THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES St. JELIAN S WELL. A TALE. IN FIVE CANTOS. Printed by Pluramer and flrewis, Love Laae, EiStcheap, -*> . ST. ELIAN'S, CURSING WELL, SI goem. BY CHARLOTTE WARDLE. LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, AND SOLD BY G. COWIE AND CO. POULTRY. 181*. .... u IJVTROJBUCTIOJV. COME, gentles all, or grave or gay, Come hearken to my roundelay ; A lightsome task is mine to tell The legend of a mystic well : But may your task still lighter be To listen to my minstrelsy ! Full rude the rede*, and rude the theme, A legend lay, a minstrel's dream ; A simple song, a story wild, i\. Cambrian tale for Cambria's child; But ye who dwell in southern clime, Forgive my rude unpolish'd rhyme ; * Discourse. VI Of those who much of courts have seen. And courtly guise, and courtly mien, (If such should scan my minstrelsy,) I cry of them fair courtesy. — A mountain weed, or mountain flower, Go class it in auspicious hour ; Tho' e'en at best my legend lay, Will prove a cistus* of the day, * An ephemeral flower. St. ^ELIAN'S WELL. CANTO T. St. ELIAN S WELL. CANTO I. JL HO' now the velvet sward is grown, Around yon rudely sculptural stone, There lies a steed, whose fi'ry tramp, Would oft its tender green sod stamp ; But now his limbs are stiffen'd quite, And now, his bones are bleach'd as white, As rapid Conwy's dashing spray — So chang'd art thou, thou gallant gray ! Nor darkly now thy hoof tramps trace, Thy days are done, and run thy race ! Mark well the height beyond yon wood, Time was, that near its summit stood b2 A hall of portly mien, and there, Liv'd Modred, and his daughter fair; Of high descent, in troth their blood Was trac'd long ages ere the flood, But better blood than kin and all, Stood fretting in his stable stall ; A noble horse was Modred's roan, But stauncher still the steed was known, That lies beneath this moss-grown stone ; And he, the gray, was GryfTydd's horse, A better ne'er run heat or course, Except we not stern Modred's roan, The gray is he, beneath this stone Thy hall, oh Gryffydd! is no more; Thy minstrel's gifted lay is o'er, No more to greet thine heir returning The faggot on the hearth is burning, That hearth is cold, and grass is grown Upon the long-deserted stone ; And noisome toads, and reptiles rest, Where once was cheer'd the welcome guest; Right weary am I thus to see The haunt of hospitality ! Sir GryfTydd was a gen'rous soul — He lov'd his friend, he lov'd his bowl; He was of those, whose froward fate, No medium knows 'twixt love and hate; For friends — his home, his heart, his hand, For foemati — nought but trusty brand; One son he had, and fix'd his love Was, more on him than heav'n above, But under heav'n was one indeed, He lov'd still more — his gallant steed ! Cadwallon was bold Gryffydd's heir, His falcon eye, his raven hair, Proclaim'd him of the Cambrian race, Mind shone triumphant on his face ; b 3 6 His evYy feature gesture spoke, And when the youth his silence broke. You'd deem that ali Cadwallon said, You in his mirror eye had read : That eye, tho' flashing in its tire, (True Cambrian son of Cambrian sire) Would melt by Ellen's magic, down To love's mild ray, from anger's frown. From Modred sprung the mountain maid. Yet more unlike was nought display'd, From polar ice to tropic fire, Than Ellen and her sullen sire. 'Twas night — and in Sir GryfTydd's hall, Assembled were his vassals all; They crack the noisy joke; The cup was pass'd, the ale was quafTd, Alternately they drank and laugh'd; When thus Sir Gryffydd spoke: " Ere next day's sun shall tint the west, " The jaded hounds will covet rest, " And ere the stag has met his death, " The wearied steeds shall pant for breath. " Sir Modred rides his boasted roan, " But tho 1 I'm stiff and aged grown, " Twere hard an' if I let the day, " Be won by ought but by my gray." A vassal cried, " And ne'er a horse, " Could win at either chace or course, " When match 'd against that gallant gray" — Quoth Gryffydd, " Well you've said your say. " In horse-flesh too, we all must own, " There's none knows more than Davy Shone; " And Davy ! recollect the day " I prov'd the mettle of my gray ; " And when, the winding chace pursuing, " We cross'd the wood hard by Garthewin,* b 4 8 " Sir Modred's horse was out of breath, " But I was close in at the death : " You recollect it Davy Shone; " Cadwallon knows we beat the roan. " But wherefore, foolish boy, art mute?" " I hate to name the vicious brute." The quickly rouz'd Cadwallon cried, " 'Twas only yester eve he tried " To harm the maiden, when his crest " She with her lily hand caress'd." Then cried Sir Gryffydd, k ' Well done steed, " I trow it were a righteous deed: " And hadst thou sent, with spurning heel, " Each hateful Modred to the de'el ! " Destruction light upon their race! " They said that clearer they could trace " Their forefathers ere Trojan Brute, b ** Than we the tribe from which we shoot: 9 " Than we who true descendants are, " In line direct from Iloel Dda; d " From ouphant -blood of fairy Pelling," " Of princely race from brave Llewelyn!" Partaking of Sir Gryffydd's fare, It chanc'd a Saxon knight was there; He mark'd Sir Gryffydd's pride and glee, When talking of his ancestry : And when the Cambrian knight had done, The Saxon coolly thus began: — " When Adam delv'd and Eve she span f , " Say where was then the gentleman ?" " Here, in this hall," Sir Gryffydd cries, " Who says he was not, knight, he lies. " Now by the snow on Arena"' brow, " And by PlinlimmonV height I vow, " By Cader idris,' Penmaen mawr, j " By Snowden's hill, k and Harlech's tow'r, 1 10 " That were I not your host, you'd see, " What 'twas to scoff my pedigree! " And what is your's? — come tell us what; " Or rather tell us what it's not? " Or Roman, Norman, Saxon, Dane, " But I'm your host, and I refrain/' " Refrain indeed!" replied his guest. " I do," cried Gryffydd, " let it rest; " And tune your harp, good minstrel there, " We'll have some lay of lady fair, " Or knight, or fight, or fairy ground, " Or hawk, or horse, or brach, or hound, " Tho' as to horses,™ well 'tis known, " There's not the equal of my own !" A cadence wild, the minstrel play'd, Then thus his master he obey'd: — n THE MINSTRELS LAY. The sun shone bright on Harlech's tow'iv Right cheerily it shone ; The minstrel deem'd in ladies' bow'rs. There shone a brighter one At least he better lov'd to dwell To gaze (perchance to sigh) Upon the sunny beams that fell From lady's sunny eye. Ah! wherefore are you going then, The way is long and dreary; It lies amid both rock and glen, And minstrel, you are weary. 12 The sun that shone upon the tow'r, Now sinks behind the hill ; And soon will come the sombre hour Of ev'ning, calm and still. I go to pour my dainty lay On lady's daintier ear; The lamp that lights the fairies' way, Shall light me to my dear. The sun is down, the moon she rose, And now her wav'ring beam, Oft times, as if in sport she throws Upon the rippling stream. Ah ! who is she, what beauteous she, . In leafy bow'r is staying ; And who is he, what tuneful he, At lonely hour is playing? 13 The fairies' lamp hath lit you well, I know ye, minstrel bold! The lady's name I will not tell, Nor has it yet been told. And when the cadence sinks and swells, By minstrelsy beguil'd ; The pensive lady raptur'd dwells, Upon the witch-notes wild. The lady's ear the minstrel won — What will not music do? Before his magic lay was done He won the lady too! END OF CANTO I. St. .ELIAN'S WELL. CANTO II. 17 CANTO II. X HY tints, sweet Autumn! ever mellow, Reluctant yield to winter's chill ; The faded leaf of speckled yellow, Like fairy bark, floats down the rill : The thinly clothed birchen trees, Are trembling in the autumn breeze ; Divested of their leaflets green, Their silv'ry-purple boles are seen ; The fern is long and faded grown, And in the glen each tint is shewn, Of yellow, brown, and brightest red, The river deepens in its bed ; c 18 And from the mountain's beetling height, The roaring torrent foaming white, Falls headlong in the vale beneath; The black cock flies along the heath, Where blooms the purple heath-bell still, Defying autumn's latest chill. The ruddy morning now arose, A cheerful blast the huntsman blows, And man, and horse, and hound, and all, Were throng'd before Sir Gryffydd's hall; When prancing, rearing, snorting, bounding, And tearing up the sward surrounding, With ev'ry feat of joy and play, They bring the knight his gallant gray ; Not little pleas'd, his polish'd crest, Sir GryfFydd more than once caress'd; And right well pleas'd the hunter too, Began his frolic feats anew : 19 " Full brave art thou, my courser bold, " And I am weary, stiff, and old ; " Cadwallon's mettle's high as thine, " And thou, brave steed, no more art mine : " I'll ride my steady brown to-day ; " And you, my son! the gallant gray, " No thanks, my boy! it was not so, " Some five and twenty years ago — " No horse was then within the shire, " That Gryffydd could not curb his fire. " I'm not the man that I was then, " Nor ever shall be, boy, again ! " The horse is yours — you know him fleet; " And hark you, if I hear you're beat, " A father's curse is on your head ! " You mark me, boy! the thing is said." Cadwallon leapt upon his horse, And now the huntsmen bent their course, c 2 20 Adown the vale, and to the wood, That skirts the Conwy's rapid flood ; Nor had they rouz'd the tearful deer, When other hoof-tramps reach their ear, They hearken— and they heark'ning deem, That nearer still the hoof-tramps seem ; And now they hear the voice of men, Swift-wafted from the woody glen. Thou prick'st thy ears, thou stalwart gray! And mark, the rustling boughs give way ; The horsemen come, yet nigh and nigher, And tearing thro' hedge, fern, brake, briar, Sir Modred and his men are seen, His merry men in hunter's green! Amidst them all, they soon descry, Stern Modred by his evil eye ; Stern Modred by his gallant roan, It must be he, and he alone; 21 So haughty, that he scarce can brook To greet the knights by bend or look ; But join'd the chace, and on they pass, By Carneddau" and Gwddhwglas; And now th' affrighted stag is found, And now each horseman, brach, and hound, Turn far away from Conwy's tow'r, By Sychnant's height and Peninaen mawr : Eclips'd by clouds in Penmaen's head, His base is hid in ocean's bed: And oft the crag of time-worn gray, O'erhangs the traveler's narrow way ; Whilst frighted, he the path pursues, And when with giddy eye he views The rock above — the sea below, He treads with cautious step and slow. Not such the hardy Cambrian's pace He views the mountain's sea-girt base c3 22 With little awe and fear, and while He passes by the giant pile, Perchance you see his curious eye Espy some goat that plays on high ; Some mountain herb, whose hardy root Between the rocky brake may shoot; The white beam,* or those flowret's fair, That love to court the mountain air. But had you seen the winding chase, Their road along the pathway trace ; As rushing o'er the cliff they run, Where scarcely seem'd there room for one, I wot you'd close your aching sight, Lest from the mountain's frowning height, You'd see them plung'd in endless night ! But safe they pass — and now the stag Has gain'd a crumbling time-worn crag; • Craetagus Aria. Lin. } I 23 And there, amid the mountain way, He holds hounds, huntsman, all at bay. The stag-hounds try, and try in vain, The friendly crag more near to gain. But loosen'd rock, and stones, and mound, Fall tumbling with the prostrate hound. And now the huntsmen, wearied out, Reiterate their eager shout; And with the cries of hounds and men. The giant mountain rings again ; Until the bounding stag descends, And now his rapid course he bends, By Carnedd Dafydd q and Llewelyn/ By Coed-mawr, s and by yr Elen; 1 Now pass'd they by the mystic lake," And now again their way they take, Above Nant FfranconV hideous glen, And could they pause, 1 ween that then, c 4 24 In long* perspective they would view, Nant Conwy's rising hills of blue: And Anglesea, and Menai's stream, And Conwy too, thy flood would seem A silv'ry serpent, winding thro' The vale that lay beneath their view. And high above Nant Ffrancon's glen. The weary stag, and hounds, and men, Now pass in long array ; The youth Cadwallon takes the lead, And in the chace no other steed Is near his gallant gray; Except the roan, who oft can feel The spur that arms his master's heel, And spends in vain his gen'rous force To reach Cadwallon's peerless horse. As Modred now the chace pursued, With darken'd brow, and sullen mood, 25 The storm that gathers in the sky Seems far less threatening than his eye; The cloud that hangs upon his brow Seems darker than the glen, that now Lies stretch'd a sable gulph, below The height o'er which his steed must go. Nant Ffrancon is a dread abyss: In her rude breast the loud winds hiss; And to the bleak blast's sullen moan, Her river answers with a groan. Loud murmur'd it, when pass'd the steed, With clanging hoof and heedless speed ; The pathway shook beneath the stroke, The loosen'd ground in fragments broke ; The whole gives way, and earth and stone Fall tumbling with the gallant roan — 26 They headlong fall in yon deep dell, And loud they rattled as they fell Against its sable rocky side; Then plung'd they deep in Ogwen's tide. And fell dark Modred with his steed ? Yet no (so haply fate decreed To save a soul unfit for heav'n) To him the precious time was given To seize a branch, that far had spread Beyond the gray cliffs rocky head, The bough is moss-grown, weak and old, The knight is cast in giant mould ; Too slight the branch to hold his weight, — An arm was stretch'd 'twixt him and fate,— And who redeem'd him from the grave? 'Twas thou, Cadwallon! good as brave, 27 Who heard the treachrous ground give way, And turn'd thy head, thou gallant gray! He sav'd his foeman ere he fell, Then nimbly leapt upon his selle, And scarcely taking time for breath, Was in the foremost at the death! END OF CANTO II. St. ELIAN'S WELL. CANTO HI. 31 CANTO III. OH! gentle melody, that still Delights to breathe on Cambrian hill, And sunk from gay, to plaintive strain, Her long-lost freedom mourns in vain. Sweet melody! if e'er thy sound Can call thy minstrel shades around, Oh! bid them then that skill impart To me, that soul-ennobling art, Which soothes the mind and warms the heart! Ye tuneful bards ! oh ! gift my lay, And hover round, whilst I pourtray, 32 And Cambria's weal, and Cambria's woe, And Cambria's minstrels laid so low — The scepter'd ruffian's ruthless band, That bath'd in gore her lovely land, By treach'ry not by force subdued — Firm as her hills her warriors stood, And made the tyrant rue the day That led him first to Cambrian fray. Yet far too lofty is the strain For simple song like mine; 'Twere vain to try — the task were vain, To swell my lowly line To deeds so mighty — let us then With swift Cadwallon pass the glen, And brush with him the dew away, That ev'ning gems upon the spray. And whither does he hie so fast — The glen with hasty strides he's past ; 33 Nor ditch, nor dyke, can bid him stay, Nor ought impede his rapid way. And know we not that Modred's tow'r, That lovely Elen's leafy bow'r, Is on yon height — not wond'rous then With rapid step he cross'd the glen, Or that with fleet-wing'd haste he now Ascends the mountain's rugged brow ; And is thy love in rustic bower, Or is she in her father's tower? Or who is she, whose sylphid tread, Scarce breaks the gossamer's light thread, As on she trips — so on the green The fays at midnight's hour are seen; And swifter than the skimming fawn, They circle on the dew-clad lawn ; And legend tells, the em'rald round Full oft by mystic spell is bound; n 34 And that from painted vase of flovv'r, These fairies sip the pearly show'r; And ere the eastern sun be up, " Go hide them in an acorn cup. w " But yet the fair, who trips along, Is not, methinks, of fairy throng, Her dwelling not in air, but earth, A heavenly maid, of mortal birth — Gay, gladsome pleasure, chose his dwelling, In thy bright eyes thou sweetest Elen ! And loves and smiles their refuge seek, In the deep dimples of thy cheek ; Thy cheek, more soft than peaches down, Dark were thy waving locks of brown, And white thy brow — 'tis even so I've mark'd the newly-drifted snow, In mountain crevice glittering white, While shaded by th' impending height, 35 From sunny beam, which then had shed Tiie mantle from the rock's brown head ; Not whiter was the snow that laid Beneath the rock's impending shade, Then shaded by her dark brown hair, The polish'd brow of Elen fair. Nor brighter is the Indian berry, Or crimosin of rip'ning cherry, Or rose-buds, when their sweets first dawning, Receive the gems of early morning ; Or ruby casket, just disclosing The pearls within its bounds reposing, Than Elen's lips, half op'd, half closing : Beneath their curtain's sable screen, Her eyes in soften'd lustre seen ! Thus virtues brilliant e'en as they, By seeking shade from glare of day, Will cast a still more lovely ray ! d 2 36 She sees Cadwallon — and her cheek Glows brighter than the brightest streak, By the last tint of Phoebus given, When sinking in the western heaven. " And is it thou, at lonely hour, " That comes so near this hostile tow'r? " Tho' hostile, I will trust, no more, " All feuds must surely now be o'er. — " I heard your feat of yester's chace, " Cadwallon! time will ne'er efface " My gratitude, — th' undoubted due " Of all-protecting heav'n, and you." " Yet thank me not in formal guise," The soul-entranc'd Cadwallon cries. " How fares the knight? sweet maiden say,"- " He went from hence by break of day. " And when he pass'd the hall last night, " Right well I heard him praise the might 37 " Of one, whose bold advent'rous arm, " Had rescued him from dismal harm : " Full stern he is, full oft severe, " And one less held in love, than fear ; " Yet quick rememb'rance ever will " Remind me he's my father still, " And cheering hope will often say, " His harshness sure must melt away, " In virtue's sunshine bright as yours ; " This truant hope my step allures, " Right often to that fav'rite bow'r, " Form'd by your hand in youthful hour, 1 ' Ere friendship's glad and cheering ray, " Was scar'd by those dire feuds away, " Which cloud the morning of our day/ " Oh! may those clouds in happy hour," Cadwallon cried, " soon cease to low'r, d 3 38 " Be mine the task to move my sire, " To bend his wrath, to quench his ire, " And lead him to sweet amity." " Propitious prove the task to thee !" Replied the maid, " and iare thee well !" (For now the shades of ev'ning fell) " Farewell once more !" Cadwallon's eyes Pursue the maiden as she flies, When distance hides her from his view, His fancy hears her last adieu ; 'Twas then the sounds of voices near Assail'd his still reluctant ear, To part with fancy's sounds ideal, For strains less sweet, altho' more real ; Risjht soon he hears this lay, in tone, Soft music had not mark'd her own. 39 Sir Gryffydd. This world is full of grief and vvoe, x The world is full of grievance sore; But bid the sweet Metheglin flow, And all her grievous ills are o'er. Davy Shone. This world is but a world of ills ; Tho' griefs in plenty, joy is rare ; But when your cup Metheglin fills, You'll find the cherub sparkling there. Sir Gryffydd. " This world is — prithee who is here, " Cadwallon! by St. Dafydd's spear, d 4 40 " Cadwallon! by St. Dafydd's leek; '' I warrant now the maid you seek. " And so do I, the maiden's sire — " To him, go I with trusty squire, " To see an' if he's chang'd his tone, — " To see an' if he'll brag his roan,— " An' was not I, good Davy Shone? " And well I wot 'twill be confest, " That if his pedigree be best, " (An' which is false whene'er its said) " My horse, at least, is better bred : " And that, my boy! we'll make him own, " Come on, you laggard, Davy Shone !" Cadwallon cried in dire dismay, " Sir Modred went this morn away." " Sir Modred gone! — not he, I trow, " Not even he, dare serve me so. — " A precious joke! i'faith, when I, " Have told our jolly neighbours by, 41 " An' Hugh ap Hugh, and Maurice Owain, " That J, and that ray squire were going " To Modred's hall ; I told them too, " How 'twas he fell, and further who, " When he was tumbling in the glen, " Thought fit to pull him out again. " A simple trick, upon the whole! " And so we said, and drain'd the bowl. " And that the gallant horse, my gray, " Had beat them all, and won the day ; " And further, how and how the roan — " But come, I pray ye, Davy Shone." '' I pray you, do not go at all, " Sir Modred left this castle hall " This morning, ere the break of day." But vainly did Cadwallon pray ; For when Sir Gryffydd once was bent On any strange or wild intent, 42 You'd move Plinlimmon soon as him, The mountain's base, or Cambrian's whim. And now he cried, determin'd still, " Not go, an' when I've said I will — " Not do a thing, when I've said done? " Oh caitiff vile! and recreant son! " Of father such — aye such as 1 — " Would you the Gryffydd blood belie, " You foul dishonour to us all ? " Ne'er liv'd a Gryffydd in our hall, " That right was ever known to flinch, " That wrong would ever give an inch — " But yon, you thing of worthless fashion! — "Wretch! miscreant vile! you're in a passion ! " Cadwallon ! hark ye — you're a fool, " Be always as your father — cool; " And you may come to good — that's all, " And now, friend Shone! to Modred's hall." 43 The knight and squire now bend their way To Modred's hall, and turrets gray; Nor to the portal bell applied, For open were the gates full wide; The mansion court soon pass'd they thro', Close follow'd by Cadwallon, who (To say the least) sincerely then Had wish'd them safely home again. Bright blaz'd the hearth in Modred's hall, And round it were his vassals all. Some stretch their weary length along, And listen to the harper's song ; Some hearken to the spectre tale, And many more were quaffing ale ; But soon the minstrel chose a lay, That conjur'd ale and tale away : He sung thy feats thou luckless-roan, And Gryffydd, and his friend the Shone. 44 As soon as they the door-way gain, Thus catch the harper's plaintive strain THE HARPERS SONG. The fleet is fled, the swift is flown, For thon art gone, thou matchless roan ! How late I mark'd thee in thy pride, I mark'd thee by the Conwy's side ; I mark'd thy speed, thy matchless force : What art thou now thou gallant horse? A wretched, mangled, stiffening corse ! The fleet is fled, thy swift is flown, And where art thou, once peerless roan ? s 45 In Ogwen's dark and stony bed, Where jutting rocks frown o'er its head, And where amid their craggy breast, The tow'ring eagle builds her nest, Where ravens and where vultures dwell, Where owlets live and sing thy knell, Deep in the bosom of the dell ! The fleet is fled, the swift is flown, Unrivall'd thou, thou gallant roan ! Thy speed was as the whirlwinds blast, Thy speed was as the levin fast, When darting o'er the welkin high, It mocks the gazer's laggard eye. The fleet is fled, the swift is flown ! Tho' thou art gone, thy feats, brave roan, Shall be recorded well and long, In ev'ry tuneful minstrel's song. } s 46 Until this harp no more obeys His touch who strikes it in his praise, Still will he sing thy wondrous worth, And still maintain that on this earth Ne'er liv'd and ne'er will live a steed, The rival of thy fleet-wing'd speed. But yet the swift, the fleet is flown, And flown in thee thou swiftest roan ! Scarce had the minstrel done his lay, When, " Caitiff vile! repent the day, " That you belied my victor gray !" Resounded thro' the vaulted dome, Right soon the harp and harper come, All headlong from the seat on high ; And now th' amaz'd and wond'ring eye, Is fix'd on one each vassal knows, Is number'd 'mongst his master's foes. f 47 Not fix'd there long, for soon the knight, Descends abruptly from the height; In fragments breaks the minstrel's lyre, And throws it piece-meal in the fire. — And now the vassals waken'd quite, Begin with clamours loud the fight; Some Gryffydd seize, who stamps and swears, Foams, curses, splutters, struggles, tears, And when the battle rag'd most hard, Remember'd him the prostrate bard, And with manoeuvre passing quick, Bestow'd on him another kick. Against great odds Sir Gryffydd fought, The blows fell quick, his breath was short: In truth in broil and toil of fray, Most certain he'd have lost the day, When straight an arm of puissant force, Quick turn'd the tide of battle's course, 48 Cadwallon came to aid his sire, He heard the fall of bard and lyre ; Then thro' the warring crowd made way, And turn'd the glory of the day ; With nervous arm he stems the throng, Then bore the breathless knight along, And still his weary weight supports, Right thro' the hall and castle courts, At dawn of fray good Davy slid To covert, where he still lay hid, And now, that his allies retreat, To make his own he holds it meet, But still his eyes prophetic view, A thousand bruises black and blue, He hugs him closer than before, Resolves again, and o'er and o'er Resolves to yield him up to fate — His hair stands upright on his pate, 49 Which Davy holds a certain token, The head itself will soon be broken. At length he rushes, nothing slow, But luckless wight, a luckless blow, (For Davy run against the wall) Has laid him prostrate in the hall ; Ne'er man at such a moment fell! For all were at him, all pell mell ! And prov'd those wrong who erst had said, That nought could harm good Davy's head. Amidst the storm, the woful squire, Thought less of fray than to retire, And maul'd with grievous bruise and blow, At last they let him homeward go. Sir GryfFydd had reproach'd him thrice, As poltroon, and with cowardice ; And said whatever could be said, Ere he espied his broken head, E 50 Which argued more in his defence, Than finest piece of eloquence. 'Tis said two heads of swollen mien, Next day in Gryffydd's hall were seen, And eyes that erst had seen a fray, But saw not then the light of day, Nor (as is true, and well I wot) For three days after saw it not. END OF CANTO 111. St. J3LIANS WELL. CANTO IV. e2 53 CANTO IV. 1 LEAVE not thy dark mien unsung, Oh! thou from knaves and idiots sprung! Most baneful superstition ! while Thou check'st the youthful joyous smile, Or strik'st with nameless awe and fears, E'en those who count maturer years, 'Tis then in fancy's mind I trace, Thy haggard look, thy spectral face, Thy wrinkled brow, thy eye-ball sunk, And vest thee with the cowl of monk : Yes, so it was, in earlier days, That those who sung their Maker's praise, 54 His goodness — love to all mankind — Chose thee, to chain his creatures mind, Chose thee to stamp with endless woe, E'en those God lov'd and blessed so That God of Truth the essence bright — His shadow heav'n's refulgent light! 'Twas thine with iron grasp to wrest The secret from th' unwilling breast ; And oft, when link'd with avarice, To work on feeble cowardice, And steal the mite of poverty; — Yes, such thou art — to think on thee, I'd robe thee in a noisome shroud, Thy winding sheet, a vapour— cloud, Willi mists to veil thy victims eyes; But see the sun of reason rise! Before the splendour of his ray, Thy mystic form falls fast away. 56 But come, as ere this orb arose, But come, as erst at ev'ning's close, TV affrighted peasant oft has seen, In fancy, thy terrific mien ; Thy garbs, the raiment of the dead, Thy lamp, a spectral mould'ring head, Where thro' the eyeless socket beam, A pale, a blue, a livid gleam, To light thee to the cemetry ; Where oft the darkling hour may see, Funereal birds around thee steal, To share with thee thy horrid meal : Come, as thou art, with livid brand, With daemon's breath, with deadman's hand, Thy weapon but a fleshless bone; Come as thou art, yet not alone, Bring night and terrors all along, Subservient to my dreary song. e 4 56 Full late the hour, and dusk the eve, The lingering sun-beams loath to leave The earth, a walk to deadly sprite, To shadow forms, and clouds of night, Was seen to tremble in the west ; And now upon the pale rock's breast, It casts a feeble light, then drinks The billow's frothy spray, and sinks Reluctantly behind the hill ; — And all was calm, and all was still. And so may fitful fancy deem, That virtue's blest, and blessing beam. Has linger'd o'er the wav'ring breast, That once it's lovely orb possess'd ; Now scar'd by passion's war away, Withdraws its pure translucid ray, Again it gleams, again its light Shines forth, but transient and less bright, It sinks once more, and sinks in night ! 57 The sun-beam sunk behind the hill, The scene was soothing, calm, and still ; But virtue fled — the luckless breast, Shall taste nor joy, nor peace, nor rest. And now with splendour soft and bright, Uprose the lovely lamp of night, In gentle majesty — the stream, In mirror light, reflects her beam ; She pleas'd therewith, straight throws her ray, Upon the hills and ruins gray ; And would the curious pilgrim see, The fragments of antiquity, Oh ! let him court this stillest hour, To gaze upon the ruin'd tow'r, And if he gaze, he'll haply weep, To think its warrior tenants sleep, Death's cold and endless slumbers deep! 58 And fell the moon's soft beams alone, Upon the gray and loosen 'd stone ? Ah no ! — in doubtful light they fell, St. iElian ! on thy mystic well : Embosom'd deep in wood and glen, The cursing fountain met the ken. Not in the mystic iElian's grove, Did feather'd songsters sing of love; But birds of omen harbour'd there, And fill'd with boding shrieks the air ; The blasted trees so rent and riven, By fi'ry speed of burning levin, Had prov'd the bolt and wrath of heaven. Some stretch their wither'd arms on high, In scornful mood to mock the sky, Whilst shadow'd by their branches sear, And deep, and dark, and dank, and drear, The baneful fountain rises here. i 59 The wint'ry chill that swept the hill, And charg'd with leaves the rapid rill, Had rent away the scanty shade, The straggling leaflets gave the glade, And through the boughs the moon-beam fell, In cheerless lustre on the well : Pale gleaming thro' the shades of night, In flitting and uncertain light, Wild fancy's eye might trace a sprite, Or ouphant scene, or spectre knight, Or death upon his meagre steed, With steady, but with rapid speed ; And myriads of vagaries vain, That seize upon the fever 'd brain. In livid light the moon-beams fall Upon the fount's surrounding wall ; They fall upon thy giant height, They fall upon thy cors'let bright, 60 They fall upon thy scowling brow, — Can any fail, but know thee now ? 'Tis Modred, and close by him stands, An evil hag with shrivell'd hands, Full rudely mark'd with hideous veins; A wooden bowl one hand retains ; Her hair so mix'd, or red or grey, The gazer could not surely say, And long and lank, and frightful grown, And down her saffron shoulders thrown ; And when the flitting moon-beams shed Their light upon Sir Modred's head, 'Twas then that one might clearly trace, The passions working in his face : And in his eyes avenging fire Were wrath, and woe, and vengeance dire; And now the gaze more frightful grew, So dark his brow, so pale his hue, 61 He seem'd t' invoke a daemon's aid, And round his mouth a smile then playVl, At view of future vengeance deep ; — Then bid his horrid visions sleep, And thus address'd the hag : — " Call forth " The dreary spirits of the north, " Call fiend, and sprite, and daemon drear, " And bid your fountain's saint be here ; " Call curses, blasts, and magic fell, " From endless chaos, earth, and hell ; ** And list, St. iElian ! puissant saint ! (" Tho' feeble words full ill can paint, " The wrongs that I've sustain'd) my hall " Insulted bard, for vengeance call, — " Propitious power ! then vengeance give, " Or injur'd Modred will not live. " Oh ! pour upon my hated foe, •' And wrongs, and ills, afflictions, woe, — 62 " May Gryffydd and his house sustain, " Each ill that mark'd the outlaw'd Cain, " Until his courser yield his breath, " And in my service meet his death : " Accurse them when the morning's rise, " When ev'ning's gray enrobes the skies, " With ev'ry wind and blast that blows, " With summer's heat, and winter's snows, " Accurs'd be they!"— With mutter'd spell, The witch drew water from the well, — Invok'd the saint, and forthwith sped Beneath the wave the mystic lead, On which Sir Gryffydd's name was read ; The charm has pass'd her quiv'ring lips, And now once more the bowl she dips ; Beneath the darkling surface — then Repeat's her orgies o'er again ; 63 " 'Tis done !" she cried — a hideous yell, From lips as hideous piercing fell ; Art thou of earth, or fiend of hell, Accursing hag of ./Elian's well? END OF CANTO IV. St. ^ELIAN'S WELL. CANTO V. St. J3LIANS WELL. CANTO V. J. HE tint that mantled in thy face, Was brighter than the brightest trace Of early morning ; The berry faded at the view, As envious of the lovely hue, Thy lips adorning : But now 'tis gone, And thou art wan, And pale as one forsaken ; Far fled the rose, But infant snows, In whiteness are o'ertaken : f2 (38 What hidden grief in that fair breast, For some thy sighs are telling, Has harbor'd there, to mar thy rest, Oh! wherefore so uncouth a guest, In such a heav'nly dwelling ! Thy soften'd eye, subdued and meek, Seems mourning o'er thy pallid cheek, And looks, not words, thy grievance speak. Oh ! gentle maid, to whom is giv'n, A mind too pure for ought but heav'n, — Oh! seek not yet your native sphere, Nor leave a weary mourner here, — Amidst cold winter's cheerless snows, A beauteous flowret nature throws, It lives amid the frost ; And fare it so, fair maid ! with thee. When cast upon the stormy sea, Of dark and drear adversity, Oh ! may'st thou not be lost ; m Tho' purer than that snowy flow'r, Oh ! luckless maid, in luckless hour You felt the chilling blast ; Yet may you still survive the storm, And live to feel the sunbeams warm, That shine when winter's past. The maid was Modred's daughter fair, So chain'd was she with inward care, That oft full heedlessly she past ; Then rouz'd — and when her eye she cast Upon the snowy garb around, That winter flung upon the ground, She'd deem her summer too was o'er, And joy and she should meet no more : — And when she mark'd the wild-fowl high, That wing'd his swift way thro' the sky, Then straight would wish, with bosom riven. To her those rapid wings were given : 70 Ah ! then she'd fly where sorrows cease. Where dvvelleth joy and halcyon peace : And when her gaze had lost the wing-, In plaintive cadence thus she'd sing : THE ICICLE. The boughs that ere long were all cluster'd with flow'rs, Are now cloth'd in snow, and envelop'd in frost ; The dark clouds are gath'ring, the gray welkin low'rs, And the skeleton leaf in the bleak wind is tost. 71 And where the leaf trembled, now drizzles a tear, And many a dew-drop another doth chace ; Not long shall they moisten the twig, bare and sear, To-morrow an icicle hangs in their place. Yet such art thou, life, the poor play-thing of destiny, The summer of hope still dark winter is blasting ; So comfortless, mutable, oh ! there's no rest in thee, Thy pleasures but short, and thy sorrows how lasting ! And if the sweet dew-drops of sympathy glisten, Or distrust or detection, will dry up their course ; Or if to cold caution one moment we listen, An icicle glitters in sympathy's source. 72 And leave we here the maid and tell What things to Gryffydd sad befel ; That ought he did was surely curs'd, From first to last, from last to first ; The banner red from Saxon won, The prelude of his griefs begun : Full thrice it wav'd with wizard spell, Ere from the lofty dome it fell ; But yet the ill he least could brook, The blast his noble oak so shook, Its antic head so silv'ry gray, And moss-grown boughs were rent away ! The night was stormy — but the ill Was wrought Sir Modred's curse to fill; A dreary curse — loud screech the owls, And loudly too the watch-dog growls, The cricket chirps, the flame burns blue, And thrice the cock ere midnight crew ; 73 The ale was bad, metheglin worse, Nor ought was free from witches' curse ; The goblins now so bold were grown, That none (not even Davy Shone) Would singly, and without demur, Three inches from the faggots stir ; Not better'd much their fate, when there, For soon the hearth began to scare, As much as did the darkness dire ; Black coffins flew from off the fire, And one had reach'd the valiant squire, Which straight he on his neighbour threw, With vent'rous hand and pallid hue. Sir GryfFydd could not longer bear Th' accumulation of his care ; " Ah ! woe is me !" he cried, " my board " No longer now will ale afford ; " Misfortune hems me all around— " My horse, my hound, the frosty ground, 74 " The banner rent, the blasted tree, " Ah! good St. Dafydd! woe is me! " Cadwallon too, so dull and sad ; " And is no vengeance to be had ? " Now stamp thee as a coward wight, " And stamp thee as a recreant knight, — " An' what an' if I harm'd thy bard, — " For knighthood hadst thou no regard? — " Must go like craven, as thou art, " Sans valour, courtesy, sans heart ; " Go league thyself with daemons fell, " And curse me at St. Elian's well! — " Why rather hadst not challenge given? " I'd fight on earth, in hell, or heaven. " He knew it, and he fear'd to try " The prowess of my chivalry !" Then cried bold Davy near the fire, " I warrant too he knew your squire; 75 " And lucky was it faith for him " That fight or fray was not the whim !" " And would I had," cried Gryffydd," " here " That mystic book, the wondrous seer " Old Robin Dhu z was wont to use; " Ah! well 1 wot the curse should lose " Its dreary magic, foul and fell ; •' But since we cannot have the spell, " At least the tale, good minstrel tell." ! 76 THE TRADITIONARY LEGEND OF ROBIN DHU.* l. And have you heard the death-watch tick, And have you seen the shroud, That burnt all night in candle-wick, With bick'ring noise and loud ? 2. Oh ! low upon his death-bed lies Old Robin Dhu the seer ; The mist of death bedims his eyes, His limbs are cold and drear. * Dhu. Welsh. Pronounced dee ; signifying black. 77 3. I've heard it was lone midnight's hour, When thus the wizard spoke ; When magic's lore alone has pow'r, The daemons to invoke. — 4. " I trow my sister loves me well, " Old Robin loves thee too ; " Now ere they sound the matin bell, ' Oh ! prove thy love is true ! 5. " Far deep beneath the foaming sea, " Go throw this magic book ; " The last request of Robin Dhu, " Therein thou dost not look. 78 6. " E'en now my body's stiff and stark, " And quiv'ring is my breath, " Wide gapes the grave, both deep and dark, " And near at hand is death : 7. u But spell-bound still I cannot die, '• Until in sea-girt caves, " This clasped book of Gramarye* " Is hid beneath the waves." 8. The lady went, and brush'd the dew That hung on herb and flow'r, The fing'ry fern, the hare -bell blue, Their pearly burthen pour. * Gramarye; witchcraft, 79 9. And as she hied it griev'd her sore, Such science should be lost ; The book purloin'd lest magic's lore In ocean should be tost. 10. " Come tell me all that thou hast seen, " Methinks thou'lt tell me true; : ' To ocean's sea caves hast thou been ? " And what there didst thou view?" 11. " Oh ! nothing save the rippling wave, " Oh ! nothing did I view ; " The briny tide the steepid lave, " The sea-birds snowy hue." 80 12. " O loud thou Ii'st, 1 trow thou li'st," Replied the dreary wight, " Again be gone, or else thou di'st, " Begone, thou woman light !" 13. I've heard the lady went once more, I've heard, and think it true, She with her took the book of lore, Which still she yearn'd to view. 14. The moon shines bright on Arvon's tow'rs, And shines on dale and hill ; It glimmers thro* fair lady's bow'rs; The night is calm and still ; 81 15. Again she keeps th' unhallow'd tome, " Oh! Brother, die in peace, — " The book is toss'd 'midst surgy foam, " Then set your heart at ease." 16. " Now woman, tell me all thou'st seen, " Methinks thou'lt tell me true, " To ocean's sea caves hast thou been, " And what there didst thou view?" 17. " Oh! nothing save the moonbeams play " Upon the turning tide; " Oh ! nothing save the breakers gray, " That wash the castle's side." G 82 18. The wizard gaz'd with glassy eye, And spake in accents weak ; His words they seem'd but scarce a sigh, His voice a hollow shriek: — 19. " Oh ! woman false ! it is not so, " Full well J know thy guile ; — " Once more the book in ocean throw, " And tarry but a while." 20. The lady went — the book she threw — The salt sea opens wide; A giant hand of merkest* hue, The selcouthf tome doth hide. * Merkest; darkest. t Selcouth; wondroii6. 83 21. " Now tell me all that thou hast seen, " And mark ye, tell me true ; " To ocean's sea-caves hast thou been, " And what there didst thou view?" 22. " I threw the book — a hairy hand " Received it as it fell ; " 'Twas trebly girt with mermaid's sand,*- " I heard a hideous yell." 23. " E'en now the spell is burst, I die !" Then spake old Robin Dhu, " And there will rise, and where I lie " An ash and weechelm tree." * Mermaid's sand. A spell used in witchcraft. 84 24. And even where the wizard died, A sturdy ash tree grows ; The witches elm close by its side, Beneath his death-bed rose. 25. And formless shadows round them stalk, And hollow sounds are heard, There nightly spectres often walk, There shrieks the fun'ral bird ; 26. In sooth I've heard at midnight's hour, There fays their vigils keep ; And Robin's ghost glides round the tow'r, That crowns the rocky steep. 85 And must I say how days were gone, And weeks aud months were rolling on : But still their stream bore nought away, From hostile chief, of feud or fray ; Fair Elen sigh'd, Cadwallon's hue Had lost its bright carnation too, Sir Modred, like an evil blast, Strew'd ills and wrongs where'er he pass'd, And one that he had injur'd sore, By all the saints, save iElian, swore, Tho' not in curse, full sure in fray, He deeply should repent the day. 'Twas so things stood, when on his gray Cadwallon took the mountain way, And let the bridle loosely rest, Upon the horse's rising crest, Then mark'd the steepid's varied hue, From purple, gray, to brightest blue, 86 The lickens that in crevice grew, As various in their colours too, Of ev'ry tint and shade were seen, From yellow, brown, to brightest green ; The ev'ning sky soft lustre shed, Blue mists surround tall Penmaen's head. And from its steep and narrow cliff, Was seen the white sail of the skiff, As thro' the pathless track it hied, " A speck upon the ocean's tide :" Soft swell'd the waves as on they roll'd, Of em'rald tint and living gold ; So lovely was the hue that they Receiv'd from ev'ning's parting ray. Cadwallon pass'd by hill and flood, And pass'd he too by vale and wood ; And now, amidst a dell he goes, Where rocks o'er head and branches close, 87 Nor enters long before he hears, The clang of steel and noise of spears And quickly then in warlike vein, He seiz'd the courser's slacken'd rein ; He urg'd the steed, pursued the sound, And soon the jutting rock is round, When 'neath the shade of forest trees, Some armed men in fight he sees ; Against one man their skill was plied, One man alone that skill defied, As boldly he his foemen fac'd, His back against a tree was plac'd, And near him lay his yeomen two, That died in fighting staunch and true: With iron arm his blows he dealt,— The iron blows his foemen felt ; Cadwallon mark'd the warrior bold, He knew him for his foe of old, — g 3 88 He knew him for his Elen's sire, — Away with feud — a gen'rous fire, Swift warm'd his heart, and made his arm Invincible, as wizard charm. The foaming torrent from the rock, Falls not, I ween, with greater shock, From mountain height, to lowly dell, Than on his foes Cadwallon fell; Ah ! would I knew, who in this fight, First felt the hero's faulchion bright, Who died ennobled by its wound, Or seeking safety fled the ground ; But record speaks — thus far I know, He stood triumphant o'er the foe ; They fled — but bid an arrow speed To reach the youth — it reach'd his steed— The courser's gen'rous blood it drank, And enter'd deeply in his flank : 89 And does no other life-blood flow No other feel death's fatal blow ? Sir Modred sinks beneath the tree. And pale, and wan, and faint is he. " Brave youth !" he cried, " their chieftain's hand " Has aim'd too well his reckless brand; " Short time will weary nature give, " But little space for me to live : " But if to you is pity given, " Oh ! haste ye, as you hope for heaven, " I pray ye haste, and from my hall, " My skilful Leech, and vassals call." Cadwallon mounts his wounded steed, And flies at first with utmost speed ; But from the noble courser's side, Still freely rush'd the purple tide ; As quickly now his life-blood flows, Less firmly and less swift he goes, 90 He staggers, falls, then rears his head, It sinks again — the gray is dead ! — Cadwallon saw his courser die, He gave the gen'rous steed a sigh, But still unscathed by the fall, He swiftly reach'd Sir Modred's hall ; Loud rung he at the portal bell, " Go, vassal ! go, and quickly tell, " To ancient Leech, so skill'd and sage, " To trusty hind, and trusty page, " That straight they seek yon woody glade, " Where wounded sore their master's laid ; " Myself will aid them" — as he stood, All dripping with his courser's blood, The hall the lovely Elen pass'd, She saw him and she stood aghast. " Ah ! woe is me! that woful plight—" " Yet not for me, fair lady bright," 91 Cadwallon cried, " you must lament, " But rather for the ill that sent, " A dreary herald here of woe; " Sir Modred bleeding lies, and low, " All wounded in a deadly fight/' " Oh! lead me," cried the lady bright, " Oh ! lead me there before he dies, " Oh ! lead me where my father lies." In haste the vassals now attend, Adown the hill their course they bend, And rapidly would go, But still they must remain and guide The Leech, who down the mountain's side Treads cautiously and slow; But as they reach the spot where lay, In sanguine guise the gallant gray, They see some peasant hinds, who bear, In sad array, Sir Modred there ; 92 ii Ah ! lay me here," the chieftain cried, " Ah ! lay me by the courser's side ; " And ye, who now so lowly see, " The victim of my wrath and me, 4< The justice own of heav'n's decree! " My curse — my dreary curse fulfill'd — " The courser's blood for me is spill'd, — " If vengeance was my life, my all, " The hand of vengeance bids me fall ; " Ah! nothing will your skill avail, " E'en you my ancient Leech must fail ! " Thou com'st apace — I feel thee, death ! " Yet tarry but awhile my breath ; " To worth I give her guerdon due, " I give my child, brave youth, to you : " And oh ! m^y Heav'n my crimes forgive, " And bid your virtues ever live." And peace be his! — Sir Modred dies! Amidst his forefathers he lies ; ! 93 His grave is oft by verger shewn: Beneath yon rudely sculptur'd stone, Was laid the brave, the gallant gray, There lies the steed — here ends my lay. My tale is told, my song is sung, The useless lyre now lies unstrung ; But shall the chords that in this heart Still beat with ought that can impart, To thee or happiness or woe, E'er cease to vibrate? Cambria, no! They cease but with thy minstrel's breath, They cease but at the touch of death, That bids the lowly strain be o'er, And life and love for thee no more. Yet give me some halcyon, and azur'd wav'd fountain, To bless thy low valley, to bless thy high moun- tain, 94 And circle the brim of the fanciful well, With fragrant magnolia, and bright asphodel. With roses, clematis, and eglantine wreathing, While zephyr's soft gales in ambrosiaare breath- Amid the light strings of the harp lightly tril- ling, While fanciful dreams the wild descant are fill- ing* And now the notes sinking, and now as they're swelling More firm and more bold, you would deem they were telling How Cambria had conquer'd and won in the story, Of Saxon's defeat, and their native land's glory! Now mournful the strain of the golden-string'd lyre, Exchanging for pathos its force and its fire, 95 It sings of the days when the bards were low " lying, Bright freedom and minstrelsy from the land flying, And with the sad tale, the sad notes too are dying- Strike the harp in lightsome strain Days of joy to come again, Gladsome days of gladsome bliss, Will the land enjoy them? Yes. All blessings from thy fount exhaling, The sun's blest beams that good inhaling, Shall kiss thy wave, and straightway shine On all the space, sweet Cambria ! thine. And then, upon thy fountain's face, Thy genius shall his semblance trace, So lovely — like Narcissus he, Entranced with his form shall be ; Yet not like him in luckless hour, Transform from youth to fragrant flow'r, 96 But sink upon the Howry bed, That breathes in sweetness round his head ; And there while years and ages steal, Remain the guardian of thy weal. Yet cease my dream, for bounteous heav'n To thee unnumber'd good has giv'n, Has bid thy hills and valleys low, With health and mirth, and plenty flow; Thy sons are bold, and still retain Remembrance of the sanguine plain, That oft their forefathers have strew'd With hills of slain and hostile blood ; And still their feats are proudly sung, In numbers of their native tongue. Oh! may their sons recorded be, In strains of future minstrelsy, And precious freedom love to dwell. Amongst thy woodland hill and dell, My native country! fare thee well! THE end. NOTES. NOTES TO CANTO I. * Garthewin, or Garthwin, the beautiful seat of Robert Wynu, Esq. a descendant of Gronen Llwyd, surnamed Pen- wyn of Melun. — Vide Pennant, vol. 2. p. 56. Garthewin commands the view of a lovely valley, and of the rivers Elwy and Aled; the coup d'oeil terminated by well wooded hills, and by the village of Llanvair Dolhaeam. b Brutus, (son to Silvius Postumius, the son of Aseanius, the son of iEneas) who was the lirst king of this island, and H 98 began his reign about the year of the world 2155, B. C. HOB years, (vide Wynne's Appendix to his History of Wales; Pedigrees in private hands), whose successors follow genea- logical order. He had three sons: 1. Locrinus; 2. Camber who had the land beyond the Severn, called from him Cam- bria ; and 3. Albanactus, who had Scotland, which he called Albania from his own name. — Vide also the Genealogical Account of the Families of Penrhyn and Cochitillan, by the Rev. John Thomas, A.M. c The tribes of Llwythau, were the noblesse of North Wales ; they were of early origin, and lords of distant dis- tricts, appointed by different princes. The latest was in the time of Dafydd ap Owen Gwynedd to Hoel Dda, a Cam- brian monarch. His code of laws are still extant. e From ouphant blood of fairy Pelling. The following account is given in Mr. Williams's observations on the Snowdon Mountains, of the traditionary origin of the Pellings. A young man concealed himself in a field where the fairies were wont to assemble : when their sports had 99 commenced he seized one of the party, whom he conveyed to his home and married; to which she consented under the decree that if he struck her with iron she should leave him. Some years afterwards she accompanied him into a field, where he endeavoured to catch an unruly horse, at whom he threw a bridle, the bit struck the fairy who instantly disap- peared. He heard her voice afterwards at the window of his room desiring him to take care of her children in the follow- ing words : " Rhag bod anwyd ar fy mab, " Yn rhodd rhowch arno gob ei dad ; " Rhag bod anwyd ar liw 'r cann, " Rhoddwch ami bais ei mam." " Oh ! lest my son should suffer cold, " Him in his father's coat infold, " Lest cold should seize my darling fair, " For her, her mother's robe prepare." These children and their descendants were called Pellings, from their mother's name Penelope. 1 We may presume that the Saxon was of Southern extrac- tion, for in Hume's history of the reign of Richard the Se- 100 cond, when giving an account of the insurrection of the peo- ple in the southern countries he has the following note : " There were two verses at that time in the mouths of all the common people, which in spite of prejudice one cannot but regard with some degree of approbation : " When Adam delv'd and Eve span " Where was then the gentleman?" g The A reus two lofty mountains in Merionethshire. Spencer traces the rise of the Dee from these mountains, and chooses their base as the place of education of Prince Arthur, who was placed by a fairy knight under the protection of an old hero, " To be upbrought in gentle thews and martial might," " It is evident," observes Mr. Pennant, " that Spencer, '' who was deeply read in all the romance of his romantic " days, had heard the tradition of Caer Gai, and its old in- " habitant, Gai, to whom he chooses to give the more classical " name of Timon, for so Prince Arthur is made to name his " foster father." 101 " Unto old Timon he me brought bylive, " Old Timon, who in youthful years had been " In warlike feats the expertest man alive, " And is the wisest now on earth, I ween; " His dwelling is low in valley green, " Under the foot of Rauran mossie hore, " From whence the river Dee as silver clean, " His tumbling billows rolls with gentle rore: " There all his days he trained me up in virtuous lore. Fairy Queen, Book i. Canto 9. Milton also alludes to our celebrated river, " Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream." Lycidas. h Plinlimmon, a vast mountain, situated partly in Mont- gomeryshire and partly in Cardiganshire. ' Cader idris, signifying the chair of the giant. A high mountain in Merionethshire. J Penmaen-mawr, a majestic hill in Carnarvonshire. The passage over this mountain was extremely dangerous: amongst the multitude of accidents recorded as having happened in traversing it, Mr. Pennant gives the following, which is vouched for by the strongest traditional authority. " Above 102 " a century ago Sion Humphries, of Llanvair Vechan, paid " his addresses to Anne Thomas, of Creyddyn, on the other " side of Conwy river. They had made an appointment " to meet at the fair in the town of Conwy. He in his way " fell over Penmaen-mawr. She was overset in the ferry - " boat, and was the only person saved out of more than " fourscore. They were married and lived very long to- " gether in the parish of Llanvair. She was buried April " 11th, 1744, aged 116. He survived her five years, and was " buried December 10th, 1749 ; close by her in the parish " church-yard, where their graves are familiarly shewn to " this day." k The gigantic Snowdon is too well known to need a de- scription, it is situated in Carnarvonshire. Seryddiaeth Don yn Sir Gaernaroon. Lie bu ron dragon dreigiau Emreis. Griff, up Dof)/dd up Tudur. " Behold Arvonia's snow-eapp'd heights ! " Where Don survey'd the starry sphere ; " Where the bold chieftain wav'd the spear, " By dragons feign'd in Merlin's magic rites." Vide Observations on Snowdon Mountains, 103 The chain of mountains which is comprised under the name of Snowdon, by the English, and of Eryri by the Welsh, extend the whole length of the county of Carnarvon, from east to south west. Nennius mentions this chain of moun- tains by both their English and Cambrian appellation. In Giraldus we also find the following passage. " Those mountainous regions which are called by the " Cambrians Eryri, but by the English Snowdon. i. e. the " mountains of snow, which gradually rise from the territories " of the sons of Conan, and stretch themselves to the north (> near Deganwy, but opposite Mona too enormously shoot in " aerial towers to the clouds to be passed over in silence. ;i For so great, and of so immense an extent are they said to " be, that from remote antiquity it has been a proverbial ex- " pression, ' That as Mona can supply the people of all " Wales with victuals, so can Eryri all the herds collected " together with pasture'." Cambden also makes honourable mention of our " British Alps." 1 Harlech Castle stands on a high rock, upon the sea- shore of Merionethshire : the original tower, called Twr Bronwen, is said to have been built in the sixth century ; it 104 afterwards received the name of Caer Cohvyn, and eventual- ly its more descriptive name, Harlech, or Arddlech, the high cliff. In 14C8, being possessed by Dafydd ap Jevan ap Einion, a steady friend of the House of Lancaster, it was invested by William, Earl of Pembroke, after a most difficult march through the heart of the Welsh Alps ; and surrender- ed on honourable terms to his gallant brother Sir Richard Herbert, who engaged to save the life of the brave Welsh commander, by interceding with hi* cruel master, Edward IV. The king at first refused his request, when Herbert told him plainly, that his Highness might take his life instead of that of the Welsh Captain, for that he would assuredly re- place Dafydd in the castle, and the King might send whom he pleased to take him out again. This prevailed, but Sir Richard received no other reward for his services." Pennant. m The Welsh held their horses in the highest estimation. It is upon record that in the parish of Cegidoc, or as it is called in English, St. George, that saint had his holy well, at which he had his offering of horses ; for the rich were wont to offer one to secure his blessing on all the rest. He was the tutelar saint of those animals ; all that were distempered were brought, sprinkled with the water, and this blessing bestowed. Rhod Duw a sant sior arnat. "The blessing of God and St. George be on thee/' — Pennant. 105 NOTES TO CANTO II. 14 Carneddau and Gwddhw Glas. Carneddaw hills, com- posed of loose stones. At Gwddhw Glas are various pile* of antiquity mentioned in Camden. " Conway Castle was built by Edward I. in the year " 1284 ; who, I believe, employed the same architect that " built Caernarvon : all his skill seems to have been exerted " here. A more beautiful fortress never arose : its form is " oblong, placed on all parts on the verge of the precipitous " rock. One side is bounded by the river; another by a " creek full of water at every tide, and most beautifully shad- " ed by hanging woods ; the other two sides face the town. " Within are two courts, and on the outside project eight vast " towers, each with a slender one of amazing elegance issuing t' from its top, within which had been a winding staircase." Pennant, 106 p Sycbnant, a rude and gloomy mountain not far distant from Penmaenmawr. 1 Carmedd Dafydd and Llewelyn, two high mountains in the wilds of the country. 1 may be thought to have led my sportsmen rather a perilous chase, but the names of the sur- rounding hills and valleys are evident proofs of it being a favourite amusement with the natives: we have Moel y Elain, or the naked hill of the fawn ; Clogwyn y Heliwr, or the rock of the hunters; Carnedd y Filiast, or rock of the grey- hound; Cwm Penllafar, or the vale of melody, supposed t<> be so called from the cry of the hounds when passing the rock of the hunters. Snowdon was a royal forest well slock- ed with deer. The memorable chase of Llewelyn and t lie death of the Greyhound are immortalized in the beautiful ballad by the Honourable W. R. Spencer. 9 Coed Mawr, or Coytmor, for many years the seat of a family of that name, now belonging to the Pughs of Penrhyn. 1 A mountain adjacent to Carnedd Llewelyn. n " Now pass'd they by the mystic lake,'" According to Dr. Powel, in the year 1542 two stones of 107 prodigious size (one of which a yoke of a thousand oxen ■would have failed in moving), in the course of a night were transported from Llyn Llyphaint, or the Lake of Frogs, to the distance of a bow shot up Carnedd Llewelyn, where they still remain stationary. Henry VIIL doubting the truth of this story, dispatched a messenger to enquire into it, and the fact was fully established. — Powel's Notes on Girald. Cambr. v Nant Ffrancon, is a terrific chasm surrounded by lofty rocks, and watered by the furious torrent Ogwen. Over part of this hill impends Yr olew Wen, with its front torn in amazing gullies, through which torrents of stones were some- time before carried into the Nant, by the single collision of a cloud that burst against it, discharging an ocean of water. The ruins of the hill looked like a stream of lava; the glen was defended by a fort, of which there is at present no vestige. — Pennant. Nant Ffrancon is considered by the coasting sailors as bolus's magazine of winds, and on that account has been called, Cegin y Cythraukl, or the Devil's Kitchin. — Williams. Our famous bard, Taliesin, mentions an engagement that took place in Nant Ffrancon, 108 " Gwelais yniladd taer yn Nant Francon " Daw Sul pryd pylgeint " Rhwng Wythiant a Gwidion." Translated, " I saw an obstinate engagement in Nant Ffrancon " On Sunday, at the hour of early dawn, " Between Wythiant and Gwydion." 109 NOTES TO CANTO III. w " Go hide them in an acorn cup.'' I have not here exactly fallen into the opinion entertained by the Welsh of the Elfin race. The Cambrian Fairies were always full grown. x The genius of minstrelsy has not yet entirely deserted our mountains. Like the Improvisatore of Italy, their in- habitants will sing extempore pennylls, or verses, either with or without the accompaniment of the harp ; when one of the company has concluded a stanza another proceeds with the subject, adorning it with the flights his fancy dictates. Whole villages were wont to meet and contend for pre-eminence in his poetical skill. 110 NOTE TO CANTO IV y The well of St. iElian, in Carnarvonshire, lies in a dingl e near the high road leading from Llan iElian to Groes in Irias; it was surrounded by a wall of six feet high, and em bosomed in a grove ; the trees have been fallen and the wall thrown down. It was resorted to by the Welsh to call im- precations and the vengeance of the Saint on any one who had done them an injury. Mr. Pennant says, that he was threatened by a person he had offended with a journey to this well " to curse him with effect." Ill The ceremony was performed by an old woman who pre- sided at the font in the following manner : after having re- ceived her fee, the name of the offender was marked on a piece of lead ; this she dropped into the water, and muttered her imprecations, whilst taking from, and returning into the well a certain portion of the water. It frequently happened that the offending party who had been the subject of her imprecations, sought through the medium of a double fee, to have the curse removed ; and seldom was this second offering refused by her. On this oc- casion she took water from the well three times with the new moon, select verses of the Psalms were read on the suc- cessive Fridays, and a glass of the well water drank whilst reading them. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 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