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Updated: May 9, 2025
Sycharth The Kindly Welcome Happy Couple Sycharth Recalling the Dead Ode to Sycharth. I WAS now at the northern extremity of the valley near a great house past which the road led in the direction of the north-east. Seeing a man employed in breaking stones I inquired the way to Sychnant.
The monticle stands not far from the western extremity of the valley, nearly midway between two hills which confront each other north and south, the one to the south being the hill which I had descended, and the other a beautiful wooded height which is called in the parlance of the country Llwyn Sycharth or the grove of Sycharth, from which comes the little gush of water which I had crossed, and which now turns the wheel of the factory and once turned that of Owen Glendower's mill, and filled his two moats, part of the water by some mechanical means having been forced up the eminence.
"There is not; that is, now but there was in the old time; a factory of woollen stands now where the mill once stood." "'A mill a rushing brook upon And pigeon tower fram'd of stone. "So says Iolo Goch," said I to myself, "in his description of Sycharth; I am on the right road."
"That is your way," said he, and pointing to a large building beyond the bridge, towering up above a number of cottages, he said, "that is the factory of Sycharth;" he then left me, following the high road, whilst I proceeded towards the bridge, which I crossed, and coming to the cottages entered one on the right hand of a remarkably neat appearance.
I asked the cook to whom the property of Sycharth belonged and was told of course to Sir Watkin, who appears to be the Marquis of Denbighshire. After a few more questions I thanked her and told her she might go. I then finished my breakfast, paid my bill, and after telling the landlady that I should return at night, started for Llangedwin and Sycharth.
"There you are mistaken," said I; "and also in supposing he lived a great way off. He lived in North Wales, and not far from this place." "In truth, sir, you know more about him than I." "Did you ever hear of a place called Sycharth? "Sycharth! Sycharth! I never did, sir." "It is the place where Glendower lived, and it is not far off. I want to go there, but do not know the way." "Sycharth!
When he was gone I sat down on the brow of the hill, and with my face turned to the east began slowly to chant a translation made by myself in the days of my boyhood of an ode to Sycharth composed by Iolo Goch when upwards of a hundred years old, shortly after his arrival at that place, to which he had been invited by Owen Glendower:
"Often, sir, often; he lived in our place." "He lived in a place called Sycharth?" said I. "Well, sir; and we of the place call it Sycharth as often as Sychnant; nay, oftener." "Is his house standing?" "It is not; but the hill on which it stood is still standing." "Is it a high hill?" "It is not; it is a small, light hill." "A light hill!" said I to myself.
Sycharth!" said the landlady musingly: "I wonder if it is the place we call Sychnant." "Is there such a place?" "Yes, sure; about six miles from here, near Langedwin." "What kind of place is it?" "In truth, sir, I do not know, for I was never there. My cook, however, in the kitchen, knows all about it, for she comes from there." "Can I see her?" "Yes, sure; I will go at once and fetch her."
Three-quarters of an hour later, they dashed down into the valley at a point about half a mile distant from Glendower's dwelling. This was a very large and stately building. Near it stood a guest house and a church, and all the appurtenances of a man of high rank. It was called Sycharth.
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