“Why,” said I, “the bard meant to say that Plynlimmon, by means of its three channels, sends blessings and wealth in three different directions to distant places, and that the person whom he came to visit, and who lived on Plynlimmon, distributed his bounty in three different ways, giving mead to thousands at his banquets, wine from the vineyards of Gascony to the sick and feeble of the neighbourhood, and gold and silver to those who were willing to be tipped, amongst whom no doubt was himself, as poets have never been above receiving a present.”
“Nor above asking for one, your honour; there’s a prydydd in this neighbourhood who will never lose a shilling for want of asking for it. Now, sir, have the kindness to tell me the name of the man who made those pennillion.”
“Lewis Glyn Cothi,” said I; “at least, it was he who made the pennillion from which those verses are translated.”
“And what was the name of the gentleman whom he came to visit?”
“His name,” said I, “was Dafydd ab Thomas Vychan.”
“And where did he live?”
“Why, I believe, he lived at the castle, which you told me once stood on the spot which you pointed out as we came up. At any rate, he lived somewhere upon Plynlimmon.”
“I wish there was some rich gentleman at present living on Plynlimmon,” said my guide; “one of that sort is much wanted.”
“You can’t have everything at the same time,” said I; “formerly you had a chieftain who gave away wine and mead, and occasionally a bit of gold or silver, but then no travellers and tourists came to see the wonders of the hills, for at that time nobody cared anything about hills; at present you have no chieftain, but plenty of visitors, who come to see the hills and the sources, and scatter plenty of gold about the neighbourhood.”
We now bent our steps homeward, bearing slightly to the north, going over hills and dales covered with gorse and ling. My guide walked with a calm and deliberate gait, yet I had considerable difficulty in keeping up with him. There was, however, nothing surprising in this; he was a shepherd walking on his own hill, and having first-rate wind, and knowing every inch of the ground, made great way without seeming to be in the slightest hurry: I would not advise a road-walker, even if he be a first-rate one, to attempt to compete with a shepherd on his own, or indeed any hill; should he do so, the conceit would soon be taken out of him.