On the road towards Aber-glaslyn, a stone is pointed out by the name of the Chair of Rhŷs Gôch o’r ’Ryri, the famous mountain bard, contemporary with Owen Glyndwr. He was of the house of Havod-garegog, at the entrance into the Traeth Mawr sands, whence he used to walk, and sitting on this craggy seat, composed his poems. Among others is a satire on a fox, for killing his favourite peacock. He died about the year 1490, and was interred in the holy ground at Beddgelert, escaping the vengeance of the English, for inspiring his countrymen with the love of liberty, and animating them by his compositions into a long and gallant resistance to the galling yoke.
The neighbourhood of Beddgelert abounds with objects worthy of the tourist’s attention; and of several of these we will now add a few particulars.
Nant Gwynnant.
Turning to the right hand on crossing the bridge leading from the inn, you follow up the course of a stream that waters one of the most beautiful valleys in Wales. On the left, about half a mile up the valley, is a lofty wood-clad rock, called Dinas Emrys, the fort of Ambrosius, or Merlin Emrys, a magician who was sent for to this place from Caer Merddin (Carmarthenshire) by Vortigern, who was king of Britain from 449 to 466. It was to this place that Vortigern retired, when he found himself despised by his subjects, and unable to contend longer with the treacherous Saxons, whom he had introduced into his kingdom. It is probable that this insular rock afforded him a temporary residence, till be removed to his final retreat in Nant Gwrtheryn, or Vortigern’s Valley, not far from Nevyn, in the promontory of Lleyn. Speed says that Vortigern married his own child by Rowena, daughter of Hengist, the Saxon prince, and had by her one son.—On passing round the foot of another beautiful isolated rock,
Llyn Dinas
(The Pool of the Fort), a lake about a half to three-quarters of a mile in extent, is spread before you. It is entirely surrounded by lofty mountains, the tints of which being of a deeper and browner shade than the generality of Welsh hills, gives a peculiar richness to the confined valley. The road runs close along the shore, overhung by one of the magnificent buttresses of Snowdon: to the right the eye stretches across the lake to the hills which rise from the water’s edge, above which a second tier of mountains appears, the great chain which separates you from the vale of Ffestiniog. The river which feeds the lake winds through the verdant and undulating grounds which spread themselves, a miniature park, between the cottage and the lake. A romantic pass, affording space for the river and road only, leads to a valley totally different from, though not less beautiful than that of Llyn Dinas: the valley forms a bowl among the hills, the bottom is a small grassy plain, here and there dotted with trees, through which the river winds; the sides are magnificent mountains: it is beauty sleeping in the lap of terror.—On the left, the eye is led to
Cwm Llan,
among the deepest recesses of Snowdonia. The immediate boundary of the valley is succeeded by heights rising successively above each other. Immediately above this deep and gloomy gorge towers the monarch of hills, sublime and terrific in his precipitous height, yet presenting in its conical summit, its cairn and landmark, a graceful object, filling up the mountainous gap, the sides of which form a suitable frame to this noble picture. You follow up the course of the stream, through the same enchanting scenery, the road gradually ascending, till you catch through the plantations on the left a view of
Llyn Gwynnant,
stretched below at your feet. This lake and valley are deeply set among the loftiest mountains of Wales or England, and form one of the loveliest pictures in this country. Two or three gentlemen’s residences render this valley cheerful, without destroying its character of seclusion.