That part of Carnarvonshire in North Wales that stretches out into the sea to Braich-y-Pwll, and forms the northern boundary of beautiful Cardigan Bay, is known as Lleyn. Lleyn is a peninsula of splendid scenery, both round the coast and inland by its mountains and moorland lakes; and almost every square mile of the place has its legend, or brave tale of historic times to tell.
Midway between its two coasts is the lonely little tarn of Glasfryn, about which a story is told reminiscent of that connected with Bala Lake which has been recorded in a previous story of Legend Land. Llyn Glasfryn, as the modern maps call it, was once Ffynnon Grassi, or Grace’s Well, which supplied water to those who lived by, and cultivated, the fertile fields now engulfed by the waters of the lake. Grace was a village girl whose task it was to tend this well, and one of her duties was to see that the cover which enclosed it was always kept closed when the well was not in use.
One day, so many years ago that nobody can rightly tell how long since it was, Grace neglected her duty. Some say that it was because of a mysterious and strikingly handsome youth who came down from Yr Eifl, the splendid mountain that rises nearly 2,000 feet into the sky, a couple of miles away. Others, that she was the victim of sorceries of a beautiful but evil enchantress from Anglesea. But anyhow the cover of the well was left open one night, and, as happened at Bala, soon after the weary country folk had retired to rest, they were aroused, in alarm, by a great flood which came from Ffynnon Grassi, which was pouring out a stream of water, that nobody could check.
Soon the prosperous farms and fertile lands round about were submerged beneath the waters, and Llyn Glasfryn was formed. But the careless Grace to whose negligence the great misfortune was due did not escape unpunished. She was turned into a swan, and her fate was that, until the Day of Judgment, she must swim about the lake which her forgetfulness had caused to be created.
Some say that after many years she was forgiven, and died; but others hold that even to this day you may hear poor Grace’s piteous cries at the dark of night, as she swims her never ending course up and down the surface of Llyn Glasfryn. And if you chance to see this mournful bird you will find that its head is that of a beautiful maiden.
They also tell that beneath the surface of the lake lives a mysterious monster called “Old Morgan,” who, perhaps, is he who in those far away days beguiled Grace to forget her duty at the well. “Morgan” is a terrible person, with whom the country children round about are threatened when they misbehave.
This pathetic story of Grace and her sad fate is but one of the many that cling about Lleyn. March, the husband of the fair Iseult, had a castle here, and from that grim fortress, Iseult eloped with Tristan.
Near Yr Eifl, Vortigern fell a victim to the charms of the beautiful Rowenna, daughter of Hengest, and to win her favour agreed to assign Kent to her Anglo-Saxon father. Cromlechs and other remains of early man are to be found on nearly every hill side.
But you must visit this fascinating corner of Wales fully to appreciate its charm and romance. Criccieth or Pwllheli is a good centre. Each is an attractive little town by the sea facing due south and sheltered by mountains from the north or east winds.
Noble Snowdon, its summit over 3,500 above sea level, is not far away, and an excursion to the far end of Lleyn, where Bardsey Sound divides remote Bardsey Island from the mainland, takes the visitor through one of the most beautiful—and least known—districts in the whole of our country.
For the sportsman there is trout fishing in abundance here, and in season wild fowl shooting of a kind seldom known in more popular parts of the kingdom. For the artist there is the endless variety of rocky coast and mountain scenery, and for the average holiday-maker an unspoilt land swept by mild health-giving air, where he may idle away the days in perfect quietude and restfulness.
