as that which assailed it on the Gallegan hill. For
a time all my thoughts were of Spain. It was not long, however, before I
bethought me that my lot was now in a different region, that I had done
with Spain for ever, after doing for her all that lay in the power of a
lone man, who had never in this world anything to depend upon, but God
and his own slight strength. Yes, I had done with Spain, and was now in
Wales; and, after a slight sigh, my thoughts became all intensely Welsh.
I thought on the old times when Mona was the grand seat of Druidical
superstition, when adoration was paid to Dwy Fawr, and Dwy Fach, the sole
survivors of the apocryphal Deluge; to Hu the Mighty and his plough; to
Ceridwen and her cauldron; to Andras the Horrible; to Wyn ab Nudd, Lord
of Unknown, and to Beli, Emperor of the Sun. I thought on the times when
the Beal fire blazed on this height, on the neighbouring promontory, on
the cope-stone of Eryri, and on every high hill throughout Britain on the
eve of the first of May. I thought on the day when the bands of
Suetonius crossed the Menai strait in their broad-bottomed boats, fell
upon the Druids and their followers, who with wild looks and brandished
torches lined the shore, slew hundreds with merciless butchery upon the
plains, and pursued the remainder to the remotest fastnesses of the isle.
I figured to myself long-bearded men with white vestments toiling up the
rocks, followed by fierce warriors with glittering helms and short broad
two-edged swords; I thought I heard groans, cries of rage, and the dull,
awful sound of bodies precipitated down rocks. Then as I looked towards
the sea I thought I saw the fleet of Gryffith Ab Cynan steering from
Ireland to Aber Menai, Gryffith, the son of a fugitive king, born in
Ireland, in the Commot of Columbcille, Gryffith the frequently baffled,
the often victorious; once a manacled prisoner sweating in the sun, in
the market-place of Chester, eventually king of North Wales; Gryffith,
who "though he loved well the trumpet's clang loved the sound of the harp
better"; who led on his warriors to twenty-four battles, and presided
over the composition of the twenty-four measures of Cambrian song. Then
I thought--. But I should tire the reader were I to detail all the
intensely Welsh thoughts which crowded into my head as I stood on the
Cairn of the Grey Giant.

Satiated with looking about and thinking, I sprang from the cairn and
rejoined my guide.