"You do not like the English," said I.
"We do not dislike them," said the woman; "at present they do us no
harm, whatever they did of old."
"But you still consider them," said I, "the seed of Y Sarfes
cadwynog, the coiling serpent."
"I should be loth to call any people the seed of the serpent," said
the woman.
"But one of your great bards did," said I.
"He must have belonged to the Church, and not to the chapel then,"
said the woman. "No person who went to chapel would have used such
bad words."
"He lived," said I, "before people were separated into those of the
Church and the chapel; did you ever hear of Taliesin Ben Beirdd?"
"I never did," said the woman.
"But I have," said the man; "and of Owain Glendower too."
"Do people talk much of Owen Glendower in these parts?" said I.
"Plenty," said the man, "and no wonder, for when he was alive he
was much about here - some way farther on there is a mount, on the
bank of the Dee, called the mount of Owen Glendower, where it is
said he used to stand and look out after his enemies."
"Is it easy to find?" said I.
"Very easy," said the man, "it stands right upon the Dee and is
covered with trees; there is no mistaking it."
I bade the man and his wife farewell, and proceeded on my way.
After walking about a mile, I perceived a kind of elevation which
answered to the description of Glendower's mount, which the man by
the bridge had given me. It stood on the right hand, at some
distance from the road, across a field. As I was standing looking
at it a man came up from the direction in which I myself had come.
He was a middle-aged man, plainly but decently dressed, and had
something of the appearance of a farmer.
"What hill may that be?" said I in English, pointing to the
elevation.
"Dim Saesneg, sir," said the man, looking rather sheepish, "Dim
gair o Saesneg."
Rather surprised that a person of his appearance should not have a
word of English, I repeated my question in Welsh.
"Ah, you speak Cumraeg, sir;" said the man evidently surprised that
a person of my English appearance should speak Welsh. "I am glad
of it! What hill is that, you ask - Dyna Mont Owain Glyndwr, sir."
"Is it easy to get to?" said I.
"Quite easy, sir," said the man. "If you please I will go with
you."
I thanked him, and opening a gate he conducted me across the field
to the mount of the Welsh hero.
The mount of Owen Glendower stands close upon the southern bank of
the Dee, and is nearly covered with trees of various kinds.
