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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:07:13 -0700 |
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diff --git a/49306-h/49306-h.htm b/49306-h/49306-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d491454 --- /dev/null +++ b/49306-h/49306-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1673 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Holy Isle, by Father Ignatius</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .5em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Holy Isle, by Father Ignatius + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: The Holy Isle + A Legend of Bardsey Abbey + + +Author: Father Ignatius + + + +Release Date: June 29, 2015 [eBook #49306] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOLY ISLE*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1870 G. J. Palmer edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">In Omnibus +glorificetur Deus</span>.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">—<i>Regula</i>, <i>S. +Benedicti</i>, <i>Cap. lvij</i>.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tp.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic of cross" +title= +"Decorative graphic of cross" + src="images/tp.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h1>THE HOLY ISLE;<br /> +A Legend of Bardsey Abbey.</h1> +<p style="text-align: center">By IGNATIUS, O.S.B.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Dedicated</i>, <i>without +permission</i>, <i>to Lord Newborough</i>, <i>and to the</i><br +/> +<i>Rev. Hugh Roberts</i>, <i>Vicar of Aberdaron</i>, +<i>Carnarvonshire</i>.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON:<br /> +G. J. PALMER, 32, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center">1870.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page1"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 1</span> +<a href="images/p1b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic of cross" +title= +"Decorative graphic of cross" + src="images/p1s.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<h2>THE HOLY ISLE.<br /> +A Legend of Bardsey Abbey.</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">watched</span> the sea +waves ebbing,<br /> + Beneath the crimson glow,<br /> +Which sunset light was pouring,<br /> + Upon their soft, sweet flow.<br /> +The wavelets looked liked dancers,<br /> + Upon the sun-lit sea,<br /> +They sung in whispering chorus,—<br /> + I thought they sung to me<br /> +Of fair and far off landscapes<br /> + Beyond that molten tide,<br /> +Of better joys, and gladness<br /> + Beyond those waters wide.<br /> +<a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 2</span>The wavelets +all seemed passing<br /> + On, to some other strands,<br /> +And following the sun’s-glow,<br /> + To ever sun-lit lands.<br /> +But as I thought these fancies,<br /> + Again I raised mine eyes<br /> +And saw the sunset tinting<br /> + The glorious western skies.<br /> +Now ’mid the farewell glories<br /> + “Of Sol’s departing ray,”<br /> +I saw an Island resting<br /> + Upon his golden way.<br /> +There, misty mid the Sunshine,<br /> + The far off Isle appears,<br /> +Right out among the sea waves<br /> + Its rocky coast uprears.<br /> +And as I gaze, the sunset<br /> + Seems lighting up its shore,<br /> +Bathing the isle in glory<br /> + And then is seen no more.<br /> +<a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 3</span>Sweet, +soothing calm fell o’er me<br /> + I watched the Islet still,<br /> +All round me heard I voices<br /> + Which seemed the air to fill.<br /> +Said one, “That Isle is holy,<br /> + For Saints are sleeping there,<br /> +Now lonely and deserted,<br /> + T’was once an Isle of prayer.”<br /> +“O Man! say would’st thou tremble,<br /> + To come away and see,<br /> +In vision, strange, sweet pictures<br /> + Which I can shew to thee?”<br /> +The Angel was so lovely,<br /> + So sweet the Angel’s smile,<br /> +I easily consented,—<br /> + He pointed to the Isle!<br /> +“Then will I bear thee thither,<br /> + One thousand years ago;—<br /> +I speak to aid thy weakness,<br /> + No <i>time</i> can Angels know.<br /> +<a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 4</span>The present, +past, and future,<br /> + All one they are to me,<br /> +I pass along their boundaries,<br /> + Unlimited, and free.”<br /> +A strange, calm change stole o’er me,<br /> + My spirit seemed to rise<br /> +In gentle, tireless motion,<br /> + Just as the sea-bird flies.<br /> +My Angel-guide was leading<br /> + My spirit o’er the sea<br /> +One moment—and we rested,<br /> + Upon the Islet’s lea.<br /> +Soft gloaming filled the air,<br /> + Deep peace lay all around,<br /> +Hushed voices seemed to whisper,<br /> + A wavelike, murmuring sound.<br /> +“Sweet Angel, say, where am I,—<br /> + Say me the Island’s name,<br /> +And tell me why such glory,<br /> + Enwraps it as a flame?<br /> +<a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 5</span>Say, too, +what is that chanting,<br /> + So sweet, so very near,<br /> +The strangeness of this beauty<br /> + It fills my soul with fear?”<br /> +“This Holy Place is Bardsey,<br /> + Jesus, He loves it well,<br /> +’Tis wrapped in God’s own brightness,<br /> + Safe from the power of Hell.<br /> +Those voices are the Virgins,<br /> + In yonder Abbey Choir,<br /> +Praises to Jesus singing,<br /> + Of which they never tire.<br /> +Hush! mid the shades of evening,<br /> + How restfully they sing,<br /> +Their Vesper praise-wreaths bringing<br /> + To Jesus Christ their King.<br /> +’Mid lights of sunset glowing,<br /> + St. Mary’s Abbey stands;<br /> +But see! t’is wrapped in glories,<br /> + From far off better Lands.”<br /> +<a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>I looked +again, and started,<br /> + For lo! another scene.<br /> +The Convent is surrounded<br /> + With Heaven’s own brightest sheen.<br /> +And choirs of Angels hover<br /> + High in the sunset air,<br /> +While th’ holy monks are chanting<br /> + Their peaceful, evening prayer.<br /> +The Monastery is glowing,<br /> + Like heaps of molten gold;<br /> +The walls seem all transparent,<br /> + With majesty untold.<br /> +T’is strange; my spirit enters<br /> + St Mary’s Sacred Shrine,<br /> +I see the cowlèd figures,<br /> + In many a white rob’d line, <a +name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6" +class="citation">[6]</a><br /> +<a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 7</span>Filling the +stalls, but facing<br /> + The hallow’d Altar Throne,<br /> +Where Jesus makes His dwelling,<br /> + Untended and alone.<br /> +O peaceful, happy Bardsey,<br /> + Sweet Islet of the Sea!<br /> +I would for ever rest me,<br /> + All joyfully in thee!<br /> +O dear St. Marys Abbey,<br /> + On Bardsey’s northern shore;<br /> +Would I could bide within thee,<br /> + And part from thee no more!<br /> +O happy Monks and Virgins,<br /> + Singing by night and day,<br /> +Your hymnals to Sweet Jesus,<br /> + In dearest, fondest lay!<br /> +How can I speak your glory,<br /> + How can I tell your worth?<br /> +Ye are the Church’s safeguard;<br /> + Ye are the “Salt of earth.”<br /> +<a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 8</span>Ye live the +life of Angels;<br /> + Ye never cease from praise,<br /> +To Heaven your intercedings<br /> + For sinners ceaseless raise.<br /> +Ah! well may throngs of sinners<br /> + Seek this most Sacred Isle,<br /> +Well may ten thousand pilgrims<br /> + Visit St. Mary’s pile.<br /> +Well may’st thou, Aberdaron, <a name="citation8"></a><a +href="#footnote8" class="citation">[8]</a><br /> + Loving to Bardsey be,<br /> +And daily turn thy glances<br /> + To the Islet out at sea.<br /> +For Bardsey is the lighthouse<br /> + Of many a shipwrecked soul;<br /> +To many a way-worn wanderer<br /> + Is Bardsey’s Isle the goal.<br /> +<a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 9</span>The glow of +Bardsey’s brightness,<br /> + Illumes wild Cambria’s shores,<br /> +Across the Irish Channel,<br /> + Her Heavenly light she pours.<br /> +And blessed saints in thousands<br /> + Have dwelt on Bardsey’s hill,<br /> +Sending her countless Virgins<br /> + Celestial choirs to fill.<br /> +How Jesus must love Bardsey,<br /> + And prize her sacred soil;<br /> +Here Saints in countless numbers<br /> + Have rested from earth’s toil:<br /> +Have laid aside the burden<br /> + Of poor mortality,<br /> +And entered on the Sabbath<br /> + Of glad eternity.<br /> +While thus I dream, the Organ<br /> + Is pealing forth its wave,<br /> +The Holy Monks are marching<br /> + All slowly down the Nave.<br /> +<a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>“Dear Angel! may I follow<br /> + Them, down the Cloister still,<br /> +And join their recreation,<br /> + On yonder mossy hill?”<br /> +The Angel smiled permission;<br /> + I willed myself along,<br /> +Until unseen, I joined me<br /> + To th’ happy, Virgin throng.<br /> +Here, there were boys most lovely;<br /> + And there, old hoary men;<br /> +And youths, and those of mid-age;<br /> + Here joyous boys again.<br /> +I followed one young novice,<br /> + Who held an old man’s hand;<br /> +I listened,—they were speaking,<br /> + Of some dear, distant Land.<br /> +The boy I saw was pointing<br /> + Away, right out to sea,<br /> +Where moonlight made a pathway,<br /> + Of silver radiancy.<br /> +<a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>The silver +way seemed joining<br /> + Together sea and sky,<br /> +The stars seemed trembling o’er it,<br /> + Like lightlets from on high.<br /> +“Dear Father Cadfan, look now,”<br /> + —Said the bright and lovely boy,—<br /> +“I’m sure that silver roadway<br /> + Leads to our Home of Joy.”<br /> +“No, no, my Son, t’is only<br /> + An emblem of the way,<br /> +Across time’s changing storm-tide,<br /> + To regions of the day.”<br /> +And then the old man turning,<br /> + Towards Cambria’s rock bound shore,<br /> +Pointed the boy to Barmouth, <a name="citation11"></a><a +href="#footnote11" class="citation">[11]</a><br /> + But then called Abermawr.<br /> +<a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 12</span>“My +son,” said he, “’tis yonder,<br /> + Long years ago I tried<br /> +To bring poor souls to Jesus,<br /> + Who once for sinners died.<br /> +But there the Druids held them<br /> + In error’s iron chain, <a +name="citation12a"></a><a href="#footnote12a" +class="citation">[12a]</a><br /> +They would not hear of Jesus,<br /> + And drove me thence again.<br /> +Yet though at Abermawr I failed<br /> + ’Mid Towyn’s marshes drear, <a +name="citation12b"></a><a href="#footnote12b" +class="citation">[12b]</a><br /> +The people bowed before the Cross,<br /> + And sought the Saviour dear.<br /> +My son, one day thou must away,<br /> + If Father Abbot wills,<br /> +And build a Shrine to Christ Divine,<br /> + ’Mid Barmouth’s rocky hills.<br /> +<a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>The idols +which they worship<br /> + Thou boldly must destroy,<br /> +Promise old Father Cadfan this,<br /> + My brave, my darling boy!”<br /> +The boy’s bright eyes were flashing,<br /> + He grasped the old man’s hand,—<br /> +“Father, I will preach Jesus<br /> + Upon that darkened strand.<br /> +Only, my father, pray for me,<br /> + When thou hast past the sea,<br /> +And reignest with our Jesus,<br /> + In the ‘kingdom of the free.’”<br +/> +St. Cadfan smiled, and blessed the lad,<br /> + His heart’s desire seemed gained,<br /> +From idol worship for the Lord<br /> + Should Abermawr be claimed.<br /> +The Compline Bell tolled solemnly<br /> + From out St. Mary’s Tower,<br /> +Calling the Monks to worship<br /> + At day’s last hallowed hour.<br /> +<a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>Dubritius, +<a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14" +class="citation">[14]</a> the novice boy,<br /> + Stood meekly in his stall,<br /> +The fathers and the novices<br /> + Chanted the Office all.<br /> +But Father Cadfan was not there,<br /> + Calmly his body lay;<br /> +Upon the mound by Bardsey Sound,<br /> + His spirit passed away.<br /> +His work was done, his prize was won,<br /> + The holy Monk was gone,<br /> +To join the virgin song notes,<br /> + Before th’ Eternal Throne.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">The boy, so beautiful and pure,<br /> + Grew up to manhood’s bloom,<br /> +And ofttimes visited for prayer<br /> + The Blessed Cadfan’s Tomb.<br /> +<a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>One night +the sun was sinking<br /> + Behind the Western wave,<br /> +Dubritius was kneeling<br /> + Beside St. Cadfan’s grave.<br /> +The Compline chants were over,<br /> + The twilight almost gone,<br /> +The youth was startled by a voice<br /> + Which cried—“My son! my son!”<br +/> +A gentle light shone round the grave,<br /> + He raised his eyes, and lo!<br /> +St. Cadfan stood beside him,<br /> + Amid the weird-like glow;<br /> +“My son, make haste, thy solemn vows<br /> + Thou speedily must make,<br /> +Then to the men of Abermawr<br /> + The Cross of Jesus take.<br /> +The Banner and the Gospel,<br /> + With holy Chant and Psalm,<br /> +Straight to the Druid’s Temple go,<br /> + Nor fear, nor feel alarm.<br /> +<a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>For Jesus +must be Cambria’s God,<br /> + The night must hie away,<br /> +Thyself must be the harbinger<br /> + Of Everlasting Day.”<br /> +The youth sprung forward to embrace<br /> + The friend he loved so well,<br /> +But he was gone; no sound was heard,<br /> + Save the lone ocean’s swell.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">How beautiful! how beautiful!<br /> + Is now the Convent Choir;<br /> +All deck’d for some high festival<br /> + In exquisite attire.<br /> +Most precious gems are gleaming<br /> + Upon the frontal fair,<br /> +The Mass Priests too are vested<br /> + In garments passing rare.<br /> +The sacred tapers glisten<br /> + The Altar all along;<br /> +<a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 17</span>The holy +Monks are chanting<br /> + Some sweet—some wedding song!<br /> +And tall white lilies, scenting<br /> + The Incense laden air,<br /> +Are bending down their petals,<br /> + T’wards a novice bow’d in prayer.<br /> +Yes! there before the Altar,<br /> + I see Dubritius bow,<br /> +Pure as the virgin lilies,<br /> + Encircling his fair brow.<br /> +His vows are said—the Cowl is given,<br /> + His live-long promise made;<br /> +All earthly loves are buried now,<br /> + Within the Cloister’s shade.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">“Unfurl the sail! unloose the chain!<br +/> + That links us to the shore—<br /> +To our own precious Island home<br /> + Which we may see no more!”<br /> +<a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 18</span>Thus spake +Dubritius; and the tide<br /> + Fast wafted him away,<br /> +Out t’wards the rocky Cambrian coast<br /> + Of Cardigan’s fair bay.<br /> +The sea was calmly resting,<br /> + Lit by the summer’s sun;<br /> +In three short hours the Convent boat<br /> + Her little voyage had run.<br /> +Dubritius and his monkish band<br /> + At once pursued their way,<br /> +Reaching the town of Abermawr<br /> + Just at the close of day.<br /> +The evening’s hush was resting<br /> + So peacefully around,<br /> +Alone was heard the shrill sea bird,<br /> + And the waves’ soft murmuring sound.<br /> +When all at once through th’ restful air,<br /> + Dread shrieks of anguish rung<br /> +From the idol temple near the town,<br /> + While Druid choirs sung<br /> +<a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 19</span>Fierce +hymns to their false savage gods,<br /> + Around the kindling flame,<br /> +Prepared for sacrificial rites,<br /> + Too terrible to name.<br /> +A fair young mother brings her babe,<br /> + A warrior brings his boy,<br /> +The Druids bind their victims<br /> + With fierce, fanatic joy!<br /> +The weeping mother hears the wail<br /> + Well from her darling’s breast;<br /> +The father sees the Druids bind<br /> + His boy with savage zest.<br /> +The lad was fair to look upon,<br /> + Ah! must he really die,<br /> +Oh! shall such sacrifice pollute<br /> + That calm blue evening sky?<br /> +The boy, though brave, is trembling now,<br /> + He nears the dreadful fire,<br /> +He feels its scorch, yet gives his life,<br /> + To still the idol’s ire.<br /> +<a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>The +father’s cheek grows blanched and pale,<br /> + The poor young mother stands,<br /> +Yearning to snatch her precious one<br /> + From the stern Druid’s hands.<br /> +High leaps the flame, loud swells the song,<br /> + From the Druids’ choirs around;<br /> +But suddenly the evening wind<br /> + Fills with another sound!<br /> +’Tis “Miserere Domine,”<br /> + Sung by the Monkish train,<br /> +“Exurgat Deus Dominus,” <a name="citation20"></a><a +href="#footnote20" class="citation">[20]</a><br /> + A grand and glorious strain!<br /> +With Crucifix and banner bright,<br /> + The bold brave monks appear;<br /> +And then among the heathen crowd,<br /> + Christ’s mighty Cross they rear.<br /> +<a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>“Cease, cease, ye sons of wickedness,<br /> + This useless wicked rite;<br /> +The God of Heaven has sent me here,<br /> + Of Majesty and Might!”<br /> +Dubritius spoke, and seized the boy<br /> + Straight from the altar’s side;<br /> +And caught the infant from the flame,<br /> + Or ere the darling died!<br /> +While this was done, some novices<br /> + Had hurl’d the idol down;<br /> +“Jesus is God!” the Monks proclaim,<br /> + “Your King with homage crown!<br /> +Ye Druids move not, or we call<br /> + God’s Angels to our aid.<br /> +The hour has come. By Abermawr<br /> + Worship must now be paid<br /> +To Jesus Christ, and Him alone,<br /> + Crown Him ye people all;<br /> +He bought you with His Precious Blood,<br /> + Prostrate before Him fall!”<br /> +<a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 22</span>Dubritius, +with mighty power,<br /> + Told of the love so free,<br /> +That made God Man to die to save,<br /> + And bring true liberty.<br /> +God gave the Monks the victory,<br /> + The power of Jesus’ Name<br /> +Prevailed among those savage hearts,<br /> + Put out the cruel flame;<br /> +Rescued the boy, and snatched the babe<br /> + From that dread altar’s side;<br /> +Plunged them in gentle mercy’s stream,<br /> + The blest Baptismal tide.<br /> +The days and weeks passed swiftly,<br /> + New converts owned the Lord,<br /> +Ere long, all Abermawr became<br /> + Obedient to the Word.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Seventy long years had flown away,<br /> + See! Aberdaron weeps;<br /> +<a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 23</span>Forth from +her Church beside the shore, <a name="citation23a"></a><a +href="#footnote23a" class="citation">[23a]</a><br /> + A long procession sweeps.<br /> +See crowds of pilgrims waiting<br /> + From all Carnarvon round,<br /> +The hushing of the sea roar,<br /> + To cross the dangerous sound. <a +name="citation23b"></a><a href="#footnote23b" +class="citation">[23b]</a><br /> +The Church at Aberdaron<br /> + Is wet with mourners’ tears;<br /> +<a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>Dubritius +has entered<br /> + Upon the Eternal years.<br /> +His body rests so calmly<br /> + Before the Altar high,<br /> +The Priests are softly wailing<br /> + The mournful Requiem’s sigh.<br /> +Upon the Altar glisten<br /> + The waxen tapers tall,<br /> +And summer flowers are lying<br /> + Upon the snow-white pall.<br /> +Sweet Incense clouds are rising<br /> + Around the hallowed bier;<br /> +From many an eye is falling<br /> + The sad, the loving tear.<br /> +Dubritius left Bardsey,<br /> + His lov’d—his peaceful home,<br /> +For fifty years mid war-strife,<br /> + This valiant Saint did roam.<br /> +But now, in peace, he cometh,<br /> + In Bardsey’s Isle to rest,<br /> +<a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 25</span>His spirit +calmly dwelling<br /> + In regions of the blest.<br /> +Lower your crest, ye foam waves,<br /> + Wail adverse winds no more,<br /> +Dubritius must pass over<br /> + To Bardsey’s sainted shore.<br /> +’Tis evening, and the sun glow<br /> + Is lighting up the sea:<br /> +The tiny waves are dancing,<br /> + For merriment and glee.<br /> +They bore Dubritius to toil,<br /> + To the fight at Abermawr,<br /> +And now they sing his lullaby,<br /> + And hush their noisy roar.<br /> +The boats are filling quickly<br /> + At Aberdaron’s quay,<br /> +The Bardsey bells are pealing,<br /> + Across the crimson sea.<br /> +The Aberdaron Canons <a name="citation25"></a><a +href="#footnote25" class="citation">[25]</a><br /> + <a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>Are chanting their sweet Psalm,<br /> +The blessed Saint is passing<br /> + Across those waters calm.<br /> +The Bay of Aberdaron<br /> + Seems full of peace and life,<br /> +Dubritius the Warrior,<br /> + As victor from the strife,<br /> +Is coming full of glory,<br /> + To his Island Home again;<br /> +The welcome bells are ringing,<br /> + Athwart the calm blue main.<br /> +Hark! how the chant is rising<br /> + From a hundred boats and mo’,<br /> +Mingling its soft sweet requiem,<br /> + With the murmuring wavelet’s flow.<br /> +And now the fleet of mourners<br /> + Reaches the haven still,<br /> +And th’ Monks’ slow, sad procession<br /> + Is winding down the hill.<br /> +<a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 27</span>The sacred +banners waving,<br /> + In th’ restful evening air,<br /> +Borne by some weeping novices,<br /> + Wrought in devices rare.<br /> +And Incense-clouds ascending,<br /> + And many a taper’s light,<br /> +Burst on the pilgrims’ vision,<br /> + A fair and holy sight.<br /> +“Requiem æternam,”<br /> + The aged Abbot sings;<br /> +“Dona ei Domine,”<br /> + The loud response-note rings.<br /> +He comes! he comes! the victor!<br /> + We’ll welcome him with song;<br /> +Another Saint now perfect,<br /> + To Bardsey doth belong!<br /> +The dread Pelagian heresy<br /> + He trampled from our land, <a +name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27" +class="citation">[27]</a><br /> +<a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>And drove +the Druid’s tyranny<br /> + From Cambria’s noble strand.<br /> +He joined his Alleluia<br /> + With countless thousands more,<br /> +And drove the heathen foemen,<br /> + The Holy Cross before.<br /> +“Now that thou reign’st with Jesus,<br /> + A glorious Saint above,<br /> +O pray, dear St. Dubritius,<br /> + For the island of thy love!”<br /> +The Abbey Church was glistening<br /> + With incense, lights, and gold,<br /> +The organ’s peal of welcome,<br /> + Through aisle and choir rolled.<br /> +The hooded Monks are bearing<br /> + Slowly the bier along,<br /> +The choristers are chanting<br /> + A glad triumphant song.<br /> + “Rest for thy toil is +o’er,<br /> + The battle’s shout no +more<br /> + <a name="page29"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 29</span>Shall break thy spirit’s +calm,<br /> + Or mar thy peaceful Psalm;<br /> + Of praise to Christ the King,<br +/> + Whose beauty thou shalt sing,<br +/> + Throughout the ages long,<br /> + In one unbroken song.<br /> + For ever, and for aye,<br /> + In everlasting Day.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">The lichens and the ivy<br /> + Are creeping up the wall,<br /> +And growing round the casements,<br /> + And o’er the towers tall.<br /> +The Abbey hath grown hoary,<br /> + With centuries of age,<br /> +St. Mary’s Abbey stories<br /> + In many an ancient page.<br /> +And yet her grand old praise notes<br /> + Linger in her choir,<br /> +<a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 30</span>For of the +praise of Jesus,<br /> + Her Monks can never tire.<br /> +Now round the hallowed precincts<br /> + Saint’s ashes crowd her sod,<br /> +Here thousands, and ten thousands<br /> + Have passed away to God. <a name="citation30"></a><a +href="#footnote30" class="citation">[30]</a><br /> +Men call the Holy Island<br /> + “The Gate of Paradise,”<br /> +And crowd her shores with pilgrims,<br /> + Who offer Sacrifice,<br /> +In Holy Eucharist, and tears,<br /> + And penance for their sin,<br /> +<a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>And pray +that through sweet Jesus<br /> + God’s pardon they may win.<br /> +A pilgrimage to Bardsey,<br /> + If faithfully <i>twice</i> made,<br /> +Brings blessings all as gracious,<br /> + As if to Rome <i>once</i> paid.<br /> +So thought the Faithful in that day,<br /> + Of Bardsey’s Sacred Isle,<br /> +And sought her weal devoutly,<br /> + For Jesu’s sake the while.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">A maiden fair was weeping;<br /> + Her warrior lover gone,<br /> +Yet not for noisy war-strife,<br /> + He leaves her thus alone.<br /> +Valiant in battle—bravely<br /> + The gory plains he trod,<br /> +Nor feared the deadly sword-thrust,<br /> + Nor th’ battles death-strewn sod.<br /> +<a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>And +ofttimes ’mid the strife-clang,<br /> + He thought of his fair bride;<br /> +Whom he should press in triumph,<br /> + So closely to his side.<br /> +When all at once he altered,<br /> + He laid his armour by,<br /> +He said, his eyes were opened<br /> + To see earth’s vanity.<br /> +Eternity seemed opening<br /> + Her vista to his view,<br /> +He trembled at the prospect,<br /> + Graver he daily grew.<br /> +Men tried their skill all vainly<br /> + To dissipate his fear;<br /> +But Rudolph only answered—<br /> + “Eternity is near!<br /> +They say this life is joyous,<br /> + ’Tis all too short for me,<br /> +I must seek joys that fade not,<br /> + Throughout Eternity.<br /> +<a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>All—all of earth I’ll banish,<br /> + Its hopes, its loves, its smile;<br /> +And live alone for Jesus,<br /> + In Enlli’s <a name="citation33"></a><a +href="#footnote33" class="citation">[33]</a> sainted +isle.”<br /> +This stern resolve all firmly,<br /> + Rudolph right soon did make;<br /> +And parents, lover, glory,<br /> + For Christ he did forsake.<br /> +“These things for money promptly,<br /> + Earth’s servants oft forego,<br /> +Then I, for years eternal,<br /> + Relinquish <i>all</i> below.<br /> +I’ll live alone for Jesus<br /> + In the Monastic Life,<br /> +And in the sacred cloister<br /> + I’ll wage the wondrous strife<br /> +With Satan, like our Master,<br /> + Amid the desert wild,<br /> +<a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>I’ll +give my will to Jesus,<br /> + Just as a little child,<br /> +That thus I soon ‘may enter<br /> + The Kingdom’ of the Lord,<br /> +As said our Saviour Jesus,<br /> + In His own Holy Word.”<br /> +But Mabel pines; young Rudolph,<br /> + She pineth sore for thee;<br /> +To thee her troth she plighted,<br /> + In love’s first purity.<br /> +Within her bower she waiteth,<br /> + Her eyes with weeping sore,<br /> +They cannot stay her sorrow,<br /> + She mourneth more and more.<br /> +“Go, tell her,” said young Rudolph,<br /> + “Go, tell the lady fair,<br /> +That I have found a Lover,<br /> + Of Beauty wondrous rare.<br /> +Yes, tell her He is chiefest<br /> + ‘Among ten thousand’ too,<br /> +<a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>Yea, +‘altogether lovely,’<br /> + His Love is ever true.<br /> +Tell her, my Love is Jesus,<br /> + The Prince of Peace—the King,<br /> +Whose Beauty all the Angels<br /> + Eternally do sing.”<br /> +But Rudolph, list! she pineth,<br /> + Oh, canst thou break her heart?<br /> +Wilt thou prove false to Mabel,<br /> + So cruelly thus part?<br /> +Her rosy blush is waning,<br /> + Her cheek is growing pale,<br /> +Her maiden heart is breaking,<br /> + Soon will her young life fail.<br /> +As Rudolph listened, tear drops<br /> + Flashed in his dark blue eye,<br /> +His manly breast was heaving<br /> + A deep, a piercing sigh.<br /> +Oh! tell her, brother, tell her,<br /> + She must not weep for me;<br /> +<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>Say that I +long to meet her<br /> + Where parting may not be.<br /> +My love is all unaltered,<br /> + But the eternal years<br /> +Have stole my heart from Mabel,<br /> + And earth’s sad vale of tears!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">And now a boat is waiting<br /> + The resting of the tide,<br /> +One hour—Rudolph is landing<br /> + On Bardsey’s southern side.<br /> +And quick his steps are seeking<br /> + The Abbey’s quiet shade;<br /> +Three months—the princely Rudolph<br /> + His novice vows had made.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">’Twas the Corpus Christi Spring Feast,<br +/> + That now was hard at hand,<br /> +<a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>And +Pilgrim crowds are waiting<br /> + On Aberdaron’s strand.<br /> +The sea was gaily sparkling,<br /> + Beneath the May-day sun,<br /> +The Aberdaron boatmen<br /> + A race to Bardsey run.<br /> +Now, in all haste the pilgrims<br /> + Are landing on the isle,<br /> +For crowds at Aberdaron<br /> + Are waiting all the while.<br /> +The boats return to fetch them,<br /> + Across the sparkling bay,<br /> +In time for the First Vespers<br /> + Of Corpus Christi Day.<br /> +The grand old Abbey Temple<br /> + Was throng’d both aisle and nave,<br /> +The Vespers from the choir<br /> + Roll’d forth their choral wave.<br /> +And then a grand procession,<br /> + With lights, and incense, came<br /> +<a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 38</span>From out +the choir; the old Church<br /> + Seem’d one bright blaze of flame.<br /> +For all the congregation<br /> + A lighted taper bore,<br /> +In honour of the Victim,<br /> + Once slain in days of yore.<br /> +But now with solemn worship<br /> + Borne in procession long,<br /> +Mid incense-clouds, and tapers,<br /> + And bursts of triumph song.<br /> +The Fathers and the Novices<br /> + Came first in order due,<br /> +Then choir-boys with banners,<br /> + All marching two and two.<br /> +The people fall back reverently,<br /> + As th’ holy Monks draw near,<br /> +One maiden there is trembling,<br /> + As if for very fear.<br /> +Or p’r’aps it’s her devotion<br /> + That palsies all her frame,<br /> +<a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>But then +she would most surely<br /> + Be bow’d for virgin shame.<br /> +It is not thus, for, see now,<br /> + She pushes through the crowd,<br /> +Close to the Monks’ procession,<br /> + She kneels and sobs aloud.<br /> +She marks young Brother Rudolph,<br /> + And wails a long deep cry;<br /> +He knew her voice, but turns not,<br /> + Nor lifts his downcast eye;<br /> +He chants his grand old love-song<br /> + To Jesus Christ the King,<br /> +Borne in the slow procession,<br /> + As the glad joy bells ring:—<br /> + “Tantum ergo Sacramentum,<br /> + Veneremur cernui;<br /> + Et antiquum documentum,<br /> + Novo cedat ritui;<br /> + Præstet fides supplementum,<br /> + Sensuum defectui.”<br /> +<a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 40</span>“O +Jesus! my sweet Jesus!”<br /> + The warrior-monk doth pray,<br /> +“Shew her Thine Own great Beauty,<br /> + Make her Thine Own to-day;<br /> +Be Thou her glorious Bridegroom,<br /> + Be Thou her only Choice,<br /> +Ravish her with Thy Beauty,<br /> + Make her to hear Thy voice.”<br /> +But as the long procession<br /> + Did wind its joyous way,<br /> +Making the evening twilight<br /> + Almost as bright as day,<br /> +The countless tapers glittered<br /> + Like hosts of meteors round,<br /> +And sent a glow of radiance<br /> + Athwart the Bardsey Sound.<br /> +Right round the Islet pealing,<br /> + The gladsome songs ascend,<br /> +And with the evening breezes<br /> + The clouds of incense blend.<br /> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>But what +was Mabel doing,<br /> + Where was the maiden now?<br /> +O joy! at Mary’s altar,<br /> + She plights another vow!<br /> +Yes! while the girl was weeping,<br /> + Her Rudolph lost and gone,<br /> +The Sacred Host drew near her,<br /> + There from strange glory shone.<br /> +And there as if in vision,<br /> + All wondrous, and most clear,<br /> +Mabel beheld the Saviour,<br /> + His voice fell on her ear.<br /> +“Arise, my love, my fair one,<br /> + Arise, and come away;<br /> +The winter’s past, the rain gone,”<br /> + The sunbeams strew thy way.<br /> +In lily vales the virgins<br /> + Are waiting now for thee,<br /> +“Arise my love, my fair one,<br /> + Arise, and follow Me.”</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><a name="page42"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 42</span>* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Hush! softly in the distance,<br /> + I hear the nuns’ sweet song,<br /> +’Tis floating through the Cloister,<br /> + Its fretted roofs along.<br /> +And mingling with the echoes<br /> + Of nature’s own sweet praise,<br /> +Which the lowing herd, and the sweet song-bird,<br /> + With insects hum doth raise.<br /> +How peacefully, how restfully,<br /> + Such sounds as these combine<br /> +To soothe the weary spirit,<br /> + A weary one like mine.<br /> +But now my spirit wanders,<br /> + Woo’d by that distant hymn,<br /> +Through the hallow’d door, o’er the storied floor,<br +/> + To the steps of the chancel dim.<br /> +<a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 43</span>The +nuns’ sweet hymn was dying<br /> + In faintest tones away,<br /> +While prostrate at the altar,<br /> + A maiden’s figure lay.<br /> +Two years had pass’d since Mabel<br /> + Had heard the Bridegroom’s voice,<br /> +In Bardsey’s Holy Island,<br /> + And made her happy choice.<br /> +And now before His Altar,<br /> + She lays her young life down,<br /> +And from the hands of Rudolph<br /> + Receives the virgin crown!<br /> +Yes! Father Rudolph blesses,<br /> + The Virgin-Crown and Veil<br /> +Adorn the brow of Mabel,<br /> + With wreaths of lilies pale.<br /> +Her vows, like his, are plighted,<br /> + For ever and for aye,<br /> +To One Whose Love and Beauty<br /> + Can change not or decay.<br /> +<a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>O happy +youths and virgins!<br /> + In cloister homes that dwell,<br /> +For ever and for ever<br /> + Your joyous songs shall swell—<br /> +Upon the soft sweet breezes<br /> + Of Zion’s sun-lit lands—<br /> +Upon the lily hill-slopes,<br /> + With all the virgin bands.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">And so Carnarvon Convent<br /> + Enclosed another bride,<br /> +For Jesus Christ, the Bridegroom,<br /> + The Virgins Joy and Pride.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">It was a calm sweet festal,<br /> + In joyous, summer time,<br /> +And Bardsey’s Abbey bell-notes<br /> + Rang out a merry chime.<br /> +<a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>The Island +seem’d rejoicing,<br /> + With holy joy and mirth,<br /> +The Monks are going to honour<br /> + St. John the Baptist’s birth.<br /> +For John shines forth as Primate<br /> + Of Monkish Choirs above,<br /> +On earth he dwelt in deserts,<br /> + And knew no earthly love.<br /> +The poor, the sad, the orphans,<br /> + All love St. Mary’s shrine,<br /> +And venerate her Cloister,<br /> + Fill’d with the Love Divine.<br /> +The Fathers, and the Novices,<br /> + They count as loving friends,<br /> +Whom Jesus in His Mercy,<br /> + The poor and helpless sends.<br /> +They teach their children sweetly,<br /> + The Gospel’s glorious tales,<br /> +And tend their sick and dying<br /> + With care that never fails.<br /> +<a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 46</span>No +poor’s rates, and no workhouse,<br /> + Were needed in those days,<br /> +The monks were all they wanted,<br /> + They work’d for Jesu’s praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Holy Mass was over,<br /> + The Abbot seeks his cell,<br /> +His heart is strangely trembling,<br /> + Wherefore he cannot tell.<br /> +’Tis some foreboding sorrow<br /> + That makes his spirit sad,<br /> +Though all around is sunshine<br /> + And everything seems glad.<br /> +A strange, a chill forewarning,<br /> + Shakes the old man with fear,<br /> +Some dread, some dire affliction,<br /> + Too surely must be near.<br /> +That night, ere hushful Compline<br /> + Had closed the sacred day,<br /> +<a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>Two boats +the Point were rounding,<br /> + Of Aberdaron’s Bay.<br /> +In one brief hour there landed,<br /> + On Bardsey’s holy shore,<br /> +Ten men from Windsor, bringing<br /> + Tidings most sad and sore.<br /> +They seek at once admission,<br /> + Telling the news they bring,<br /> +The Monks must, ere the morrow,<br /> + Surrender to the king<br /> +The Abbey and its treasures,<br /> + Its Church, its relics rare,<br /> +Its Vestments and its Chalices,<br /> + Its Shrines with jewels fair.<br /> +The Monks <i>must</i> sign surrender,<br /> + Acknowledge many a sin<br /> +They never could have dreamt of,<br /> + If they would safety win.<br /> +And call the tyrant merciful,<br /> + For driving them away,<br /> +<a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>Making +them leave their Abbey<br /> + To ruin and decay. <a name="citation48"></a><a +href="#footnote48" class="citation">[48]</a><br /> +The Compline Bell was tolling<br /> + Its last dear Compline call,<br /> +To-morrow death-like ruin<br /> + Would o’er the Convent fall.<br /> +That night the holy Fathers<br /> + Held consultation long,<br /> +And all agreed—Surrender<br /> + Would be unjust and wrong.<br /> +“Then die we at God’s Altar,<br /> + Sooner than yield the right<br /> +Which God Himself has given us,<br /> + To sacrilegious might.”<br /> +And true to their confession<br /> + The holy Monks remained,<br /> +And with their virgin life-blood<br /> + The Altar-steps are stained.<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>The poor +arose right bravely,<br /> + Their much-loved Monks to aid,<br /> +And many thus right gladly<br /> + Their lives a forfeit made.<br /> +Now having done all thoroughly,<br /> + Their work of cruel wrong,<br /> +They left the Island weeping,<br /> + All hushed the Holy Song,<br /> +Which for so many ages,<br /> + By night as well as day,<br /> +Had praised the Love of Jesus,<br /> + In one long ceaseless lay.<br /> +And now the poor are seeking,<br /> + Among the ruins drear,<br /> +The bodies of the Martyrs,<br /> + So holy, and so dear.<br /> +Ah! there before the Altar,<br /> + The brave old Abbot lies;<br /> +And there, too, Father Rudolph,<br /> + With fixed and glassy eyes.<br /> +<a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 50</span>But oh! a +calm serenest<br /> + Enfolds the Martyrs blest,<br /> +Strange joy lights up their faces,<br /> + Their spirits are at rest.<br /> +The dear old Abbey crumbles<br /> + All swiftly to decay:<br /> +Oh! for its restoration!<br /> + Cadfan! Dubritius! pray!<br /> +Ye thousand Saints of Bardsey,<br /> + Lift up your pleading song,<br /> +That Jesus may avenge you,<br /> + Of this most cruel wrong!</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">A hundred years are over,<br /> + Two stranger pilgrims steal,<br /> +To Bardsey’s Abbey ruins,<br /> + To pray for Bardsey’s weal.<br /> +The night was stormy, darksome,<br /> + No moonlight’s silver ray<br /> +<a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 51</span>Lit up the +desolation<br /> + That all around them lay.<br /> +The hour was lonely midnight,<br /> + See! now beside the tomb,<br /> +Where holy Cadfan resteth,<br /> + A light steals through the gloom,<br /> +And ’mid the light a figure,<br /> + In holy Monk’s attire,<br /> +And smiling sweetly, brightly,<br /> + Points to the ruined choir.<br /> +“Pilgrims faithful, Pilgrims true,<br /> +List to that I tell to you.<br /> +Years three hundred shall not end,<br /> +Ere the King of Heaven shall send,<br /> +Saints to rear this sacred fane,<br /> +And restore her walls again.<br /> +Saints above cease not their cry,<br /> +Unto Christ the Lord Most High,<br /> +That His ceaseless praises may<br /> +Here arise by night and day.<br /> +<a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>Newborough’s Lord shall own this soil;<br /> +Ere he resteth from life’s toil,<br /> +Jesus, for His servants’ sake,<br /> +Bids him restoration make.<br /> +And if Newborough’s Lord obey,<br /> +That which Jesu’s servants say,<br /> +He shall gain a blessing bright,<br /> +In the realms of Morning Light.<br /> +If he do not grant their prayer,<br /> +He shall lose a blessing rare,<br /> +When he lies on his last bed,<br /> +Sad regret shall crown his head.<br /> +To his son shall then be given, <a name="citation52"></a><a +href="#footnote52" class="citation">[52]</a><br /> +<a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 53</span>Choicest +blessings from High Heaven,<br /> +For he shall restore to God,<br /> +Through the Monks this sacred sod.”<br /> +Saying thus he sought repose,<br /> +In the tomb whence he arose.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">The Angel shewed me these things,<br /> + In pictures bright and true;<br /> +I woke!—my eyes were resting<br /> + Upon the waters blue.<br /> +But oh! the waves seem sighing<br /> + For sorrow at my tale,<br /> +The sea-birds floating o’er them.<br /> + Sent forth a piteous wail.<br /> +Oh happy waves! no tyrant<br /> + Can hush <i>your</i> endless song.<br /> +May ye again comingle<br /> + With Bardsey’s chants ere long.<br /> +<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>Then +Heaven, and Earth, and Nature,<br /> + In unison shall raise,<br /> +One grand joy-peal of gladness,—<br /> + One mighty shout of praise!</p> +<p><i>Written at Barmouth and Aberdaron</i>, <i>off Bardsey +Isle</i>, <i>February</i>, 1870.</p> + +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/p54b.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic of a cross" +title= +"Decorative graphic of a cross" + src="images/p54s.jpg" /> +</a></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">LONDON:</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">PRINTED BY G. J. PALMER,</span> 32, <span +class="GutSmall">LITTLE QUEEN STREET,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">LINCOLN’S INN FIELDS.</span></p> +<h2>Footnotes.</h2> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> The Bardsey Monks, at this time +(the eighth century) doubtless wore the black habit, but assumed +the white habit of the Premonstratensians some hundreds of years +later.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> Aberdaron is situated on the +mainland of Carnarvonshire, just five miles from Bardsey Island, +in its own snug bay shore, just round the last point of the +Promontory of Lleyn. It was the starting place of the +pilgrims for the Holy Isle.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Barmouth is nearly thirty miles +due east of Bardsey, across Cardigan Bay, and quite visible on a +clear day. It is a seaport of Merionethshire.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12a"></a><a href="#citation12a" +class="footnote">[12a]</a> This may seem an anachronism, +but it should be remembered that Druidism lingered a long time in +Wales, after it was fairly driven from the rest of Britain.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12b"></a><a href="#citation12b" +class="footnote">[12b]</a> The Church here is dedicated to +St. Cadfan.</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> St. Dubritius spent much of his +early life in Bardsey, and was buried there.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20" +class="footnote">[20]</a> Psalm lxviii.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23a"></a><a href="#citation23a" +class="footnote">[23a]</a> The Church of Aberdaron is still +standing close to the sea shore, and was roofless and going to +decay, until a few years ago the present good vicar re-roofed the +holy place, which might easily be restored for worship were +£500 collected for the purpose. The parish and vicar +are too poor to do any more. I had the privilege of +preaching in this holy old temple to a large crowd of peasants +last Quinquagesima Sunday.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23b"></a><a href="#citation23b" +class="footnote">[23b]</a> I and a friend waited a whole +week at Aberdaron this spring, but in vain, waiting for a quiet +sea, in order to visit the Holy Isle; which is separated from the +mainland by a most dangerous current.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> Aberdaron Church was Collegiate +in after years, and served by secular Canons.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> St. Dubritius attended the +Council at Verulam with St. Germanus, and is also said to have +been present at the “Alleluiatic Battle.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> It is said by the historians of +Bardsey, that 20,000 Saints are buried there. A Bardsey man +told me the other day when I was at Aberdaron, that he has seen +perfect skeletons of tall fine men lying perfect, in five +separate layers one above another, which were exposed near the +shore of the Island, by the wind and waves. He said, too, +that he believed bodies were buried all over the Island.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> Ynys Enlli is the old British +name for Bardsey, and means “The Island in the +<i>Flood</i>.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48" +class="footnote">[48]</a> See Collier’s Eccles. +History, Vol. ii., where an exact parallel to this may be +found.</p> +<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52" +class="footnote">[52]</a> Lord Newborough is the present +owner of the Holy Island. Its present inhabitants are +without a Church or Clergyman. I have written to him to ask +him to give us the Abbey Ruins, promising in return to try and +build a little Church and School there, which we would take +charge of free of expense to anyone. The good Priest of +Aberdaron was much pleased with our proposed plan.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HOLY ISLE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 49306-h.htm or 49306-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/9/3/0/49306 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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