LLYN OGWEN.
Ogwen Lake is contained within a circumference of about three miles, presenting itself in rather an oval form. It is encircled by mountains, except at the eastern extremity, which fall abruptly into the water, and afford scenery in the highest degree romantic. On the left the broken shattered crags of Trifaen [48] hang over the margin of the lake, and throw the surface into an everlasting shadow. The distant forms of Francôn mountains are, if possible, still more grand and picturesque; but the side skreen of Braich-ddû slopes down more smoothly and gradually to the water’s surface. Perhaps there are too many broken summits hovering over Ogwen; probably the mind of true taste may think the simplicity and grandeur of the scene interrupted by their repetition, but this is too refined a criticism. Ogwen is generally acknowledged to present the finest lake scene in Caernarvonshire, the very Derwent of North Wales, and, like it, well described as “Beauty sleeping in the lap of Horror.” The waters of Llyn Ogwen abound in a species of red trout, easily taken with the fly, and not inferior in flavour to salmon. The surplus waters discharge themselves at the western end of the pool through a chasm in the rocks, and tumbling in three noble cataracts down a height of about one hundred feet, are concentrated into a bed in the green meadows of Nant Francon; flowing by Dolawen and Penrhyn Castle, they are lost at length in the Mænai straits.
The noble line of road constructed through the Welsh mountains, under the surveillance of parliamentary commissioners, is carried along the very margin of Llyn Ogwen, amidst the great debris that continue annually falling from the rocky sides of Trifaen. In the winter of 1831 upwards of one thousand tons of rock fell from the dizzy heights of Benclog, a little below the Ogwen cataracts; part rolling straight across the road fell into the valley and river in the bottom, while another part having acquired a less momentum rested on the ledge the road supplied them. The intercourse of travellers was for some days impeded, although one hundred miners were engaged in clearing and restoring the surface of the road. A gentleman from the vale of Llanrwst had just passed along in his phaeton, on his way to Bangor, when the terrific sound of the dissolving mountain fell upon his astonished ear.
About one mile from Llyn Ogwen, in a deep hollow of the Glyder mountains, lies the dark pool, called Llyn Idwal. The gloomy horrors of the surrounding scene exceed even those of Ogwen; the encircling cliffs are overhanging, broken, and dark; in one part the whole mountain is rent asunder, and the chasm of “Twll ddû,” or the “black cleft,” gapes between the terrific masses. The solitude of Cwm Idwal proved favourable to the perpetration of a deed of blood, and it was here that young Idwal, the infant heir of Prince Owen Gwynedd, was treacherously assassinated by order of his foster-father Nefydd, to whose care his father had consigned him:—
And thou, O Idwal, of immortal fame,
Dying, to the vale hath left thy name.
PONT-Y-PAIR [50a].
This curious and picturesque bridge is thrown over the rapid river Llugwy, [50b] at the village of Bettws-y-Coed, [50c] in the county of Caernarvon. Though flung high above the surface of the water it consists of but little masonry, the natural rock supplying piers the most solid and enduring. One of the arches affords an open transit for the waters which flow from the noble fall and salmon leap above the bridge, and produce by their impetuous rotatory motion a deep reservoir or caldron below it, whence this graceful structure derives its appropriate name. Four of the arches are dry except in rainy seasons, when the torrent rises with such rapidity as would endanger a less substantial work, at which period these openings are found perfectly necessary.
The history of the origin of Pont-y-Pair possesses a singular though simple interest. Howel, a mason, from Penllyn, having occasion to attend the assizes then, A.D. 1468, held at Conway, found his passage over the Lleder, which flows through Dolwydellan, obstructed by the violence and greatness of the flood. This suggested to him the idea of removing to the spot and of erecting a bridge there, at his own expense, trusting to the generosity of travellers for compensation. The success of one project engendered a second, and Howel next resolved upon the erection of the beautiful bridge at Bettws-y Coed, called now the Pont-y-Pair; but he did not live to see its final completion.
To the right of the Pont-y-Pair is the “Carreg y gwalch,” or rock of the Falcon, a beautiful hill of singular and broken forms, clothed with wood for the most part, a few fine bold rocks occasionally elevating their fronts above the foliage, and producing a noble and great effect. In this rock is a deep recess, called Ogo ap Shenkin, or the Cave of Jenkin, in which that famous outlaw took shelter during the Lancastrian wars. A large rock now blocks up the entrance, like the grotto of Polyphemus, and there is a tradition that this was once rolled away by some inquisitive persons, who, advancing a few yards, discovered a huge oak chest clasped with iron, on the top of which stood a monstrous goat bowing his aged head, and following with his horns the direction of those who had the courage to approach. The chest of course continues in this dreary treasury, and the character of its guardian is hinted at by the discoverers, but never openly declared.
Dafydd ap Shenkin held the fastnesses of Nant-conway for fifteen years, during which period he was unrelentingly pursued by the captains of Edward the Fourth. From their persecution, when he could no longer keep the open country, he sought refuge in his mountain cave. Howel ap Jevan ap Rhys Gethyn, a contemporary of Jenkin, and the Robin Hood of those times and this country, was also Shenkin’s or Jenkin’s mortal foe. Being expelled from the castle of Dolwydellan, and from his strong hold at Penanmen, he was compelled to flee into Ireland, where he continued for a year or more, and then returning appeared with his followers all clad in green, spent the residue of his life as an outlaw, seeking a fortuitous existence amongst the mountains and forests of his native land. There is a township in the parish of Bettws-y-Coed still bearing the name of Hendre-Rhys-Gethyn; it is the estate of Dafydd D. Price, Esq., and was once probably part of the possessions of the brave but unfortunate Howel, the consistency of whose politics constituted his greatest offence.
The village of Bettws, an attractive and fascinating spot, is situated near the meeting of the Llugwy and Conway rivers. The few cottages composing it, though poor in detail, are rich in composition, no village in the principality presenting a more beautiful landscape than Bettws, viewed from the road to Coed Cynheliar. The village church stands in a little cemetery in the centre of the vale, resembling in some degree the church of Beddgelert. It is enclosed by a few stately forest trees, and forms a venerable and interesting object. Within is shown a fine effigiated tomb of Gryffydd ap Dafydd Goch, son of Dafydd Goch, who was a natural son of Dafydd, brother to the last reigning Prince of Wales. The figure is recumbent, clad in armour, and the outside border of the torus is inscribed with these words,
Hic jacet Grufud ap Davyd Coch, Agnus Dei misêre mei.
Above the village, on the stream of the Llugwy, is the famous waterfall called Rhaidar y Wennol, or the cataract of the swallow. It consists of three noble falls, differing in character, though all conspicuous in picturesque interest; the highest consists of innumerable frothy streams, gliding with great velocity down a sloping rock but little broken; the second is a concentrated volume, rushing with impetuosity into a foaming caldron; and in the third the whole is dashed away in spray. A huge perpendicular rock rises abruptly from one side to a height of five hundred feet and upwards, while the opposite side is formed of broken banks and rocky patches, clothed with noble aged oaks. In the solemn depths of the lowest fall the spirit of the turbulent Sir John Wynne, of Gwydyr, which had haunted the glen for many years, is supposed to be laid at rest beneath the waters.