BEDDGELERT.
Some are of opinion that this word should be written Celert, or Cilert, Bedd-Cilert, or Cilert’s Grave; supposing that a monk or saint of that name was buried here. Another celebrated bard was entombed at this place, named Davydd Nanmor, who died about the year 1460.
The Goat is an excellent inn, and every attention the traveller can desire is paid with the greatest celerity. Twenty post horses are kept at this inn for travellers, and eight or ten ponies for the accommodation of those visitors who wish to ascend Snowdon with ease and safety.
At nine o’clock, I strolled from the inn to the bridge. It was a lovely evening; there was no moon, but the clear sky displayed its burning host in beautiful array. No breath of air disturbed the silent slumbers of the peaceful woods. The lull of rippling waters alone struck upon the ear, yielding a solemn tone like the deep swell of the organ, breaking upon the deepest solitude.
In such a situation how indescribable is the feeling which takes possession of us! What language can express, what tongue can utter it! My very breathing seemed to disturb the excessive sweetness of nature’s melody.
In a field near the church yard are two grey stones overhung with bushes, pointing out the grave of “Gelert,” Llewelyn’s hound.
CHAPTER VI.
Departure from Beddgelert.—Vortigern’s Hill.—Snowdon.—Llyn Gwynant.—Gwrydd.—Public Houses.—Lake Fishing.—Pass of Llanberis.—The Lakes.—The Castle of Dolbadarn.—View of the Lakes.—The Church of Llanberis.—Story of little John Closs.—Capel Curig.—Moel Siabod.—Castle of Dolwyddelan.—Falls of Benglog.—Llyn Ogwen.—Llyn Idwal.—Route to Llanrwst.—Falls of Rhaiadr y Wennol.—Bettws y Coed.—The Church.—Monuments.—Pont y Pair.
“Oh, who hath stood on Snowdon’s side,
And glanced o’er Mona’s virgin pride;
And gazed on fatal Moel y don,
But thought of those once there undone?
When Saxons and their foreign band,
Were crushed by the sons of the mountain land.”T. J. Llewelyn Prichard.
On the following morning I quitted the inn, where every attention was shown that a traveller could desire, and proceeded over the Ivy bridge, through which the Gwynant flowed, deep and smooth as glass, without an obstruction to ruffle its clear waters, that glided along, kissing its verdant banks, like the stream of a happy life. Quietude reigned in this region uninterrupted. About half a mile from Beddgelert, a rocky eminence projects into the road, called Vortigern’s Hill, or Dinas Emrys, a magician, who was sent for to this place by Vortigern, when he found himself hated by his subjects, and fled from their just anger to this secluded spot. Passing this memorable place, a round clump of rock attracts the eye, rising as it were in the centre of the valley, and called Moel Wyn. Looking backward, Moel Hebog, the Hawk Hill, rises majestically and closes up the entrance to Beddgelert. Moel Siabod towers in front, and, as we pursued our delightful path about two miles and a half from Beddgelert, an opening of the hills upon the left displayed a deep gorge, and the base of Snowdon, whose high peak, rising in the unclouded skies, held up the holy symbol of Christianity, as if in adoration of the Creator. At length I reached Llyn Dinas, a lake of about three quarters of a mile in extent, through which the Gwynant runs; it is surrounded by lofty mountains of a deeper tint than is usually seen upon the Welsh hills. A beautifully situated cottage here at the far end of the lake, belonging to Mr. Sampson, nestles among the protecting woods, and forms a delightful object. The river which feeds the lake, winds through the verdant and undulating grounds which form a miniature park between the cottage and the lake. Following up the course of the stream, I left Llyn Dinas behind me, and proceeded by a gradual ascent through the most delightful scenery I ever beheld, until I caught glimpses through the plantations of