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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:19:43 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 01:19:43 -0700 |
| commit | 9e843ae85056d069714c464dc17842f29f915929 (patch) | |
| tree | 2f7287e00a05e1e83b1bf6e4632b16a82e0308aa /20170-h | |
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diff --git a/20170-h/20170-h.htm b/20170-h/20170-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c9a407 --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/20170-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2255 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<meta content="pg2html (binary v0.18)" name="generator" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of + Legend Land, + by Lyonesse. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + <!-- + body { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; } + p { text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: .75em; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { text-align: center; } + hr { width: 50%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; } + .foot { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 85%; } + .poem { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left; } + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; } + .poem p { margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em; } + .poem p.i2 { margin-left: 1.5em; } + .poem p.i3 { margin-left: 2.0em; } + .poem p.i5 { margin-left: 3.0em; } + .poem p.i6 { margin-left: 3.5em; } + .quote { margin-left: 6%; margin-right: 6%; text-indent: 0em; font-size: 90%; } + .figure { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; text-indent: 0em; text-align: center; font-size: 90%; } + .toc { margin-left: 15%; font-size: 80%; margin-bottom: 0em;} + center { padding: 0.8em;} + .center { text-indent: 0; text-align: center; } + span.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 1%; right: 91%; font-size: 8pt; color: gray; background-color: inherit; } + .sc { font-variant: small-caps; } + .uc { text-transform: uppercase; } + .r { text-align: right; } + .midi { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; font-size: 80%!important; } + a, img { text-decoration: none; border: none; } +/*]]>*/ + // --> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Legend Land, Vol. 1, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Legend Land, Vol. 1 + Being a collection of some of the Old Tales told in those + Western Parts of Britain served by The Great Western + Railway. + +Author: Various + +Release Date: December 23, 2006 [EBook #20170] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGEND LAND, VOL. 1 *** + + + + +Produced by Chris Curnow, David Garcia and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0001" id="h2H_4_0001"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0001"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/end-a.jpg"><img src="images/end-a-t.png" width="400" height="290" +alt="G.W.R: The Line to Legend Land The Hurlers Page 8 Perran Sands Page 12 St Allen Page 16 Zennor Page 4 St Michael's Mount Page 20 The Looe Bar Page 24 "Furry Day Song" Page 52 Vol. One Front End" /></a> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + LEGEND LAND +</h2> + +<h3> +Being a collection of some of the<br /> +<i>OLD TALES</i> told in those Western<br /> +Parts of Britain served by the<br /> +<i>GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY</i>, now<br /> +retold by <i>LYONESSE</i> +</h3> + +<a name="image-0002"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<img src="images/colophon.png" width="150" height="192" +alt="Colophon" /> +</div> + +<h3> +VOLUME ONE +</h3> + +<p class="center"> + <i>Published in 1922 by</i><br /> + THE GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY<br /> + [FELIX J. C. POLE, GENERAL MANAGER]<br /> + PADDINGTON STATION, LONDON +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>[2]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS +</h2> + +<table border="0" align="center" summary="Contents and Illustrations"> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0002">The Mermaid of Zennor </a></td><td align="right"><i>Page</i> 4 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0003">The Stone Men of St. Cleer </a></td><td align="right"> 8 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0004">How St. Piran Came to Cornwall </a></td><td align="right"> 12 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0005">The Lost Child of St. Allen </a></td><td align="right"> 16 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0006">The Giants who Built the Mount </a></td><td align="right"> 20 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0007">The Tasks of Tregeagle </a></td><td align="right"> 24 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0008">The Lady of Llyn-y-Fan Fach </a></td><td align="right"> 28 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0009">St. David and His Mother </a></td><td align="right"> 32 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0010">The Vengeance of the Fairies </a></td><td align="right"> 36 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0011">The Old Woman who Fooled the Devil </a></td><td align="right"> 40 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0012">The Women Soldiers of Fishguard </a></td><td align="right"> 44 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0013">How Bala Lake Began </a></td><td align="right"> 48 </td></tr> +<tr><td> <a href="#h2H_4_0014">The Furry Day Song (<i>Supplement</i>) </a></td><td align="right"> 52 </td></tr> +</table> + +<hr /> + +<p> +This is a reprint in book form of the first series of <i>The Line to +Legend Land</i> leaflets, together with a Supplement, "The Furry Day +Song." +</p> +<p> +<a href="#h2H_4_0001">The Map at the beginning</a> provides a guide to the localities of the six +Cornish legends and the "Furry Day Song"; <a href="#h2H_4_0015">that at the back</a> to the six +stories of Wales. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Printed by</i> <span class="sc">Spottiswoode, Ballantyne & Company Limited,</span><br /> +<i>One New Street Square, London, E.C.4</i> +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>[3]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + FOREWORD +</h2> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">I</span><span class="uc">n</span> those older, simpler days, when reading was a rare accomplishment, +our many times great-grandparents would gather round the blazing fire of +kitchen or hall on the long, dark winter nights and pass away the hours +before bedtime in conversation and story-telling. +</p> +<p> +The old stories were told again and again. The children learned +them in their earliest years and passed them on to their children and +grandchildren in turn. And, as is natural, in all this telling the +stories changed little by little. New and more familiar characters were +introduced, or a story-teller with more vivid imagination than his +fellows would add a bit here and there to make a better tale of it. +</p> +<p> +But in origin most of these old legends date from the very dawn of +our history. In a primitive form they were probably told round the +camp-fires of that British army that went out to face invading Cæsar. +</p> +<p> +Then with the spread of education they began to die. When many folk +could read and books grew cheap there was no longer the need to call +upon memory for the old-fashioned romances. +</p> +<p> +Yet there have always been those who loved the old tales best, and they +wrote them down before it was too late, so that they might be preserved +for ever. A few of them are retold briefly here. +</p> +<p> +All people should like the old stories; all nice people do. To them I +commend these tales of Legend Land, in the hope that they may grow to +love them and the countries about which they are written. +</p> +<p class="r"> + LYONESSE +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>[4]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0002" id="h2H_4_0002"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0004"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0004.jpg"><img src="images/t-0004.png" width="400" height="368" +alt="The Mermaid of Zennor" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> +THE MERMAID OF ZENNOR +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>[5]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">C</span><span class="uc">arved</span> on one of the pews in the church of Zennor in West Cornwall is a +strange figure of a mermaid. Depicted with flowing hair, a mirror in one +hand and a comb in the other, the Zennor folk tell a strange story about +her. +</p> +<p> +Years and years ago, they say, a beautiful and richly dressed lady +used to attend the church sometimes. Nobody knew where she came from, +although her unusual beauty and her glorious voice caused her to be the +subject of discussion throughout the parish. +</p> +<p> +So attractive was she that half the young men of the village fell in +love with her, and one of them, Mathey Trewella, a handsome youth and +one of the best singers in the neighbourhood, determined that he would +discover who she was. +</p> +<p> +The beautiful stranger had smiled at him in church one Sunday, and after +service he followed her as she walked away towards the cliffs. +</p> +<p> +Mathey Trewella never returned to Zennor, nor did the lovely stranger +ever attend church again. +</p> +<p> +Years passed by, and Mathey's strange disappearance was almost forgotten +when, one Sunday morning, a ship cast anchor off Pendower Cove, near +Zennor. The captain of the vessel was sitting idling on the deck when he +heard a beautiful voice hailing him from the sea. Looking over the side +he saw the mermaid, her long yellow hair floating all around her. +</p> +<p> +She asked him to be so kind as to pull up his anchor, for it was resting +upon the doorway of her house + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>[6]</span> + + under the sea and she was anxious to get +back to Mathey, her husband, and her children. +</p> +<p> +In alarm, the captain weighed anchor and stood out to sea, for sailors +fear that mermaids will bring bad luck. But later he returned and told +the Zennor folk of Mathey's fate, and they, to commemorate the strange +event, and to warn other young men against the wiles of the merrymaids, +had the mermaid figure carved in the church. +</p> +<p> +And there it is to-day for all the world to see, and to prove, to those +who do not believe the old stories, the truth of poor Mathey Trewella's +sad fate. +</p> +<p> +Zennor is a lovely moorland village in the neighbourhood of some of the +wildest scenery in Cornwall. To the south-west rugged moors stretch away +to the Land's End. To the north a quarter of an hour's walk brings you +to the coast with its sheltered coves and its cruel cliffs. Gurnard's +Head, one of the most famous of all Cornish promontories, is less than +two miles away. Grim, remote, yet indescribably fascinating, the country +around Zennor is typical of that far western corner of England which is +swept continually by the great health-giving winds of the Atlantic. +</p> +<p> +In its sheltered valleys flowers bloom all the year round. On its +bold hill-tops, boulder-strewn and wild, there remain still the old +mysterious stones and the queer beehive huts erected by men who +inhabited this land in the dark days before Christianity. +</p> +<p> +Gorse and heather riot over the moorland. There + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>[7]</span> + + is a charm and peace +about this too little known country that compels health and well-being. +</p> +<p> +Yet Zennor is only five and a half miles by the moorland road from St. +Ives, that picturesque little fishing town that artists and golfers know +so well. St. Ives, less than seven hours' journey from Paddington, is an +ideal centre from which to explore the coast and moorland beauties of +England's furthest west. +</p> + +<a name="image-0006"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0006.jpg"><img src="images/t-0006.png" width="100" height="208" +alt="The Mermaid of Zennor: Bench End in Zennor Church" /></a> +<br /> +<i>The Mermaid of Zennor: Bench End in Zennor Church</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>[8]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0003" id="h2H_4_0003"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0007"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0007.jpg"><img src="images/t-0007.png" width="400" height="375" +alt="The Stone Men of St. Cleer" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE STONE MEN OF ST. CLEER +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>[9]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">A</span> <span class="uc">thousand</span> feet above sea level among the heather and bracken of +Craddock Moor, four or five miles north of Liskeard, you may find to-day +the remains of three ancient stone circles known as "The Hurlers." +Antiquaries will tell you that the Druids first erected them, but the +people of the countryside know better. From father to son, from +grandparent to child, through long centuries, the story has been handed +down of how "The Hurlers" came to be fixed in eternal stillness high up +there above the little village of St. Cleer. +</p> +<p> +Exactly how long ago it was nobody knows, but it happened in those early +days when pious saints were settling down in the remote parts of savage +Cornwall and striving to convert the wild Cornish from their pagan ways. +</p> +<p> +Then, as even to this day, the game of Hurling—a sort of primitive +Rugby football—was a popular pastime with the people. Village used to +play against village, with goals perhaps four or five miles apart. And +the good folk of St. Cleer were as fond of the game as any of their +neighbours—so fond, in fact, that they would play it on any and every +occasion, despite the admonitions of their local saint and parson, after +whom the village was named. +</p> +<p> +Again and again he would notice that his little church was empty on +Sunday mornings while the shouts and noise of a hard-fought Hurling +match drifted across the moorland in through the open church door. Again +and again he would take his flock + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>[10]</span> + + to task for their godless ways and +their Sabbath-breaking games. But it was of little use. For a Sunday or +two they would be penitent and attend service. Then would come a fine +morning, and a challenge perhaps from the Hurlers of St. Ive or North +Hill, on the other side of the moors, and the young men would decide to +chance another lecture from the patient saint, and out they would go to +the hillside to do battle for the honour of their parish. +</p> +<p> +But even the patience of saints comes to an end at last, and good St. +Cleer saw something more than words was needed to lead his people into +the right way. And so it happened one Sunday morning, in the midst of a +hot tussle on Craddock Moor, the outraged St. Cleer arrived in search of +his erring flock. +</p> +<p> +He bade them cease their game at once and return to church. Some of them +obeyed, wandering sheepishly off down the hill; some were defiant and +told the worthy man to go back to his prayers and not to come up there +to spoil sport. +</p> +<p> +Then St. Cleer spoke in anger. Raising his staff he told them in solemn +and awful tones that it should be as they had chosen. Since they +preferred their game on the moor to their service in church, on the moor +at their game they should stay for ever. He lowered his staff and to the +horror of all onlookers the defiant ones were seen to be turned into +stone. +</p> +<p> +Many centuries have passed since then. Time, wind and rain have +weathered the stone men out of all semblance of humanity. Some have been +destroyed, but most still remain as an awful example + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>[11]</span> + + to impious Sabbath +profaners. And there you may see them silent and still, just as they +were struck on that grim Sunday in the dark long ago. +</p> +<p> +The glorious moorland, rugged and wild, stretches all about them—a +wonderful walking country, where one may escape from all cares and +wander for hours amid the bracken and sweet-smelling grasses and find +strange prehistoric remains seldom visited by any but the moorland sheep +and the wild birds. It is a country of vast spaces and far views. You +may see on one hand the Severn Sea, on the other the Channel; to the +east the upstanding blue hills of Dartmoor and to the west the rugged +highlands by Land's End—and then trudge back at night weary but happy +to Liskeard, described as "the pleasantest town in Cornwall," and find +it hard to believe that only five hours away is the toil and turmoil of +London. +</p> + +<a name="image-0009"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0009.jpg"><img src="images/t-0009.png" width="100" height="127" +alt=""The Hurlers," St. Cleer" /></a> +<br /> +<i>"The Hurlers," St. Cleer</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>[12]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0004" id="h2H_4_0004"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0010"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0010.jpg"><img src="images/t-0010.png" width="400" height="375" +alt="How St. Piran Came to Cornwall" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HOW ST. PIRAN CAME TO CORNWALL +</h2> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">S</span><span class="uc">ome</span> sixteen hundred years ago, so tradition tells, there lived in the +South of Ireland a very holy man named Piran. Such was his piety that +he was able to perform miracles. Once he fed ten Irish kings and their +armies for ten days on end with three cows. Men sorely wounded in battle +were brought to him to be cured, and he cured them. Yet the Irish grew +jealous of his power and decided he must be killed. +</p> +<p> +And so one stormy, boisterous morning the pious + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>[13]</span> + + Piran was brought in +chains to the summit of a high cliff, and with a huge millstone tied to +his neck his ungrateful neighbours hurled him into the raging billows +beneath. This horrible deed was marked, as the holy man left the top of +the cliff, with a blinding flash of lightning and a terrifying crash of +thunder, and then, to the amazement of the savages who had thus sought +to destroy him, a wonderful thing happened. +</p> +<p> +As man and millstone reached the sea the storm instantly ceased. The sun +shone out, the waves and the wind died down, and, peering over the edge +of the cliff, the wondering crowd saw the holy man, seated peacefully +upon a floating millstone, drifting slowly away in the direction of the +Cornish shore, some hundreds of miles to the south-east. +</p> +<p> +St. Piran's millstone bore him safely across the Atlantic waves until at +length—on the fifth day of March—it grounded gently upon the Cornish +coast, between Newquay and Perranporth, on that glorious stretch of sand +known to-day as Perran Beach. Here the Saint landed, and, taking his +millstone with him, proceeded a little distance inland and set himself +to work to convert the heathen Cornish to Christianity. +</p> +<p> +He built himself a little chapel in the sands and lived a useful and +pious life for many years, loved by his people, until at last, at the +great age of two hundred and six, he died. Then his sorrowing flock +buried him and built over his grave St. Piran's Chapel, the remains of +which you can see to-day hidden away in the sandhills of the Penhale +Sands. +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>[14]</span> +</p> +<p> +Although Cornwall can boast many saints, St. Piran has greater right +than any other to be called the patron of the Duchy. To him the Cornish +in the old days attributed a vast number of good actions, among them the +discovery of tin, the mining of which has for centuries formed one of +the chief Cornish industries. +</p> +<p> +This came about, according to the old story, from the saint making use +of some strange black stones that he found, to make a foundation for +his fire. The heat being more intense than usual one day, these stones +melted and a stream of white metal flowed from them. +</p> +<p> +The saint and his companion, St. Chiwidden, told the Cornish people of +their discovery, and taught them to dig and smelt the ore, thus bringing +much prosperity to the country, the story of which eventually reached +the far-away Ph[oe]nicians and brought them in their ships to trade with +the Cornish for their valuable metal. +</p> +<p> +Good St. Piran has left his name all over the wonderful country +south-west of Newquay. In Perranporth, with its rocks and caves and +glorious bathing beach; in St. Piran's Round, that strange old +earth-work not far away; in the parish of Perranzabuloe, which means +Perran in the Sands; in Perranwell, near Falmouth, and even further +south in Perranuthnoe, which looks out across the waters of Mounts Bay. +</p> +<p> +But although memorials of him are to be found over most of South +Cornwall, it is the district of the + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>[15]</span> + + Perran Sands, where he landed, lived +and died, that is his true home. There, where the soft Atlantic breezes +or the fierce winter gales sweep in to Perran Bay, you may look out over +the dancing sea towards Ireland and America with nothing but Atlantic +rollers between, or wander amid the waste of sand dunes that comprise +the Perran Sands and breathe in health with every breath you take. +</p> +<p> +Perranporth is on the edge of these sandhills, which stretch away +north-east to within four miles of Newquay—all within seven hours' +journey from London. +</p> + +<a name="image-0012"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0012.jpg"><img src="images/t-0012.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="St. Piran's Chapel" /></a> +<br /> +<i>St. Piran's Chapel</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>[16]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0005" id="h2H_4_0005"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0013"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0013.jpg"><img src="images/t-0013.png" width="400" height="368" +alt="The Lost Child of St. Allen" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE LOST CHILD OF ST. ALLEN +</h2> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">T</span><span class="uc">hey</span> never talk of fairies in Cornwall; what "foreigners" call fairies +the Cornish call "piskies," or "small people." And all about the Duchy +piskies still abound for those who are fitted to see them. The old folk +will still tell you many strange stories of the piskies. One of the best +known is that of the lost child of St. Allen. St. Allen is a parish on +the high ground about four miles from Truro, and there, in the little +hamlet of Treonike, or, as it is now called, Trefronick, on a + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>[17]</span> + + lovely +spring evening years and years ago, a small village boy wandered out to +pick flowers in a little copse not far from his parents' cottage. +</p> +<p> +His mother, looking from the kitchen door, saw him happily engaged in +his innocent amusement, then turned to make ready the supper for her +good man, whom she saw trudging home in the distance across the fields. +When, a few minutes later, she went to call her boy in to his evening +meal, he had vanished. +</p> +<p> +At first it was thought that the child had merely wandered further +into the wood, but after a while, when he did not return, his parents +grew alarmed and went in search of him. Yet no sign of the boy was +discovered. +</p> +<p> +For two days the villagers sought high and low for the missing child, +and then, on the morning of the third day, to the delight of the +distracted parents, their boy was found sleeping peacefully upon a bed +of fern within a few yards of the place where his mother had last seen +him. He was perfectly well, quite happy, and entirely ignorant of the +length of time that had elapsed. And he had a wonderful story to tell. +</p> +<p> +While picking the flowers, he said, he had heard a bird singing in more +beautiful tones than any he had heard before. Going into the wood to +see what strange songster this was, the sound changed to most wonderful +music which compelled him to follow it. Thus lured onward he came at +length to the edge of an enchanted lake, and he noticed that night had +fallen but that the sky was ablaze with huge stars. + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>[18]</span> + + Then more stars +rose up all around him, and, looking, he saw that each was in reality a +pisky. These small people formed themselves into a procession, singing +strange fascinating songs the while, and under the leadership of one who +was more brilliant and more beautiful than the rest they led the boy +through their dwelling place. This, he said, was like a palace. Crystal +pillars supported arches hung with jewels which glistened with every +colour of the rainbow. Far more wonderful, the child said, were the +crystals than any he had seen in a Cornish mine. +</p> +<p> +The piskies were very kind to him, and seemed to enjoy his wonder and +astonishment at their gorgeous cave. They gave him a fairy meal of the +purest honey spread on dainty little cakes, and when at last he grew +tired numbers of the small folk fell to work to build him a bed of +fern. Then, crowding around him, they sang him to sleep with a strange +soothing lullaby, which for the rest of his life he was always just +on the point of remembering, but which as certainly escaped him. He +remembered nothing more until he was awakened and taken home to his +parents. +</p> +<p> +The wise folk of St. Allen maintained that only a child of the finest +character ever received such honour from the small people, and that +the fact that they had shown him the secrets of their hidden dwelling +augured that for ever afterwards they would keep him under their +especial care. And so it was; the boy lived to a ripe old age and +prospered amazingly. He never knew illness or misfortune, and died +at last in his sleep; and those that were near him say that as + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>[19]</span> + + he +breathed his last a strange music filled the room. Some say that the +piskies still haunt the woods and fields around Trefronick, but that +they only show themselves to children and grown-ups of simple, trusting +nature. Anyhow, those that wish to try to see them may reach the place +where the lost child was spirited away in an hour and a half's walk from +Truro, Cornwall's cathedral city, which is at the head of one of the +most beautiful rivers in the world. +</p> +<p> +The trip from Truro down the Truro river and the Fal to Falmouth +at any time of the year is a pleasurable experience that can never be +forgotten. Truro is an ideal centre for South Cornwall. Wild sea coast +and moorland, and woods and sheltered creeks, are all close at hand, yet +the city itself has the cloistered calm peculiar to all our cathedral +towns. +</p> +<p> +The tourist neglects Truro too much, for as a lover of the Duchy once +said: "It is the most convenient town in Cornwall; it seems to be within +an hour and a half's journey of any part of the county." +</p> + +<a name="image-0015"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0015.jpg"><img src="images/t-0015.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="Truro Cathedral" /></a> +<br /> +<i>Truro Cathedral</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>[20]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0006" id="h2H_4_0006"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0016"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0016.jpg"><img src="images/t-0016.png" width="400" height="375" +alt="The Giants Who Built the Mount" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE GIANTS WHO BUILT THE MOUNT +</h2> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">S</span><span class="uc">t. Michael's Mount</span>, that impressive castle-crowned pyramid of rock that +rises from the waters of Mounts Bay, was not always an island. In fact, +it is not always an island now. At low tide you may reach it from the +mainland along a causeway. But once upon a time the Mount stood in the +midst of a forest; its old name, "Caraclowse in Cowse," means "the Grey +Rock in the Wood," and that was at the time when the Giants built it. +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>[21]</span> +</p> +<p> +Cormoran was one of the Giants; he lived in this great western forest, +which is now swallowed up by the sea, and there he determined to erect +for himself a stronghold that should rise well above the trees. So he +set to work to collect huge stones from the neighbouring granite hills, +and his new home grew apace. +</p> +<p> +But the labour of searching far afield for suitable stones, and of +carrying them to the forest and piling them one upon another, was a +wearying task even for a giant, and as Cormoran grew tired he forced his +unfortunate Giantess wife, Cormelian, to help him in his task, and to +her he gave the most toilsome of the labour. +</p> +<p> +Was there a gigantic boulder in a far part of the Duchy that Cormoran +coveted, unhappy Cormelian was sent to fetch it; and she, like a dutiful +wife, never complained, but went meekly about her work, collecting the +finest and biggest stones and carrying them back to the forest in her +apron. Meanwhile Cormoran, growing more lazy, spent much of his time +in sleep, waking up only very occasionally to admonish his wife or to +incite her to greater efforts. +</p> +<p> +One day, when Cormelian had been twice as far as the Bodmin moors to +fetch some particularly fine stones Cormoran had seen, and was about +to set off on a third journey, she, noticing her husband fast asleep, +thought to save herself another weary walk by going only a short +distance and breaking off some huge masses of greenstone rock which +existed in the neighbourhood and placing them upon the nearly + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>[22]</span> + + completed Mount without being seen. Although Cormoran had insisted that +the stone be grey, Cormelian could see no reason why one stone was not +as good as another. +</p> +<p> +So, carrying out her plan, she was returning with the first enormous +piece of greenstone, walking ever so carefully so as not to awaken +Cormoran, when, unfortunately, he did awake. He flew into a terrible +rage on seeing how his wife was trying to delude him, and, rising with +a dreadful threat, he ran after her, overtaking her just before she +reached the Mount. +</p> +<p> +Scolding her for her deceit, he gave her a terrific box on the ear. Poor +Cormelian, in her fright, dropped the huge greenstone she was carrying, +and ran sobbing from her angry husband to seek refuge in the deepest +part of the forest; and it was not until Cormoran himself had finished +building the Mount that she would return to him. +</p> +<p> +And to-day, as you walk along the causeway from Marazion to St. +Michael's Mount, you will see on your right hand an isolated mass of +greenstone, the very rock that Cormelian dropped. It is called Chapel +Rock now, because years and years afterwards, when pious monks lived +upon the summit of the Mount and devout pilgrims used to visit their +church to pay homage at a shrine, they built a little chapel, upon poor +Cormelian's green rock, of which only a few stones now remain. +</p> +<p> +You may visit Chapel Rock and St. Michael's Mount from Penzance, which +is between three and + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>[23]</span> + + four miles away and is the ideal centre for some of +the most wonderful scenery in Cornwall. Both Land's End and the Lizard +are within easy reach of this, England's westernmost town, where a +climate that rivals that of the Mediterranean may be enjoyed in the +depth of winter. Semi-tropical flowers and trees bloom in the open, +and in February and early March—in what is, in fact, winter weather +for those in less favoured parts—Penzance and its neighbourhood are +surrounded by glorious spring flowers, the growing of which forms a +very considerable industry. +</p> +<p> +London and our other big towns often get their first glimpse of coming +spring in the narcissi and wallflowers grown around the shores of Mounts +Bay, and packed off to the grim cold cities only a few hours away. +</p> + +<a name="image-0018"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0018.jpg"><img src="images/t-0018.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="St. Michael's Mount" /></a> +<br /> +<i>St. Michael's Mount</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>[24]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0007" id="h2H_4_0007"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0019"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0019.jpg"><img src="images/t-0019.png" width="400" height="375" +alt="The Tasks of Tregeagle" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE TASKS OF TREGEAGLE +</h2> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">T</span><span class="uc">he</span> name of the demon Tregeagle is a household word in nearly every part +of Cornwall. His wild spirit rages of nights along the rocky coasts, +across the bleak moors and through the sheltered valleys. For Tregeagle +is a Cornish "Wandering Jew"; his spirit can never rest, since in life +he was the most evil man the Duchy ever knew. +</p> +<p> +His story, as the legend has it, is that he was a man who amassed great +wealth by robbing his neighbours + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>[25]</span> + + in the cruellest manner. As he approached +the end of his most evil life remorse seized him. There was no sin he +had not committed, and hoping to escape from the just reward of so +wicked a life, in the hereafter, he lavished money upon the Church and +the poor, trusting to obtain the help of the holy priests to save him +from the clutches of the Evil One. +</p> +<p> +The priests, ever anxious to save a soul, banded themselves together, +and by constant prayer and powerful exorcisms kept the powers of +darkness at bay, and Tregeagle died and was buried in St. Breock Church. +But the demons were not so ready to give up what they felt was their +lawful prey. An important lawsuit occurred shortly after his death, and +as the judge was about to give his decision against the unjustly accused +defendant, to the horror of all in court, the gaunt figure of the dead +Tregeagle stalked into the room. His evidence saved the defendant. +</p> +<p> +Now Tregeagle being brought from the grave, despite the honesty of +his mission, placed himself once more in danger of the demons. The +defendant, who had raised the spirit, calmly left him to the Churchmen +to put once more to rest, and after a long conference, presided over by +the Prior of Bodmin, it was decided that the only hope of ultimate peace +for the evil man's spirit was that he be set to some task which might +last until the Day of Judgment. And so long as he worked unceasingly +at that task he might still hope for salvation. +</p> +<p> +So the task appointed him was to empty out + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>[26]</span> + + Dozmary Pool, a gloomy lake +on the Bodmin Moors, with a limpet-shell with a hole in it. For years +Tregeagle laboured at this, until one day during a terrible storm he +ceased work for a moment. Then the demons descended upon him. He fled +from his pursuers, and only escaped them by leaping right across the +lake—for demons cannot cross water—and rushing for sanctuary to the +little chapel on the Roche Rock, where he managed just in time to get +his head in at the east window. But the howls of the demons outside, +and the roaring of the terrified Tregeagle within, made the life of the +unfortunate priest of the Roche chapel unbearable, and he appealed to +his brethren of the Church to do something about it. So they bound the +wicked spirit with holy spells and took him safely across to the north +coast, where another task was set him. He was to weave a truss of sand +and spin a sand rope to bind it with. But as soon as he started on his +work the winds or the waves destroyed it, and the luckless creature's +roars of anger so disturbed the countryside that the holy St. Petroc was +prevailed upon to move him once more, to a wilder part of the country, +and the saint took him to the coast near Helston. +</p> +<p> +Here Tregeagle was set to the task of carrying all the sand from the +beach below Bareppa across the estuary of the Looe river to Porthleven, +for St. Petroc knew that each tide would sweep the sand back again and +the task could never be completed. But the demons were always watching +Tregeagle, and one of them contrived one day to trip him up as he was + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>[27]</span> + + wading across the river. The sand poured from the huge sack Tregeagle +was carrying and dammed up the stream, thus forming the Looe Pool, which +you may see to-day just by Helston, and the Looe Bar, which separates it +from the sea. +</p> +<p> +Tregeagle's next task he is engaged upon to-day. He was taken to near +the Land's End, and there he is still endeavouring to sweep the sand +from Porthcurnow Cove round the headland of Tol-Peden-Penwith into +Nanjisal Bay, and on many a winter night if you are there you can hear +him howling and roaring at the hopelessness of his task. +</p> +<p> +These scenes of Tregeagle's labours are all situated amid most glorious +scenery. Dozmary Pool, bleak and lonely amid the Bodmin Moors, the +little chapel on the Roche Rock near St. Austell, and the beautiful Looe +Pool by Helston, that attractive little town on a hillside, which is the +tourist centre for that country full of colour, deep sheltered valleys, +and magnificent coast scenery, the Lizard peninsula. +</p> +<p> +Porthcurnow, the miserable man's present abode, you will find nestling +amid the grim cliffs near the Land's End. And if you doubt this sad +history of the demon-ridden Tregeagle, go and look at the Looe Bar and +explain if you can how otherwise so strange a place could have been +created. +</p> + +<a name="image-0021"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0021.jpg"><img src="images/t-0021.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="The Roche Rocks" /></a> +<br /> +<i>The Roche Rocks</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>[28]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0008" id="h2H_4_0008"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0022"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0022.jpg"><img src="images/t-0022.png" width="400" height="370" +alt="The Lady of Llyn-y-Fan Fach" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE LADY OF LLYN-Y-FAN FACH +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>[29]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">N</span><span class="uc">ot</span> many miles from Llandovery, in the midst of glorious mountain +scenery, is a lovely little lake known as Llyn-y-Fan-Fach, the scene of +a very remarkable occurrence. Once upon a time a simple cowherd, eating +his frugal meal by the edge of the water, observed with amazement, +seated upon the calm surface of the lake, the most beautiful woman he +had ever seen. So great was his admiration for her that he cried out, +and she, turning to him, gave a rapturous smile and silently disappeared +beneath the waters. +</p> +<p> +The peasant was distracted, for he had fallen deeply in love with the +beautiful lady. He waited until dark, but she did not appear again; +but at daybreak the next morning he returned once more, and was again +rewarded by the sight of his enchantress and another of her alluring +smiles. +</p> +<p> +Several times more he saw her and each time he besought her to be his +wife, but she only smiled and disappeared, until at length one evening, +just as the sun was setting, the beautiful lady appeared, and this time, +instead of diving beneath the surface, she came to the shore, and, +after some persuasion, consented to marry the youth. But she made one +condition: if ever he should strike her three blows without cause she +would leave him, she said, and their marriage would be at an end. +</p> +<p> +So the two were married happily and went to live at Esgair Laethdy, near +Myddfai, the maiden bringing with her as dowry a large number of cattle +and horses which she called up from the bottom of the lake. +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>[30]</span> +</p> +<p> +For years the couple lived in great prosperity and happiness, and three +handsome sons were born to them; then the day arrived when husband and +wife were setting out for a christening, and, being rather late, the +husband slapped his wife merrily on the shoulder, urging her to hurry. +Sadly she reminded him that he had struck her the first of the causeless +blows. +</p> +<p> +Years passed by, and the couple were at a wedding. In the midst of +all the merry-making the wife burst suddenly into tears. Patting her +sympathetically on the arm, the man inquired the cause of her weeping, +and she, sobbing the harder, reminded him that he had struck her a +second time. +</p> +<p> +Now that he had only one chance left, the husband was particularly +careful never to forget and strike the third and last blow; but, after +a long while, at a funeral one day, while all were sobbing and weeping, +the beautiful lady suddenly began laughing merrily. Touching her gently +to quiet her, the husband realised that the end had come. +</p> +<p> +"The last blow has been struck; our marriage is ended," said the wife, +now in tears; and with that she started off across the hills to their +farm. There she called together her cattle and other stock, which +immediately obeyed her voice, and, led by the beautiful lady, the whole +procession moved off across the mountains back to the lake. +</p> +<p> +Among the animals was a team of four oxen which were ploughing at the +time. They followed, too, plough and all, and, they say, to this very +day you may + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>[31]</span> + + see a well-marked furrow running right across the Myddfai +mountain to the edge of Llyn-y-Fan-Fach, which proves the truth of this +story. +</p> +<p> +The disconsolate husband never saw his lady again, but she used +sometimes to appear to her sons, and she gave them such wonderful +knowledge that all three became the most famous doctors in that part +of Wales. +</p> +<p> +Llandovery, from which place you may visit the scenes of this legend, +is a charming little town in East Carmarthenshire, situated in glorious +surroundings of mountains, vale, and moorland, where some of the finest +salmon and trout fishing in South Wales may be enjoyed. It stands in the +beautiful Towy Valley, on a branch line which runs up into the mountain +country from Llanelly. Llandovery is famous for its air, which is said +to be the purest and most bracing in the district. +</p> + +<a name="image-0024"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0024.jpg"><img src="images/t-0024.png" width="100" height="135" +alt="Landovery Castle" /></a> +<br /> +<i>Landovery Castle</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>[32]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0009" id="h2H_4_0009"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0025"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0025.jpg"><img src="images/t-0025.png" width="400" height="370" +alt="St. David and His Mother" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + ST. DAVID AND HIS MOTHER +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>[33]</span> +</p> + + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">S</span><span class="uc">t. David</span>, everybody knows, is the patron saint of Wales, but few know +the unique little "village-city," the smallest cathedral city in the +United Kingdom, St. Davids, in the far south-west of Wales; and fewer +still the story of the holy David himself. This story really begins +with St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland. As the old legends tell, +St. Patrick sailed on his mission to Ireland from the neighbourhood of +present-day St. Davids, and he liked the look of the country so well +that many years afterwards he established there a sort of missionary +college known as "Ty Gwyn," or the "White House," and here on the slopes +of Carn Llidi some of the earliest of the old Celtic holy men and women +were educated. +</p> +<p> +Among them, some fifteen hundred years ago, was a Welsh Princess named +Non, daughter of Cynyr of Caer Gawch, a powerful chieftain of the +district. Non was as pious as she was beautiful. There were few maidens +in the land who could compare with her. +</p> +<p> +But on what seemed to be an evil day—although it became really for +Wales a very lucky one—a barbarous chieftain from the north, called +Sant son of Ceredig, espied the rapturous Non picking flowers on a +lonely part of the hillside, and in the manner of those boisterous times +he decided to carry her off and make her his wife. And so despite her +struggles the unfortunate Non was kidnapped. +</p> +<p> +After some while she managed to escape from her fierce captor and +returned to live in a little cottage on the cliffs just south of St. +Davids, where subsequently + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>[34]</span> + + a son was born to her. At the time of his +birth they say Non clutched at a stone in the wall of her cottage room, +and the marks of her fingers remained on it for ever. This stone was +seen by many people for years afterwards and was eventually placed over +her tomb. +</p> +<p> +The little son grew up and was baptised David by a kinsman of Non's, +one St. Ailbe. Like his mother, he was sent to the "Ty Gwyn" to school +and he became a very pious youth. Then he was sent away to the holy +St. Illtyd to be trained as a priest. +</p> +<p> +His grandfather Cynyr, who was by no means a holy man, growing +remorseful in his old age, was so much impressed by David's piety, +that for the good of his soul he made over to him all his lands, and +on this estate David founded a sanctuary for men of all tribes and +nationalities, and, to mark the privileged ground, he caused a deep +trench to be dug, and traces of this trench you may find to-day known +as "The Monk's Dyke." +</p> +<p> +Here in his sanctuary the holy David lived his pious, peaceful life for +many years, converting the heathen and performing miracles. And when +at last he died his sorrowing companions built over his grave a great +church to his memory, which years afterwards, when David had become +recognised as a saint, was replaced by the wonderful old building which +stands there now—St. David's Cathedral. +</p> +<p> +The remains of Non's old cottage on the cliff, which the monks +afterwards turned into a Chapel, may still be seen, and because of her +holy life she + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>[35]</span> + + also became a saint. Near to the ruined Chapel you will +find, too, St. Non's well, or St. Nunn's well as it is sometimes called, +from which the holy woman drew her water when she lived her lonely life +at the time of St. David's birth. +</p> +<p> +Quaint little St. Davids lies far from a railway station, but a road +motor service will take you there in a two hours' journey across +magnificent country from Haverfordwest in Pembrokeshire, or you may +approach it along a wild, hilly road from Fishguard. +</p> +<p> +St. Davids is unique: it is literally both village and city. Situated +right by the coast of picturesque St. Bride's Bay on one side and +Whitesand Bay on the other, it occupies a position of peculiar beauty. +Good bathing, fishing and shooting abound; there is a golf course, and, +chief of its attractions, the glorious Norman architecture of its +jewel-like cathedral, its ancient monastic ruins, its old cross and all +the other relics of the careful work of the old ecclesiastical builders +in the far-away days. +</p> + +<a name="image-0027"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0027.jpg"><img src="images/t-0027.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="St. David's Cathedral" /></a> +<br /> +<i>St. David's Cathedral</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>[36]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0010" id="h2H_4_0010"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0028"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0028.jpg"><img src="images/t-0028.png" width="400" height="370" +alt="The Vengeance of the Fairies" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE VENGEANCE OF THE FAIRIES +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>[37]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">O</span><span class="uc">verlooking</span> the sea that washes the beautiful coast of the Gower +Peninsula in Glamorganshire stands the ruined castle of Pennard. All +about it is a waste of sandhills, beneath which, so the old stories have +it, a considerable village lies buried. For it is told that in the old +days, when the lands about Pennard were fertile and populous, the lord +of the castle was holding a great feast one day to rejoice over the +wedding of his daughter. +</p> +<p> +This happy event was being celebrated by the villagers too, and, unknown +to lord or serf, by the "Tylwyth Teg," or the fairy folk who abounded in +the neighbourhood, for the little people enjoy an innocent merry-making +as much as do mere mortals. +</p> +<p> +And that night, long after the villagers had gone to bed, the +festivities in the castle were continued. Wine flowed free and the +revellers became more and more boisterous. From mere jesting they came +to quarrelling, and, in the midst of their drunken orgy, there was heard +an alarm. A sentry on the walls of the castle reported that he heard +stealthy movements in the distance as of a large number of people +approaching with care. +</p> +<p> +The frenzied warriors, fearing a surprise from their enemies, armed +themselves and rushed from the castle to attack the intruders. They, +too, could hear a gentle murmur in the valley below, and towards it they +charged, uttering terrible threats, striking right and left with their +swords at the unseen foe. But, apart from a few shadowy forms that +quickly faded + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>[38]</span> + + away into the undergrowth, nothing was to be seen, and at +length the knights and soldiers returned rather crestfallen, and much +more sober, to their stronghold. +</p> +<p> +Now the truth of the whole matter was that the alarm had been caused +by the festivities of the fairies, and they were so deeply incensed at +having their party broken up by this violent intrusion of wine-maddened +men that they determined to be revenged. +</p> +<p> +That very night the whole family set out for Ireland, where they +descended upon a huge mountain of sand, and each one of the small +people, loading himself with as much sand as he could carry, returned +to Pennard and deposited it upon the village at the base of the castle, +intending to bury both village and castle in sand. +</p> +<p> +To and fro the fairies went, intent upon their task of vengeance, and, +when morning broke, those in the castle looked out to see what they +thought was a violent sand-storm raging. By mid-day the village below +the castle was overwhelmed, and those in the stronghold began to fear +that it too would be smothered. But fortunately for them the Irish +sand-mountain gave out, and the fairies' complete vengeance was +thwarted. Still, they had destroyed the rich and valuable lands that +belonged to the castle, and from that day its fortunes and those of its +lords began to decline. +</p> +<p> +In proof of this story the old Irish records maintain that an +extraordinary storm arose that night and blew away a whole +sand-mountain. +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>[39]</span> +</p> +<p> +Few tourists ever explore the beauties of the little Gower Peninsula, +save holiday-makers from the neighbouring town of Swansea; yet it is +a country of amazing charm, with a glorious coast and high ridges of +heather and moorland. It is only about eighty square miles in extent, +but it has over fifty miles of coast. +</p> +<p> +Remote from the world, this country, with its churches, castles, and +many prehistoric remains, is an ideal holiday land. +</p> + +<a name="image-0030"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0030.jpg"><img src="images/t-0030.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="Pennard Castle" /></a> +<br /> +<i>Pennard Castle</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>[40]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0011" id="h2H_4_0011"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0031"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0031.jpg"><img src="images/t-0031.png" width="400" height="375" +alt="The Old Woman Who Fooled the Devil" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE OLD WOMAN WHO FOOLED THE DEVIL +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>[41]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">O</span><span class="uc">ne</span> of the most beautiful spots in all Wales is the Devil's Bridge—an +easy excursion into the hills from Aberystwyth—which spans the gorge +through which the Mynach cataract descends in four boiling leaps a +distance of two hundred and ten feet. How this place received its name +is an old story, which goes back to the days before the monks of sweetly +named Strata Florida, who subsequently replaced the earlier bridge +across the gorge. +</p> +<p> +The beginning of the story is told in an old rhyme which runs:— +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "<i>Old Megan Llandunach of Pont-y-Mynach</i></p> +<p class="i5"> <i>Had lost her only cow;</i></p> +<p class="i3"> <i>Across the ravine the cow was seen,</i></p> +<p class="i5"> <i>But to get it she could not tell how.</i>"</p> +</div> +</div> +<p> +Such was the sad plight of old Megan, who was bemoaning the loss of her +property on the wrong side of the gorge so many years ago, when there +appeared to her suddenly a cowled monk, whose dark face was scarcely +discernible, with a rosary hanging to his girdle, and a deep but +pleasant voice. +</p> +<p> +Enquiring the cause of her distress, the monk, in sympathetic tones, +promised to aid her. He would, he said, build a bridge across the +ravine, so that she might recover her lost cow, if she would promise +to give him the first living being to cross the bridge. +</p> +<p> +This seemed a natural enough suggestion to the sorrowing old dame, for +the good monks of the neighbourhood were ever about the countryside, + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>[42]</span> + + seeking converts; so Megan agreed, and the monk set to work with amazing +energy and skill to construct the bridge. And as he worked Megan sat on +a boulder and watched him. +</p> +<p> +Before sundown the marvellous bridge was finished, and the smiling monk, +walking over it, invited Megan to follow him and seek her cow. But Megan +had been observant. She had noticed two or three things. One, that there +was no cross attached to the monk's rosary; another, that while he was +labouring at his building he had slipped, and his left leg was exposed +through his long habit, and the knee was on the back of the leg, and not +the front; also the leg ended not in a foot, but in a cloven hoof. +</p> +<p> +And cunning old Megan was taking no chances. Feeling in the pocket of +her skirt she found a crust, and walking to her side of the bridge she +called to a black cur that was playing about. Hurling the crust across +the bridge she bade the dog fetch it. He ran over the bridge, and Megan, +smiling at the monk, thanked him, and told him to take the dog as his +reward. +</p> +<p> +The devil, realising that he had been fooled, disappeared in an +awe-inspiring cloud of smoke and sulphur fumes; but the bridge remained, +and its name to this day recalls the discomfiture of his evil plans. So, +having fooled the devil, Megan was able to recover her lost cow. +</p> +<p> +Wordsworth and Borrow, among other famous writers, have immortalised the +impressive beauties of the Devil's Bridge and its roaring cataract. It +is + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>[43]</span> + + easily reached from that most attractive of Welsh seaside towns, +Aberystwyth, and lies in a country dominated by great Plinlimmon, from +the top of which a view of unrivalled beauty may be obtained. +</p> +<p> +All about this country of mountain and moorland are scenes of intense +historic interest and natural beauty. It is a district bleak and bracing +on the summits, warm and sheltered in the valleys, and as yet quite +unspoiled by the crowd, as too is the charming town which is the centre +of this country. +</p> +<p> +Aberystwyth retains the quiet charm of an old-world "watering-place," +and glories in its wonderful climate and healing sea breezes that blow +in across Cardigan Bay, which have won for it its reputation in winter +and summer for being a British Biarritz. +</p> + +<a name="image-0033"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0033.jpg"><img src="images/t-0033.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="Devil's Bridge, Aberystwyth" /></a> +<br /> +<i>Devil's Bridge, Aberystwyth</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>[44]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0012" id="h2H_4_0012"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0034"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0034.jpg"><img src="images/t-0034.png" width="400" height="380" +alt="The Women Soldiers of Fishguard" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE WOMEN SOLDIERS OF FISHGUARD +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>[45]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">T</span><span class="uc">hey</span> tell a story down in Pembrokeshire of how the Welsh country-women +once defeated an invading army. It was in the days of the Napoleonic +wars when, on a winter's afternoon, four hostile ships appeared +unexpectedly off Fishguard Bay. On board were fourteen hundred soldiers +intent upon an invasion of Britain. +</p> +<p> +The wild country of the far west of Wales was in those days even more +remote than it is now. In the neighbourhood were but three hundred +militiamen, and the invaders had an easy task in landing at Llanwnda, +about two miles away from modern Fishguard, in a charming sheltered +inlet known as Careg Gwastad Bay. +</p> +<p> +But the gallant Welsh determined to drive out the invader. They were +furious, and, armed with scythes and other farm implements, they quickly +gathered together. For such firearms as they had there was little +ammunition, so they stripped the roof of beautiful little St. David's +Cathedral of its lead in order to make bullets. +</p> +<p> +And the women of the country followed their men. Clad in their red +cloaks and high black steeple-crowned hats, in the distance they had +all the appearance of regular soldiers, and the leader of the defending +forces was quick to realise this fact. +</p> +<p> +He marshalled them into something like military formation and marched +them about in various places where they could be seen by the invading +troops. Up and down hill the willing Welsh women trudged until darkness +fell and they were tired out. +</p> +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>[46]</span> +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile there was consternation in the invaders' camp. The commander +knew that scarlet was the colour of our soldiers' uniform, and he could +only conclude that overwhelming reinforcements were arriving from the +interior. Believing his cause hopeless, he sent in a letter under a flag +of truce to the British commander, offering to surrender, and within +three days of landing the whole invading force was made prisoner. +</p> +<p> +There is an amazing sequel to this invasion, for it seems that most +of the troops employed were criminals, released from French gaols, and +other similar undesirable characters, and since they had failed in their +primary object the French Government was none too anxious to have them +back in France again, and refused to exchange them. +</p> +<p> +The British Government was no more pleased than the French to have so +unsavoury a band of ruffians in its midst, and it had at last to force +the Frenchmen to receive their own rogues back again. This was done by +threatening that if the prisoners were not exchanged within a certain +time they would be landed with arms on the coast of Brittany and left +to do their worst. +</p> +<p> +The French preferred to have them in control and exchanges were promptly +arranged, the discomfited invaders going back, it is assumed, to the +safety of the French prisons from which they had been brought. +</p> +<p> +Careg Gwastad Bay, the scene of this landing, is but one of the many +fascinating little inlets that + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>[47]</span> + + abound along the coast in the Fishguard +neighbourhood. Excellent fishing—for sea fish, trout, sewin, and often +salmon—abounds off the coast or in the streams. Fishguard is fortunate +in possessing a modern steam-heated hotel close to the station—the +Fishguard Bay—which is equipped with every modern luxury and comfort. +</p> +<p> +From Fishguard one can approach, too, that romantic and historic +country known as Kemaes Land, which extends away to the borders of +Cardiganshire, a country—bounded on the north by the cliffs that run +down to the waters of Cardigan Bay—full of old churches, castles, and +strange remains of earlier civilisations, standing remote upon its +mountains and moorlands. +</p> +<p> +This is a land of flowers too, for its mild winter climate enables +many plants to flourish in the open that must seek the security of +greenhouses in the bleaker parts of the south. +</p> + +<a name="image-0036"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0036.jpg"><img src="images/t-0036.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="Welsh National Costume" /></a> +<br /> +<i>Welsh National Costume</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>[48]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0013" id="h2H_4_0013"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0037"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0037.jpg"><img src="images/t-0037.png" width="400" height="375" +alt="How Bala Lake Began" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + HOW BALA LAKE BEGAN +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>[49]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">T</span><span class="uc">here</span> is a Welsh couplet, still well known in the neighbourhood of +beautiful Bala Lake in Merionethshire, which, translated into English, +runs: +</p> +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> "<i>Bala old the lake has had, and Bala new</i></p> +<p class="i3"> <i>The lake will have, and Llanfor, too.</i>"</p> +</div> +</div> +<p> +For there is an ages-old belief in the countryside that Bala will +continue to grow bigger until it has swallowed up the village of +Llanfor, now about a couple of miles from the water's edge. +</p> +<p> +According to the old story the site of the original town is near the +middle of the present lake, at a spot opposite Llangower. There, years +and years ago, a peaceful community lived a happy, prosperous life in +their houses clustering around a well called Ffynnon Gwyer, or Gower's +Well. +</p> +<p> +Only one very important thing had these long-ago people to remember, and +that was to cover up their well every night, otherwise, as they knew +from their fathers and grandfathers before them, the spirit of the well +would grow angry with them and wreak some dire punishment upon them. +</p> +<p> +But one night, after some special festivities, the guardian of the well +forgot his task. Too late this omission was discovered, for as soon as +the last inhabitant was in bed, the well began to gush forth water. +</p> +<p> +Soon the whole village was in a state of alarm. The quickly rising +waters began to flow into the cottages, and young and old rushed to +Ffynnon + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>[50]</span> + + Gower, which they realised was the cause of their distress. +There they saw a great stream of water gushing upward. In their anger +they called upon the negligent guardian, but he, seeing the harm that +had come of his forgetfulness, had fled, though it is said he did not +escape the angry waters, for they overtook him and drowned him +miserably. +</p> +<p> +A frenzied effort was made to cover up the well and stop the unwelcome +flow, but it was useless, and the people of old Bala had to escape as +best they could to higher ground. When morning broke they looked out to +where their homes had been and saw, instead of their fields and houses, +a great lake three miles long and a mile wide. +</p> +<p> +To-day the lake is five miles long; and they say that on clear days, +when its surface is absolutely calm, you may see at the bottom, off +Llangower, the ruins and chimneys of the old town that was overwhelmed +so long ago. +</p> +<p> +And, as the old couplet tells, they say too that the spirit of Gower's +Well is not yet appeased. On stormy days water appears to ooze up +through the ground at new Bala, which is built at the lower end of the +lake, and some day they believe that too will be swamped and the waters +will cover the valley as far down as Llanfor. +</p> +<p> +Llyn Tegid is the old name for Bala Lake; it means the lake of +beauty, and Bala well deserves that title. Its shores are verdant and +beautifully wooded, commanding in many places magnificent distant views +of the mountains which encircle it only a few miles + +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>[51]</span> + + away. Its waters +teem with fish; trout up to fourteen pounds and pike twice as big have +been caught there—but the flyfisher must not expect always such giants. +There is salmon-fishing to be had in the Treweryn river in September. +</p> +<p> +In the neighbourhood are places of wonderful beauty. Dolgelly, +nestling beneath great Cader Idris, is easily accessible, as also is +that charming seaside town of Barmouth. Bwlch-y-Groes, one of the finest +mountain passes in the Principality, is only ten miles away, and an easy +excursion takes one across another very beautiful pass to Lake Vyrnwy, +which gives to Liverpool its splendid water supply, and provides anglers +with magnificent baskets of Loch Leven trout. +</p> +<p> +All around is a paradise for artists and fishermen, and a country rich +in mountain streams, wild woods, and wide, far views unbeaten in any +part of Wales. +</p> + +<a name="image-0039"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0039.jpg"><img src="images/t-0039.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="Bala Lake" /></a> +<br /> +<i>Bala Lake</i> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>[52]</span> +</p> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="h2H_4_0014" id="h2H_4_0014"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0040"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0040.jpg"><img src="images/t-0040.png" width="300" height="395" +alt="The Furry Day Song" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<h2> + THE FURRY DAY SONG +</h2> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>[53]</span> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent:0;"> +<span style="font-weight: bold; font-size: 150%;">T</span><span class="uc">he</span> celebration of "Furry Day," on May 8th each year, at Helston, in +South Cornwall, is one of the most interesting survivals of an old +custom in the whole country. On "Furry Day" the whole town makes +holiday. The people go first into the surrounding country to gather +flowers and branches, and return about noon, when the Furry dance begins +and continues until dusk; the merrymakers, hand in hand, dancing through +the streets and in and out of the houses, the doors of which are kept +open for the purpose. +</p> +<p> +The origin of the word "Furry," and of the song and dance, is lost in +the ages. Some authorities hold that these celebrations are a survival +of the old Roman Floralia, others that it began in celebration of a +great victory gained by the Cornish over the Saxons. The words and +music, as they have come down to us, show many signs of Elizabethan +origin. The music reproduced here is from a very old setting and +contains many crude harmonies unfamiliar at the present day. +</p> +<p> +There is one line of the song, "God bless Aunt Mary Moses," that most +people will find incomprehensible. It refers to the Virgin Mary, "Aunt" +being among the Cornish a term of great respect; "Moses" being a +corruption of the old Cornish word "Mowes," a maid. "Mary Moses" means +literally "Mary the Maid." +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>[54]</span> +</p> + +<a name="image-0042"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/fd-1.jpg"><img src="images/t-0042.png" width="400" height="563" +alt="THE FURRY-DAY SONG (Sheet Music page 1)" /></a> +</div> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>[55]</span> +</p> + +<a name="image-0043"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/fd-2.jpg"><img src="images/t-0043.png" width="400" height="463" +alt="THE FURRY-DAY SONG (Sheet Music page 2)" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="midi"> +<a href="music/057.midi">(Listen to MIDI version of the above)</a> +<br /> +Sheet Music: <a href="music/057-page1.png">Page 1</a>, <a href="music/057-page2.png">Page 2</a>. +</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Robin Hood and little John, </p> +<p class="i6"> They both are gone to fair, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> And we will go to the merry green wood </p> +<p class="i6"> To see what they do there, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> And for to chase, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> To chase the buck and doe. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> With Halantow, </p> +<p class="i2"> Rumble Ow! </p> +<p class="i2"> For we were up as soon as any day, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> And for to fetch the Summer home, </p> +<p class="i2"> The Summer and the May, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> For Summer is a-come, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> And Winter is a-gone, O! </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> Where are those Spaniards, </p> +<p class="i6"> That make so great a boast, O? </p> +<p class="i2"> They shall eat the grey goose feather, </p> +<p class="i6"> And we will eat the roast, O, </p> +<p class="i2"> In every land, O, </p> +<p class="i2"> The land where'er we go. </p> +<p class="i6"> With <i>Halantow, &c.</i> </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> As for Saint George, O, </p> +<p class="i6"> Saint George he was a Knight, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> Of all the Knights in Christendom, </p> +<p class="i6"> Saint Georgy is the right, O! </p> +<p class="i2"> In every land, O, </p> +<p class="i2"> The land where'er we go. </p> +<p class="i6"> With <i>Halantow, &c</i>. </p> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<p class="i2"> God bless Aunt Mary Moses, </p> +<p class="i6"> And all her powers and might, O, </p> +<p class="i2"> And send us peace in merry England, </p> +<p class="i6"> Both day and night, O, </p> +<p class="i2"> And send us peace in merry England, </p> +<p class="i2"> Both now and evermore, O! </p> +<p class="i6"> With <i>Halantow, &c</i>. </p> +</div> +</div> + +<div style="height: 4em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + +<a name="image-0044"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/fd-3.jpg"><img src="images/t-0044.png" width="400" height="128" +alt="THE FURRY-DANCE TUNE (Sheet Music)" /></a> +</div> + +<p class="midi"> +<a href="music/058.midi">(Listen to MIDI version of the above)</a> +<br /> +Sheet Music: <a href="music/058.png">Page 1</a>. +</p> + +<p> +The simple air only of "The Furry Dance" is given here. It was probably +originally played by a musician on the pipe, accompanying himself on the +tabor. +</p> + +<p> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>[56]</span> +</p> + +<p> +Remote Cornwall is still full of queer old customs and survivals of +other days. Helston, the "Metropolis" of that picturesque wild district +near the Lizard, forms a perfect setting for this interesting relic of +the past, and an ideal centre for those who wish to enjoy the beauties +and mystery of one of the most remote corners of our island. +</p> + +<a name="image-0045"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/ill-0045.jpg"><img src="images/t-0045.png" width="100" height="125" +alt="The Furry Dance To-day" /></a> +<br /> +<i>The Furry Dance To-day</i> +</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<a name="h2H_4_0015" id="h2H_4_0015"><!-- H2 anchor --></a> + +<a name="image-0046"><!--IMG--></a> +<div class="figure"> +<a href="images/end-b.jpg"><img src="images/end-b-t.png" width="400" height="295" +alt="G.W.R: The Line to Legend Land Bala Page 48 Carreggwastad Cove Page 44 Devil's Bridge Page 40 St. David's Page 52 Pennard Castle Page 36 Llyn-y-fan-fach Page 28 Vol. One Back End" /></a> +</div> + +<div style="height: 6em;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Legend Land, Vol. 1, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGEND LAND, VOL. 1 *** + +***** This file should be named 20170-h.htm or 20170-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/1/7/20170/ + +Produced by Chris Curnow, David Garcia and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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b/20170-h/music/057-page2.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..455d279 --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/music/057-page2.png diff --git a/20170-h/music/057.ly b/20170-h/music/057.ly new file mode 100644 index 0000000..efb345a --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/music/057.ly @@ -0,0 +1,281 @@ +\version "2.8.8" + +\paper{ + printallheaders = ##t + ragged-last-bottom = ##t + ragged-bottom = ##f + head-separation = #1 + page-top-space = #1 +} + +upper = \relative c' { + \clef treble + \key d \minor + \time 6/8 + % 1 + { <c f a>4 <c f a>8 <c f a>4 <c e g>8 } + % 2 + { + << + { a'16( c8.) a8 <c, f>4 a'8 } \\ + { \stemDown f4 \stemNeutral s8 s4 s8 } + >> + } + % 3 + { <d f bes>4 << { c'8 } \\ { r8 } >> <f, bes d>4 <f a c>8 } +\break + % 4 + << + { <bes f>8( a) <g e c>4. bes8 } \\ + { s8 r8 s4. r8 } \\ + { \stemDown d,4 \stemNeutral s4. } + >> | + % 5 + << + { <a' f>4 a8\noBeam a\noBeam g\noBeam f\noBeam } \\ + { s4 r8 <f c>4 r8 } \\ + { \stemDown c4 s8 s4 s8 \stemNeutral } + >> | + % 6 + << + { g'8\noBeam fis\noBeam g\noBeam d4 a'8 } \\ + { <c, e>4 r8 a4 r8 } + >> +\break + % 7 + << + { bes'4 c8 <d bes f>4 <c a f>8 } \\ + { \stemDown <f, d>4 r8 s4 s8 \stemNeutral } + >> + % 8 + << + { bes8( a) <g e c>4. \bar "||" a8 } \\ + { \stemDown <f d>4 s4. \bar "||" s8 \stemNeutral } + >> + % 9 + << + { a4.~ a4 f8 } \\ + { \stemDown <c f>4. r4 r8 \stemNeutral } + >> +\break + % 10 + { <c e g>4. <a d>4 <d f bes>8 } + % 11 + << + { a'4 f8 <a, c f>4 <g c e>8 } \\ + { <c f>4 r8 s4 s8 } + >> + % 12 + { <a c f>2 \bar "||" } +\break + { <f'>4 } + % 13 + { <c f a>4. <c e g>4. } + % 14 + { <a c f>2 r4 } + % 15 + { <d f bes>4. <c f a>4^( <c e g>8) } + % 16 + { <c f a>2 r8 <f>8 } +\break + % 17 + { <c e g>2 <a d fis>4 } + % 18 + { <c e g>2 r8 <a'>8 } + % 19 + << + { bes4 c8 <d bes f>4 <c a f>8 } \\ + { \stemDown <f, d>4 r8 s4 s8 \stemNeutral } + >> + % 20 + << + { bes8( a) <g e c>4_\fermata \bar "||" \break s8 bes8 } \\ + { \stemDown <f d>4 s4 \bar "||" \stemNeutral \break s8 } + >> + % 21 + << + { <a f>4 a8\noBeam a[( g)] f\noBeam } \\ + { s4 r8 <f c>4 r8 } \\ + { \stemDown c4 s8 s4 s8 \stemNeutral } + >> | + % 22 + << + { <g' e>4 g8 d4 a'8 } \\ + { s4 r8 a,4 r8 } \\ + { \stemDown c4 s8 s4 s8 \stemNeutral } + >> | +\break + % 23 + { <d f bes>4 << { c'8 } \\ { r8 } >> <f, bes d>4 <f a c>8 } + % 24 + << + { <bes>8( a) <g e c>4\fermata bes4 } \\ + { s8 r8 s4 r4 } \\ + { \stemDown <d, f>4 \stemNeutral s2 } + >> | + % 25 + << + { <a' f>4 a8\noBeam a[( g)] f\noBeam } \\ + { s4 r8 <f c>4 r8 } \\ + { \stemDown c4 s8 s4 s8 \stemNeutral } + >> | +\break + % 26 + { <c e g>4. <a d>4 <d f bes>8 } + % 27 + << + { a'4 f8 <a, c f>4 <g c e>8 } \\ + { <c f>4 r8 s4 s8 } + >> + % 28 + << + { f4. f4.^\fermata \bar "||" } \\ + { <a, c>2. } + >> +\break +} + + + +lower = \relative c, { + \clef bass + \key d \minor + \time 6/8 + % 1 + <f f'>4 r8 <f f'>4 <c c'>8 | + % 2 + <f f'>4 r8 <f f'>4 r8 | + % 3 + <bes bes,>4 r8 <bes bes'>4 <f f'>8 | +\break + % 4 + <bes bes,>4 r8 <c c,>4. | + % 5 + <f f,>4 r8 <f f,>4 r8 | + % 6 + <c c,>4 r8 <d d,>4 r8 | +\break + % 7 + <bes bes,>4 r8 <bes bes'>4 <f f'>8 | + % 8 + <bes bes,>4 <c c,>4. r8 | + % 9 + <f f,>4. r4 r8 | +\break + % 10 + <c c,>4. <d d,>4 <bes bes,>8 | + % 11 + <f f'>4 r8 <f f'>4 <c c'>8 | + % 12 + <f f'>2 \bar "||" +\break + r4 | + % 13 + <f f'>4. <c c'>4. | + % 14 + <f c' f>2 r4 | + % 15 + <bes bes,>4. <f f'>4 <c c'>8 | + % 16 + <f f'>2 r4 | +\break + % 17 + <c c'>2 <d d'>4 | + % 18 + <c c'>2 r4 | + % 19 + <bes bes'>4 r8 <bes' bes'>4 <f f'>8 | + % 20 + <bes bes,>4 <c c,>4_\fermata \bar "||" s8 +\break + r8 + % 21 + <f f,>4 r8 <f f,>4 r8 | + % 22 + <c c,>4 r8 <d d,>4 r8 | +\break + % 23 + <bes bes,>4 r8 <bes bes'>4 <f f'>8 | + % 24 + <bes bes,>4 <c c,>4\fermata r4 | + % 25 + <f f,>4 r8 <f f,>4 r8 | +\break + % 26 + <c c,>4. <d d,>4 <bes bes,>8 | + % 27 + <f f'>4 r8 <f f'>4 <c c'>8 | + % 28 + <f f'>2._\fermata \bar "||" +\break +} + +\score { + \new GrandStaff << + \new Staff = upper { \new Voice = "singer" \upper } + \new Lyrics \lyricmode { + \set associatedVoice = #"singer" + + Rob-4 in8 Hood4 and8 lit-8 \skip 8 tle8 John,4 They8 both4 are8 gone4 to8 + fair,_4 O!4. And8 we4 will8 go8 to8 the8 mer-8 ry8 green8 wood4 to8 + see4 what8 they4 do8 there,_4 O!4. And8 for_4. \skip 4 to8 + chase,4. O!4 To8 chase4 the8 buck4 and8 doe,2 + With4 Ha-4. lan-4. tow,2 \skip 4 Rum-4. ble_4. Ow!2 \skip 8 For8 + we2 were4 up2 \skip 8 as8 soon4 as8 a-4 ny8 day,_4 O!4 \skip 8 + And8 for4 to8 fetch_4 the8 Sum-4 mer8 home,4 The8 + Sum-4 mer8 and4 the8 May,_4 O!4 For4 Sum-4 mer8 is4 a-8 + come,4. O!4 And8 Win-4 ter8 is4 a-8 gone,4. O!4. + } + \new Staff = lower { + \clef bass + \lower + } + >> + + \header { + title = \markup \center-align { "THE FURRY-DAY SONG" } + } + + \layout { + \context { \GrandStaff \accepts "Lyrics" } + \context { \Lyrics \consists "Bar_engraver" } + \context { \Score \remove "Bar_number_engraver" } + } + + \midi { \tempo 4 = 120 } +} + +\markup { + \hspace #8 + \column { + \line { Where are those Spaniards, } + \line { \hspace #5 That make so great a boast, O? } + \line { They shall eat the grey goose feather, } + \line { \hspace #5 And we will eat the roast, O, } + \line { In every land, O, } + \line { The land where'er we go. } + \line { \hspace #5 With \italic "Halantow, &c." } + } + \hspace #8 + \column { + \line { As for Saint George, O, } + \line { \hspace #5 Saint George he was a Knight, O! } + \line { Of all the Knights in Christendom, } + \line { \hspace #5 Saint Georgy is the right, O! } + \line { In every land, O, } + \line { The land where'er we go. } + \line { \hspace #5 With \italic "Halantow, &c." } + } +} +\markup { + \hspace #32 + \column { + \line { God bless Aunt Mary Moses, } + \line { \hspace #5 And all her powers and might, O, } + \line { And send us peace in merry England, } + \line { \hspace #5 Both day and night, O, } + \line { And send us peace in merry England, } + \line { Both now and evermore, O! } + \line { \hspace #5 With \italic "Halantow, &c." } + } +} diff --git a/20170-h/music/057.midi b/20170-h/music/057.midi Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..217c99d --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/music/057.midi diff --git a/20170-h/music/058.ly b/20170-h/music/058.ly new file mode 100644 index 0000000..82c648b --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/music/058.ly @@ -0,0 +1,63 @@ +\version "2.8.8" + +\paper{ + printallheaders = ##t + ragged-last-bottom = ##t + ragged-bottom = ##f + head-separation = #1 + page-top-space = #1 +} + + + +trackAchannelA = \relative c { + + \time 2/4 + + \key g \major + + \bar "|:" + + % 1 + d'4 g8. a16 | + % 2 + b4 b8. c16 | + % 3 + d16 cis d e d4 | + % 4 + g8 d d16 e d c | + % 5 + \stemUp b4 \stemNeutral g \bar ":|" +\break + % 6 + e'8\noBeam e\noBeam e\noBeam d16 c | + % 7 + \stemUp b16 a b c \stemNeutral d8\noBeam d\noBeam | + % 8 + g8 d d16 e d c | + % 9 + \stemUp b4 g \bar ":|" +% \break +} + +trackA = << + \context Voice = channelA \trackAchannelA +>> + +\score { + << + \context Staff=trackA \trackA + >> + + \header { + title = \markup \center-align { "THE FURRY-DANCE TUNE" } + } + + \midi { \tempo 4 = 120 } + + \layout { + \context { + \Score \remove "Bar_number_engraver" + } + } +} diff --git a/20170-h/music/058.midi b/20170-h/music/058.midi Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..55cfe0f --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/music/058.midi diff --git a/20170-h/music/058.png b/20170-h/music/058.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d705924 --- /dev/null +++ b/20170-h/music/058.png |
