And the promontory where Llandudno stands is the very centre of this
tradition; it is Creuddyn, THE BLOODY CITY, where every stone has its
story; there, opposite its decaying rival, Conway Castle, is Diganwy,
not decaying but long since utterly decayed, some crumbling
foundations on a crag top and nothing more; Diganwy, where Mael-gwyn
shut up Elphin, and where Taliesin came to free him. Below, in a
fold of the hill, is Llan-rhos, the church of the marsh, where the
same Mael-gwyn, a British prince of real history, a bold and
licentious chief, the original, it is said, of Arthur's Lancelot,
shut himself up in the church to avoid the Yellow Plague, and peeped
out through a hole in the door, and saw the monster and died. Behind
among the woods, is Gloddaeth, THE PLACE OF FEASTING, where the bards
were entertained; and farther away, up the valley of the Conway
towards Llanrwst, is the Lake of Ceirio-nydd and Taliesin's grave.
Or, again, looking seawards and Anglesey-wards you have Pen-mon,
Seiriol's isle and priory, where Mael-gwyn lies buried; you have the
SANDS OF LAMENTATION and Llys Helig, HEILIG'S MANSION, a mansion
under the waves, a sea-buried palace and realm. Hac ibat Simois; hic
est Sigeia tellus.
As I walked up and down, looking at the waves as they washed this
Sigeian land which has never had its Homer, and listening with
curiosity to the strange, unfamiliar speech of its old possessors'
obscure descendants,--bathing people, vegetable-sellers, and donkey-
boys, who were all about me, suddenly I heard, through the stream of
unknown Welsh, words, not English, indeed, but still familiar.
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