 | Poems |  |
44
The Swallow Fall
“Sir John Wynn of Gwydir . . . was a celebrity
in his day. Being ‘shrewd and successful in his dealings,’
the people were led to suppose he oppressed them, and,
says Yorke, ‘it is the superstition of the place (Llanrwst)
to this day, that the spirit of the old gentleman lies under
the great waterfall Rhaiadr-y-Wen-nol, better known as
the Swallow Fall.”
Gossiping Guide to Wales.
In Swallow Fall (so runs the tale) is pent
A sinful soul; until, with sand and silt,
His evil passions in the sea are spent.
Yet who can dream that Llugwy harbours guilt?
Along the vale he sings a laughing lilt,
Fair flowers assemble to his freshening scent,
The woods are merry where his waves are spilt,
And all his kine-loved meadows breathe content.
Thou art no jailor to a tortured ghost,
Thou happy stream! Not yet from thee are driven
The pagan spirits of the fairy host;
No covetous Church shall justify her boast,
To foist on thee the shriek of souls unshriven;
If souls do haunt thee, they are souls forgiven.
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