Llewelyn at length discovered his missing lambs on the steep northern sides of the Glydir, and herding them hurriedly together, crossed the shoulder of the mountain and descended towards Llyn Idwyl by the rugged pathway which leads past the narrow gorge now known as "the Devil's Kitchen." It was rapidly growing dark as he reached the plain, and he was hastening homewards, when by the waning light he perceived the surface of that gloomy lake to be strangely agitated. As he gazed, the head of a lovely maiden rose above the ripples, and seemed to his excited imagination to regard him with a tender wistful look. He rushed to the water's brink, and was about to cast off his coat and swim to the aid of the fair unknown, when, soft and clear as an evening bell, these words rang through the still air:—
"Three times lost, and three times won,
Canst thou win me, Dafydd's son?
Tender must thou be to me,
Tender should I be to thee.
To my mate in bridal hour
I can bring a princely dower;
But my wooing must be soon,
Ere has waned September's moon."
Enraptured by these silvery notes, Llewelyn strained every nerve to listen, and as the nymph falteringly uttered the last words he felt a magic thrill run through his frame. He became possessed with a sudden desire to behold the entire form of the beautiful being whose head alone smiled on him across the watery waste; but as he approached nearer the sweet face disappeared, the surface of the loch became glassy and still. The pale rays of the rising moon illumined only the wide level mirror of Llyn Idwyl, and amazed and bewildered the youth turned to his home.