On Our Left Was An Open Space
Where Whin, Furze And Heath Were Growing.
We passed over the
summit, and began to descend by a tolerably good, though steep
road.
But for the darkness of evening and a drizzling mist, which,
for some time past, had been coming on, we should have enjoyed a
glorious prospect down into the valley, or perhaps I should say
that I should have enjoyed a glorious prospect, for John Jones,
like a true mountaineer, cared not a brass farthing for prospects.
Even as it was, noble glimpses of wood and rock were occasionally
to be obtained. The mist soon wetted us to the skin
notwithstanding that we put up our umbrellas. It was a regular
Welsh mist, a niwl, like that in which the great poet Ab Gwilym
lost his way, whilst trying to keep an assignation with his beloved
Morfydd, and which he abuses in the following manner:-
"O ho! thou villain mist, O ho!
What plea hast thou to plague me so?
I scarcely know a scurril name,
But dearly thou deserv'st the same;
Thou exhalation from the deep
Unknown, where ugly spirits keep!
Thou smoke from hellish stews uphurl'd
To mock and mortify the world!
Thou spider-web of giant race,
Spun out and spread through airy space!
Avaunt, thou filthy, clammy thing,
Of sorry rain the source and spring!
Moist blanket dripping misery down,
Loathed alike by land and town!
Thou watery monster, wan to see,
Intruding 'twixt the sun and me,
To rob me of my blessed right,
To turn my day to dismal night.
Parent of thieves and patron best,
They brave pursuit within thy breast!
Mostly from thee its merciless snow
Grim January doth glean, I trow.
Pass off with speed, thou prowler pale,
Holding along o'er hill and dale,
Spilling a noxious spittle round,
Spoiling the fairies' sporting ground!
Move off to hell, mysterious haze;
Wherein deceitful meteors blaze;
Thou wild of vapour, vast, o'ergrown,
Huge as the ocean of unknown."
As we descended, the path became more steep; it was particularly so
at a part where it was overshadowed with trees on both sides.
Here, finding walking very uncomfortable, my knees suffering much,
I determined to run. So shouting to John Jones, "Nis gallav
gerdded rhaid rhedeg," I set off running down the pass. My
companion followed close behind, and luckily meeting no mischance,
we presently found ourselves on level ground, amongst a collection
of small houses. On our turning a corner a church appeared on our
left hand on the slope of the hill. In the churchyard, and close
to the road, grew a large yew-tree which flung its boughs far on
every side. John Jones stopping by the tree said, that if I looked
over the wall of the yard I should see the tomb of a Lord
Dungannon, who had been a great benefactor to the village. I
looked, and through the lower branches of the yew, which hung over
part of the churchyard, I saw what appeared to be a mausoleum.
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