38 ^lentiour's afe. 



near Bethgellert, where the bard used to sit and pour 

 forth the melody of his harp to his own inspiring lays. 

 There, tradition says, Glendour would sit beside him in 

 that beloved retreat, where around them was all the stern 

 majesty of nature, in her darkest, her loneliest, her love- 

 liest moods. The rapid Gwinan prattled near them 

 over her rocky bed, laving on one side green meadows, 

 filled with cowslips and cuckoo-flowers, where cattle feed, 

 and skirted with groves of oak, and ash, and birch ; on the 

 other, its bright waters race beside a wild and heathy 

 tract of moorland, which slopes upward to the very base 

 of Snowdon, that king of mountains, whose awful brow 

 is often hidden in the clouds. 



The bard, too, had suffered much, and had fled from 

 cave to cave, and from hill to hill, pursued by the 

 English forces, who sought to still those bold and pathetic 

 strains those deep laments, which aroused his country- 

 men to fresh deeds of valour against their oppressors. 

 His enemies were not permitted to accomplish their 

 designs. He continually eluded their pursuit, and died 

 at length in peace, amid his beloved haunts of Beth- 

 gellert. 



Here then stands the ancient tree, though reft of its 

 former greatness. More than four hundred years have 

 elapsed since Owen Glendour climbed its lofty trunk, 

 and surveyed the battle-field of Tewksbury ; since his 

 bannered hosts were stationed round, and he heard the 

 shout which told him that his friend had fallen. 



