YMÐIÐANION VY MAM. I. Hwn! vy Mam, pa edn yw? Vy Mab, eheda vry i'r entrych draw, Gwir wneuthur cofa am daioni Duw. O vy Mab, tebyga di yr Hedyd ar ei daith, Yn wresawg byd mewn gwedi cyn dexreu dim o'th waith. II. Hwn! vy Mam, pa edn yw? Vy Mab, yn trydaru wrthi ei hun, Un vod a'th nain, neu ti, pryd nad wyt iax ; O vy Mab, tebyga di y wâr golomen hon, III. Hwn! vy Mam, pa edn yw ? O Alarx gwyn, Vy Mab, o don i don yn noviaw'n hard, A llais melusax noc erioed o'r blaen ; I varw, ac ei esgyll gwyn ar daen; O vy Mab! tebyga di yr Alarx. Yr un wed TEGID. TRANSLATION. I. Mother, what bird is this? A Lark, my son, That heavenwards, in the dawn, begins her strain, Doth she revisit this sad earth again. And thus she teaches man, that ne'er should he He pours to God thereverential prayer. Then imitate the Lark, my son, through all thy future days, II. Mother, what bird is this? A Dove, my son, That, like thyself, when sickness dims thy blue To harm a thing so soft, so innocent. But, like the Dove's, let all thy life be pure as it is now, · III. Mother, what bird is this? A snow-white Swan, That sails in beauty o'er the heaving surge To that blest waveless haven winds ne'er fan, Oh sweeter far than highest Minstrel's tongue! Thus she, reclining on her liquid bed, Pours out her soul in music and in song; Her gleaming wings in ecstacy outspread. Oh! like the Swan's, my gentle boy, such be thy couch of death, May heavenly song be borne upon thy last-expiring breath. Jes. Col. Oxon. E. DAVIES. WANDERINGS IN WALES. NO. II. Towyn Ynysmaengwyn-The Ghost of Pont Vathew. And well I know those mountain wilds, Southey's Joan of Arc. VARIETY is the charm of human existence. To a mind loaded with satiety, and, perhaps, stung with misfortune, a long abiding in one place, is by no means agreeable. Mountains look less, rivers are not so refreshing; and the still and silvery lake, which at first sends such reviving energy to the wearied spirit, degenerates into a tame and placid pool; even the very woods, with their broad green glades, fail to communicate their customary sensa tions of secluded consolation. And so we left Tal-y-llyn, on our way to Towyn Merionydd, eight miles distant, and celebrated no less for the sanative powers of its miraculous wells, than-and we record it with due reverence-the simplicity of its inhabitants. A bright summer sun, an unclouded sky, with scarcely breeze enough to ruffle the dark waters of the lake, were no very encouraging indications of sport: nevertheless, we resolved to try our fortune in some of the deep dark-sheltered pools, which we knew we should find in the river of Maes-y-pandy. A stroll of nearly two miles brought us to a spot well calculated, from every outward and visible sign, to afford us some diversion. Here the river, after brawling over and battling with every stone implanted in its uneven bed, came tumbling over a rock, with a deep, dark, and shady basin, bounded on the side where we stood by a slightly elevated bank of green moss, and on the other by a higher bank, on which some large sycamores had once grown, their roots now only remaining, and projecting over the stream, so as effectually to shade off the sunbeams from its waters. A slight descent from one path brought us at once to the mossy margin of the stream; and, before we could properly arrange our tackle, we were tantalised by some grand and most tempting rises. Now, then, began the work of delusion and of death; and our angling readers will sympathise with us, as we watched our flies dancing lightly o'er the ripples of the pool. They will, also, readily picture to themselves our ecstacy, when we saw a fine yellow-bellied, dark-finned, hog-backed trout, just thrust his Epicurean nose out of the water, and suck in our fly, with as much gusto as a gourmand would swallow a transparent piece of green fat. Then comes the run, and away he goes up the river-for he is a three-pounder-swift as the wind: till, after a quarter of an hour's idle play, he is securely landed on the green bank of the river; and, after a convulsive flop or two, he is safely consigned to our fishing-basket, to provide a most inviting grill for our petit soupé. After spending a profitable half hour in this sweet spot, we wended on our way along the green margin of the river. Our course lay at first between two ridges of hills, on which were displayed some spirited attempts at cultivation; and which, although they confined the prospect, imparted notwithstanding a feeling of lowly grandeur to the scene. Soon, however, did these rocky barriers expand, and, receding as we advanced, finally disappeared in an extensive moorland waste, where grandeur, silence, and desolation, reigned triumphant. We know of no district in this part of Wales, nor indeed of any other, where there is a bolder display of mountain scenery. High above all, the pyramidal Craig Aderyn*, or the Bird's Rock, lifted its dark pinnacle into the clear blue sky; while the round, billowy, and sterile mountains of Llwyn-dú and Llwyn-gwril, present a more stupendous boundary to the prospect. This is, in truth, a rude and rugged region, with few traces of cheerfulness and joy, and not many of cultivation and industry. Here are no corn-fields, no "dew-bespangled meads," and no mountain rivulet, rippling between mossy banks and lulling the ear with the murmuring melody of its waters. Often, in my boyhood, have I traversed this sublime solitude, the deep stillness of which was only interrupted by the sound of my footsteps or the echo of my voice, by the hoarse croak of the rock-raven, or the shrill scream of the kite, as it wheeled in circling eddies far far above me : "And scarce mine eye encounter'd living thing, With sleepy eyes, and meek mouths ruminant." But this scene of desolation and dreariness is not extensive. The moorland waste terminates in a ridge of hills, the north-western declivity of which leads to a broad and fertile valley, interspersed by the river Dysynwy, and comprising the rich broad lands of Peniarth and Ynysymaengwyn. This, which may be called the Vale of Towyn, stretches away towards the north-west, where it is bounded by the Bay of Cardigan, and from which Towyn is situated rather more than a mile. Here we arrived soon after mid-day, and quartered ourselves at the Raven, the only respectable cabaret in the place. Towyn, we have already intimated, is a secluded and poor place; and, in saying so, we are guilty of no exaggeration. Situated at one of the extreme points of a country, possessing, in itself, but *This very curious and inaccessible rock derives its name from the immense multitude of birds, aquatic as well as terrestrial, which build and breed in its holes and ledges: their clamour is most discordant, especially towards evening, when they prepare to roost. few resourses of wealth, it serves no other purpose than a mart to which a portion only of the produce of the neighbouring lands is brought for sale; and the absence of all busy traffic, added to its secluded situation, will probably preserve it for centuries in its present humble condition. Yet, poor as it is, it possesses a blessing, at least in the estimation of the natives, in a WELL, which, like the Pool of Bethesda, cures, or is supposed to cure, the maladies of all who bathe in its waters. Here the athritic, the asthmatic, the rheumatic, the phthisical, the hipped, and the hurt, find a sure remedy for their diseases; and a journey to Towyn Well is equal in efficacy to a pilgrimage to the Holy City, in the romantic times of Pagan Chivalry. The number of persons, all, however, of the lower order, who resort to it is astonishing. While we were there one evening we saw three patients undergoing ablution; in a field on one side were several more preparing to perform the same ceremony. That many persons have really derived benefit from bathing in Towyn Well is not improbable; as its water, being strongly impregnated with sulphur, may be found serviceable in many cases of chronic diseases; but the majority of those individuals who now resort to it are impelled to do so by a superstitious infatuation, for which it would be difficult to account on rational principles. Some of the most zealous devotees go so far as to drink the savory beverage, which must be rendered infinitely more efficacious after it has washed a score or two of invalids, and pursued its course through the sepulchres of the neighbouring churchyard. The only river near Towyn, worthy the notice of the angler, is the Dysynwy, which is an enlarged continuance of the waters that have their egress from Tal-y-llyn. This river, after rolling through as rude an assemblage of rugged mountains as is to be found in Wales, flows through the flat and fertile Vale of Towyn, passing, first by Peniarth, a seat belonging to the Wynne family, and then, by Ynysymaengwyn, the fine old mansion of the Corbet's; and, finally, entering Cardigan Bay, about a mile or rather more eastward of Towyn. This is an excellent river for salmon, and it contains some remarkably dark and deep pools, more especially near Peniarth, where the river winds close by the house, which has been known to furnish fish to the amount of nearly two hundred pounds worth in the year. We would not, however, recommend to the angler whose time is precious, to spend more than two or three days at Towyn, as he will find quite as good, if not better, sport farther up among the mountains. We ourselves did not sojourn there more than three days; and should not have been tempted to have tarried so long, had it not been for the warm hospitality of two or three "auld acquaintance," whose kindly welcome made our visit very agreeable. Before we leave Towyn we must mention one or two of its lions. First, comes old Griffith Owen, the harper, whilome butler, 爨 |