Flow also from Plynlimmon high Three streams of generosity;The first, a noble stream indeed, Like rills of Mona runs with mead;The second bears from vineyards thick Wine to the feeble and the sick;The third, till time shall be no more, Mingled with gold shall silver pour.""Nice pennillion, sir, I daresay," said my guide, "provided a person could understand them. What's meant by all this mead, wine, gold, and silver?""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.
After a little time we saw a rivulet running from the west.
"This ffrwd," said my guide, "is called Frennig. It here divides shire Trefaldwyn from Cardiganshire, one in North and the other in South Wales."Shortly afterwards we came to a hillock of rather a singular shape.
"This place, sir," said he, "is called Eisteddfa.""Why is it called so?" said I. "Eisteddfa means the place where people sit down.""It does so," said the guide, "and it is called the place of sitting because three men from different quarters of the world once met here, and one proposed that they should sit down.""And did they?" said I.
"They did, sir; and when they had sat down they told each other their histories.""I should be glad to know what their histories were," said I.
"I can't exactly tell you what they were, but I have heard say that there was a great deal in them about the Tylwyth Teg or fairies.""Do you believe in fairies?" said I.
"I do, sir; but they are very seldom seen, and when they are they do no harm to anybody. I only wish there were as few corpse-candles as there are Tylwith Teg, and that they did as little harm.""They foreshow people's deaths, don't they?" said I.
"They do, sir; but that's not all the harm they do. They are very dangerous for anybody to meet with. If they come bump up against you when you are walking carelessly it's generally all over with you in this world. I'll give you an example: A man returning from market from Llan Eglos to Llan Curig, not far from Plynlimmon, was struck down dead as a horse not long ago by a corpse-candle. It was a rainy, windy night, and the wind and rain were blowing in his face, so that he could not see it, or get out of its way. And yet the candle was not abroad on purpose to kill the man. The business that it was about was to prognosticate the death of a woman who lived near the spot, and whose husband dealt in wool - poor thing!
she was dead and buried in less than a fortnight. Ah, master, Iwish that corpse-candles were as few and as little dangerous as the Tylwith Teg or fairies."We returned to the inn, where I settled with the honest fellow, adding a trifle to what I had agreed to give him. Then sitting down, I called for a large measure of ale, and invited him to partake of it. He accepted my offer with many thanks and bows, and as we sat and drank our ale we had a great deal of discourse about the places we had visited. The ale being finished, I got up and said:
"I must now be off for the Devil's Bridge!"Whereupon he also arose, and offering me his hand, said:
"Farewell, master; I shall never forget you. Were all the gentlefolks who come here to see the sources like you, we should indeed feel no want in these hills of such a gentleman as is spoken of in the pennillion."The sun was going down as I left the inn. I recrossed the streamlet by means of the pole and rail. The water was running with much less violence than in the morning, and was considerably lower. The evening was calm and beautifully cool, with a slight tendency to frost. I walked along with a bounding and elastic step, and never remember to have felt more happy and cheerful.
I reached the hospice at about six o'clock, a bright moon shining upon me, and found a capital supper awaiting me, which I enjoyed exceedingly.
How one enjoys one's supper at one's inn after a good day's walk, provided one has the proud and glorious consciousness of being able to pay one's reckoning on the morrow!
