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himself on the ground. "Thank you, Morgan," said his master, Colonel Maurice Powell; but, how could you think of seeking me on the top of this mountain?" "Hur knows Kilvay-hill, and every path that leads to the top: hur was at the ferry side when your honour crossed; and, indeed hur was just tasting hur haamsakes cwrw when the Captain told hur he'd sail at midnight."
"The wind blows yet from the southeast, harder than either of the two days we have waited; and I have looked in vain for their prognostics of a change,” replied the Colonel.
"But Davy Jenkins, the captain, has been to the cunning man at Pentregethen, and told him the hurry your honour was in, and he promised him a wind to-night."
"Well, Morgan, go down to the town,
and prepare every thing for our departure."
Morgan, however, but half arose; leaning on the ground with one arm, he seemed engaged in examining a tuft of moss, which he had torn up by the roots, as an excuse for delay; after a minute inspection, he relieved himself by replying that he had already packed up all the baggage and necessaries for the voyage.
"Return, notwithstanding," said the Colonel; "you may have forgot something: if not, refresh yourself and enjoy your cwrw, for we are likely to have a rough night." Morgan smiled as the Colonel uttered the last words: it was with a sort of self-complacent sneer, which no sooner was formed than it subsided into a melancholy expression of features he rose from the ground; and respectfully approaching the Colonel,
who was seated on a rough mass of stone, requested that he might be allowed to remain an hour on the hill.
"Morgan," said the Colonel," I perceive your intention, and respect its motive; but, as the time is now so short before I shall again be actively engaged, I must insist on remaining alone -you are at liberty to pursue the bias of your own inclinations." Saying these words in a decided tone, he waved his hand for Morgan to leave him, and the poor fellow slowly departed.
The spot on which Colonel Powell was seated is called Kilvay-hill: its round broad top commands a fine view of Swansea bay in South Wales. On the right lies the town so called, at the mouth of a little river, whose dimensions, in the distance, entering the broad expanse of the bay, appear insignificantly small. Stretching, in a semicircle to the south
west, the rough, barren shores of Gower terminate in a point called the Mumble Head, where a lighthouse is erected on an island which has been separated, by the turbulent roar of waters, from the main land. Half-way between this point and the town stand the frowning dark remains of Oystermouth Castle.
On the opposite side of the bay, the shores of Glamorgan present a varied boundary to the sea-barren sands, forests of timber to the water's edge, romantic openings into the interior-mountains, rearing their bare and sterile points abruptly from the waves, extend in succession farther than the eye can reach, surmounted, in the back ground, by hills of deep and then of lighter blue, till lost in the expanse of ether. Such was the situation in which Colonel Powell was on the 22d of August, 1643. He had entered, with his father, into the service of
his king, Charles I, in the preceding year, when hostilities were first commenced between him and the parliament.
A fortnight had scarcely elapsed since he arrived in the bay with the mortal remains of that parent who fell at the taking of Bristol, and died in the arms of his child, requesting that his bones might be deposited in the cemetery of their forefathers.-Prince Rupert granted leave of absence to the son, bestowed upon the rank held by his parent, and furnished him with a vessel to Swansea, in his way toward Pembrokeshire, where he paid the last duties to a father, by whose persuasion and influence he had, but a few months before, been induced to become an active member in civil warfare.
The grandeur and simplicity of his native mountain; the calm and heavenly repose in which all animate and inanimate creation were apparently hushed; while