Passing through Trecastle, a miserable village, once a large town, possessing the ruins of a castle, we entered a valley, winding for six or eight miles at the feet of mountains, presenting at every step something to admire, and arrived at Llandovery, or Llanymddvri, situated on the banks of the Brane, near the head of the upper vale of Towy. Here we found the remains of a small castle, once in the possession of Richard de Pws; small in dimensions, and uninteresting in its history; but the town derives some notice from its having produced Rhys Prichard, author of a book well known in almost every _Welsh_ house by the name of the _Vicar’s Book_. He sleeps here without inscription or monument. From Llandovery, the road and the Towy proceed to Llandilo through a country at once rich in fertility, and beautiful in point of scenery. Llandilo is remarkable for a battle, fought in 1281, between Edward the First and Llewellyn the Great. It has no feature in itself worthy of attention; but its environs are beautiful to the last degree. About a mile from this town, on the road to Caermarthen, are the ruins of Dinevawr Castle, the most celebrated spot in the principality. This castle was erected by Roderique the Great, in the year 877. So much have been written of these ruins, of the noble park, belonging to Lord Dynevor, and the country round, that I shall merely observe, that, after passing a few hours in admiration, we passed on to Grongar Hill, and sate beneath the hawthorn under which Dyer is supposed to have written his beautiful poem. I cannot, however, refrain from quoting a passage from Spenser, where he describes the Cave of Merlin, which he places near the rocks of Dinevawr. If thou shouldst ever happen that same way To travel, go to see that dreadful place: It is a hideous, hollow, cave-like bay Under a rock, that has a little space From the swift Barry, tumbling down apace, Amongst the woody hills of Dinevawr. But dare thou not, I charge, in any case To enter into that same baleful bower, For fear the cruel fiends should thee unawares devour. But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear; And there such ghastly noise of iron chains, And brasen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear, Which thousand sprights with long enduring pains Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains. And oftentimes great groans, and grievous sounds, When too huge toil and labour them constrains. And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sounds From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds. FAERIE QUEENE, B. iii. Cant. 3. The view from Grongar Hill is inexpressibly beautiful. To attempt describing it would only be showing the poverty of human language.