VALLE CRUCIS ABBEY,
Like most abbeys, is beautifully situated. The monks of old well appreciated the value of rich lands and clear streams. This exquisite relic of a past age was founded in the year 1200, by Gruffydd ab Madoc, Lord of Bromfield and Yale, and of the neighbouring castle, Dinas Brân; and in conformity with the rule of the Cistercian fraternity, was dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. The remains of the abbey at present existing consist of the church, and of a building on the southern side, part of which seems to have formed the abbot’s lodgings, the refectory, and the dormitory above, now tenanted by a farmer. The church is a cruciform building, of which the northern side has been almost destroyed, and no vestige remains of the roof except in the eastern aisle of the southern transept.
In the midst of these hallowed precincts, and until the last twelvemonths, the rubbish was heaped up to a great height, probably by the fall of the northern wall, and by the remains of the roof, but through the praiseworthy exertions of a nobleman in the neighbourhood, Viscount Dungannon, the whole has been cleared away, leaving the pavement and sides as they existed in former days.
The eastern end is most ancient, and it is adorned by three lancet arches, forming one grand window.
The entrance was in the west, under a broad and beautiful window, above which is a smaller one of marigold form, decorated with tracery and fret work, and beneath it may be deciphered the following inscription:—
Quiescat ame
+ Adam Abbas fecit hoc Opus i Pace.
The intelligent cicerone of this ancient building is Miss Jane Lloyd, who has lived in this retired but delightful spot for some years. She has a perfect knowledge of the Welsh language, and of the history of these interesting ruins, which no one who has visited them can cease to remember with admiration and regret.
THE PILLAR OF ELISEG.
Not far from the abbey, in a field called Llwyn-y-Groes, or the Grove of the Cross, stands this famous pillar, which was erected above a thousand years ago to the memory of Eliseg, the father of a Prince of Powis, called Brochwel Ysgythrog, who met his death at the Battle of Chester, in 607.
It is among the first lettered stones that succeed the Meini-Hirion, Meini-Gwyr, and Llechau, and stood on a great tumulus, perhaps always environed with wood, according to the custom of the most ancient times. During the civil wars it was thrown down and broken, and the shaft, which was originally twelve feet, is now reduced to eight. At the suggestion of Mr. Price, Bodleian Librarian, and a great antiquary, Mr. Lloyd, of Trevor Hall, had it placed in its present position.
From Valle Crucis Abbey we proceeded to the banks of the Dee, and crossing the rude bridge over the river, struck into the high road to Corwen. The country became highly interesting. The mountains are lofty; and beneath, upon the right, Glyndwrdu the Valley of the Dee, discloses its picturesque beauty.
The vale is so serpentine that it presents a succession of most exquisite views, and after a walk of three miles, on looking back, Castell Dinas Brân seems placed upon a lower eminence. The Valley of Llangollen may be seen likewise from hence for many miles, terminated by the distant horizon.
The Valley of the Dee was the patrimony of the renowned Glyndwr—Shakspere’s Glendower—and with many a mountain side and summit do the natives delight to associate his name. Just beyond the seventh mile-stone, will be seen a kind of tumulus crested with a clump of firs; this is Glyndwr’s Mount, and is, we believe, fixed upon as the site of his palace.
After passing the picturesque village of Llansaintfraid, nothing occurs to arrest the attention till Corwen is reached. The hotel is named after the mighty Owen, and has a gigantic head over the door, much resembling the Saracen’s, of Snow Hill notoriety.
The first question put to the jolly landlord was, “What can you give us to eat?”—It was about three o’clock in the day.
“Why, sir, there is a nice roast duck, and some peas.”
“And how long, pray, will it be before it is ready?”
“A quarter of an hour.”
“Very well, that will do; and in the interim I will visit the church.”
In a few minutes I was conducted to the ancient edifice.
On one side of the altar is the lid of a coffin, which bears the following inscription:—
“Hic jacet Jorwerth Sulien, Vicarius de Corvaen. Ora pro eo.”
In the church wall is shewn the private doorway through which Owen Glyndwr entered the building whenever he attended divine worship, and in the rock which overhangs the churchyard, there is a recess which bears the name of Owen Glyndwr’s Chair; and the stone which now forms the lintel of the doorway leading to his pew, is said to retain the mark of his dagger, half an inch in depth, which he threw from the said chair; but upon what occasion it is not stated.
In the cemetery there is a Cross, fixed in a circular stone, westward of the steeple; and it is supposed that the name of Corwen is a corruption of Corvaen, and derived from this Cross. Cor signifies a circle, and maen (which is likewise considered to have been changed into vaen) if joined to cor, means a cross in the circle.
Having satisfied my curiosity here, I returned to the inn, and the first object which met my delighted eyes, was the promised duck, accompanied by a dish of most elegant trout: a dainty for which I had been longing ever since I entered this territory of rocks and torrents. My friend was already placed at the table, and he clapped his hands, and rubbed them with evident delight and satisfaction at seeing me arrive so opportunely.
The fish despatched, duck and green peas, in close column brought up the rear. But I and my gallant comrade—a better trencherman ne’er poised a fork—attacked in line, cut up the one, and routed the other with the most determined bravery. The right and left wings were attacked and cut off from the main body, which, with all its materials, we dispersed in the glorious conflict, remaining masters of the field.
Although I thus warmly express my satisfaction at partaking of this not-easily-to-be-forgotten luxury, let me not be mistaken for a gourmand; but a wet and tired traveller, however much his mind may be enchanted by the scenery through which he passes, never beholds a more delightful prospect than a comfortable meal at his journey’s end.
It so happened, however, that this was not to be my journey’s end, as it was my intention to reach Bala before nightfall.
At this spot my companion and I were to separate: his path lay towards Cerrig-y-druidion, and mine towards Llandrillo and the Vale of Edeyrnion.
With a feeling of regret I never before experienced at quitting a new acquaintance of so short a standing, I squeezed his hand, and once more took the road for another walk of ten miles.
At a short distance from Corwen, a road branches off to the left, along which the traveller should trudge to the village of Llandrillo, and he will be repaid by the sight of one of the most fertile valleys in Wales. It is a mile farther to Bala by this route, but the superior beauty of the scenery will amply recompence him for the extra distance, for, with the exception of a view of Bala Lake, obtained from an eminence, the road, which runs along the opposite side of the valley, is dull and uninviting. But on the contrary, by the Llandrillo route, the eye is delighted with a succession of scenes varied and interesting in the extreme. Huge masses of rock hang over the road upon the left, in threatening grandeur, while waving woods and falling streams give endless variety to the picture.
After proceeding five miles, I crossed a bridge over a fine trout-stream, the banks of which are shaded with trees, and turning into an avenue upon the right, seated myself by the margin of the brook, secured from the hot rays of the mid-day sun, I fancied myself the melancholy Jacques. There only wanted a wounded stag, to make the illusion perfect.
As I entered the village of Llandrillo, I was much delighted with the lively scene. The long street was crowded with peasantry, in their holiday clothes. On each side were stalls, formed of tubs turned upside down, and boards placed upon them, to support their merchandise; square patches strewed with straw and covered with crockery and glass; tables well stored with woollen hose and mittens; and stands of gingerbread and ginger-pop were liberally stationed in different quarters, to gratify and refresh the happy throng. At times, a sudden opening in the crowd took place, the whole mass of people jamming each other upon either side of the street, to make way for a trotting pony, or an ambling nag, to curvet and prance down the middle and up again, to show his paces. At the upper end of the fair, a hardware man harangued a crowd of people from his travelling warehouse (a covered cart,) endeavouring to persuade them that he came to Llandrillo solely for their benefit, and for no selfish motive upon earth, and labouring to convince them, in brazier-like eloquence, that the articles he offered to their notice were considerably under prime cost, and could not be purchased elsewhere for treble the money; but, though he sold at a great sacrifice to himself, he begged them not to consider his loss, but their gain; such an opportunity would never again present itself, therefore now was their only time to buy cheap!
A party of Welsh girls attracted my attention, gathered together in front of a wall, upon which a line of men’s hats were ranged, of various qualities and prices; and great glee and laughter were elicited as each fitted the new beaver upon her head, it being considered the ne plus ultra of taste, and a powerful auxiliary to the coquetry of a Welsh girl.
Leaving Llandrillo, and proceeding towards Bala, the traveller enters the