The distant roaring of the sea gave him notice of his approach to Aberayron, and the awful sound struck an indescribable dread into his mind, that seemed unaccountable. Severe self-accusing reflections on the atrocity of his last act, succeeded the triumphs of enmity that had at first given a gust to its perpetration: consciousness of gilt and terror of punishment at once a.s.sailed him, for he was yet young in crime. To give immediate ease to the agony of his mind, he determined on dismounting and leaving the parson's horse behind, and to return him, by the first opportunity, his coat and money.

While these first, and consequently bitter, agitations of remorse and terror were racking his breast, the clatter of a distant galloping horse increased his terrors; and the day beginning to break he discerned both horse and rider, and making briskly towards him. Strange as it may appear, notwithstanding the opposite quarter from whence the danger proceeded, in the wildness of his apprehensions he conceived it could be no other than Squire Gras.p.a.cre, Parson Evans, and their party. He was actually glad when made to understand that the horseman was a highwayman.

When the desperado approached within a few yards, he stopped his horse, levelled a pistol, and commanded him, with a tremendous oath, to surrender his money to "Dio the devil!" {129} or take his death at once.

The name of this terrific freebooter, who had among many other descriptions of persons, robbed half the farmers in the country, and was supposed to have committed more than one murder, had its full effect on Twm. He instantly resigned the Parson's purse, a.s.suring him it was all he possessed, and begged that he would allow him to retain one guinea; these terms the robber in a manner, acceded to, giving him two guineas, but in return, insisting on having his horse and great coat, which Twm gave up. Dio the devil, then insolently bade him good morning, rode off towards Lampeter, holding the parson's horse by the bridle.

No sooner had the highwayman disappeared, than Twm was struck with a full conviction of the folly of the fears he had entertained, which, by depressing his mind, he thought, led to confusedly yielding his property too easily: vowing to himself, after some reflection, that if possessed of a pair of pistols, no highwayman in the world should make him stand.

His thoughts taking their course through this channel, wandered and diverged, till his mind rested on new, but perilous prospects. "What a life," thought he, "this Dio the devil leads-a gentleman of the road-the terror of wealthy scoundrels, who are themselves the terror of the hapless poor that are starved into crime-famed, feared, and maintained at the general cost, while many an honest fool toils like the galled drudge-horse, crawls through the world half starved, and is despised for his meanness." Thus he pondered and soliloquised, and after being silent for a while, he continued "Let others do as they please, but for me, I have no taste for buffetings or drudgery, and had I but a good horse and pistols-" At this moment a countryman was about to pa.s.s him on the road, in whose hand he recognized his bundle, containing his feminine attire, which in his terror he had dropped, and it rolled from the side of the road, it seems, into the ditch, previous to the halt of the highwayman.

Twm immediately claimed his property, but the fellow seemed but little disposed to attend to him, until vehemently insisting on his right, he evinced an inclination to battle with him; when satisfied with this very convincing sort of logic, the clown made rest.i.tution.

With his mind full of pistols and highwaymen, he trudged on at a slow ruminating pace, till he reached a humble public house at Aberayron.

This lowly tavern he found so full that he could scarcely get a seat.

With the exception of two or three fishermen and other sea-farers, these were people who made a temporary halt on their way to Cardigan fair, low booth-keepers, fruit and gingerbread sellers, and such like. Twm called for beer and refreshment, and while eating, observed the habits of these strange people with much curiosity. He had contrived to squeeze himself into a window seat between two females who sat apart and civilly made room for him, and pressed his acceptance of the place. This act of good-breeding won upon him amazingly, and he could not help contrasting their politeness with the rude indifference of the rest of the party; nor was his opinion of them changed when one turned out to be a fortune-telling gypsy, and the other a ballad singer. He could not do less he thought than ask them both to partake of his cup, and they felt themselves bound in honor, in their great devotion to his health, to return it empty each time he handed it to them full. Such gallantry on one hand, and confidence and affability on the other, begot a sudden friendship between them; the gypsy insisting upon telling his fortune gratis, and the ballad singer on his acceptance of two or three favorite songs, while our hero, not to be behind-hand in disinterested kindness, insisted that they would continue to partake of his cup.

While Twm was busily employed in looking over the bundle of ballads, among which he met many old friends, which he had frequently sung, one of the friendly nymphs was beckoned to, by a man at the opposite end of the kitchen, with whom she went out, and the gypsy soon followed them.

Our hero having selected the songs that pleased him, waited impatiently for the return of the damsels. Having waited about an hour and a half, by which time all the fair people had dropped off, he discovered some symptoms of surprise, and asked the landlord if he knew what had become of the young women. He said he did not know, but that the whole party had paid him and gone off, and that he had no further business with them.

Twm thought the ballad singer a singular good natured young woman, as she had left her bundle of melody with him, doubtless as a present, and merely taken herself away thus modestly, instead of ostentatiously proclaiming her gift, and receiving his thanks. Putting his hand into his pocket to settle his account, he was confounded on finding his two guineas gone; his terror, agony, and confusion was manifested to the landlord, by his sudden change of manner and appearance, who declared that his face was turned as white as the wall. Having searched every pocket over and over, at length the doleful tale came out that he had lost his money, and could not tell how. "Why as to that," said the landlord with cool bitterness, "if it is any satisfaction to know _how_ you lost your money, I can tell you; it was by sitting between two thieves-a gypsy and a ballad singer, and what could you expect else from mixing with such cattle?" Poor Twm remained silent in a miserable mood, with his elbows resting on the table, and his temples in the palms of his hands for a full half hour, when the landlord disturbed his meditations by asking payment for his fare; good-naturedly adding, "If you have no money, I don't wish to be hard with you, you can merely leave your jacket with me instead." "My jacket!" quoth he indignantly, "why, that is ten times the value of what I owe you." "May be so, but if you can't pay you must leave it, and be thankful that I condescend to take it instead of cash;" replied the old gruffy. The fishermen in the mean time pa.s.sed on him their rough jokes, one observing "You can sing ballads without a jacket, so I advise you to go on to the fair at Cardigan, where you may perhaps meet your old friends." This advice, given in ridicule, Twm at once determined to take in earnest, and literally sing the ballads so as to turn them into money. So without more ado he took off his jacket and gave it to his host, muttering a curse on his cruelty, and commenced his journey to Cardigan. The dress of Cadwgan's wife was again put on, not only as a fit disguise for his minstrel vocation, but as a more perfect guard against the weather than his own, since deprived of his upper garment; and in this garb, very low in spirits, and with no cheering prospects before him, he trod the miry road towards the county town.

CHAP. XVI.

Twm, disguised as a woman, sings ballads at Cardigan fair. Is alarmed on seeing an unexpected person. Takes a sudden departure from thence.

TWM at length reached the end of his dreary journey, the latter part of which was rendered more cheerful from having fallen into company with a party of drovers, who gallantly treated the apparent fair one with bread and cheese and ale. Thus he entered Cardigan in comparative good spirits, and prepared to commence his whimsical new vocation. Although naturally bold, and more full of confidence than beseemed the modesty of youth, it was not without considerable efforts in struggling with some remains of diffidence that he at length ventured to sing in the public street; but the beer which he had drank was strong, and his voice he knew was almost unequalled in the county of Cardigan; and with this persuasion he thought it foolish to hesitate. He fixed himself in rather an obscure part of the fair, but his musical voice and humorous execution of a comic song soon drew a crowd about him, and put his ballads in speedy request.

According to the general custom with street melodists, he introduced each song with a whimsical argument of its matter, in a strain of drollery that set the grinning rustics in high glee: "Here my merry men and maidens," quoth he, "is a pretty song about a young damsel, who was taken in by a false lover, that courted her only for what he could get, and having wheedled her out of her heart and money, then ran away and left her to wear the willow."

THE SLIGHTED MAID'S LAMENT {134}

1

In comfort and in credit By the side of Pen-y-vole I liv'd;-all knew and said it, None could my will controul; Until a worthless lover Did try my heart to move, Ah soon my joys were over, I listened to his love.

2

From far he travell'd to me, Full many and many a night, I thought he came to woo me, My heart was all delight: My cash he thought of gaining, It was not me he sought, E'er moaning and complaining For clothes-and clothes I bought.

3

A pair of shoes I placed him Between his soles and ground, With stockings then I graced him, With hat his head I crown'd; Red garters then I bought him, At fair the best I saw, To bind his hose, od rot him!

Instead of bands of straw.

4

I bought him leather breeches Strong as a barley sack, And laid out half my riches To clothe the beggar's back: I gave him money willing, (Vexation now ubraids!) With which the thankless villain Soon treated other maids.

5

When thus he had bereft me Of cash, and ah! my heart, The cruel rover left me It grieved me then to part: Those clothes will rend in tatters, They cannot last him long, A curse attend such matters, False lover's curse is strong!

6

His coat will rend in creases, His stockings break in holes, His breeches go to pieces, His shoes part from their soles: His hair, like garden carrot, Full soon will want a hat, How soon, indeed I care not, The devil care for that.

This pleased his auditors so well that he was soon left without a copy of it, on which, he began another, preluding it with the observation "Now this my friends is about a Welsh boy, who was so foolish as to leave old Cymru and go to London, from which, I warrant you, he would have been glad enough to return, as they have neither leeks, flummery, nor anything else there fit for a christian people."

When a wild rural Welsh boy I ran o'er the hills, And sprang o'er the hedges, the gates, brooks, and rills.

The high oak I climb'd for the nest of the kite, And plung'd in the river with lively delight!

Ah who then so cheerful, so happy as me, At I skipp'd through the woodlands and meads of Brindee.

How oft have I wander'd through swamp, hedge, or brake, Fearful of nought but the never-seen snake, And gather'd brown nuts from the copses around, While ev'ry bush echoed with harmony's sound; Oh gladness then thrill'd me! I bounded as free As a hart o'er the lawn through the meads of Brindee.

Whenever I wander'd to some neighb'ring farm, How kindly was tender'd the new milk so warm, O'er her best loaf as b.u.t.ter or honey she'd spread, The farm wife so friendly would stroke my white head, And sue that she shortly again should see me Whenever my rambles led forth from Brindee.

How of I have I run with my Strawberry wreath {136a} To rosy young Gwenny of fair Llwyn-y-neath, And help'd her to drive the white sheep to the pen, {136b} Oh! I still think how joyously sung little Gwen The old folks oft chuckling, vow'd sweet-hearts were we, The Llwyn-y-neath maiden and boy of Brindee.

At the fair of Dyvonnock, o'ertaken by night, Returning, I've dreaded the corpse-candle light, The wandering spirit, the hobgobling fell, Of which cottage hen-wives so fearfully tell: I've ran, with my eyes shut, ghosts dreading to see Prayed, whistled, or sang as I flew to Brindee.

Pleasure and innocence hand in hand went, My deeds ever blameless, my heart e'er content, Unknown to ambition, and free from all care, A stranger to sorrow, remorse, or despair; Oh bless'd were those days! long departed from me, Far far's my loved Cambria! far far is Brindee.

This was not so successful as the former, but Twm, nothing daunted, sung the following which he called a sequel to the last.

ROSY GWEN.

Rosy Gwen, rosy Gwen, Beloved of maids, beloved of men!

Aye, dearly loved of grave and gay, Of sire, sage, and matron grey!

In youth's early day-ah what cheer'd me then!

'Twas her voice so sweet, Her person neat, Her form so sleek, Her spirit meek, And the cherry-merry cheek of Rosy Gwen.

Gentle girl, gentle girl, Coral lipp'd, with teeth of pearl, On either cheek a vivid rose.

And raven tresses graced thy brows!

Ah thou wert my love and my playmate then: Happy la.s.s of smiles, Unversed in wiles Of guileless breast- Of minds the best, Oh my cherry-merry cheek'd young Rosy Gwen!

Years have flown, years have flown, And Gwenny thou'rt a woman grown.

While Time, that bears for most a sting, Has fann'd thy beauties with his wing; Yet brighter, thou canst not be, than when O'er the mountain steep Thou drov'st thy sheep And sang in glee A child with me.

Oh my cherry-merry cheek'd young Rosy Gwen.

He gave them next a love canzonet, of two verses; the first slow and mournful, and the last with contrasting animation and cheerfulness.

Her cheek was a rose lowly crush'd by the dew, Now bleach'd by despair to the lily's pale hue For the death of young Morgan the brave; Fame widely reported sea-mews scream'd his knell.

As in a dread sea-fight with glory he fell, And was buried beneath thy salt wave.

But false was the tale, for a victor was he, Triumphant return'd from the wild roaring sea, Now to seek with his dear maid repose; He flew to his Sina with extacy's zest, Enraptured he press'd the lorn maid to his breast.

And then kiss'd off the dew from the rose.