From that time the valley was called Beth
Gelert.
Such is the legend, which, whether true or fictitious, is
singularly beautiful and affecting.
The tomb, or what is said to be the tomb, of Gelert, stands in a
beautiful meadow just below the precipitous side of Cerrig Llan:
it consists of a large slab lying on its side, and two upright
stones. It is shaded by a weeping willow, and is surrounded by a
hexagonal paling. Who is there acquainted with the legend, whether
he believes that the dog lies beneath those stones or not, can
visit them without exclaiming with a sigh, "Poor Gelert!"
After wandering about the valley for some time, and seeing a few of
its wonders, I inquired my way for Festiniog, and set off for that
place. The way to it is through the pass at the south-east end of
the valley. Arrived at the entrance of the pass I turned round to
look at the scenery I was leaving behind me; the view which
presented itself to my eyes was very grand and beautiful. Before
me lay the meadow of Gelert with the river flowing through it
towards the pass. Beyond the meadow the Snowdon range; on the
right the mighty Cerrig Llan; on the left the equally mighty, but
not quite so precipitous, Hebog.
