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"I have," I replied, "and yesterday I visited his birth-place; so you have heard of Gronwy Owen?" "Heard of him, your honour; yes, and read his works. That 'Cowydd y Farn' of his is a wonderful poem."
"'Then write your name in this book, said I, taking out a pocket- book and a pencil, 'and write likewise that you are related to Gronwy Owen and be sure you write in Welsh. "The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and placing the former on the table wrote as follows:
"You say right," said I; "the 'Cowydd of Judgment' contains some of the finest things ever written that description of the toppling down of the top crag of Snowdon, at the day of Judgment, beats anything in Homer." "Then there was Lewis Morris, your honour," said the old man, "who gave Gronwy his education and wrote 'The Lasses of Meirion' and "
"Where is the church?" said I. "I should like to see the church where Gronwy worshipped God as a boy." "The church is at some distance," said the man; "it is past my mill, and as I want to go to the mill for a moment, it will be perhaps well to go and see the church, before we go to the house of Gronwy."
"I studied Welsh literature when young," said I, "and was much struck with the verses of Gronwy: he was one of the great bards of Wales, and certainly the most illustrious genius that Anglesey ever produced." "A great genius, I admit," said the man in grey, "but pardon me, not exactly the greatest Ynis Fon has produced. The race of the bards is not quite extinct in the island, sir.
In October he was at Leighton, Donnington and Uppington, where he found traces of Gronwy Owen, the one-time curate and all- time poet. Throughout his life Borrow had shown by every action and word written about her, the great love he bore his mother. When his wife wrote to her and he was too restless to do so himself, he would interpolate two or three lines to "My dear Mamma."
This poem which is generally considered by the Welsh as the brightest ornament of their ancient language, was composed at Donnington, a small hamlet in Shropshire on the north-west spur of the Wrekin, at which place, as has been already said, Gronwy toiled as schoolmaster and curate under Douglas the Scot, for a stipend of three-and-twenty pounds a year.
"And how much time did you spend," said the miller, "before you could understand the poetry of the measures?" "Three years," said I. The miller laughed. "I could not have afforded all that time," said he, "to study the songs of Gronwy. However, it is well that some people should have time to study them.
He had forgotten that in official quarters he had been overlooked. He was in the land of Ab Gwilym and Gronwy Owen. At least they knew their own poets; and he could not help comparing the Welsh labouring man who knew Huw Morris, with his Suffolk brother who had never heard of Beowulf or Chaucer.
"Is this the neighbourhood of the birth-place of Gronwy Owen?" said I to myself. "No wonder that he was unfortunate through life, springing from such a region of wretchedness." Wretched as the region seemed, however, I soon found there were kindly hearts close by me.
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