tion of a ford a little lower down, called Cefn Twm Bach, which they crossed, and by that means came between Llewellyn and his army. The only chance of safety now left was to secrete himself. But he was at length found in a narrow dingle, in which he lay concealed, three miles north of Buelt, and about five from his army; the place was afterwards called Cwm Llewellyn.

They cut

off his head, and buried him near the spot; at some subsequent period, a house was erected over his grave, which goes by the name of Cefn-y-Bedd, or the top of the grave.

Heroic Prince! when o'er Carnarvon waved
The crimson flag of conquest, mid the pomp
Of festal sports-when yon proud castle rung
To Edward's triumph-thy insulted head,
Gaze of vile crowds, stood on Augustus' tower,
With ivy wreath and silver diadem,
Adorn'd in mockery of Brutus old,

And Merlin's mystic verse.

Sotheby.

The following dirge written by his aged bard, Gryffith, the son of Ynad, is deeply embued with the grief felt by the people for the loss of the last and greatest of their leaders, and their favorite prince :

On every wind, o'er hill and glen, come sounds of woe and wailing,-
As erst on Camlan's plains were heard",-of Britain's glory failing,-
And tears from every eye are poured, free as her mountain springs,
While Cambria's dying bard thus mourns her lord-her last of kings.
Llewellyn! oh, the loss of thee, it is the loss of all,—
Fallen! and horror chills my blood-I see my country fall.

Break heart, ere thoughts of my loved lord, and of his generous soul,
To madness goad my burning brain, nor hear his death-knell toll.
See, the majestic forests bow! with thee all nature bled,
The ocean heaved his oozy depths, the sun glared strange and red;
From out their spheres did planets start-to us the day is doom,
And night, amidst these woods and wilds, enshrouds our living tomb.
Freedom and song alike expire-'would 'twere the end of all;

But vainly on a world of crime the wrath of heaven I call.

*The spot where the great Arthur was mortally wounded

There is no green spot in the waste, our anguished thoughts to rest;
No spot, midst our far mountain-homes, but foemen's foot hath prest.
Most wretched men, where shall ye flee to lay the wearied head?
Where fate-swift fate pursueth not, the sword and famine dread ;
Proud Edward's wrath-and worse than wrath-the bondage of his will,
That tramples on your spirits bowed till vengeance hath its fill.†

+ In offering this hasty version from the Welch Chronicle, the author is sensible of having lost much of the power and beauty of the fine old lament; but he is happy in an occasion of referring all those interested in the subject to an original production contained in a little volume of poems by William Stanley Roscoe. It is entitled 'Llewellyn.'— (See Blackwood's Magazine for February, 1835.)

CHAPTER III.

CHESTER.

The crooked creekes and pretie brookes
That are amid the plaine;

The flowing tydes that spread the land,

And turne to sea againe;

The stately woods that like a hoope

Doe compasse all the vale;

The princely plots that stand in troope,

To beautifie the dale;

The rivers that doe daily runne,

As cleare as christall stone,

Shews that most pleasures under sunne

CARLEON had alone.

Worthiness of Wales.

THE Deva of the old Britons, and the Roman City of the Legions'-Chester-abounds in too many interesting associations to be passed over in silence. Justly proud of her ancient loyalty, her high-born families, and the unbroken spirit exhibited in all her vicissitudes, she is still more enviable, perhaps, for the quiet prosperity and dignified ease of these her later days. The extensive sweep of her once formidable and castellated walls proclaims her former greatness; and, at every step, the thoughtful stranger is reminded that he beholds a city of the past.

Rising boldly above the Dee, its singular construction and angular streets attest its Roman origin;* while altars, arms, statues,

* The old monkish authorities, particularly that of Ranulph, would lead us to infer the contrary, as it is quaintly expressed in the following curious rhymes :—

The founder of this city as saith Polycronicon,

Was Leon Gaure, a mighty strong giant,
Who builded caves and dungeons many a one,
No goodly building, ne proper, ne pleasant.

But King Leir, a Britain fine and valiant,
Was founder of Chester by pleasant building
And was named Guerlier by the King."

coins, and relics of baths, equally prove that it was a grand military station of the conquerors of the world. The name of the twentieth legion, entitled Victrix, has been often found inscribed on tiles and votive altars; the Saxon and the Dane left the track of their devastating career, and the Norman conquerors here prepared their expeditions to attack the last mountain-holds of the ancient Briton.

It is recorded that while in the possession of the invading Saxon, the royal Edgar was rowed up the river Dee by eight tributary kings, his majesty of Scotland being one of these rare and unwilling bargemen. And Chester is entitled to our especial regard as the field of early British chivalry-the capital of the good King Arthur and his Knights, once seated in their golden palace at the famed Round Table, enlivened by the 'merry and wise conceits,' the comic prophecies and freakish enchantments of the Welsh Merlin.* How amusingly has the faithful Giraldust painted 'the form and body' of those famed old times, so full of quaint humour, and a succession of wonders which keep fancy and suspense continually on the alert. They are names which tradition has consecrated, and it is hoped that, spite of time and laughter-scaring science, they may still play round the imagination and the heart-familiar to our lips as household words, and continue to delight us in the closet, at the festive game, and on the mimic boards. Honour, patriotism, and generosity, all those 'high thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy,'

Many of which would afford admirable materials for the inexhaustible pencil of that unrivalled genius, and exquisite delineator of true British humour-a magician also in his way,-George Cruikshank.

↑ Giraldus Cambrensis, who gives us the following singular proof of Geoffrey of Monmouth's want of veracity. In the neighbourhood of Chester, it seems, was a man named Melerius, who, in consequence of having had an intrigue with a young lady on the eve of Palm Sunday, was ever after, more or less, tormented by devils. Though quite illiterate, he could ascertain the true from the false passages in books, because the former drove away, while the latter attracted round him crowds of evil spirits. • When Geoffrey's Chronicle,' says Giraldus, was brought to him, and he began to read, not only did the demons come perching upon his whole body, but upon every page of the book as fast as he turned it over, in a manner quite unusual with other books.'

which form the mirror of sovereigns, and the idol of a people, and which often rescue monarchy itself from the brand of history,—are ever freshly associated with our ideas of Arthur and of Alfredrecollections more useful and ennobling than may, on first reflection, appear. It is not improbable that the traditional loyalty and devotedness of this ancient city, and its surrounding territory, may have had their origin in some such feelings, in veneration for the greatness of mind and patriotic actions which threw lustre round a few of the true British sovereigns who sat within her walls.

'Carleon, now step forth with stately style,

No feeble phrase may serve to set thee forth:
Thy famous town was spoke of many a myle,
Thou hast bene great, though now but little worth.
Thy noble bounds have reached beyond them all;
In thee hath bene King Arthur's golden hall:

In thee the wise and worthies did repose,

And through thy vales Uske's water ebbs and flows.'* Nearly all the great and popular qualities which combine to make a prince respected and beloved seem to have met in the character of Arthur. The Artus fortis et facetus, as he is so happily described, could have been no unreal personage.+ As regards kings, the voice of posterity generally speaks the truth; and time, instead of magnifying, invariably reduces them to their true proportions. The illustrious few and far between,' therefore, whose reputation lives and glows through all time, must have possessed commanding genius and rich desert. Among these, the brave, accomplished, and affable Arthur was the 'facile princeps' of his heroic age, and a character every way congenial with British feelings and tastes.

About the period of Arthur's birth, in the sixth century, druidism was greatly on the decline. The conquests of the Saxons had His learned con

extended as far as the Severn and the Humber.

A Description of Carleon.

The writer is pleased in recalling to mind that the late Sir James Mackintosh, in conversing on this subject, took up precisely the same view of Arthur's real greatness, and he subsequently put his opinion on record.