There are many remarkable cataracts in Britain and the neighbouring isles, even the little Celtic Isle of Man has its remarkable waterfall; but this Rhyadr, the grand cataract of North Wales, far exceeds them all in altitude and beauty, though it is inferior to several of them in the volume of its flood. I never saw water falling so gracefully, so much like thin beautiful threads, as here. Yet even this cataract has its blemish. What beautiful object has not something which more or less mars its loveliness?
There is an ugly black bridge or semi-circle of rock, about two feet in diameter and about twenty feet high, which rises some little way below it, and under which the water, after reaching the bottom, passes, which intercepts the sight, and prevents it from taking in the whole fall at once. This unsightly object has stood where it now stands since the day of creation, and will probably remain there to the day of judgment. It would be a desecration of nature to remove it by art, but no one could regret if nature in one of her floods were to sweep it away.
As I was standing on the planks a woman plainly but neatly dressed came from the house. She addressed me in very imperfect English, saying that she was the mistress of the house and should be happy to show me about. I thanked her for her offer, and told her that she might speak Welsh, whereupon she looked glad, and said in that tongue that she could speak Welsh much better than Saesneg. She took me by a winding path up a steep bank on the southern side of the fall to a small plateau, and told me that was the best place to see the Pistyll from. I did not think so, for we were now so near that we were almost blinded by the spray, though, it is true, the semicircle of rock no longer impeded the sight; this object we now saw nearly laterally rising up like a spectral arch, spray and foam above it, and water rushing below. "That is a bridge rather for ysprydoedd (9) to pass over than men," said I.
"It is," said the woman; "but I once saw a man pass over it.""How did he get up?" said I. "The sides are quite steep and slippery.""He wriggled to the sides like a llysowen, (10) till he got to the top, when he stood upright for a minute, and then slid down on the other side.""Was he any one from these parts?" said I.
"He was not. He was a dyn dieithr, a Russian; one of those with whom we are now at war.""Was there as much water tumbling then as now?""More, for there had fallen more rain."
"I suppose the torrent is sometimes very dreadful?" said I.
"It is indeed, especially in winter; for it is then like a sea, and roars like thunder or a mad bull."After I had seen all I wished of the cataract, the woman asked me to come to the house and take some refreshment. I followed her to a neat little room where she made me sit down and handed me a bowl of butter-milk. On the table was a book in which she told me it was customary for individuals who visited the cataract to insert their names. I took up the book which contained a number of names mingled here and there with pieces of poetry. Amongst these compositions was a Welsh englyn on the Rhyadr, which, though incorrect in its prosody, I thought stirring and grand. I copied it, and subjoin it with a translation which I made on the spot.
"Crychiawg, ewynawg anian - yw y Rhyadr Yn rhuo mal taran;Colofn o dwr, gloyw-dwr glan, Gorwyllt, un lliw ag arian."Foaming and frothing from mountainous height, Roaring like thunder the Rhyadr falls;Though its silvery splendour the eye may delight, Its fury the heart of the bravest appals.