I
figured to myself long-bearded men with white vestments toiling up
the rocks, followed by fierce warriors with glittering helms and
short broad two-edged swords; I thought I heard groans, cries of
rage, and the dull, awful sound of bodies precipitated down rocks.
Then as I looked towards the sea I thought I saw the fleet of
Gryffith Ab Cynan steering from Ireland to Aber Menai, Gryffith,
the son of a fugitive king, born in Ireland, in the Commot of
Columbcille, Gryffith the frequently baffled, the often victorious;
once a manacled prisoner sweating in the sun, in the market-place
of Chester, eventually king of North Wales; Gryffith, who "though
he loved well the trumpet's clang loved the sound of the harp
better"; who led on his warriors to twenty-four battles, and
presided over the composition of the twenty-four measures of
Cambrian song. Then I thought -. But I should tire the reader
were I to detail all the intensely Welsh thoughts which crowded
into my head as I stood on the Cairn of the Grey Giant.
Satiated with looking about and thinking, I sprang from the cairn
and rejoined my guide. We now descended the eastern side of the
hill till we came to a singular looking stone, which had much the
appearance of a Druid's stone.
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