Seventy long years had flown away,
See! Aberdaron weeps;
Forth from her Church beside the shore, [23a]
A long procession sweeps.
See crowds of pilgrims waiting
From all Carnarvon round,
The hushing of the sea roar,
To cross the dangerous sound. [23b]
The Church at Aberdaron
Is wet with mourners’ tears;
Dubritius has entered
Upon the Eternal years.
His body rests so calmly
Before the Altar high,
The Priests are softly wailing
The mournful Requiem’s sigh.
Upon the Altar glisten
The waxen tapers tall,
And summer flowers are lying
Upon the snow-white pall.
Sweet Incense clouds are rising
Around the hallowed bier;
From many an eye is falling
The sad, the loving tear.
Dubritius left Bardsey,
His lov’d—his peaceful home,
For fifty years mid war-strife,
This valiant Saint did roam.
But now, in peace, he cometh,
In Bardsey’s Isle to rest,
His spirit calmly dwelling
In regions of the blest.
Lower your crest, ye foam waves,
Wail adverse winds no more,
Dubritius must pass over
To Bardsey’s sainted shore.
’Tis evening, and the sun glow
Is lighting up the sea:
The tiny waves are dancing,
For merriment and glee.
They bore Dubritius to toil,
To the fight at Abermawr,
And now they sing his lullaby,
And hush their noisy roar.
The boats are filling quickly
At Aberdaron’s quay,
The Bardsey bells are pealing,
Across the crimson sea.
The Aberdaron Canons [25]
Are chanting their sweet Psalm,
The blessed Saint is passing
Across those waters calm.
The Bay of Aberdaron
Seems full of peace and life,
Dubritius the Warrior,
As victor from the strife,
Is coming full of glory,
To his Island Home again;
The welcome bells are ringing,
Athwart the calm blue main.
Hark! how the chant is rising
From a hundred boats and mo’,
Mingling its soft sweet requiem,
With the murmuring wavelet’s flow.
And now the fleet of mourners
Reaches the haven still,
And th’ Monks’ slow, sad procession
Is winding down the hill.
The sacred banners waving,
In th’ restful evening air,
Borne by some weeping novices,
Wrought in devices rare.
And Incense-clouds ascending,
And many a taper’s light,
Burst on the pilgrims’ vision,
A fair and holy sight.
“Requiem æternam,”
The aged Abbot sings;
“Dona ei Domine,”
The loud response-note rings.
He comes! he comes! the victor!
We’ll welcome him with song;
Another Saint now perfect,
To Bardsey doth belong!
The dread Pelagian heresy
He trampled from our land, [27]
And drove the Druid’s tyranny
From Cambria’s noble strand.
He joined his Alleluia
With countless thousands more,
And drove the heathen foemen,
The Holy Cross before.
“Now that thou reign’st with Jesus,
A glorious Saint above,
O pray, dear St. Dubritius,
For the island of thy love!”
The Abbey Church was glistening
With incense, lights, and gold,
The organ’s peal of welcome,
Through aisle and choir rolled.
The hooded Monks are bearing
Slowly the bier along,
The choristers are chanting
A glad triumphant song.
“Rest for thy toil is o’er,
The battle’s shout no more
Shall break thy spirit’s calm,
Or mar thy peaceful Psalm;
Of praise to Christ the King,
Whose beauty thou shalt sing,
Throughout the ages long,
In one unbroken song.
For ever, and for aye,
In everlasting Day.”

* * * * *

The lichens and the ivy
Are creeping up the wall,
And growing round the casements,
And o’er the towers tall.
The Abbey hath grown hoary,
With centuries of age,
St. Mary’s Abbey stories
In many an ancient page.
And yet her grand old praise notes
Linger in her choir,
For of the praise of Jesus,
Her Monks can never tire.
Now round the hallowed precincts
Saint’s ashes crowd her sod,
Here thousands, and ten thousands
Have passed away to God. [30]
Men call the Holy Island
“The Gate of Paradise,”
And crowd her shores with pilgrims,
Who offer Sacrifice,
In Holy Eucharist, and tears,
And penance for their sin,
And pray that through sweet Jesus
God’s pardon they may win.
A pilgrimage to Bardsey,
If faithfully twice made,
Brings blessings all as gracious,
As if to Rome once paid.
So thought the Faithful in that day,
Of Bardsey’s Sacred Isle,
And sought her weal devoutly,
For Jesu’s sake the while.

* * * * *

A maiden fair was weeping;
Her warrior lover gone,
Yet not for noisy war-strife,
He leaves her thus alone.
Valiant in battle—bravely
The gory plains he trod,
Nor feared the deadly sword-thrust,
Nor th’ battles death-strewn sod.
And ofttimes ’mid the strife-clang,
He thought of his fair bride;
Whom he should press in triumph,
So closely to his side.
When all at once he altered,
He laid his armour by,
He said, his eyes were opened
To see earth’s vanity.
Eternity seemed opening
Her vista to his view,
He trembled at the prospect,
Graver he daily grew.
Men tried their skill all vainly
To dissipate his fear;
But Rudolph only answered—
“Eternity is near!
They say this life is joyous,
’Tis all too short for me,
I must seek joys that fade not,
Throughout Eternity.
All—all of earth I’ll banish,
Its hopes, its loves, its smile;
And live alone for Jesus,
In Enlli’s [33] sainted isle.”
This stern resolve all firmly,
Rudolph right soon did make;
And parents, lover, glory,
For Christ he did forsake.
“These things for money promptly,
Earth’s servants oft forego,
Then I, for years eternal,
Relinquish all below.
I’ll live alone for Jesus
In the Monastic Life,
And in the sacred cloister
I’ll wage the wondrous strife
With Satan, like our Master,
Amid the desert wild,
I’ll give my will to Jesus,
Just as a little child,
That thus I soon ‘may enter
The Kingdom’ of the Lord,
As said our Saviour Jesus,
In His own Holy Word.”
But Mabel pines; young Rudolph,
She pineth sore for thee;
To thee her troth she plighted,
In love’s first purity.
Within her bower she waiteth,
Her eyes with weeping sore,
They cannot stay her sorrow,
She mourneth more and more.
“Go, tell her,” said young Rudolph,
“Go, tell the lady fair,
That I have found a Lover,
Of Beauty wondrous rare.
Yes, tell her He is chiefest
‘Among ten thousand’ too,
Yea, ‘altogether lovely,’
His Love is ever true.
Tell her, my Love is Jesus,
The Prince of Peace—the King,
Whose Beauty all the Angels
Eternally do sing.”
But Rudolph, list! she pineth,
Oh, canst thou break her heart?
Wilt thou prove false to Mabel,
So cruelly thus part?
Her rosy blush is waning,
Her cheek is growing pale,
Her maiden heart is breaking,
Soon will her young life fail.
As Rudolph listened, tear drops
Flashed in his dark blue eye,
His manly breast was heaving
A deep, a piercing sigh.
Oh! tell her, brother, tell her,
She must not weep for me;
Say that I long to meet her
Where parting may not be.
My love is all unaltered,
But the eternal years
Have stole my heart from Mabel,
And earth’s sad vale of tears!

* * * * *

And now a boat is waiting
The resting of the tide,
One hour—Rudolph is landing
On Bardsey’s southern side.
And quick his steps are seeking
The Abbey’s quiet shade;
Three months—the princely Rudolph
His novice vows had made.

* * * * *

’Twas the Corpus Christi Spring Feast,
That now was hard at hand,
And Pilgrim crowds are waiting
On Aberdaron’s strand.
The sea was gaily sparkling,
Beneath the May-day sun,
The Aberdaron boatmen
A race to Bardsey run.
Now, in all haste the pilgrims
Are landing on the isle,
For crowds at Aberdaron
Are waiting all the while.
The boats return to fetch them,
Across the sparkling bay,
In time for the First Vespers
Of Corpus Christi Day.
The grand old Abbey Temple
Was throng’d both aisle and nave,
The Vespers from the choir
Roll’d forth their choral wave.
And then a grand procession,
With lights, and incense, came
From out the choir; the old Church
Seem’d one bright blaze of flame.
For all the congregation
A lighted taper bore,
In honour of the Victim,
Once slain in days of yore.
But now with solemn worship
Borne in procession long,
Mid incense-clouds, and tapers,
And bursts of triumph song.
The Fathers and the Novices
Came first in order due,
Then choir-boys with banners,
All marching two and two.
The people fall back reverently,
As th’ holy Monks draw near,
One maiden there is trembling,
As if for very fear.
Or p’r’aps it’s her devotion
That palsies all her frame,
But then she would most surely
Be bow’d for virgin shame.
It is not thus, for, see now,
She pushes through the crowd,
Close to the Monks’ procession,
She kneels and sobs aloud.
She marks young Brother Rudolph,
And wails a long deep cry;
He knew her voice, but turns not,
Nor lifts his downcast eye;
He chants his grand old love-song
To Jesus Christ the King,
Borne in the slow procession,
As the glad joy bells ring:—
“Tantum ergo Sacramentum,
Veneremur cernui;
Et antiquum documentum,
Novo cedat ritui;
Præstet fides supplementum,
Sensuum defectui.”
“O Jesus! my sweet Jesus!”
The warrior-monk doth pray,
“Shew her Thine Own great Beauty,
Make her Thine Own to-day;
Be Thou her glorious Bridegroom,
Be Thou her only Choice,
Ravish her with Thy Beauty,
Make her to hear Thy voice.”
But as the long procession
Did wind its joyous way,
Making the evening twilight
Almost as bright as day,
The countless tapers glittered
Like hosts of meteors round,
And sent a glow of radiance
Athwart the Bardsey Sound.
Right round the Islet pealing,
The gladsome songs ascend,
And with the evening breezes
The clouds of incense blend.
But what was Mabel doing,
Where was the maiden now?
O joy! at Mary’s altar,
She plights another vow!
Yes! while the girl was weeping,
Her Rudolph lost and gone,
The Sacred Host drew near her,
There from strange glory shone.
And there as if in vision,
All wondrous, and most clear,
Mabel beheld the Saviour,
His voice fell on her ear.
“Arise, my love, my fair one,
Arise, and come away;
The winter’s past, the rain gone,”
The sunbeams strew thy way.
In lily vales the virgins
Are waiting now for thee,
“Arise my love, my fair one,
Arise, and follow Me.”

* * * * *