BANGOR,
the supposed scite of the Bovium, or Bonium, a Roman station, and celebrated for the most ancient British monastery, which contained two thousand four hundred monks: it has long retained its British name, Bangor, or Bancher, signifying “a beautiful quire;” an appellation it justly merits. The situation is deeply secluded, “far from the bustle of a jarring world,” and must have accorded well with monastic melancholy; for the Monks, emerging from their retired cells, might here indulge in that luxurious melancholy, which the prospect inspires, and which would sooth the asperities which the severe discipline of superstition inflicted on them. The situation of Banchor appears more like a scene of airy enchantment, than reality, and the residences of the canons are endeared to the votaries of landscape by the prospect they command. On the opposite shore, the town of Beaumaris is straggling up the steep declivity, with its quay crowded with vessels, and all appeared bustle and confusion; the contrast which the nearer prospect inspired, was too evident to escape our notice, where the
Oak, whose boughs were moss’d with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
afforded a seat for the contemplation of the wide expanse of the ocean, which is seen beyond the little Island of Puffin, or Priestholm; so called, from the quantity of birds of that species, which resort here in the summer-months.
The cathedral has been built at different times, but no part very ancient; it was made an episcopal see, about the time of the conquest: the church was burnt down by Owen Glendwr, in the reign of Henry IV. the choir was afterwards built by Bishop Henry Dene, [125a] between 1496 and 1500; the tower and nave by Bishop Skevington, 1532. The whole is Gothic architecture, with no other particular ornament to distinguish it from a common English parish church. There are, however, several bishops [125b] buried in the choir. I could dwell with pleasure on the picturesque beauties of this little episcopal see; but a repetition of the same epithets grand, beautiful, sublime, fine, with a long catalogue, which must necessarily occur, would appear tautologous on paper, though their archetypes in nature would assume new colours at every change of position of the beholder. From this retirement, a ferry-boat soon conveyed us to
BEAUMARIS,
the largest and best built town in Anglesea, where the same busy scene occurred. Having taken a short survey of Baron Hill, the seat of Lord Bulkley, commanding a fine prospect of the ocean, with the huge promontory of Pen-mawn-maur, we were soon convinced, that there was nothing to require a longer stay; and returning to Bangor, we pursued the road to Conway. About two miles on our left, we parted the Park and Castle of Penrhyn, the seat of Lord Penrhyn: this has lately been considerably enlarged and repaired, under the judicious direction of Mr. Wyat. The entrance is remarkably elegant, resembling a triumphal arch. This mansion enjoys a boundless prospect of the ocean on one side, appearing but feebly restrained by a long tract of scarcely visible coast on the other; in front, the flat Island of Anglesea, the lofty Pen-mawn-mawr, and the extensive point of Caernarvonshire: whilst the neat Church of Landegai forms a nearer object for admiration. We soon reached the dark lowering promontory of Pen-mawn-mawr, about eight miles from Bangor, rising perpendicularly, in a massy wall, to the height of one thousand four hundred feet: huge fragments of shattered rock are scattered by the side of the road, and a wall, scarcely five feet high, alone protects a carriage from the steep precipice; which, from the slightness of the foundation, has even fallen down in many parts. In this awfully sublime situation we remained for some time, astonished at the bold protuberance of the rocks, which seemed to project their dark sides, to augment the idle roar of the waves.
Pursuing a good turnpike-road, we soon came in sight of the hoary towers of
CONWAY CASTLE.
An air of proud sublimity, united with singular wildness, characterises the place. The evening was far advanced; and part of its ruins were shining with the purple glow of the setting sun, whose remaining features stood in darkened majesty, when we entered this monument of desolation. Passing over a plank, originally the scite of the draw-bridge, we came into the outward court, strongly defended with battlements; from thence we examined the grand entrance of the castle, with several abutments projecting forward, similar in stile to Caernarvon. On the south side of the court is the grand hall, measuring an hundred and thirty feet by thirty-two, with eight light Gothic arches, five of which are still in good condition. On one end is the chapel with a large window, a beautiful specimen of Gothic architecture. It is founded on the solid rock, by Edward I. in the year 1284: the walls are from eleven to fifteen feet thick: all the towers are defended by smaller round ones, projecting two or three feet over, with a regular communication round the whole castle by galleries, on the same plan as at Caernarvon. The steps are decayed and broken, and the looseness of the stones rendered a footing very insecure; but, impelled by an irresistible curiosity, we ascended the most perfect tower, and an extensive prospect presented itself to our view. The foundation of one of the principal towers, looking towards a small river, which here joins the Conway, has lately given way, and torn down with it part of the building; the remainder now hangs in an extraordinary manner. The whole town is enclosed within strong walls, and defended by a number of towers, which communicate with the castle by a gallery; there are likewise several gate-ways, at certain distances.