“Indeed, the famous and dreaded family of the Ellyllon, who are fond of coming forth in mist and rain, seemed to have pursued and overtaken us just as we had nearly reached the gloomy, dark, and secluded lake of Ogwen. The clouds grew darker, and rolled in heavy masses through the valley, and down the sides of the hills—a chill and hollow wind rose and whistled fearfully along the pass—large drops of rain began to fall, and we thought there was no escape from one of those storms so frequent in these regions; but the spirits sulked themselves into good humour, and did not force us to choose the usual alternative of travellers who fall into their power, for they are said to insist on their taking the uncomfortable choice of three methods of continuing their journey: to go with them ‘above the wind, mid wind, or below the wind:’ the first is to be whirled above the tops of the mountains at more than rail-road speed; the last to be hurried along, through brakes and briars, against stones and amongst bogs; and the middle way, generally preferred by those who have experience in the freaks of these elves, is to accompany them at a moderate distance in the air just clearing every obstacle.
“We contrived to gain the shore of lake Ogwen unmolested by all the imps and demons, who seemed to have come on the wings of the blast from their modern retreat on the pedestals of Penrhyn Castle, to visit the haunts where they dwelt in days of yore, before every rock was attacked for its mineral wealth as it is now. On the borders of this solemn lake, however, the miner’s hammer is unheard; all is solitary grandeur and gloomy sublimity: mountains are piled on each other, and appear to crowd together round the lake, pressing its dark waters into a small space, deep and generally still, though ruffled when we saw it, by the rushing wind that swept through the hollow of Nant Ffrancon.
“The river Ogwen issues from this lake, and the accumulated waters which its rocky basin is unable to contain force their way through a chasm in the rocks, and fall with tremendous force in three cataracts, called the Falls of Benglog.
“Solemn and silent as Ogwen appears, it is less fearful and solitary than another dark lake situated high up amongst the mountains in the vicinity, called Llyn Idwal, where, in the early times of Welsh history, it is recorded, that Idwal, the infant heir of Prince Owen Gwynedd, was drowned by the hand of his foster-father, when
“‘No human ear but Dunawt’s [87] heard
Young Idwal’s dying scream.’
“The cliffs that encircle this lake are split into a thousand fearful shapes, and a mighty chasm yawns between, called Twll dû, which is said to be the abode of the unquiet soul of the murderer and the howling and exulting demon who torments him for his hateful crime—a crime
“‘Most foul, strange, and unnatural.’
“No bird will ever dip his wing in that lake, nor pause near its waters.
“Nothing can exceed the horror of this spot: the breach in the black rock is like that produced by the Sword of Roland in the Pyrenees, but no cheering prospect of far lands opens through: here all is dark, fearful, and tremendously appalling.
“The Twll dû is sometimes called the Devil’s Kitchen; the waters of the lake rush impetuously through its chasm. In memory of the tragedy acted here, the fish, of which there was formerly a profusion, were all deprived, according to received tradition, of one eye, the left being closed: as there are now no fish in the lake, it is impossible to verify the truth of this legend.