Some of the Inhabitants of Carnarvon are frequently employed in fishing, during the greatest part of the year, both in the Menai and Carnarvon Bay; the fish principally taken are the following, viz. Cod, Turbot, Soles, Salmon, Mullet, Bream, Ray, &c. all excellent in their kind; Oysters are also taken on the Anglesey coast. There is a small Creek, or Harbour near the point of Llanddwyn, where vessels frequently put in to await the return of the Tide. A red and a black Buoy, and also a Perch, have been placed near the entrance of Carnarvon Bar, for the direction of Navigators. The Botanist, Naturalist, Sailor, or Sportsman, would find sufficient employment, and meet with considerable amusement during a short voyage of this description, as there are varieties of Shells on the sea shore, some scarce Plants on the rocks, and Rabbits in the sand banks. The Straits of the Menai have frequently been the scene of many a bloody encounter between the Welsh, Irish; Danes, &c. and the reader may not probably be displeased with our introducing here, a part of Gray’s spirited version of the Rev. Evan Evans’s translation of Gwalchmai’s Ode, {98a} celebrating the victory of Prince Owen Gwynedd, over three fleets of Irish, Danish, and Norman Pirates, at Tal y Foel, nearly opposite Carnarvon, on the Anglesey Coast, about the year 1158: “Ardwyrëaf hael o hil Rodri,” &c. Owen’s praise demands my Song, Owen swift and Owen strong,— Fairest flower of Roderick’s stem,— Gwynedd’s shield, and Britain’s gem: He nor heaps his brooded stone, Nor on all profusely pours; Lord of every regal art, Liberal hand, and open heart. Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadron’s three against him came; This the force of Erin hiding, Side by side as proudly riding; On her shadow, long and gay Lochlin plows the wat’ry way: There, the Norman sails afar, Catch the winds, and join the war; Black and huge along they sweep, Burthens of the angry deep. Dauntless on his native sands, The Dragon {98b} son of Mona stands, In glittering arms and glory drest, High he rears his ruby crest. There the thund’ring strokes begin, There the press, and there the din; _Tal y Moelfre’s_ {98c} rocky shore Echoing to the battle’s roar; Check’d by the torrent tide of blood, Backward _Menai_ rolls his flood; While heap’d the Hero’s feet around, Prostrate warriors gnaw the ground: Where his glowing eye-balls turn, Thousand banners round him burn; Where he points his purple spear, Hasty, hasty rout is there; Marking with indignant eye, Fear to stop, and shame to fly: There Confusion, Terror’s child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair, and honourable death.