Descent of Plinlimmon—Singular illusion—Llangerrig—Commencement of the Picturesque—The Fall of the Wye—Black Mountain—Course of the river—Builth—Peculiarity of the scenery—Approach to the English border—Castle of the Hay—First series of the beauties of the Wye.

Leaving Stedva Gerrig, the road runs by the side of the stream before mentioned, through a succession of mountain valleys, which, being without the grandiose forms of the view from Plinlimmon, are uninteresting from the want of trees. On the left there was a wreath of grey smoke flying backward on the wind, from the brow of the steep which forms the side of the valley; and we speculated within ourselves as to whether this was the ensign of some unlawful still. It proved, however, to be the foam of a little mountain torrent, caught suddenly by the gust ere it reached the edge of the precipice; and so complete was the illusion, that it was not till we had climbed to the spot, that we were convinced of the phenomenon being the production of water instead of fire.

The valley here was wide, and the vista backwards towards Stedva Gerrig of considerable length. A very remarkable effect was produced by the light of the early sun streaming through masses of grey clouds, and flashed back again not only by the stream, but by the entire surface of the soil which was completely saturated by torrents of rain that had fallen during the night. Just after this, and nearly three miles from the inn, the Wye suddenly burst into the valley from the left, and rushing beneath a bridge, flung itself into the little river. The latter, conscious that although its volume was greater, its strength and impetuosity were less than those of the marauder, quietly resigned itself to its fate, receiving the name and acknowledging the authority of its lord and spouse; and thenceforth, we found ourselves wandering along the banks, less known than those less renowned, of the classic Vaga.

Llangerrig

The sameness of the scenery continued for five miles further, till on entering the hamlet of Llangerrig, consisting of a few huts of the meanest description, and an old church, of which a view is annexed, trees began to add their interest to the picture. The valley, however, was wide, the trees small, and the river, notwithstanding its receiving here another accession, was still insignificant. By degrees, however, as we proceeded, the hills became closer, and the massiveness of their forms lent a certain degree of grandeur to the scene. These again disappeared; and the hills returned: and the Wye as before ran brawling through a commonplace valley. A series of vicissitudes went on till the hills, assuming the character without the magnitude of mountains, threw themselves wildly together, and we found ourselves in a savage pass, the steep abutting masses of which were in some cases formed of grey and naked rock.

The river here is occasionally almost choked up with stones and fragments of rocks, which must either have rolled from the heights into the bottom of the valley, or been uncovered in their original beds by the action of the water. Here opens (in our judgment) the first of the numerous picturesque views presented by the Wye. The spot is marked by the accession of a tributary stream, which is crossed by means of a bridge.

After getting out of this gorge, the scenery becomes softer and more commonplace; and at three miles nearer, the vista is terminated by the little church tower of Rhaiadyr, painted against a misty hill at some distance beyond.

In the time of the Welsh princes, there was here a fortress of some importance, of which no vestiges remain. It was erected, we are told, by Rhys, prince of South Wales, in the time of Richard II., and burnt down in 1231, by Llewellin ap Jorwerth. The little town itself is modern, and consists principally of two streets intersecting each other at right angles. The name, which is in full Rhaiadyr Pwy, means the Fall of the Wye, but is no longer applicable, the cataract having been almost levelled in 1780, when the bridge was erected. From this bridge the view of the river is exceedingly fine, as will be seen by the annexed engraving; although all the remnant of the waterfall is the plunging of the stream over a low ledge of rocks. The town itself has a good deal of character. It is decidedly a Welsh town; and notwithstanding the commingling that must have taken place in the races, it possesses that foreign aspect which is so exciting to the curiosity.

Rhaiadyr

This appearance, however, is still more evident in the next place at which we arrive, Builth; but the traveller must not be in a hurry to get there. The valley of the Wye, during the fourteen miles which intervene, presents a continuous series of picturesque views, sufficient of themselves to make the reputation of the river. The stream rushes the whole way through a singularly rocky and winding bed, bound in by lofty and fantastic banks, and these by hills, naked or wooded, barren or fertile, of every variety of form. One of the most remarkable of the latter is the Black Mountain, which is posted directly in front, and fills up the valley, as if to guard the pass from the further progress of the Wye: but our wandering stream sweeps abruptly round its base, and escaping by a narrow defile, pursues its triumphant way towards Builth. One of those pictures is imitated in the annexed engraving, and it will not be difficult to find the identical spot chosen by the artist.

Near Rhaiadyr

For more than half the distance the road runs close by the side of the river; but on reaching a few houses called Newbridge, we diverge a little, and do not come near again till we have travelled a distance of nearly five miles and approached the town of Builth. The pedestrian, however, cares little for roads; and, rejoining the river at will, he finds the series of views continued—sometimes grand, sometimes beautiful, sometimes picturesque, sometimes absolute gems of pastoral repose. The river increases visibly before our eyes; and at length, when near Builth, it rolls along, still foaming, still brawling, but in a stream of considerable volume. Its principal tributaries between Rhaiadyr and this place, are the Elian, the Ithon, and the Yrfon; the last of which is celebrated by the defeat of Llewellin in 1282, which took place at the spot where the little river is crossed by a bridge, just before it falls into the Wye, above Builth.

This part of the country, however, is completely secluded. There never was, so far as we know, a public conveyance between Rhaiadyr and Builth; and at the latter town, at this season of the year—although it is still early in October—the traveller will find no means of communication with the rest of the world, except for those who journey with post horses, and those who make use of the locomotive powers of their own limbs.

Builth is finely situated, its narrow streets rising in irregular terraces on the side of a hill on the right bank of the Wye. The houses are as Welsh as can be, and have a primitive, old world look, that has a great charm in our eyes. The town is approached by a stone bridge of considerable length; at the end of which, on the left hand, are some mounds of grass and ivy, which conceal the remains of a castle supposed to date from the eleventh century. All, however, is conjecture as regards this castle, which was a small fortress, with a keep of forty yards in circumference, surrounded by a ditch, and defended towards the south by two trenches. It was repaired in 1209, by Gilbert, Earl of Gloucester; after the death of Llewellin, it became an English fortress; and in 1690, was accidentally destroyed by a fire, which at the same time consumed the greater part of the town. Builth, however, is older than its castle. It is set down by the learned as the BullÆum Silurum of the Romans; and various druidical remains in the neighbourhood carry back the ken of the antiquarian to a still more remote epoch, which is lost in shadows.

It was in this neighbourhood, as we have said, that Llewellin, the last of the Welsh princes, was defeated and slain in 1282. Tradition relates, that while at Aberedw, a short distance down the river, on the opposite bank, he was surprised by the English, and escaped so narrowly, that he had only just time to pass the drawbridge of Builth, before his pursuers came up. The English, however, succeeded in cutting him off from his army, by getting between the town and a village on the right bank of the Wye where it was posted. Llewellin, upon this, attempted to conceal himself in the woods, but he was discovered, and beheaded, and his body buried at a place called Cern y Bedd.

The air of Builth is supposed to be very salubrious, and for this reason many respectable families have chosen it for their residence. The abundance of game in its woods and hills, and of trout, salmon, and grayling in its streams is another inducement, and probably the cause of the good health of its visitors. In this neighbourhood are mineral springs of three kinds,—saline, sulphurous, and chalybeate,—and a pump-room, frequently attended by a numerous company.

From a hill above the town is obtained a fine view of the Llynsyraddon, the largest lake in Wales except Bala. The country people believe that its bed was formerly the site of a city; and, as in Ireland, Brittany, and other places where a similar tradition prevails, they still see the towers of old “’neath the calm, cold wave reclining.” Giraldus calls the lake Clamosam, from the “terrible thundering noise it makes upon the breaking up of the ice in winter.”The valley of the Wye is less wild after passing Builth, but more beautiful. After the fourth milestone, there is a magnificent specimen of a formation of the hills which may be said to be the grand peculiarity of this district. It consists of a massive range on the opposite bank, laid out in square terraces, such as Martin delights to heap on each other in his pictures. But here, where Nature is the builder, these masses of architecture are of rough, disjointed stones, hoary with age, and sometimes overgrown with moss and lichens. On the right bank where we stood, a small house is built just above the road, as if to enjoy the picture; and, a little further on, another of more aristocratic pretensions. A view, including a portion of the latter—the green, smooth-shaven pastures which answer for a lawn and extend to the water’s edge—the Wye foaming and brawling at the bottom, half hidden by trees of the deepest shadow—with the castellated mount beyond, and the sweep of the valley closed in by hills to the left—would form a whole, which Gilpin, with the dogmatism of art, might call “correctly picturesque.”A little further on, we had an opportunity of inspecting these rocks more closely, which are only remarkable from the forms they assume. In the instance before us, they were two immense cubes of stone, as precise as if ruled by the square, and cut with the chisel. They stood exactly horizontal with the ground, and the upper was of smaller proportions than the lower. No other rock or even stone was near. At some distance another entirely insulated mass presented itself, as large as a cottage of two stories, with walls as perpendicular, and secluded like a cottage by trees.

The small village of Glasbury presents a view well worth notice. This is particularly the case at Maeslough Hall, where Gilpin characterises the scenery as “wonderfully amusing,” declaring that the situation is one of the finest in Wales. On passing the seventh milestone, the valley spreads out into a wide plain bounded by an amphitheatre of hills; and as we proceed, numerous villas peeping through the trees, show that we have now left entirely behind us the peculiarities of Welsh scenery, and are again on the borders of merry England. As we approach the Hay, the aristocratical buildings become more numerous, and the romance of the scene diminishes, till at length we enter a small, but neat and comfortable-looking town.

The Hay has some historical associations of the doings of Llewellin and King John, by the latter of whom its castle was destroyed in 1216; but with the exception of a Gothic gateway there are no remains to interest the antiquarian. There are said, indeed, to be the fragments of some Roman fortifications; but we are something like Sir Walter Scott in this respect, who had seen so many ghosts, that at last he found it difficult to believe in them. Tradition relates that the castle was built in one night by the celebrated Maud de Saint Wallery, alias Maud de Hain, alias Moll Walbee. “She built (say the gossips),” as we find in Jones’s Brecknock, “the castle of Hay in one night: the stones for which she carried in her apron. While she was thus employed, a small pebble, of about nine feet long, and one foot thick, dropped into her shoe. This she did not at first regard; but in a short time, finding it troublesome, she indignantly threw it over the river Wye into Llowes churchyard in Radnorshire (about three miles off), where it remains to this day, precisely in the position it fell, a stubborn memorial of the historical fact, to the utter confusion of all sceptics and unbelievers.”

Between Builth and the Hay ends one series of the beauties of the Wye. The stream hitherto is a mountain rivulet, sometimes almost a torrent, and its characteristics are wildness and simplicity. Its course is impeded by rocks, amidst which it runs brawling and foaming; and, generally speaking, it depends upon itself, and upon the nature of its own bed for the picturesque, the hills around forming only the back ground. We shall see, as we get on, the manner in which this will change, till the banks become the objects of admiration, and the stream itself, although much increased in volume, is considered a mere adjunct, and its bosom a convenient site from which to view them.

Gilpin’s observations on this point are very judicious, although he had not the advantage of seeing with his own eyes the upper part of the Wye. “It is possible, I think,” says he, “the Wye may in this place (alluding to the country between Builth and the Hay) be more beautiful than in any other part of its course. Between Ross and Chepstow, the grandeur and beauty of its banks are its chief praise. The river itself has no other merit than that of a winding surface of smooth water. But here, added to the same decoration from its banks, the Wye itself assumes a more beautiful character; pouring over shelving rocks, and forming itself into eddies and cascades, which a solemn parading stream through a flat channel cannot exhibit. An additional merit also accrues to such a river from the different forms it assumes according to the fulness or emptiness of the stream. There are rocks of all shapes and sizes, which continually vary the appearance of the water, as it rushes over or plays among them; so that such a river, to a picturesque eye, is a continued fund of new entertainment.”