Having passed round the frightful promontory of Penmaen Mawr, by the admirable road which, with incredible labour, has been cut by government, at the expense of £10,000, and forms a belt to the mountain, the country becomes more fertile; the plantations are larger, and more numerous, and the hills are clothed with verdure, which never appears upon the wild forehead of that frowning mass; and hedges rise on either side of the road, through which the eye is pleased with the sight of waving fields of grain, until we reach the picturesque village of
ABER.
The name of the inn here is the Bulkley Arms, and a more comfortable hostel, for one who travels in search of the beauties of nature, cannot be desired; although, to the fastidious, it may, perhaps, be thought too small, and to the luxurious it may not offer the viands which he covets. For myself, give me the room overlooking the beautiful little garden which sends its thousand perfumes into the apartment, when the sun goes down and the moon lights up the Menai with her silver beams! Let me sit, silent and alone, there—there, where “heavenly pensive contemplation dwells.” At the entrance to the glen, upon its eastern side, is a very high artificial mound, flat at the top, which is said to be the site of a castle belonging to Llewellyn the great. On it stands the house of Mr. Crawley, a sketch of which, with the glen, is annexed. It was taken from under the arch of the bridge, and gives a better idea of the scene than words have power to convey.
The mountain, on the eastern side of the vale is clothed with oak and ash trees; but, upon the west, there is no foliage. The river rushes with great impetuosity after a flood, from its mountain fall, into the Menai straits, winding through the glen, and encircling several rocky islets in its course. The fall is about a mile and a half up the stream, and, at the extremity of the vale, a convex mountain rises, down which it leaps, from a height of about sixty feet; and there is said to be a large stone here, on which the army of Llewellyn sharpened their spears and arrows; and the marks are still shown to the tourist.
But the prospect from the bridge, which crosses the stream, on the road to Conway, is the most interesting; from this spot you command a view of the river, at its greatest magnitude, sparkling along its rock-impeded course, and behold it dancing and foaming, as if with joy, into the salts, like a child bounding to its mother.
The following short poem is founded upon a tradition connected with this place. It was twilight when the muse flew in at the window, and at that endearing time I yielded to her influence. The story is well known to every villager of this delightful neighbourhood.
LLEWELYN AND THE CAPTIVE KNIGHT.
Oh! who is he that rides along
So proudly on his charger strong,
Amid yon gay and gallant throng
Through Aber’s lonely vale?With plumed casque upon his head,
And mace at saddle bow so red,
And battle brand, the foeman’s dread,
And glittering shirt of mail?’Tis ancient Cambria’s pride and boast,
Her hope, her strength, her chief, her host,
Whose fame she spreads from coast to coast.
And trumpets to the sky!And Saxon blood is on his mace,
And gouts his shining blade deface,
Hail, bravest of the bravest race!
And pride of chivalry!And who is she, so peerless fair,
With full dark eye, of lustre rare,
And snowy neck, and raven hair,
On palfrey by his side?With native gems upon her vest,
Snowdonia’s own—Snowdonia’s best,
Rising and sinking on her breast,
And glance of royal pride?The noblest lady of the land,
(For she with him joined hand to hand
In wedlock’s stout and holy band),
Llewelyn’s noble dame.For her do bards their praises sing,
And minstrels strike the sounding string,
Till mountains high and valleys ring
With fair Johanna’s name!And who is he with drooping plume,
And golden locks, and brow of gloom,
Whose cheek hath lost its manly bloom,
And sorrow speaking eye?William de Breos is he hight,
A courtier fair and gallant knight,
Ta’en by Llewelyn in the fight
Before Montgomery.Oh! ’tis a glorious sight to see
The marshalled ranks of liberty,
With banners waving high and free,
Wind down the hollow vale;Their broad swords flashing in the sun,
And spears too bright to look upon,
Returning from the field they’ve won,
And from the foeman pale.The prince within his castle wall,
There rose a shout from one and all,
That shook the mountain’s rocky hall,
And made the welkin ring.And gaily passed the wassail bowl,
While bards poured out the song of soul,
And martial music crowned the whole,
Time moved on pleasure’s wing.But pleasure’s wing may sometimes lose
Its plumage bright, of varied hues,
And time grow dark with sorrow’s dews,
And cloak itself in care.And eyes that wanton love inspire,
And blaze with light of fierce desire
Be quenched in floods of anguish dire,
And wither in despair!Months rolled away, and while in war,
Llewelyn shone the leading star,
The knight and dame, in pleasure’s car,
Rolled rapidly along.Guilt smiled upon their couch of down,
But o’er them was an angel’s frown,
Till their adult’ry, bolder grown,
Became a ribald song.Llewelyn to his home returned,
Unconscious of his wrong, and burn’d
To meet the welcome he had earned
In glory’s sanguine field.Cold was the heart he thought his own,
And colder had his welcome grown,
And on his forehead sat a frown,
Which half his fears revealed.Unransomed to his Saxon home,
With promises of gifts to come,
Southward he bade De Breos roam,
And gave him friendly grasp.The lady wept, Llewelyn smiled,
“Yield not, sweet wife, to sorrow wild,
For friendship is a feeling mild;
Her hand De Breos clasp.”The Knight departed on his steed,
With twenty horsemen for his need,
To guard him over mount and mead,
To fair Montgomory.But, when he saw the Knight depart,
Full jealous grew Llewelyn’s heart,
“Oh can dissimulation’s dart
Live in Johanna’s eye?”Dark rumours reached his tortured ear,
He gazed upon his lady near,
And vengeance whispered “Chieftain, here
Must the foul spoiler die.”A month had scarcely rolled away,
When to the Knight, so proud and gay,
Predestined for revenge’s prey
He sent a Herald light.With soothing speech, and present rare,
And invitation to repair
With speed of horse, and heedful care,
To Aber’s Castle bright.The Herald well De Breos knew,
On wings of guilty love he flew,
His foul dishonour to renew
With great Llewelyn’s dame.But fatal was the meeting now,
Llewelyn knit his dreadful brow,
His angry blood began to glow,
And in his eye was flame.“Down with the slave to dungeon dark!
Disgrace to knighthood, hear and mark!
Upon the gibbet, cold and stark,
To-morrow shalt thou hang.“No more to whisper, fawn and lie—
No more to gaze with wanton eye,
No more to mix with chivalry,
Or hear its martial clang.”Johanna knows not of the fate
That on her paramour doth wait;
But e’er the sun through heaven’s gate
Rolls forth to gild the sea;Three taps upon her chamber door,
Hath roused her from her dreams of yore,
And stern upon her rush-strewn floor
Llewelyn doth she see.He seized her by the raven hair
“What wouldst thou give, my lady fair.
To see that Knight, so debonair,
De Breos, once again?”“Strong Aber’s castle which we dwell in,
Wales, fair England, and Llewelyn,
All I’d give to see my Gwilym,
But all I wish in vain.”He dragged her from her secret bower,
While thunder on his brow did lower,
And pointed to the falcon tower,
“Behold, false dame,” he cried,“Behold once more the traitor fell,
On gallows hung, while fiends in hell
Are shouting forth his passing knell.”
The lady looked—and died.
The road from Aber to Bangor is replete with interesting scenery. The mountains assume a dark and gloomy grandeur, half clad in rolling vapours, which at intervals reveal their black and purple forms, their barren summits and deep hollows, to the eye. Towering above them all, Benclog rises conspicuous, into whose threatening gorge the road to Capel Curig winds, like a snake venturing into some monster’s jaws which appears ready to devour it. Upon the right, the shores of Anglesea, with its luxuriant woods, are seen stretching down to the Menai, and agreeably diversify the scene. Before us rose the lofty towers of Penrhyn Castle, with Port Penrhyn and its shipping in the distance. Altogether, the prospect is glorious, and the finest effects I ever saw produced by mountain scenery are continually varying here; for, however bright the day may be upon the straights, and along their shores, the Canaervonshire mountains are generally half concealed by mists, upon which the sunbeams fall, causing them to assume countless hues of the most brilliant nature, which contrast finely with the ponderous forms round which they play in never ceasing variety.