Llyn Y Fan Fach
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| Sheep in the road |
When we arrived
at the lake we were surprised to find that it was a good 1.5 hour hike just to
the lake. It was beautiful and spiritual; water from the lake was running down
creating waterfalls and a beautiful spray of white water. By thw time we
reached the lake we were all exhausted. The grass was soft and there was no one
but us there. We all lay down and fell asleep. I dreamt of the Gwragged Annwn,
I honestly don’t remember anything of what they said, I only remember seeing
tem emerge from the center of the lake. I would have thought that it was all in
my head but they physically gifted me with a small quartz cluster. I bottled some of the water which was crystal
clear and we headed home. It was one of the most satisfying places we went. Ill
be going back for sure.  | |
| Llyn Y Fan Fach |
Video on youtube worth watch, which tells the story and has some pretty photos and images. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Sub71snnUE
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| Front of Crystal |
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| Back of Crystal |
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| Another rock I found at the lake with crystal formations |
Bewildered
by a feeling of love and admiration for the object before him, he
continued to hold out his hand towards the lady, who imperceptibly
glided near to him, but gently refused the offer of his provisions. He
attempted to touch her, but she eluded his grasp, saying--
Cras dy fara;
Nid hawdd fy nala.
Hard baked is thy bread!
'Tis not easy to catch me
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| Back of other rock |
On
his return home the young man communicated to his mother the
extraordinary vision he had beheld. She advised him to take some unbaked
dough or "toes" the next time in his pocket, as there must have been
some spell connected with the hard-baked bread, or "Bara cras," which
prevented his catching the lady.
Next
morning, before the sun had gilded with its rays the peaks of the Fans,
the young man was at the lake, not for the purpose of looking after his
mother's cattle, but seeking for the same enchanting vision he had
witnessed the day before; but all in vain did he anxiously strain his
eyeballs and glance over the surface of the lake, as only the ripples
occasioned by a stiff breeze met his view, and a cloud hung heavily on
the summit of the Fan, which imparted an additional gloom to his already
distracted mind.
Hours
passed on, the wind was hushed, and the clouds which had enveloped the
mountain had vanished into thin air before the powerful beams of the
sun, when the youth was startled by seeing some of his mother's cattle
on the precipitous side of the acclivity, nearly on the opposite side of
the lake. His duty impelled him to attempt to rescue them from their
perilous position, for which purpose he was hastening away, when, to his
inexpressible delight, the object of his search again appeared to him
as before, and seemed much more beautiful than when he first beheld her.
His hand was again held out to her, full of unbaked bread, which he
offered with an urgent proffer of his heart also, and vows of eternal
attachment. All of which were refused by her, saying-
Llaith dy fara!
Ti ni fynna'.
Unbaked is thy bread!
I will not have thee
But
the smiles that played upon her features as the lady vanished beneath
the waters raised within the young man a hope that forbade him to
despair by her refusal of him, and the recollection of which cheered him
on his way home. His aged parent was made acquainted with his
ill-success, and she suggested that his bread should next time be but
slightly baked, as most likely to please the mysterious being of whom he
had become enamoured.
Impelled
by an irresistible feeling, the youth left his mother's house early
next morning, and with rapid steps he passed over the mountain. He was
soon near the margin of the lake, and with all the impatience of an
ardent lover did he wait with a feverish anxiety for the reappearance of
the mysterious lady.
The
freshness of the early morning had disappeared before the sultry rays
of the noon-day sun, which in its turn was fast verging towards the west
as the evening was dying away and making room for the shades of night,
and hope had well-nigh abated of beholding once more the Lady of the
Lake. The young man cast a sad and last farewell look over the waters,
and, to his astonishment, beheld several cows walking along its surface.
The sight of these animals caused hope to revive that they would be
followed by another object far more pleasing; nor was he disappointed,
for the maiden reappeared, and to his enraptured sight, even lovelier
than ever. She approached the land, and he rushed to meet her in the
water. A smile encouraged him to seize her hand; neither did she refuse
the moderately baked bread he offered her; and after some persuasion she
consented to become his bride, on condition that they should only live
together until she received from him three blows without a cause,
Tri ergyá diachos.
Three causeless blows.
And
if he ever should happen to strike her three such blows she would leave
him forever. To such conditions he readily consented, and would have
consented to any other stipulation, had it been proposed, as he was only
intent on then securing such a lovely creature for his wife.
Thus
the Lady of the Lake engaged to become the young man's wife, and having
loosed her hand for a moment she darted away and dived into the lake.
His chagrin and grief were such that he determined to cast himself
headlong into the deepest water, so as to end his life in the element
that had contained in its unfathomed, depths the only one for whom he
cared to live on earth. As he was on the point of committing this rash
act, there emerged out of the lake two
most beautiful ladies, accompanied by a hoary-headed man of noble mien
and extraordinary stature, but having otherwise all the force and
strength of youth. This man addressed the almost bewildered youth in
accents calculated to soothe his troubled mind, saying that as he
proposed to marry one of his daughters, he consented to the union,
provided the young man could distinguish which of the two ladies before
him was the object of his affections. This was no easy task, as the
maidens were such perfect counterparts of each other that it seemed
quite impossible for him to choose his bride, and if perchance he fixed
upon the wrong one all would be forever lost.
Whilst
the young man narrowly scanned the two ladies, he could not perceive
the least difference betwixt the two, and was almost giving up the task
in despair, when one of them thrust her foot a slight degree forward.
The motion, simple as it was, did not escape the observation of the
youth, and he discovered a trifling variation in the mode with which
their sandals were tied. This at once put an end to the dilemma, for he,
who had on previous occasions been so taken up with the general
appearance of the Lady of the Lake, had also noticed the beauty of her
feet and ankles, and on now recognizing the peculiarity of her shoe-tie
he boldly took hold of her hand.
"Thou
hast chosen rightly," said her father; "be to her a kind and faithful
husband, and I will give her, as a dowry, as many sheep, cattle, goats,
and horses as she can count of each without heaving or drawing in her
breath. But remember, that if you prove unkind to her at any time, and
strike her three times without a cause, she shall return to me, and
shall bring all her stock back with her."
Such
was the verbal marriage settlement, to which the young man gladly
assented, and his bride was desired to count the number of sheep she was
to have. She immediately adopted the mode of counting by fives,
thus:--One, two, three, four, five -- One, two, three, four, five; as
many times as possible in rapid succession, till her breath was
exhausted. The same process of reckoning had to determine the number of
goats, cattle, and horses respectively; and in an instant the full
number of each came out of the lake when called upon by the father.
The
young couple were then married, by what ceremony was not stated, and
afterwards went to reside at a farm called Esgair Llaethdy, somewhat
more than a mile from the village of Myddfai, where they lived in
prosperity and happiness for several years, and became the parents of
three sons, who were beautiful children.
Once
upon a time there was a christening to take place in the neighbourhood,
to which the parents were specially invited. When the day arrived the
wife appeared very reluctant to attend the christening, alleging that
the distance was too great for her to walk. Her husband told her to
fetch one of the horses which were grazing in an adjoining field. "I
will," said she, "if you will bring me my gloves which I left in our
house." He went to the house and returned with the gloves, and finding
that she had not gone for the horse jocularly slapped her shoulder with
one of them, saying, "go! go!", when she reminded him of the
understanding upon which she consented to marry him:-That he was not to
strike her without a cause; and warned him to be more cautious for the
future.
On
another occasion, when they were together at a wedding, in the midst of
the mirth and hilarity of the assembled guests, who had gathered
together from all the surrounding country, she burst into tears and
sobbed most piteously. Her husband touched her on her shoulder and
inquired the cause of her weeping: she said, "Now people are entering
into trouble, and your troubles are likely to commence, as you have the
second time stricken me without a cause."
Years
passed on, and their children had grown up, and were particularly
clever young men. In the midst of so many worldly blessings at home the
husband almost forgot that there remained only one causeless blow to be
given to destroy the whole of his prosperity. Still he was watchful lest
any trivial occurrence should take place which his wife must regard as a
breach of their marriage contract. She told him, as her affection for
him was unabated, to be careful that he would not, through some
inadvertence, give the last and only blow, which, by an unalterable
destiny, over which she had no control, would separate them for ever.
It,
however, so happened that one day they were together at a funeral,
where, in the midst of the mourning and grief at the house of the
deceased, she appeared in the highest and gayest spirits, and indulged
in immoderate fits of laughter, which so shocked her husband that he
touched her, saying, "Hush! hush! don't laugh." She said that she
laughed "because people when they die go out of trouble," and, rising
up, she went out of the house, saying, "The last blow has been struck,
our marriage contract is broken, and at an end! Farewell!" Then she
started off towards Esgair Llaethdy, where she called her cattle and other stock together, each by name. The cattle she called thus:--
Mu
wlfrech, Moelfrech,
Mu olfrech, Gwynfrech,
Pedair cae tonn-frech,
Yr
hen wynebwen.
A'r las Geigen,
Gyda'r Tarw Gwyn
O lys y Brenin;
A'r
llo du bach,
Syll ar y bach,
Dere dithau, yn iach adre!
Brindled
cow, white speckled,
Spotted cow, bold freckled,
The four field sward
mottled,
The old white-faced,
And the grey Geingen,
With the white
Bull,
From the court of the King;
And the little black calf
Tho'
suspended on the hook,
Come thou also, quite well home!
They
all immediately obeyed the summons of their mistress. The "little black
calf," although it had been slaughtered, became alive again, and walked
off with the rest of the stock at the command of the lady. This
happened in the spring of the year, and there were four oxen ploughing
in one of the fields; to these she cried:--
Pedwar eidion glas
/Sydd ar y maes,
/Deuwch chwithau
/Yn iach adre!
The four grey oxen,
/That are on the field,
/Come you also
/Quite well home!
Away
the whole of the live stock went with the Lady across Myddfai Mountain,
towards the lake from whence they came, a distance of above six miles,
where they disappeared beneath its waters, leaving no trace behind
except a well-marked furrow, which was made by the plough the oxen drew
after them into the lake, and which remains to this day as a testimony
to the truth of this story.
What
became of the affrighted ploughman--whether he was left on the field
when the oxen set off, or whether he followed them to the lake, has not
been handed down to tradition; neither has the fate of the disconsolate
and half-ruined husband been kept in remembrance. But of the sons it is
stated that they often wandered about the lake and its vicinity, hoping
that their mother might be permitted to visit the face of the earth once
more, as they had been apprised of her mysterious origin, her first
appearance to their father, and the untoward circumstances which so
unhappily deprived them of her maternal care.
In
one of their rambles, at a place near Dôl Howel, at the Mountain Gate,
still called "Llidiad y Meddygon," The Physicians' Gate, the mother
appeared suddenly, and accosted her eldest son, whose name was
Rhiwallon, and told him that his mission on earth was to be a benefactor
to mankind by relieving them from pain and misery, through healing all
manner of their diseases; for which purpose she furnished him with a bag
full of medical prescriptions and instructions for the preservation of
health. That by strict attention thereto he and his family would become
for many generations the most skilful physicians in the country. Then,
promising to meet him when her counsel was most needed, she vanished.
But on several occasions she met her sons near the banks of the lake,
and once she even accompanied them on their return home as far as a
place still called "Pant-y-Meddygon," The dingle of the Physicians,
where she pointed out to them the various plants and herbs which grew in
the dingle, and revealed to them their medicinal qualities or virtues;
and the knowledge she imparted to them.
