“We were not induced to linger very long in the slate quarries, being more desirous to make ourselves acquainted with the undisturbed nature which invited us on the way to Capel Curig.
“The Vale of Nant Ffrancon is wild and stupendous in the extreme; it is an extensive marshy valley, filled with peat, whose black masses are piled in all directions in stacks; numerous alleys filled with the water which drains from it, are cut through the turf on whose surface the graceful cotton plant waves its feathery and snowy tresses, covering the swampy ground, and lending it beauty; numerous water flowers of bright colour give some life to the scene, which would otherwise be inexpressibly dreary. Huge masses of crumbling rocks bind in the narrow valley, and assume the strangest and most grotesque shapes, as though the visions of the Welsh bard, Davydd ap Gwilym, were realized, and
“‘There were in every hollow A hundred wry-mouthed elves.’
“Indeed, the famous and dreaded family of the Ellyllon, who are fond of coming forth in mist and rain, seemed to have pursued and overtaken us just as we had nearly reached the gloomy, dark, and secluded lake of Ogwen. The clouds grew darker, and rolled in heavy masses through the valley, and down the sides of the hills—a chill and hollow wind rose and whistled fearfully along the pass—large drops of rain began to fall, and we thought there was no escape from one of those storms so frequent in these regions; but the spirits sulked themselves into good humour, and did not force us to choose the usual alternative of travellers who fall into their power, for they are said to insist on their taking the uncomfortable choice of three methods of continuing their journey: to go with them ‘above the wind, mid wind, or below the wind:’ the first is to be whirled above the tops of the mountains at more than rail-road speed; the last to be hurried along, through brakes and briars, against stones and amongst bogs; and the middle way, generally preferred by those who have experience in the freaks of these elves, is to accompany them at a moderate distance in the air just clearing every obstacle.
“We contrived to gain the shore of lake Ogwen unmolested by all the imps and demons, who seemed to have come on the wings of the blast from their modern retreat on the pedestals of Penrhyn Castle, to visit the haunts where they dwelt in days of yore, before every rock was attacked for its mineral wealth as it is now. On the borders of this solemn lake, however, the miner’s hammer is unheard; all is solitary grandeur and gloomy sublimity: mountains are piled on each other, and appear to crowd together round the lake, pressing its dark waters into a small space, deep and generally still, though ruffled when we saw it, by the rushing wind that swept through the hollow of Nant Ffrancon.