 121 XXIII. Amid these scenes, Llewellyn Cambria's boast In Dolwyddelan's towers beheld the light, And still, like faithful warder at his post, They guard his country with decaying might; As kindled by his presence, stern they stand, In broken fragments, for his memory fills Their lonely ruins and invites the hand Of deathless fame, who oft amid these hills XXIV. Sighs with regret, to weave a circling veil Of bays immortal, that may graceful shed A vivifying aspect o'er the pale And sinking fortress, where the solemn tread Calls up low echoes, and with them awakes Imagination, till a spectral crowd Of things departed start from crumbling breaks, And Fancy builds again each turret proud ! SKETCHES AND LEGENDS AMID XXV. Now whispering Night doth o'er my path descend, Lightly the breezes fan my wearied brow ; Homeward my way-worn steps in silence bend, And numbers from my lyre refuse to flow. Yet will I not forsake thee, cherish'd Wales ! No! still within thy boundaries I will rest, Whence I may seek again thy smiling vales, And wander o'er thy heather-tinted breast. XXVI. Meantime, farewell, thy wilds and mountain home, And thy strange histories, springing from each glade, Tempting the distant pilgrims forth to roam Within thy mid-day light or evening shade; And oft beguiling them to loiter long Amid thy witcheries, even as I love To linger, all forgetful, in my song, Though Darkness waves its pinions vast above! THE MOUNTAINS OF NORTH WALES. 123 XXVII. I turn to sigh, and sadly look again On the dim fading of the mountains high, To catch the last sounds of that fancied strain, Which seems to float along the distant sky ; The music of a thousand streamlets blending To bid the lingering Saesones (18) farewell ; Responded by the lofty rocks defending The treasured charms that in their empire dwell! NOTES. NOTES. NOTE 1. PAGE 6. The wing of Death has brush' d the princely towers. Sir Watkin Williams Wynn, the father of the present baronet, died in January 1840. NOTE 2. PAGE 8. It rears its strength to honour Waterloo ! The Waterloo tower, erected by the late Sir W. W. Wynn to the memory of the heroes who fell at the battle of Waterloo. NOTE 3. PAGE 11. The Soldier's Story. For this anecdote I am indebted to the kindness of Captain Kincaid of the Rifle Brigade, who was present himself in almost every action 128 NOTES. fought during the Peninsular War. When the French advanced to invade Portugal in 1810, it was part of the Duke of Wellington's plan of defence, that the inhabitants of the invaded provinces should abandon their homes and carry off every thing to prevent the enemy's profiting by the resources of the country. A proclamation was issued to that effect, but, as usual, the evil day was postponed until the foe was amongst them. The incident I have narrated, which arose out of it, contrasted strangely with the passing scene. NOTE 4. PAGE 31. Yes, Dinas Bran ! "Castell Dinas Bran, whose remains nearly cover the summit of a vast, conoid hill, steeply sloped on every side. This is one of our pri- mitive Welsh castles. In 1390 it was inhabited by a celebrated beauty, descended from the house of Tudor Trevor, and whose father probably held the castle under the Earls of Arundel. The name of the lady was Myfanwy Vechan ; she made a conquest of Howel ap Einion Lygliaw, a celebrated bard, who composed an ode addressed to her." PENNANT'S Wales, vol. i. p. 38. NOTE 5. PAGE 34. Ah ! here at least our mighty Shakspeare's hand. This tract of land, generally called the Glyndwrdwy, contains the site of a palace which formerly belonged to Owen Glyndower, so celebrated in Welsh history, and one of the personages in Shakspeare's Henry the Fourth. At Corwen there is a beautiful hill behind the church, called Glyndower's Seat. He was believed by the English to employ the aid of NOTES. 129 magic, and it is probable that, in order to become more terrific to his enemies, he himself insinuated his skill in spells and charms. " Hollinshed relates that his father's horses were found on the night of his birth up to their girths in blood an omen, no doubt, of his son's cruelty." THOMAS'S Memoirs of Owen Glyndower. NOTE 6. PAGE 37. None richer than thine own, thou swelling strain. The beautiful air of" Cader Idris/' composed by Mr. Parry, the cele- brated Bardd Alaw. NOTE 7. PAGE 39. Is it not hallowed 1 Pennant derives the name of the Dee from Duw divine, it having formerly been believed that the river foretold events by the change of its channel, and frequently increased miraculously without the interposition of rain. It is mentioned in history that the ancient Britons, when drawn up in battle array on its banks, were accustomed to kiss the earth, and then each soldier drank a small quantity of its waters ere they engaged with their Saxon foes. NOTE 8. PAGE 50. 'Twas here, in years that long have pass d away To pale oblivion. " On the road from Aberglasslyn to Beddgelert a stone is pointed out, by the name of the Chair of Rhys Goch O'ryri, the famous mountain 130 NOTES. bard, contemporary with Owen Glyndower. He used to compose his poems seated on this stone. He died about the year 1420, and was interred in the holy ground at Beddgelert, after escaping the vengeance of the English for inspiring the Welsh with the love of liberty, and ani- mating them by his compositions into a long and gallant resistance to the galling yoke." PENNANT'S Wales, vol. ii. p. 363. NOTE 9. PAGE 56. The Dreamer of Snowdon. " Snowdon was held as sacred by the ancient Britons as Parnassus was by the Greeks, and Ida by the Cretans. It is still said, that who- soever slept upon Snowdon would wake inspired." PENNANT'S Wales, vol. ii. p. 344. NOTE 10. PAGE 62. The spell of Awen never will depart. " Awen is a word expressive of poetical rapture. There were among the Welsh certain persons whom they called Awenyddion. These per- sons, when consulted about any thing doubtful, inflamed with a high degree of enthusiasm, were, to all appearance, carried out of themselves, and seemed as if they were possessed by an invisible spirit. This property was bestowed upon them, as they fancied, in their sleep : at which time, according to Giraldus, it appeared to some of them as if new milk, or honey, was poured into their mouths ; to others, as if a written scroll were put into them." WARRINGTON'S History of Wales. NOTES. 131 NOTE 11. PAGE 64. Hark ! hark ! the morn has roused the eager hounds. On quitting Beddgelert early in the morning, I was accidentally witness to the scene I have here described, which became the more interesting when considered as vividly recalling the legend which is said to have originated the name of this beautiful valley. We learn from tradition, that Llewellyn the Great, accompanied by his wife and children, took up their abode at Beddgelert during the hunting season. One day, while engaged in the chase, the prince was surprised by the absence of his favourite hound Gelert, which he had received from his father-in-law, King John. On returning home, he was met by his dog with every demonstration of pleasure; but, becoming alarmed at observing him covered with blood, he ran to the nursery, and there found his infant's cradle overturned and the ground all bloody. Believing the hound to have killed the child, he instantly drew his sword and slew him ; but on removing the cradle, found beneath it his child alive, and a wolf dead, which, during the absence of the family, had entered the house, and been destroyed by the faithful dog. The prince was so much affected by the incident, that he built a tomb over his favourite's grave, whence the spot is still called Beddgelert, or the Grave of Gelert. To this anecdote I have only alluded> without relating it. NOTE 12. PAGE 71. Fit dwelling for one desolate and lone. " It was to this spot Vortigern, king of Britain, retired, when he found himself unable to contest with the treacherous Saxons, whom he had, in the year 449, invited into his country." PENNANT'S Wales, vol. ii. NOTES. NOTE 13. PAGE 72. What burst like thunder rolls and groans on high ? The traveller is often surprised and startled in this valley by a sound like thunder, which vibrates magnificently through the rocks, and is produced by the blasting of slate at the Dinorwic Quarry, situated at the end of the pass. NOTE 14. PAGE 73. There is a huge and shapeless mass of stone. "About two miles from Llanberis lies an immense fragment of rock, fallen from the Glyder Favvr. It is cajled the Cromlech ; for, having accidentally descended on other stones, it remains lifted from the earth, with a hollow beneath, resembling one of those druidical antiquities. The length of the recumbent stone is sixty feet, the breadth forty-six, the thickness sixteen. The hollow is said to have been once occupied by an old woman, but now serves for a sheepfold." PENNANT'S Wales. It lies in a place termed Ynys Hettws Hetty's Island; and in the legend I have given of this lonely but interesting scene, I have taken the liberty of weaving with the imperfect and barren anecdote above quoted a tragical incident of more recent occurrence. I allude to the fate of little John Closs, who, being overtaken by a mist, perished in the snows upon Moel Eilio. The sketch of Hetty's life is, therefore, almost en- tirely imaginary; no account of her real history, I believe, being recorded. NOTE 15. PAGE 97. Or a reproachful voice upon the gale, From the old forest's glories that have fled! "Snowdon was formerly a royal forest." PENNANT'S Wales, vol.ii. NOTES. 133 NOTE 16. PAGE 101. Vortimer. A Legend of the Saxon Conquest. "Hengist, the Saxon, beginning to entertain views of a permanent set- tlement in the kingdom of Britain, invited over a fresh body of Saxons about the latter end of the year 450, among whom was the daughter of that prince, the beautiful Rowena, who, appearing before Vortigern, the British king, while he was feasting with her father, knelt before him, magnificently dressed, with a gold cup in her hand, and pledged him in the Saxon manner. The infatuated monarch, deeply fascinated by her charms, disre- garded every obstacle which the dictates of honour, prudence, and religion, opposed to his wishes. He divorced his wife, the mother of his three sons, and married Rowena. The folly and crimes of Vortigern having rendered him an object of universal detestation, he was deposed, and the crown given to his eldest son, Vortimer. The talents of this prince fully justified the choice of his country. He vigorously opposed the Saxons, dispersed their fleet, and drove them into the Isle ofThanet. In this state of affairs, Rowena, incited by revenge, and anxious to regain the dignity she had lost, meditated the murder of Vortimer. For this pur- pose she engaged in her service, by promise of great reward, a young man, who, disguised as a gardener, appeared before the king one morning, while taking the air in his garden, and presented him with a nosegay of flowers sprinkled with poison. As soon as the king was sensible that death was inevitable, he called into his presence the British nobility, and, exhorting them to a manly defence of their country, required them to bury him on the sea-shore at the port where the Saxons usually landed, in the hopes his remains might infuse the same terror that he did when alive." WARRINGTON'S History of Wales. NOTE 17. PAGE 117. There break around me many a wildering sound Of rushing streams. "The celebrated cataract, Rhaiadr y Wennol, or the Spout of the 134 NOTES. Swallow. The country people have a tradition that Sir John Wynn, the compiler of the Memoirs, who died in 1 626, was a great oppressor, and believed that his perturbed spirit haunted this glen. They at length laid it to rest in the depths of the lower fall." PENNANT'S Wales. NOTE 18. PAGE 123. To bid the lingering Saesones farewell. Saesones An Englishwoman in the Welsh language. THE END. LONDON : PRINTED BY MOVES AND BARCLAY, Castle Street, Leicester Square. PUBLIE PAR T. ET W. BOONE, 29, NEW BOND STREET, LONDRES ; ET BELLIZARD, DUFOUR & C IE . PARIS. VOYAGE P1TTORESQUE ET ARCHEOLOGIQUE DANS LA PROVINCE D'YUCATAN (AMERIQUE CENTRALE), PENDANT LES ANNEES 1834 ET 1836, PAB FREDEKIC DE WALDECK, A LA MEMOIRE DU VICOMTE KINGSBOROUGH PROSPECTUS. Si tous les voyageurs avaient la science qui guide 1'observation, et le cou- rage qui affronte tous les dangers ; si, au desir instinctif des excursions loin- taines, ils joignaient des connaissances speciales et variees, le nionde serait aujourd'hui mieux connu qu'il ne Test, et tant d'erreurs, autrefois accreditees par 1 'ignorance et la mauvaise foi, n'auraient plus cours parmi les gens qui se piquent (V erudition. Malheureusement il n'en est pas ainsi ; la facilite des communications de peuple a peuple sollicite 9 de longues peregrinations une foule d'individus qu'une curiosite sterile ei 'e besoin d'emotions toujours nouvelles engagent seuls a abandonner leur patrie. Aussi les bonnes relations de voyages sont-elles devenues singulierement rares. Certes, on peut citer des hommes a existence aventureuse, qui se sont recemmeiit acquis, en France et en Angleterre, une illustration meritee ; inais ces reputations se comptent; encore en est-il qui ne resisteraient pas a un examen severe. Certains pays surtout exigent, pour leur exploration, des qualites qui se rencontrent rarement reunies dans la meme personne. Ce sont ceux qui, . outre des moeurs excentriques et des sites pittoresques, offrent d'eloqnentes ruines. rappellent d'interessants souvenirs historiques, abondent en richesses naturelles et en monuments litteraires de tout genre. Pour comprendre le langage muet de ces debris, pour suivre la trace de ces traditions, pour ex- ploiter avec profit ces tresors physiques et intellectuels, il faut s'aider de tout ce qui peut donner la clef de tant de mysteres ; archeologie, histoire, sciences naturelles, litterature, langues anciennes et modernes, il faut tout connaitre, tout embrasser. Les lacunes qui existent dans 1* intelligence ou le savoir du voyageur se retrouvent dans le recit de ses lointaines recherches. Son oeuvre n' est complete qu'autant que son esprit Test lui-meme. La partie de rAmerique centrale qu'a parcourue M. Frederic de Waldeck, est une de ces contrees dont 1'etude ne peut etre tentee par tout le monde. Nature majestueuse, magnifiques vestiges d'une grandeur eclipsee, idiomes riches et seculaires, souvenirs de toute espece, productions marveilleuses, tout y est digne de fixer 1'attention du savant et de 1'artiste. M. de Waldeck ne Tignorait pas. Aussi n'a-t-il entrepris ce difficile pelerinage qu'apres avoir Published by T. & W. BOONE, 29, New Bond Street. consulte ses forces, et s'etre assure qu'il etait a la hauteur de la tache qu'il s'imposait. Le public sera bient6t a meme de juger s'il avait trop presume de son courage et de ses lumieres. La province de 1'Yucatan, dependante de la republique Mexicaine, est encore si peu connue, que les meilleures cartes n'indiquent qu'un petit nombre de points sur les cotes, et les trois villes de Merida, Valladolid et Bacalar a 1'interieur. Pourtant, cette interessante portion du nouveau monde meritait une part plus large dans la science geographique. La peninsule d'Yucatan a pres de 10,000 lieues de superficie, et une population de 600,000 ames, eparse dans 240 villages. En outre, elle est plus riche en monuments bien conserves que toutes les autres parties du continent Americain ; ce qui le prouve, c'est que M. de Waldeck y a decouvert cinq grandes villes en ruine, a peine connues des habitants eux-memes. Etdans ces cites en debris, que de tresors ignores, que d'elements precieux pour 1'histoire generale de cette terre vouee au malheur ! Qu'on se figure, par exemple, un terrain de huit lieues d'etendue du Nord au Sud et d'une lieue de 1'Est a 1' Quest, parseme de decombres majestueux d'une architecture fantastique et admirable par les details. C'est la ville d'Ytzalane, la plus grande de celles que M. de Waldeck a decouvertes et explorees. C'est au milieu de ces temoignages venerables de 1'antique splendeur de la patrie de Montezuma, que M. de Waldeck a recueilli les materiaux de 1'im- mense ouvrage dont il prepare la publication.* Tous les dessins qui accom- pagneront le texte, et dont le nombre est considerable, il les a executes sur les lieux memes, en face des monuments dont il a reproduit 1'image. Du fond de la chaumiere qu'il s'etait construite au milieu de cette foret de mines, M. de Waldeck a represente avec sa plume et son pinceau la nature Mexi- caine dans toute sa poetique verite. Les moeurs, les usages, les arts et les metiers des Yucateques actuels, Pagriculture, 1'histoire, la statistique du pays, occupent une grande partie de 1'ouvrage. Des anecdotes piquantes y sont semees avec gout et discernement. Ca et la, un fragment descriptif ou litteraire, tel qu'un petit poeme ou ballade historique des Mayas au temps de la conquete, document precieux qui jette une vive lumiere sur le passe de ces peuples si degeneres ; plus loin, un aper^u sur les produits et les denrees commerciales du pays ; une notice sur la sou- mission des Ytzaexes dans Pile de Peten, dernier point de la province qui rfe- sista aux Espagnols et qui fut conquis, en 1697 seulement, par le gouverneur don Martin de Ursua ; puis la celebre prophetic du grand pretre Chilam- Ballam, qui, 100 ans avant 1'arrivee des Espagnols, precha la religion du Christ ; enfin un vocabulaire de la langue Maya, pour faciliter aux voyageurs a venir 1' intelligence des idiomes de ces peuples. Get ouvrage f est le fruit de douze annees de travaux assidus et de recherches faites au milieu de perils sans cesse renaissants. Ecrit et dessine au milieu des solitudes de Palenque, il porte le cachet de la couleur locale, et n'aurait-il que cet avantage, il 1'emporterait encore sur toutes les relations qui ont ete publiees sur ces contrees. Le suffrage des hommes eclaires ne peut manquer d'accueillir une ceuvrequi a deja valu a son auteur la plus flatteuse distinction de la part de la Societe geographique de Paris. Prix de 1'ouvrage, grand en folio, figures noires 5. ,, coloriees, sous la direction de 1'auteur . 6.65. * Voyage dans PYucatan, Ruines de Palenque, Histoire de Mexico. t Histoire Ancienne de Mexico. Recherches sur les Ruines de Palenque. Published by T. & W. BOONE, 29, New Bond Street. LISTE DBS 22 PLANCHES QUI SERONT CONTENUES DANS LE VOLUME : PI. 1. Carte generate de 1' Yucatan avec Walis. 2. Costume des femmes de Cam- peche. 3. Costume des soldats de la milice. 4. Costume des Mestices de Merida. 5. Indien contrebandier de I'int6- rieur. 6. Maniere de voyager dans 1'Yu- catan. 7. Costume de majordome des fermes. 8. Carte et plan d'une partie des ruines d'Ytzalane. 9. Plan de la pyramide de Kingsbo- rough. 10. Elevation de la pyramide de Kings- borough. 11. Etude d'une partie de cet Edifice, coupe des pierres. PI. 12. Plan du grand carre des 4 temples 13. Fa9de du temple aux deux ser- pents. 14. } Facade du temple aux asterismes. 15. $ Fa9ade du temple du soleil. 16. Etude d'une partie du temple du soleil. 17. Etude d'unes partie du temple aux asterismes. 18. Planche de details de 1'edifice aux deux serpents. C Ces trois planches sont des terres 19.1 cuites trouvees dans les ruines 20. <^ de 1'antique ville de Tulha ou 21. j Ocozingo a32 lieues des ruines V de Palenque. 22. Bas relief Astronomique des ruines de PalenquS. *' M. de Waldeck, qui a consacre douze anntes de sa vie & V Explora- tion et cl V etude des antiquites mexicaines, vient defaire connaitre aupublic le rbsultat de ses travaux en pub liant la relation de son " VOYAGE DAN& L' YUCATAN (Amerique Centrale) et AUX RUINES rflrzALANE." M. de Waldeck, pour examiner en pleine connaissance de cause les curieux debris dont le sol du Mexique est seme s'est initie aux principaux idiomes du pays, aux mceurs de ses habitans, et a cette portion de leur histoire que revelent les manuscrits hieroglyphiques dont nuljusqutl ce moment navait retrouve la cle. On conpoit que de pareils preliminaires aient donne a M. de Waldeck une grande suptriorite sur les voyageurs qui V avaient precede dans la republique mexicaine. Mais ce qui surtout constitue cette superiority, cest Vhabilete du crayon, et du pinceau de M. de Waldeck et sa science comme mathematicien et architecte. Les monuments d'ltzalane, dont il est question dans Vouvrage quon annonce aujourd'hui, netaient pas connus en Europe. A peine les geo- graphes en avaieut-ils fait mention, et encore ce qu'ils en avaient dit, etait-il generalemcnt erront. M. de Waldeck a Vhonneur d'avoir le premier souleve ce coin du voile qui derobe d nos yeux le passe de Van- tique nation Maya. M. de Waldeck merite aussi les eloges du public pour avoir tempere Varidite des details scientifiques et des dissertations d'archeologie par des tableaux de mceurs ou, Von remarque un rare talent d 'observation. On trouvera a la Jin du teite un vocabulaire de la langue Maya, a V usage des personnes qui visiteront plus tard la peninsule d' Yucatan. M. de Waldeck publiera par la suite un grand ouvrage sur les anti- quite's de Palenqut quil a etudiees avec predilection. Dejd le, monde scientifique a pu apprecier le merite de ses longues investigations. La societe geographique de Londres, qui compte parmi ses membres taut d'homjnes ^minens, lui a donne un temoignage de sa satisfaction et de sa reconnaissance en tadmettant dans son sein. La Societc geographique de France nest pas restee en arriere ; elle a decerne a Vintrcpide voya- geur une medaille spc dale, distinction flat teuse qui dit assez de quelle importance sont les travaux et les nombreux dessins de M. Waldeck. Constitutionel. Published by T. & W. BOONE, 29, New Bond Street. The THIRD EDITION of the Second Volume of COLONEL NAPIER'S HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE PENINSULA. Volumes I. to V. sold separately, price 20s. each. TO BE COMPLETED IN SIX VOLUMES. A REPLY TO LORD STRANGFORD'S "OBSERVATIONS," ON SOME PASSAGES IN COLONEL NAPIE^S HISTORY OF THE WAR IN THE PENINSULA. BY COLONEL NAPIER, C.B. Second Edition, 8vo. price Is. A REPLY TO VARIOUS OPPONENTS, PARTICULARLY TO " Strictures on Colonel Napier's History of the "War in the Peninsula." TOGETHER WITH OBSERVATIONS ILLUSTRATING SIR JOHN MOORE'S CAMPAIGN. BY COLONEL NAPIER, C.B. 8vo. price 2s. COLONEL NAPIER'S JUSTIFICATION OF HIS THIRD VOLUME. FORMING A SEQUEL TO HIS REPLY TO VARIOUS OPPONENTS, AND CONTAINING SOME NEW AND CURIOUS FACTS RELATIVE TO THE BATTLE OF ALBUERA. 8vo. price Is. 6d. A LETTER TO GENERAL LORD VISCOUNT BERESFORD, BEING AN ANSWER TO HIS LORDSHIP'S ASSUMED REFUTATION OF COLONEL NAPIER'S JUSTIFICATION OF HIS THIRD VOLUME. BY COLONEL NAPIER, C.B. In 8vo. price Is 6d. COUNTER-REMARKS TO MR. DUDLEY MONTAGU PERCEVAL'S REMARKS UPON SOME PASSAGES IN COLONEL NAPIER*S FOURTH VOLUME OF HIS HISTORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. In 8vo. price Is. 6d. Published by T. & W. BOONE, 29, New Bond Street. ( The SECOND EDITION of ADVENTURES IN THE RIFLE BRIGADE IN THE PENINSULA, FRANCE, AND THE NETHERLANDS, From the Year 1809 to 1815. By CAPTAIN JOHN KINCAID, FIRST BATTALION. One vol. post 8vo. price 10s. 6d. boards. ' An admirable little book." Quarterly Review. " To those who are unacquainted with John Kincaid of the Rifles, and few, we trow, of the old Peninsula bands are in this ignorant predicament, and to those who know him, we equally recommend the perusal of his book : it is a fac-simile of the man, a perfect reflection of his image, veluti in specula. A capital Soldier, a pithy and graphic narrator, and a fellow of infinite jest. Captain Kincaid has given us, in this modest volume, the impress of his qualities, the beau ideal of a thorough-going Soldier of Service, and the faithful and witty history of some six years' honest and triumphant fighting. " There is nothing extant in a Soldier's Journal, which, with so little 'pretension, paints with such truth and raciness the ' domestic economy' of campaigning, and the down-right business of handling the enemy. " But we cannot follow further; recommending every one of our readers to pursue the Author himself to his crowning scene of Waterloo, where they will find him as quaint and original as at his debut. We assure them, it is not possible, by isolated extracts, to give a suitable impression of the spirit and originality which never flag from beginning to end of Captain Kincaid's volume ; in every page of which he throws out flashes of native humour, a tithe of which would make the fortune of a Grub-street Bookmaker." United Service Journal. " His book has one fault, the rarest fault in books, it is too short." Monthly Magazine, April. Also, by the same Author, in one vol. post 8vo. price 10s. 6d. RANDOM SHOTS FROM A RIFLEMAN. " It is one of the most pithy, witty, soldier-like, and pleasant books in existence." United Service Journal. *' The present volume is to the full as pleasant, and, what is still more strange, as original as the last. Criticism would become a sinecure if many such volumes were written : all left for us is to admire and recommend." New Monthly Magazine. " The present volume is likely to add to his reputation. It is a useful appendix to the larger works of Napier and other military commentators. It is never dull, tedious, technical, or intricate." Times. "Those who have read Captain Kincaid's Adventures in the Rifle Brigade will seize this volume with avidity, and having dashed through it, will lay it down with only one feeling of regret that it is not longer." News. In one volume 8vo. price 7s. boards, REMARKS ON MILITARY LAW AND THE PUNISHMENT OF FLOGGING, BY MAJOR-GENERAL SIR CHARLES JAMES NAPIER, K.C.B. 6 Published by T. & W. BOONE, 29, New Bond Street. Elegantly bound in the Uniform of the Regiment, 1 vol. post 8vo. price 10s. 6d. THE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN JOHN PATTERSON, With Notices of the Officers, fyc. of the 50^, or Queen's Own Regt. FROM 1807 TO 1821. DEDICATED BY PERMISSION TO QUEEN ADELAIDE. " This volume contains a well-written, yet unvarnished narrative, of the adventures of the 50th foot, (better known as the ' Dirty Half-hundred,' from their black facings), during the Peninsular war. It argues well for the bravery, as well as modesty, of Cap- tain Patterson, that throughout his work we have but little of himself, and much of his brother officers." Bell's Messenger. " Captain Patterson's Adventures are the record of a brave soldier of a dashing, high-minded British officer, who never fears a rival, and never knew what it was to have an enemy, or to hate any man. His descriptions are remarkable for their vividness and accuracy, and his anecdotes will bear repetition once a week for life." Sun. '' Captain Patterson is one of the pleasantest of the numerous tribe of gallant officers who has done so much credit to the British name, by fighting and writing with equal spirit." Constitutional. In One Volume, post 8vo. price 10s. 6d. boards, NARRATIVE OF EVENTS IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE, AND OF THE ATTACK ON NEW ORLEANS IN 1814 AND 1815. By CAPT. I. H. COOKE, 43d Regt. " This clever and fearless account of the attack on New Orleans is penned by one of the ' occupation ;"' whose soldier-like view and keen observation during the period of the stirring events he so well relates, has enabled him to bring before the public the ablest account that has yet been given of that ill-fated and disgraceful expedition, and also to rescue the troops who were employed on it from those degrading leflections which have hitherto unjustly been insinuated against them." Gentleman's Magazine. "We wish earnestly to call the attention of military men to the campaign before New Orleans. It is fraught with a fearful interest, and fixes upon the mind reflections of almost every hue. Captain Cooke's relation is vivid ; every evolution is made as clear to the eye as if we had been present, and the remarks, we think, are eminently judicious. The book must be generally read," &c. Metropolitan. " It is full of good feeling, and it abounds with sketches of the service." Sunday Herald. In 8vo. price 2s. PRUSSIA IN 1833; ORGANIZATION OF THE ARMY OF PRUSSIA, AND HER CIVIL INSTITUTIONS. Translated from the French by M. de Chambray. With an Appendix by General de Caraman. " We would recommend to military readers in general, and especially to the authorities who have the destiny of the army in their hands, an attentive perusal of this work. The public will learn from it that the army in Prussia, hitherto supposed to be the worst paid force, is, in fact, better dealt with than is the case ' with the beat paid army in Europe.' " United Service Journal. Published by T. & VV. BOONE, 29, New Bond Street. 1 SKETCHES IN SPAIN, DURING THE YEARS 1829-30-31 AND 32; CONTAINING NOTICES OF SOME DISTRICTS VERY LITTLE KNOWN; OF THE MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE, GOVERNMENT, RECENT CHANGE, COMMERCE, NATURAL HISTORY, AND FINE ARTS; With Lives of Spanish Painters. BY CAPTAIN S. E. COOK, R. N., K. T. S., F.G.S. Two vols. 8vo. price 21s. This work contains a very full account of the present seat of War in Spain. " Volumes of great value and attraction : we would say, in a word, they afford us the most complete account of Spain in every respect which has issued from the press." Literary Gazette. " The value of the book is in its matter and its facts. If written upon any country it would have been useful, but treating of one like Spain, about which we know almost nothing, but of which it is desirable to know so much, Captain Cook's Sketches must be considered an acquisition to the library." Spectator. " These volumes comprise every point worthy of notice, and the whole is so interspersed with lively adventure and description ; so imbued with a kindly spirit of good nature, courting and acknowledging attention, as to render it attractive reading." United Service Gazette. " No one could either pretend to write or converse upon this country without preparing himself by a previous perusal of this instructive work." Metropolitan. Also, by the same Author, OBSERVATIONS ON THE PRESENT STATE OF THE WAR IN SPAIN, &c. Octavo, price Is. <5J. In Two Volumes, post 8vo. price 21s. ADMIRAL NAPIER'S ACCOUNT OF THE WAR IN PORTUGAL, BETWEEN DON PEDRO AND DON MIGUEL; WITH PLANS OF HIS ACTION OFF CAPE ST. VINCENT. *' An excellent and spirit-stirring book plain, honest, and straight- forward the very stuff of which the web of history alone should be composed. This is indeed an honest, fair, and impartial history." Morning Chronicle.