Having refreshed ourselves with a luncheon of salad and cold meat, we three trudged off together, in spite of wind and weather, which threatened a speedy commencement of hostilities. Large masses of vapoury clouds were driven above our heads; the swallows skimmed the surface of the river, and brushed the standing corn with their swift wings, as they flew along in the pursuit of their prey; and the wind blew loud and shrilly, as in the month of November. At a short distance from the town, upon the Beddgelert road, is a lofty hill, the base of which is planted with fir trees; through which a path winds up to the mansion of Tan-yr-allt, the late beautiful residence of Mr. Madocks. We had not proceeded far, when we were compelled to seek shelter in a hollow, of which there are many at the feet of the enormous precipices which overhang the road.
The transient storm having passed away, and sunshine once more lighting up the valley, we again pushed forward. The Merionethshire mountains upon the right, decked in their countless hues of rock and heather, over which the departing storm swept with its rolling clouds, in dark magnificence, formed a noble subject for the artist’s pencil. The road is elevated above the meadows which enrich the centre of the vale; and the river, which flows through them, having risen above its banks and spread itself over a considerable tract of country, resembled an extensive lake.
About half way between Tremadoc and Beddgelert, is a small dingle upon the left of the road, with a neat lodge at the entrance, and a path leading up to the shrubbery, beneath which a mountain stream flows rapidly, and empties itself into the Rhine. The path leads up to the residence of Capt. Parry. As we proceeded, numerous falls dashed down the mountains and plunging into hollows underneath the road, emerged again upon the other side. We were several times forced to take shelter from the heavy showers under fallen blocks of rock; and once as the storm abated, and we looked anxiously out to see if it was clear enough to pursue our journey, a glorious rainbow, stretching across the valley, its points resting upon the mountains on either side, struck even my snow-models of men with something like sensibility; for as they crept out of their sheltering rock, they observed with infantine simplicity, “Well, really that’s very pretty.” We now proceeded at a rapid pace, and the river became more deep and narrow, and the circling eddies, as they floated down the stream, announced to us that we were approaching the fall of a great body of water, when suddenly—whizz, whirr, clash, splash, dash, astounding and astonishing—
ABER GLAS LLYNN,
with all its world of horrors, burst at once upon our view. I felt a tremulous sensation within me; a contraction of the muscles of my throat; an hysterical sob, and a desire to weep. I stood stone still; while my edifying companions pursued their way without making a single observation. I halted upon the centre of the bridge, and gave vent to my feelings in pencilling down the following
LINES
WRITTEN ON THE BRIDGE AT ABER GLAS LLYNN.
Thou of the stormy soul, who left behind
The love of sunny skies and smiling vales,
With thy fresh boyhood; thou upon whose brow
Stern care hath written gloom, and worldly wrongs
Made darksome; hither bend thy leaden steps,
And find a home here in this wild abyss!—
Abode congenial to thy lightless mind.
Ye black huge rocks, drear, mountainous, and stern,
First-born of chaos, everlasting piles
And monuments of the creation—hail!
Around your heads the thunder rolls in vain,
And the fierce lightnings from your summits bare
Turn harmless. Frown, frown on, ye giants stern,
Majestic emblems of eternity!
The torrents are your tongues, and with their roar
Talk of your dignity for ever. Hail!
White foaming, thundering, falls the boiling flood;
Rocks clash, and echo mocks the horrid din,
While man appalled, stands breathless, in amaze,
And, filled with awe, exalts his thoughts to Him,
Who was, who is, and aye must be supreme!
Just above the bridge is a semicircular rock, which forms a salmon-leap, over which the salmon, at spawning time, first lodge themselves at the height of five or six yards. Proceeding through the pass, at every step new wonders met the eye. The late heavy rains had swollen the mountain waterfalls, and caused a terrific torrent to roar and struggle through a narrow channel; for the mountains, forming this southern end of the vale, approach so near to each other, that they only afford a contracted flow for the river, and a narrow road, while their rocky sides rise so perpendicularly, that their summits are scarcely farther distant from each other than their foundations. The rushing river was a pure sheet of white; furious, uncontrollable; nothing but the immense blocks riven from the mountain’s craggy sides could withstand its dreadful impetuosity. A few stunted fir and larch trees at the commencement of the pass were seen starting from the dark clefts upon either side, which threw a deeper shade upon this awful valley.
Cradock calls this pass “the noblest specimen of the finely horrid the eye can possibly behold. The poet,” he continues, “has not described, nor the painter pictured so gloomy a retreat. ’Tis the last approach to the mansion of Pluto, through the regions of Despair.” I could have stopped for hours to admire this splendid example of the sublimity of Nature, but time pressed, so I pushed on to Beddgelert which is not more than a mile and a half from the bridge. A solitary mountain ash which grows about half way up the pass, is the sole bright thing in this abode of terror, and looks like Beauty in desolation. Emerging from the pass there is a stone which is called the chair of Rhys Gôch o’r’ Ryri; a famous mountain bard who lived in the time of Owen Glyndwr. He resided at the entrance into the Traeth Mawr Sands, from whence he used to walk, and sitting upon this stone compose his poems. He died in 1420, at the advanced age of 120 years; he was a gentleman of property, and was buried in the ancient priory at