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Can I speak Welsh? Why, I am Welsh to the core, Cymro glan gloyw! What are you?" "Oh! Welsh, of course. You can hear that by my talk." "Indeed no," said Cardo. "I did not know anyone at Traeth Berwen could speak English as well as you do." He was longing to find out who his fellow-traveller was.
I did not understand all she said—she spoke in her native language, and I was some way apart; she appeared to endeavour to console her husband, but he seemed to refuse all comfort, and, with many groans, repeated—‘Pechod Ysprydd Glan—O pechod Ysprydd Glan!’ I felt I had no right to pry into their afflictions, and retired. Now ‘pechod Ysprydd Glan,’ interpreted, is the sin against the Holy Ghost.
He set his teeth firmly, pulled the tompion out of his gun, and flung it away disdainfully as if he would never need it again, blew into the muzzle to see if the tube was clear, and wiped off the lock with a fine white handkerchief one of the relics of his by-gone elegance which he drew from the breast of his blouse. "Sergeant Glan Sergeant Glancey will remain," said the Captain peremptorily.
"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. Wild Moors The Guide Scientific Discourse The Land of Arthur The Umbrella Arrival at Bala.
The countenance of the woman fell. "I see you know something about the matter," said she; "there are very few hereabouts, though so near to the Vale of Clwyd, who know the word for salmon-trout in Welsh, I shouldn't have known the word myself, but for the song which says: Glan yw'r gleisiad yn y llyn." "And who wrote that song?" said I. "I don't know," said the woman.
He made no answer; whereupon, laying her hand gently on his shoulder, she said, in the peculiar soft and tender tone which I had heard her use on a former occasion, ‘Take comfort, Peter; what has happened now to afflict thee?’ Peter removed his hand from his face. ‘The old pain, the old pain,’ said he; ‘I was talking with this young man, and he would fain know what brought me here, he would fain hear my tale, Winifred—my sin: O pechod Ysprydd Glan!
Morning hymn Much alone John Bunyan Beholden to nobody Sixty-five Sober greeting Early Sabbaths Finny brood The porch No fortune-telling The master's niece Doing good Two or three things Groans and voices Pechod Ysprydd Glan. I slept soundly during that night, partly owing to the influence of the opiate.
In a moment I had issued from my tent all was silent but the next moment I again heard groans and voices; they proceeded from the tilted cart where Peter and his wife lay; I drew near, again there was a pause, and then I heard the voice of Peter, in an accent of extreme anguish, exclaim: "Pechod Ysprydd Glan O pechod Ysprydd Glan!" and then he uttered a deep groan.
Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale the tale of the Pechod Ysprydd Glan. "I was born in the heart of North Wales, the son of a respectable farmer, and am the youngest of seven brothers.
Two evenings later, when we were again seated beneath the oak, Peter took the hand of his wife in his own, and then, in tones broken and almost inarticulate, commenced telling me his tale the tale of the Pechod Ysprydd Glan.
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