It was twilight when I left Rhewlas, and by the side of the dingle I have before mentioned, I paused to gaze once more upon the beauty of the scene, and traced a few lines, expressive of my feelings, upon quitting so delightful a solitude.
Farewell to fair Rhewlas! and farewell to thee,
Thou pride of the vallies, thou fast flowing Dee!
Whose stream glides in brightness from Bala’s fair breast,
And wanders in beauty through regions of rest.
Farewell to thee, Rhewlas! how blest were my lot,
With friends round and near me, the gay world forgot,
Here, here, in the soft lap of quiet to dwell,
Farewell to thee Rhewlas! sweet Rhewlas, farewell!The bright golden summer hath fill’d thee with glee—
The song of the thrush, and the boom of the bee,
The wild flowers’ fragrance, the breath of the rose,
And green woods that kiss the dark stream as it flows:
To scenes grand and gloomy my footsteps may stray,
Where terror frowns dreadful along the wild way,
But beauty for aye in this region shall dwell,
Farewell to thee, Rhewlas! sweet Rhewlas, farewell!
I returned to the inn, much pleased with my day’s entertainment, happy to find that my ancle was comparatively easy, and ordered a car to be ready on the following morning to convey me ten miles on the road to Dolgelly.
Rising early, I found no inconvenience from my ancle; and, after a good breakfast, took leave of my host, and his wife, of Martha Jones, and the Bull’s Head, all of whom appeared anxious to see me comfortably seated in the vehicle, and with kindest farewells, expressed a desire of speedily seeing me again—all excepting the Bull’s Head, poor thing, which being a dummy only looked a good bye; and taking every thing into consideration, he looked it very well.
The car in which I was bumped along the road, in every respect resembled those delightful conveyances that rattle the astonished traveller from Cork to Blarney. It is a sort of oval box, placed upon two wheels, with a door behind, and with good wedging will contain four persons; but being springless and cushionless, the passenger is jolted to his heart’s content, that is, if his heart has been set on jolting; and, without doubt, it is fine exercise for persons of sedentary habits, if by any chance, their bones happen to escape dislocation. My knapsack (my opposite, and only fellow passenger) and I, looked very black at each other, as we bobbed up and down, like a cockney grocer’s apprentice upon a high trotting horse; but I soon became resigned, and my knapsack having shifted its berth for the bottom of the vehicle, seemed to rest more comfortably than on the seat. Notwithstanding the inconvenience I suffered from this carriage, I could not help admiring the extreme beauty of the lake, as we pursued our course along its borders; sometimes, only catching a glimpse of it, through the trees that shaded its delightful margin. Its waters were smooth and motionless; not a ripple was visible upon its surface; the lofty mountains reflected in its breast gave a sombre tinge to the otherwise golden scene, and, as I looked into the clear depths of the shadows, I thought, how peacefully one shattered by the storms of life might sink beneath, and be at rest!
After passing Llanthyn, (an estate belonging to Sir W. W. Wynn, who claims the whole fishing of this beautiful piece of water, and has, by putting a quantity of pike therein, destroyed all the trout and gwynniad with which it once abounded), the scenery became wild, and cheerless, until we reached
THE VALE OF DRWSTYNRNT,
where, to my great satisfaction, the car stopped at the sign of the Welsh Prince, a distance of ten miles from Bala, and eight from Dolgelly. Being thoroughly tired with my ride, I thought I would endeavour to obtain the proper use of my limbs, and rest myself by walking the remainder of the journey. Dismissing the car, therefore, and strapping my knapsack to my shoulders, I once more took the road.
About a mile beyond the Welsh Prince, the valley becomes truly beautiful. Waving woods adorn the mountains upon either side. The Wnion here begins to be an important stream; and, though in its course towards Dolgelly it is swelled by numerous mountain tributaries into a broad river, the trees upon its banks form an impenetrable screen, which conceal it from the traveller, and its hoarse murmur, as it dashes over the rocks that vainly endeavour to intercept its way, alone remind him of its vicinity. At length, I arrived at a spot, where a road leads over a bridge to the opposite side of the river. Thinking this would be a proper place to see the Wnion to advantage, I advanced to the centre of the bridge. The effect is beautiful; hanging woods adorn the banks of the stream, lofty ash trees, (around the trunks of which the ivy winds itself in snakelike folds, feeding upon the tree that supports it), spread their proud heads above, and form a pleasing shade, while below the river roars, as it is precipitated beneath the arch in two large falls, that form a deep pool on the opposite side.
“It was in that pool,” said a voice at my shoulder, “that Hugh Evans first saw the fairy.” Upon turning round, I saw an old man, much bent with age, knitting hose.