NEATH ABBEY, TOWN, AND CASTLE—THE KNOLL—BRITON FERRY—FUNEREAL RITES—ABERAVON—MARGAM—ABBEY RUIN—PILE.

Our tour now took an eastward direction. Crossing Swansea river by an exceeding good ferry, and passing a region of furnaces, we traversed a considerable hill to the neighbouring valley of Neath; a spot that might be deemed pleasing, were it not overhung with the smoke of numerous manufactories, and its soil blackened with coal-works and rail-ways. [145] Neath abbey is a short distance west of the town, and its remains are extensive. Besides the abbey church, the walls of the offices and other apartments are yet standing; but, undecorated with verdure, and partaking of the sable hue that impinges on every object around, it fails to create an idea of beauty or grandeur. As we were exploring the dark recesses of the ruin, a number of haggard forms on a sudden darted from various apertures, and eagerly pressed toward us. Their wan countenances, half hidden by black matted hair, bore the strongest expression of misery; which was further heightened by a scanty ragged apparel, that scarcely covered their meagre limbs: upon their whole appearance one might have asked with Banquo,—

“What are these,
So wither’d, and so wild in their attire,
That look not like th’ inhabitants o’the earth,
And yet are on’t?—You should be women;
And yet your beards forbid me to interpret
That you are so.”—

The poor creatures were the wives of miners, and women that worked in the manufactories, who burrowed and brought up their families in the cells of the ruin. Unceasing drudgery, however, was unable to obtain them the necessaries of life; much less a taste of those comforts, to which the exertion of useful labour might seem to have a just claim. An old woman, bent nearly double with years,

“Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,”

gave us her account of the ruin. She shewed us the nuns’ dining-room, the roof of which is still entire, supported by Saxon, or rather early Norman pillars and arches. From the refectory we passed to what was once the dormitory, and were shewn a nauseous dungeon, in which, as the legend of the ruin relates, offending nuns were wont to be confined. This abbey was built by Richard de Granville and Constance his wife, in the reign of Henry the First, for Cistertian monks, and dedicated to the Holy Trinity: at the dissolution of monasteries its revenues were valued at 150l. per annum. The abbey-house, about a century and a half since, formed an admired seat of the Hobby’s family.Neath, the Nidum of Antoninus, was formerly of greater extent and importance than at present; for, notwithstanding its flourishing manufactories, it now makes but a poor dirty appearance. The Castle, now an inconsiderable ruin, was built by Richard de Granville, one of Fitzhammon’s knights, upon the site of a British fortress of very antient foundation; and was taken and in part burnt by Prince Llewelyn A.D. 1231. The Neath river limits that tract of country called Gower; it also formed the western boundary of the Lordship of Glamorgan, which anciently extended eastward to the river Usk. The latter district fell under the dominion of the Normans in the following manner.

In the year 1090, Jestyn, lord of Glamorgan, having a difference with Rees, King of Wales, had recourse to arms, and solicited the assistance of Fitzhammon, an Anglo-Norman chieftain, to support his cause. The confederates were successful; but, as it generally happens when foreign aid is required in domestic disputes, the remedy proved worse than the disease; for, on the plea that the conditions of their compact had not been fulfilled, Fitzhammon collected his forces, attacked Jestyn, and deprived him of his life and territory. Fitzhammon shared the spoil with twelve knights who accompanied him, rewarding each with a manor. Now, as a dominion thus acquired must be supported by the iron arm of coercion, we find the first attention of the conquerors directed to rearing fortresses on their domains; and shortly afterwards an appendant creation of religious houses makes its appearance, as a salvo for the slaughter and injustice that purchased their greatness. To this foundation most of the picturesque ruins that we are about to examine in Glamorganshire, and part of Monmouthshire, may be traced: it will, therefore, be necessary not to lose sight of this point of history.

We did not fail to admire the Knoll, a castellated seat of Sir Herbert Mackworth’s, occupying the summit of a hill at the termination of a noble lawn. The fine views which its elevation commands, encompassed by hanging woods, and extensive plantations, its shady walks and picturesque cascades, render it a place deservedly attractive. Beneath the tufted hills of this estate, we passed from Neath in our way to Briton ferry; and soon remarked a single stone monument [150], a massive paralellopiped, on a height to our left: another immediately afterwards appeared in a field close to the road on the right.

From these monuments of other times, however, the rich hanging woods and open groves of Briton ferry attracted our interest, clothing that charming domain of Lord Vernon’s.

The extensive plantations spread over several bold hills westward of the Neath river, whose broad translucid stream here emerges in a fine sweep between high woody banks, partly broken into naked cliffs, and soon unites with the sea. From a delightful shady walk impendent over the stream, we branched off into an “alley green” that led us up a steep hill covered with large trees and tangled underwood: the ascent was judiciously traced where several bare craigs projecting from the soil formed an apposite contrast to the luxuriant verdure that prevailed around. On gaining the summit the charms of Briton ferry disclosed themselves in

“An ample theatre of Sylvan grace”

of more than common beauty; beyond which the Bristol channel, bounded by the aerial tint of its opposite coast, formed the distance. But from a roaming prospect the eye gladly returned to repose on the local beauties of the scene; the tufted knoll, the dark glade, and the majestic river. In returning, we passed the mansion, a very ordinary building; but paused on the neat simplicity of the village-church adjoining, and its well-ordered cemetery.

The custom of planting ever-greens over the graves of departed friends, and bedecking them with flowers at certain seasons of the year, is, here attended to with peculiar care; and to this pleasing tribute of affection, characteristic of Wales, David ap-Gwillim, a Welch bard who flourished about the middle of the fourteenth century, thus sweetly alludes in one of his odes:

“O whilst thy season of flowers, and thy tender sprays thick of leaves remain; I will pluck the roses from the brakes; the flowerets of the meads, and gems of the woods; the vivid trefoils, beauties of the ground, and the gaily smiling bloom of the verdant herbs, to be offered to the memory of a chief of fairest fame: Humbly will I lay them on the grave of Ivor!”

Shakspeare also, with exquisite tenderness:

“With fairest flowers while summer lasts
I’ll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack
The flower that’s like thy face, pale Primrose; nor
The azur’d Harebell, like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander
Outsweeten’d not thy breath.”

Highly pleased with Briton ferry, we proceeded along the coast, and passed through the little town of Aberavon. Its copper and tin works added no charms to the verdant fertility of this part of the country, which appeared ornamented with several gentlemen’s seats, and well planted hills; but, grandly rising above comparison, “the mighty hill of Margam,” a steep mountain entirely shaded with oaks from the base to its “cloud-cap’t” summit, arrested our chief attention.

Margam Abbey

Margam park, belonging to Mr. Talbot, is chiefly to be noticed for its orangery; a magnificent pavilion of the Doric order, 327 feet in length, wherein the orange-trees are arranged in unfavourable weather: but on our visit, these trees, to the amount of a hundred and fifty, from six to ten feet high, and all in full bearing, were agreeably disposed in a sequestered part of the garden. [153] Margam abbey was until within these few years the mansion of the estate; but it is now pulled down: some low ruins, however, remain, and the walls of its elegant but neglected chapter-house. This structure is thus described by Mr. Wyndham, who visited the spot about thirty years since: “It is an elegant Gothic building, of a date subsequent to that of the church. Its vaulted roof is perfect, and supported by a clustered column rising from the centre of the room. The plan of this chapter-house is an exact circle, fifty feet in diameter. The just proportion of the windows, and the delicate ribs of the arches, which all rise from the centre column and the walls, gradually diverging to their respective points above, must please the eye of every spectator; and, what is uncommon in light Gothic edifices, the external elevation is as simple and uniform as its internal, there being no projecting buttresses to disturb or obstruct its beauty.”—“The preservation of this building led me to conclude, that much attention had been given to the lead that originally covered it; but, to my astonishment, I heard that the lead had long since been removed, and that the only security of the roof against the weather was a thick oiled paper, which by no means prevented the rain from penetrating and filtering through the work.” Mr. Wyndham concludes by trusting, that, as the present proprietor is a lover of antiquities, the deficiency would be corrected. But, unfortunately, the edifice was left to its fate, and the roof soon fell in: thus one of the finest specimens of Gothic architecture in this or any other country is lost to the eye of taste and science.

Just perceptible from the turf we traced the foundation of the Abbey Church, and the bases of four clustering pillars that most probably supported the tower; the steps of the altar were also visible, besprinkled with grass; and, turning over some fragments, we picked up part of the chalice for containing holy water, and several of those coloured glazed tiles which were used in the early Norman age for paving principal buildings, but commonly called Roman tiles. We were informed by Mr. Snook, the intelligent gardener of the place, who was present at the dilapidation of the abbey, that the pavement formed with these tiles was the lowermost of three which were then removed; and that on digging deeper they came to an immense heap of human bones. This pavement is still in many places remaining, though nearly concealed by a covering of moss. Many curious sculptured stones of high antiquity are to be met with in the park, and in the village adjoining; the church of which presents, in its elevation, a more pleasing symmetry and composition than any Gorman work that I remember to have seen. [155] A shady walk, carried beneath the leafy mantle of Margam’s hill, passes a ruined chapel, and a loggan or rocking-stone, in its way to the summit, where a prospect of uncommon extent greets the beholder. Eglis Nunne, about two miles south of Margam, now a farmhouse, was formerly a nunnery subject to that abbey.

Renewing our journey, we left Kenfig on our right, where some vestiges of a castle built by one of Fitzhammon’s knights are said to appear, and proceeded to Pyle. The inn here, built by Mr. Talbot, and which might be mistaken for a nobleman’s seat, affords excellent accommodation for travellers, who are frequently induced to make it their head-quarters while visiting the several objects in the neighbourhood.—Leaving Pyle, we soon found ourselves on Newton Down, and from its height discovered the range of hills forming the opposite boundary of the vale of Cowbridge, in which a bold hill crowned with Penline Castle was eminently conspicuous. On looking back, we were pleased with a comprehensive view of the country that we had lately traversed: beyond the wide bay of Swansea, the whitened habitations of Ostermouth caught our eye; the sulphureous clouds revolving from the works of Swansea and Neath were only divided by the projection of Kilway hill; and the picturesque knolls of Briton ferry appeared sunk into comparative littleness beneath the towering dimensions of Margam’s shady mountain.—Our tour now became thickly interspersed with baronial castles and other monuments of feudal times, interesting either by their historical events or picturesque decay.