Valle Crucis—The Abbey—Lines written in the ruins—A loquacious porteress—A view of the Abbey—The pillar of Eliseg—A parting—Road to Corwen—Vale of the Dee—The musical pedestrian—War song—Over the hills and far away—An adventure—Corwen—The Church—College—Cross and Circle—Air Llwyn-own—Route to Landrillo—An old soldier and his son—Village of Landrillo—A fair—Vale of Edeyrnion—Arrival at Bala.

“Fill the Hirlas horn, my boy,
Nor let the tuneful lips be dry
That warble Owen’s praise;
Whose walls with warlike spoils are hung,
And open wide his gates are flung,
In Cambria’s peaceful days.

“This hour bright is meant for joy,
Then fill the Hirlas horn, my boy,
That shineth like the sea,
Whose azure handles, tipt with gold,
Invite the grasp of Britons bold,
The sons of Liberty!”

From the Welsh of Prince Owen Cyveilog, by R. W.

On the following morning, we bade adieu to Llangollen, and proceeded first to Valle Crucis.

Like most abbeys, it is beautifully situated. The monks of old well appreciated the value of rich lands and clear streams. An old woman received us at the gate, and instantly began to retail her information. “Gryffyd ap Madoc, Lord of Bromfield and Yale, founded this abbey in the year 1200.” There are parts of both church and abbey still remaining; the former was cruciform, and exhibits several styles of architecture. The eastern end is the most ancient; it is adorned by three lancet slips, forming one grand window. The entrance was in the west, under a broad and beautiful window, above which is a smaller one, of a marigold form, decorated with tracery and fret-work, and beneath it may be deciphered the following inscription:

A.D.A.M.D.N.S fecit hoc opus, pace beatâ quiescat Amen.

The cloisters are turned into a farmhouse and offices.

This noble edifice was dismantled by Henry VIII. My companion, feeling desirous to bathe in the clear waters, left me to my contemplations, encompassed by the ruined walls of the abbey, and tall ash trees, which shaded the area of the church. I wandered from thence to the fish pond, which is near to the abbey, and, while my companion was enjoying his ablutions, my muse jogged my arm, and reminded me that some tribute was due from me to this lovely spot. Taking out my pocket book and pencil, I produced the following

LINES WRITTEN AT VALLE CRUCIS.

Monastic Valle Crucis! while I linger in thy shade,
The spirits of the olden time seem moving in the glade;
Rebuilt appear thy ruined walls, and thou art strong again,
As when the organ through those aisles poured forth its solemn strain.

Here reigneth peace and solitude, as if some holy spell
Still charmed the blessed region where religion loved to dwell;
No music, save the streamlet’s voice, disturbs the deep serene,
And breezy sounds sweet murmuring throughout the woodlands green.

Oh fallen Valle Crucis! full six hundred years are gone
Since the warlike lord of Dinas Bean laid thy foundation stone;
And mighty didst thou flourish, till that fell destroyer came,
Than mouldering time more ruthless, and of sacrilegious name.

Then, holy Valle Crucis! was thy sacred roof thrown down,
Thy peaceful inmates scattered, rent the sacerdotal gown;
The mournful ivy clustered o’er thy grey and ruined walls,
And ash trees sprang, where torches blazed, within thy sainted halls.

Hushed are the lips of all who dwelt within that cloistered fane;
And holy feet will never press the polished floors again,
At morning prayer and vesper hymn, which thrilled thy very stones—
Forgotten now those pious ones, and whitened are their bones!

Yet ivy’d Valle Crucis! thou art fairer in decay
Than all the splendid structures which adorn our modern day;
In every mouldering fragment of thy consecrated pile
There’s a charm to all who view thy walls, or tread thy broken aisle.

Peace dwell around thee ever! may no heedless hand molest
The solemn bird which builds in thee its ivy-mantled nest,
Whose breathings seem the deep-drawn sighs of bosoms fraught with pain,
Lamenting the departed, who will ne’er return again.