62
THE PEAT POOL.
Into this gulf upon the heath,
This fishing-pond of Gwyn ap Neath[1];
Abyss that glen and mead divides—
This palace of the elfin race—
“Lake vinegar,” with bay-hued tides,—
The foul swine’s fav’rite bathing place!
I spoiled with mud my stockings there,
y “kersey” stockings brought from Caer[2].
Oh, sad disgrace! Oh, shame decreed!
In this dark swamp to bard and steed!
Cold breezes pinch him for his pains,
Who dug this pond in sunlight clear[3];
If e’er firm land the bard regains,
He’ll never send his blessing here!
- ↑ ‘Gwyn ap Neath,’ the Faery King.
- ↑ ‘Caer,’ applied to many places in Wales, as Caernarvon, Caermarthen; also, and most properly, to Chester.
- ↑ The pond into which the poet fell was an accumulation of water in one of the hollows from which peat had been dug during the season of the year usually employed for that purpose.
