Ængus seems to have spent, many years in this kind of solitary life, living alone in his little cell, and finding sustenance in the roots of the earth, or the produce of his garden. His first cell was probably at Disert-beagh, which is not more than a mile from Clonenagh, and likely got its name from having been the desertum, or solitary abode of the saint. He had not yet forsaken his beloved community of Clonenagh on the banks of the infant Nore; and he loved them dearly to the end, if we may believe his poetical namesake in the Leabhar Breac—
“Pleasant to sit here thus
Beside the cold pure Nore.”
And then follow the stanzas which, Mr. Matthew Arnold declared, show as fine a perception of what constitutes propriety and felicity of style as anything to be found in a Greek epitaph—
“Ængus out of the assembly of Heaven,
Here are his tomb and his bed,
It is hence he went to death,
On Friday to the holy Heaven;
It is in Cluain Eidnech he was reared,
It is in Cluain Eidnech he was buried,
It is in Cluain Eidnech of many crosses
He first read his psalms.”
But Disert-beagh was not lonely enough for Ængus—it was too near the great monastic school, and doubtless his solitude was often disturbed by truant youth, or inquisitive strangers. So he put his books in his satchel, took his staff in his hand, and made his way as best he could through the bogs and morasses, where the railway now runs, until he came to the place called after him, Dysert Enos or the Desert of Ængus. It is about eight miles from Clonenagh, and two to the south-east of Maryborough on the slope of a broken ridge of bluish gray limestone, that relieves to some extent that dreary and featureless plain. The present grave-yard, surrounding the roofless Protestant Church, probably marks the site of the primitive oratory founded by Ængus; and shows that though dead to the world, like most of his countrymen the self-denying ascetic had an eye for the natural beauty of a picturesque landscape. It afforded him too what he no doubt prized much, a distant prospect of his beloved Clonenagh, beyond the swampy moorland, under the shadow of Slieve Bloom.
In this lonely retreat Ængus practiced the severest penitential observance. He made three hundred genuflections every day; and moreover recited the entire psaltery. But not in ordinary fashion; he divided his self-imposed office into three parts. Fifty psalms he said in his cell; fifty more he recited in the open air under the shade of a spreading tree that embowered his little oratory; the last fifty, if we can credit his biographer, he repeated with his neck chained to a post, and his body half plunged in a huge tub of cold water.
Penance like this showed that Ængus was a saint; so in spite of his efforts to conceal himself the world soon found him out, and strangers began to disturb him once more. Before all things he loved to be alone, and so once again he resolved to make his escape from men, and hide himself for ever from their foolish admiration and applause. This time he resolved to adopt another plan, and strove to escape from the crowd not so much by shunning their presence, as by concealing his identity.
It is doubtful if Ængus when setting out knew what was to be his final destination. He left his cell at Dysart Enos, trusting solely to the guidance of Providence; and Providence never deserts those who put their trust in God.
Shortly after setting out on his journey, as we should now say towards Dublin, Ængus entered a way-side church to pray to God, and ask His guidance and protection. This was probably the first church which he met on his way; it is now called Coolbanagher, about four miles from Dysart Enos, beyond the Heath of Maryborough, and not far from Portarlington. There he saw a vision of angels hovering around a newly-made grave. He asked the priest, who served the little church, whose was that new grave. The priest told him it was the grave of a soldier who had served God faithfully for many years. Then Ængus asked him was he in the habit of practising any special mortification, or any peculiar devotion. The priest knew of nothing special, or unusual, in his case, except that he made it a constant practice every day to invoke the intercession of all God’s saints, whom he could call to mind. This incident made a very deep impression on Ængus. He saw how meritorious it was to invoke the saints; and so he resolved thereafter, if he could find time and place, to compose a metrical catalogue of the saints, which devout souls might more easily remember and recite for their own spiritual welfare.
Afterwards Ængus went his way, and at length came to St. Maelruain’s monastery at Tallaght, near Dublin, then, and almost ever since, a favourite home of religious men. He was quite unknown to the inmates of the monastery, so, concealing his name and learning, he sought admission into the community as an humble lay-brother. His pious request was readily granted; but, of course, the novice was put to the meanest and hardest work in the monastery. He reaped the corn in the field; carried it to the barn on his back; threshed it; winnowed, dried, and ground it in the mill for the use of the brotherhood. He wore the poorest rags he could find during his rounds of daily toil; his hair was so unkempt that it was as if the ears of corn grew in it; his hands were horny with the flail, and his face black with sweat and dust. So he lived unknown to all, labouring with his hands, but praying to God in his heart.