When we had proceeded about half way down, a circumstance occurred that occasioned some unpleasantness. A horse had broken loose from one of the leaders, and at full speed came galloping down the steep and rugged descent. The animal conducted by the tall, thin gentlemen before described, started as his fellow quadruped rushed by him, and, freeing himself from control, dashed after him at an alarming pace, leaving his late master, with eyes starting out of their sockets, and mouth wide open with affright, his arms spread out, and his whole frame in convulsions of terror, upon the top of a large stone, ludicrously bewildered. My steed, evincing the truth of the proverb, “evil communications,” &c., for a moment lost his presence of mind, and despising my efforts to restrain him, bounded over sundry perilous rocky fragments in desperate pursuit. However, by divers forcible arguments, I at length succeeded in convincing him of his error, and he returned to his duty.
The two runaways were soon out of sight, and as we concluded they had broken their necks, we moved rather solemnly to the bottom of the hollow, where our fears were dissipated, by finding them quietly browsing in the green meadows, where we had before seated ourselves at pic-nic. All here remounted; the sun’s rays still lingering upon the heights of Carreg-y-Saeth, but the pool below looked black and cheerless. As we proceeded, the beautiful calm light of evening, the cool and refreshing air, “the shard borne beetle, with his drowsy hum,” the forest flies and midges dancing in the clear ether, the murmuring of mountain streams, and the joyous notes of our little party, uniting with the sharp tones of our horses’ shoes, clinking against the rocky fragments, formed a combination of pleasing sounds and images in this romantic solitude, which I shall ever remember with feelings of interest and delight. After riding about three miles, surrounded by every charm that could make the time pass pleasantly, we arrived at the place of parting. A road branching to the right led directly to Harlech, a distance of about two miles; and here, with a feeling of regret, I hardly ever before experienced, I took leave of my kind conductor, and his agreeable friends, a man being appointed to walk with me as far as Harlech, for the purpose of taking back his master’s horse.
Slowly and sadly I pursued my solitary ride, nor did I once address my attendant, until I arrived at the inn, where, dismounting, I committed to his charge my gallant supporter throughout the day.
CHAPTER V.
Harlech.—The Inn.—The Castle.—Anecdote of Davydd ab Ivan ab Einion.—Road to Maentwrog.—View.—A Persevering Cobbler.—The Oakeley Arms.—Angling Stations.—Road to Tremadoc.—Tan y Bwlch.—Port Madoc Breakwater and Mountain Scenery described.—Tremadoc.—Tan yr Allt.—Pont Aber Glas Lyn.—Beddgelert.—The Inn.
“Rise from thy haunt, dread genius of the clime,
Rise, magic spirit of forgotten time!
’Tis thine to burst the mantling clouds of age,
And fling new radiance on Tradition’s page:
See at thy call from Fable’s varied store,
In shadowy train the mingled visions pour;
Here the wild Briton ’mid his wilder reign,
Spurns the proud yoke and scorns the oppressor’s chain,
Here wizard Merlin, where the mighty fell,
Waves the dark wand and chants the thrilling spell.”Prize Poem, T. S. S.
HARLECH.
The Blue Lion Inn, built by Sir R. W. Vaughan, for the accommodation of travellers and tourists, is most delightfully situated. A carriage road from the north leads round to the front, which faces the sea; and forming a semicircle, permits the vehicles to drive, through a gate on the south end of the house, again into the high road. Great taste is displayed in the erection of this pleasant building; the parapet wall, with its circular turrets, in which seats are placed for the accommodation of visitors, and the terrace with its neat shrubberies. I must also acknowledge, that the kind attention of the landlord and his servants deserves the highest commendation.
The view from the terrace is indescribably beautiful. The sea lies stretched beneath; the majestic ruins of Harlech Castle stand upon a rocky base, frowning in solitary grandeur upon the right; and beyond, the long line of Carnarvonshire hills projects, like Cambria’s lance, forbidding the waves to make further inroads upon her territories.
Pwllheli and Port Madoc are distinctly visible from this spot; and the lovers of fine prospects may remain at the Blue Lion for a week, without wishing to stray further than the terrace in search of the sublime and beautiful. The continual variety of light and shadow, with which the mountains are alternately robed, the freshness of the air, and the solemn majesty of the ruined fortress, form altogether a volume for the mind to peruse with intense and unwearied interest.