In all things, God be glorified.

—Regula, S. Benedict's, Cap. 57.

By IGNATIUS, O.S.B.

Dedicated, without permission, to Lord Newborough, and to the
Rev. Hugh Roberts, Vicar of Aberdaron, Carnarvonshire.

LONDON:
G. J. PALMER, 32, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,
Lincoln's Inn Fields.

1870.

I viewed the sea waves receding,
   Under the crimson glow,
Which sunset light was pouring,
   On their soft, sweet flow.
The little waves looked like dancers,
   On the sunlit sea,
They sang in a whispering chorus,—
   I thought they sang to me
Of beautiful, far-off landscapes
   Beyond that molten tide,
Of better joys and happiness
   Beyond those wide waters.
p. 2The wavelets all seemed to be passing
   On, to some other shores,
And following the sun’s glow,
   To always sunlit lands.
But as I thought these thoughts,
   Again I lifted my eyes
And saw the sunset coloring
   The glorious western skies.
Now amid the farewell glories
   “Of Sol’s departing ray,”
I saw an island resting
   On his golden path.
There, misty in the sunshine,
   The distant isle appears,
Right out among the sea waves
   Its rocky coast rises.
And as I watched, the sunset
   Seems to light up its shore,
Bathing the isle in glory
   And then it’s gone once more.
p. 3A sweet, soothing calm fell over me
   I watched the islet quietly,
All around I heard voices
   That seemed to fill the air.
One said, “That isle is holy,
   For saints are resting there,
Now lonely and deserted,
   It was once an isle of prayer.”
“O Man! would you tremble,
   To come and see,
In visions, strange, sweet pictures
   That I can show to you?”
The angel was so lovely,
   So sweet was the angel’s smile,
I easily agreed,—
   He pointed to the isle!
“Then I will take you there,
   A thousand years ago;—
I speak to strengthen your weakness,
   No time can angels know.
p. 4The present, past, and future,
   All the same they are to me,
I traverse their boundaries,
   Unlimited, and free.”
A strange, calm change swept over me,
   My spirit seemed to rise
In gentle, tireless motion,
   Just like a seabird flies.
My angel-guide was leading
   My spirit over the sea
One moment—and we rested,
   Upon the islet’s hillside.
Soft twilight filled the air,
   Deep peace surrounded all,
Hushed voices seemed to whisper,
   A wavelike, murmuring sound.
“Sweet angel, say, where am I,—
   Tell me the island’s name,
And explain why such glory,
   Enwraps it like a flame?
p. 5Say, too, what is that chanting,
   So sweet, so very near,
The strangeness of this beauty
   Fills my soul with fear?”
“This holy place is Bardsey,
   Jesus loves it well,
It’s wrapped in God’s own brightness,
   Safe from the power of Hell.
Those voices are the virgins,
   In yonder abbey choir,
Praising Jesus in song,
   Of which they never tire.
Hush! amid the evening’s shades,
   How restfully they sing,
Their Vesper praise-wreaths bringing
   To Jesus Christ their King.
Amid the glowing sunset,
   St. Mary’s Abbey stands;
But look! it’s wrapped in glories,
   From far-off better lands.”
p. 6I looked again, and gasped,
   For behold! another scene.
The convent is surrounded
   With Heaven’s own brightest sheen.
And choirs of angels hover
   High in the sunset air,
While the holy monks are singing
   Their peaceful evening prayer.
The monastery is glowing,
   Like heaps of molten gold;
The walls seem completely transparent,
   With majesty untold.
It’s strange; my spirit enters
   St. Mary’s sacred shrine,
I see the cowl-covered figures,
   In many a white-robed line,
[6]
p. 7Filling the stalls, but facing
   The hallowed altar throne,
Where Jesus makes His dwelling,
   Untended and alone.
O peaceful, happy Bardsey,
   Sweet isle of the sea!
I would forever rest,
   All joyfully in thee!
O dear St. Mary’s Abbey,
   On Bardsey’s northern shore;
Would I could stay within you,
   And part from you no more!
O happy monks and virgins,
   Singing by night and day,
Your hymnals to sweet Jesus,
   In dearest, fondest lay!
How can I speak your glory,
   How can I tell your worth?
You are the Church’s safeguard;
   You are the “salt of the earth.”
p. 8You live the life of angels;
   You never cease from praise,
To Heaven your intercessions
   For sinners ever raise.
Ah! well may throngs of sinners
   Seek this most sacred isle,
Well may ten thousand pilgrims
   Visit St. Mary’s pile.
Well may you, Aberdaron,
   Loving to Bardsey be,
And daily turn your gaze
   To the islet out at sea.
For Bardsey is the lighthouse
   Of many a shipwrecked soul;
To many a weary wanderer
   Bardsey’s isle is the goal.
p. 9The glow of Bardsey’s brightness,
   Illuminates wild Cambria’s shores,
Across the Irish Channel,
   Her heavenly light she pours.
And blessed saints in thousands
   Have dwelt on Bardsey’s hill,
Sending her countless virgins
   To fill celestial choirs.
How Jesus must love Bardsey,
   And treasure her sacred soil;
Here saints in countless numbers
   Have rested from earth’s toil:
Have laid aside the burden
   Of poor mortality,
And entered into the Sabbath
   Of joyful eternity.
While I dream, the organ
   Is pealing forth its wave,
The holy monks are marching
   All slowly down the nave.
p. 10“Dear Angel! may I follow
   Them, down the cloister still,
And join their recreation,
   On yonder mossy hill?”
The angel smiled permission;
   I willed myself along,
Until unseen, I joined
   The happy virgin throng.
Here, there were lovely boys;
   And there, old gray-haired men;
And youths, and those of middle-age;
   Here joyous boys again.
I followed one young novice,
   Who held an old man’s hand;
I listened—they were talking,
   Of some dear, distant land.
The boy I saw was pointing
   Away, right out to sea,
Where moonlight made a pathway,
   Of silver brilliance.
p. 11The silver way seemed connecting
   Sea and sky as one,
The stars seemed trembling over it,
   Like lights from above.
“Dear Father Cadfan, look now,”
   —Said the bright, lovely boy,—
“I’m sure that silver pathway
   Leads to our home of joy.”
“No, no, my son, it’s only
   An emblem of the way,
Across time’s changing storm-tide,
   To regions of the day.”
And then the old man turning,
   Towards Cambria’s rock-bound shore,
Pointed the boy to Barmouth,
   But then called Abermawr.
p. 12“My son,” said he, “it’s yonder,
   Long years ago I tried
To bring poor souls to Jesus,
   Who once for sinners died.
But there the Druids held them
   In error’s iron chains,
They would not hear of Jesus,
   And drove me back again.
Yet though at Abermawr I failed
   Amid Towyn’s dreary marshes,
The people bowed before the Cross,
   And sought the dear Savior.
My son, one day you must go,
   If Father Abbot wills,
And build a shrine to Christ Divine,
   Amid Barmouth’s rocky hills.
p. 13The idols which they worship
   You boldly must destroy,
Promise old Father Cadfan this,
   My brave, my darling boy!”
The boy’s bright eyes were sparkling,
   He grasped the old man’s hand,—
“Father, I will preach Jesus
   On that darkened shore.
Only, my father, pray for me,
   When you have crossed the sea,
And reign with our Jesus,
   In the ‘kingdom of the free.’”
St. Cadfan smiled and blessed the lad,
   His heart’s desire seemed gained,
From idol worship for the Lord
   Should Abermawr be claimed.
The Compline bell tolled solemnly
   From out St. Mary’s tower,
Calling the monks to worship
   At day’s last sacred hour.
p. 14Dubritius, [14] the novice boy,
   Stood meekly in his stall,
The fathers and the novices
   Chanted the Office all.
But Father Cadfan was not there,
   Calmly his body lay;
Upon the mound by Bardsey Sound,
   His spirit passed away.
His work was done, his prize was won,
   The holy monk was gone,
To join the virgin song notes,
   Before th’ Eternal Throne.

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The boy, so beautiful and pure,
Grew up into a young man,
And often came to pray
At Blessed Cadfan's Tomb.
p. 15One night the sun was setting
Behind the western waves,
Dubritius was kneeling
By St. Cadfan's grave.
The Compline chants were done,
The twilight almost gone,
The young man was startled by a voice
That cried—"My son! my son!"
A gentle light shone around the grave,
He looked up, and behold!
St. Cadfan stood beside him,
Amid the eerie glow;
"My son, hurry, you must quickly fulfill
Your solemn vows,
Then take the Cross of Jesus
To the people of Abermawr.
The Banner and the Gospel,
With holy chants and psalms,
Go straight to the Druid's Temple,
And don't be afraid or alarmed.
p. 16For Jesus must be the God of Wales,
The night must pass away,
You must be the herald
Of Everlasting Day."
The young man rushed forward to embrace
The friend he loved so much,
But he was gone; no sound was heard,
Except for the lonely ocean's swell.

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How beautiful! How beautiful!
The Convent Choir is now;
All dressed up for some grand celebration
In stunning outfits.
Precious gems are shining
On the beautiful front;
The Mass Priests are also dressed
In truly rare garments.
The sacred candles are sparkling
All along the Altar;
p. 17The holy Monks are singing
Some sweet—some wedding song!
And tall white lilies, filling
The incense-scented air,
Are drooping their petals,
Toward a novice kneeling in prayer.
Yes! there before the Altar,
I see Dubritius bow,
Pure like the virgin lilies,
Surrounding his fair brow.
His vows are spoken—the Cowl is given,
His lifelong promise made;
All earthly loves are now buried,
Within the Cloister’s shade.

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“Unfurl the sail! Unloose the chain!
That connects us to the shore—
To our own beloved Island home
That we may never see again!”
p. 18Thus said Dubritius; and the tide
Quickly carried him away,
Out toward the rocky Cambrian coast
Of Cardigan’s beautiful bay.
The sea was peacefully resting,
Illuminated by the summer sun;
In just three short hours the Convent boat
Had completed her little journey.
Dubritius and his band of monks
Immediately continued their way,
Arriving at the town of Abermawr
Just as the day came to a close.
The evening’s stillness surrounded them
So peacefully, Only the loud cries of seabirds
And the soft murmurs of the waves could be heard.
Then suddenly, through the calm air,
Dreadful screams of anguish rang out
From the idol temple near the town,
While Druid choirs sang
p. 19Fierce hymns to their false savage gods,
Around the kindling flame,
Prepared for sacrificial rites,
Too terrible to name.
A fair young mother brings her baby,
A warrior brings his son,
The Druids tie their victims
With fierce, fanatic joy!
The weeping mother hears the cry
Coming from her darling’s breast;
The father sees the Druids bind
His son with savage eagerness.
The boy was good-looking,
Ah! must he really die,
Oh! will such a sacrifice taint
That calm blue evening sky?
The boy, though brave, is trembling now,
He approaches the horrible fire,
He feels its heat, yet sacrifices his life,
To calm the idol’s anger.
p. 20The father's face grows pale and thin,
The poor young mother stands,
Wishing to snatch her precious one
From the stern Druid’s hands.
The flames leap high, the songs swell loud,
From the Druids’ choirs around;
But suddenly the evening breeze
Carries another sound!
It’s “Miserere Domine,”
Sung by the Monks in the train,
“Exurgat Deus Dominus,” [20]
A grand and glorious tune!
With Crucifix and bright banner,
The brave monks appear;
And then among the heathen crowd,
They raise Christ’s mighty Cross.
p. 21“Stop, stop, you sons of wickedness,
This pointless wicked ritual;
The God of Heaven has sent me here,
Of Majesty and Might!”
Dubritius called out, and grabbed the boy
Right from the altar’s side;
And snatched the infant from the flames,
Just before the darling died!
While this was happening, some novices
Had hurled the idol down;
“Jesus is God!” the Monks cried out,
“Your King deserves a crown!
You Druids move not, or we’ll call
God’s Angels to our aid.
The time has come. By Abermawr
Worship must now be paid
To Jesus Christ, and Him alone,
Crown Him you people all;
He bought you with His Precious Blood,
Bow down before Him!”
p. 22Dubritius, with mighty strength,
Spoke of the love so free,
That made God Man to die to save,
And bring true liberty.
God granted the Monks the victory,
The power of Jesus’ Name
Triumphed among those savage hearts,
Put out the cruel flame;
Rescued the boy, and snatched the babe
From that dreadful altar’s side;
Plunged them in gentle mercy’s stream,
The blessed Baptismal tide.
The days and weeks passed quickly,
New converts acknowledged the Lord,
Before long, all Abermawr became
Obedient to the Word.

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Seventy long years have passed,
Look! Aberdaron is in tears;
p. 23Out from her Church by the shore, [23a]
A long procession moves.
See crowds of pilgrims waiting
From all over Carnarvon,
The soft hush of the sea’s roar,
To cross the dangerous sound. [23b]
The Church at Aberdaron
Is soaked with mourners’ tears;
p. 24Dubritius has entered
Into the Eternal years.
His body rests so peacefully
Before the high Altar,
The Priests are softly mourning
The sad sigh of the Requiem.
On the Altar, tall wax candles
Shine bright,
And summer flowers are placed
On the pure white pall.
Sweet incense rises
Around the hallowed bier;
From many eyes fall
The sad, loving tears.
Dubritius left Bardsey,
His beloved—his peaceful home,
For fifty years amid war,
This brave Saint roamed.
But now, peacefully, he comes,
To rest in Bardsey’s Isle,
p. 25His spirit calmly dwelling
In the realms of the blessed.
Lower your waves, you foam,
Wail no more, adverse winds,
Dubritius must cross
To Bardsey’s holy shore.
It’s evening, and the sun’s glow
Lights up the sea:
The tiny waves are dancing,
In joy and glee.
They carried Dubritius to labor,
To the battle at Abermawr,
And now they sing his lullaby,
And quiet their noisy roar.
The boats are quickly filling
At Aberdaron’s dock,
The Bardsey bells are ringing,
Across the crimson sea.
The Aberdaron Canons [25]
p. 26Are singing their sweet Psalm,
The blessed Saint is crossing
Those calm waters.
The Bay of Aberdaron
Seems full of peace and life,
Dubritius the Warrior,
As a victor from the struggle,
Is returning full of glory,
To his Island Home again;
The welcome bells are ringing,
Across the calm blue sea.
Listen! how the chant rises
From a hundred boats and more,
Mixing its soft, sweet requiem,
With the gentle wave’s flow.
And now the fleet of mourners
Reaches the still harbor,
And the Monks’ slow, sad procession
Winds down the hill.
p. 27The sacred banners waving,
In the peaceful evening air,
Carried by weeping novices,
Crafting in rare designs.
And clouds of incense rising,
And many candles’ light,
Burst into the pilgrims’ sight,
A beautiful and holy view.
“Requiem æternam,”
The aged Abbot sings;
“Dona ei Domine,”
The loud response rings.
He comes! he comes! the victor!
We’ll welcome him with song;
Another Saint now complete,
To Bardsey now belongs!
The dreadful Pelagian heresy
He crushed from our land, [27]
p. 28And drove the Druid’s oppression
From Wales’ noble shores.
He joined his Alleluia
With countless thousands more,
And drove away the pagan foes,
With the Holy Cross leading.
“Now that you reign with Jesus,
A glorious Saint above,
O pray, dear St. Dubritius,
For the island of your love!”
The Abbey Church was shining
With incense, lights, and gold,
The organ’s welcoming sound,
Through aisle and choir rolled.
The hooded Monks are slowly bearing
The bier along,
The choristers are singing
A joyful triumphant song.
“Rest for your labor is done,
The battle’s shout no more
p. 29Shall break your spirit’s calm,
Or mar your peaceful Psalm;
Of praise to Christ the King,
Whose beauty you shall sing,
Throughout the ages long,
In one unbroken song.
Forever, and for always,
In everlasting Day.”

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The lichens and ivy
Are creeping up the wall,
And growing around the windows,
And over the tall towers.
The Abbey has become ancient,
With centuries of history,
St. Mary’s Abbey stories
In many old pages.
And yet her grand old praise notes
Linger in her choir,
p. 30Because of the praise of Jesus,
Her monks can never tire.
Now around the sacred grounds
Saints' ashes cover her soil,
Here thousands, and tens of thousands
Have passed away to God.
[30]
People call the Holy Island
“The Gate of Paradise,”
And fill her shores with pilgrims,
Who offer sacrifice,
In Holy Eucharist, and tears,
And penance for their sins,
p. 31And pray that through sweet Jesus
God’s forgiveness they may win.
A pilgrimage to Bardsey,
If faithfully twice done,
Brings blessings just as gracious,
As if to Rome once made.
So thought the faithful in that day,
Of Bardsey’s Sacred Isle,
And sought her well-being devoutly,
For Jesus’ sake all the while.

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A beautiful girl was crying;
Her warrior love was gone,
But it wasn’t for the noisy battles,
That he left her all alone.
Brave in combat—fearlessly
The bloody fields he walked,
He didn't fear the deadly sword thrusts,
Nor the death-strewn ground.
p. 32And often amidst the clamor of war,
He thought of his beautiful bride;
Who he would hold in victory,
Close to his side.
Then suddenly he changed,
He laid down his armor,
He said his eyes were opened
To the vanity of this world.
Eternity seemed to open
Its view before him,
He trembled at the thought,
Graver he became each day.
Men tried to ease his fears
In vain; yet Rudolph simply replied—
“Eternity is near!
They say this life is joyful,
But it’s all too short for me,
I must seek joys that don't fade,
Through Eternity.
p. 33All—I'll reject everything on earth,
Its hopes, its loves, its smiles;
And live only for Jesus,
In Enlli’s [33] holy isle.”
This strong resolution,
Rudolph quickly made;
And parents, lover, fame,
For Christ he did forsake.
“People often give these things away for money,
Earth’s servants do it all the time,
So I, for eternal years,
Will give up everything below.
I’ll live alone for Jesus
In the Monastic Life,
And in the sacred cloister
I’ll fight the wonderful fight
With Satan, like our Master,
In the desert wilds,
p. 34I’ll surrender my will to Jesus,
Just like a little child,
That I might soon enter
The Kingdom of the Lord,
As our Savior Jesus said,
In His own Holy Word.”
But Mabel is sad; young Rudolph,
She longs so much for you;
To you her heart she gave,
In love's first purity.
In her room she waits,
Her eyes filled with tears;
They can’t stop her sadness,
She mourns more and more.
“Go, tell her,” said young Rudolph,
“Go, tell the lovely lady,
That I have found a Lover,
Of extraordinary Beauty.
Yes, tell her He is the greatest
‘Among ten thousand’ too,
p. 35Yes, ‘altogether lovely,’
His Love is always true.
Tell her, my Love is Jesus,
The Prince of Peace—the King,
Whose Beauty all the Angels
Sing of eternally.”
But Rudolph, listen! she is pining,
Oh, can you break her heart?
Will you be untrue to Mabel,
And cruelly tear apart?
Her rosy blush is fading,
Her cheeks are losing color,
Her young heart is breaking,
Soon her young life will fail.
As Rudolph listened, tears
Sparkled in his deep blue eyes,
His strong chest heaving
With a deep, piercing sigh.
Oh! tell her, brother, tell her,
She must not cry for me;
p. 36Say that I long to meet her
Where parting doesn’t exist.
My love is unchanged,
But the eternal years
Have taken my heart from Mabel,
And the world’s sad vale of tears!

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And now a boat is waiting
The tide is calm,
One hour—Rudolph is arriving
On Bardsey’s southern shore.
And quickly he walks towards
The Abbey’s peaceful shade;
Three months—the noble Rudolph
Had taken his novice vows.

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It was the Corpus Christi Spring Feast,
That was fast approaching,
p. 37And crowds of pilgrims are waiting
On Aberdaron’s shore.
The sea was sparkling brightly,
Under the May sunshine,
The Aberdaron boatmen
Are racing to Bardsey.
Now, in a hurry the pilgrims
Are landing on the island,
For crowds at Aberdaron
Are waiting all the while.
The boats return to get them,
Across the shimmering bay,
In time for the First Vespers
Of Corpus Christi Day.
The grand old Abbey Temple
Was packed in both aisle and nave,
The Vespers from the choir
Rolled forth their choral wave.
And then a grand procession,
With lights and incense, came
p. 38From out the choir; the old Church
Seemed like a bright blaze of flame.
For all the congregation
Carried a lit candle,
In honor of the Sacrifice,
Once slain in ancient days.
But now with solemn worship
Carried in a long procession,
Amid clouds of incense, and candles,
And bursts of triumphant song.
The Fathers and the Novices
Came first in proper order,
Then choir boys with banners,
All marching two by two.
The people step back reverently,
As the holy Monks approach,
One maiden there is trembling,
As if out of sheer fear.
Or maybe it’s her devotion
That weakens all her frame,
p. 39But then she would certainly
Be bowed down with virgin shame.
It's not like that; see now,
She pushes through the crowd,
Close to the Monks’ procession,
She kneels and sobs out loud.
She spots young Brother Rudolph,
And lets out a long deep cry;
He recognized her voice but doesn’t turn,
Nor lifts his downcast eyes;
He sings his grand old love song
To Jesus Christ the King,
Carried in the slow procession,
As the joyful bells ring:—
“Tantum ergo Sacramentum,
Veneremur cernui;
Et antiquum documentum,
Novo cedat ritui;
Præstet fides supplementum,
Sensuum defectui.”
p. 40“O Jesus! my sweet Jesus!”
The warrior-monk prays,
“Show her Your Own great Beauty,
Make her Yours today;
Be her glorious Bridegroom,
Be her only Choice,
Captivate her with Your Beauty,
Make her hear Your voice.”
But as the long procession
Wound its joyful way,
Making the evening twilight
Almost as bright as day,
The countless candles glittered
Like a host of meteors around,
And sent a glow of radiance
Across the Bardsey Sound.
All around the Islet ringing,
The happy songs ascend,
And with the evening breezes
The clouds of incense blend.
p. 41But what was Mabel doing,
Where was the maiden now?
Oh joy! at Mary’s altar,
She makes another vow!
Yes! while the girl was weeping,
Her Rudolph lost and gone,
The Sacred Host drew near her,
There shone from strange glory.
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's gone,”
The sunbeams light your way.
In lily valleys the virgins
Are waiting now for you,
“Arise my love, my fair one,
Arise, and follow Me.”

p. 42* * * * *

Hush! Softly in the distance,
I hear the nuns’ sweet song,
It’s floating through the Cloister,
Along its ornate roofs.
And mixing with the echoes
Of nature’s own sweet praise,
Which the lowing herd and the sweet songbird,
Along with the hum of insects raise.
How peacefully, how soothingly,
Such sounds come together
To calm the weary spirit,
A tired one like mine.
But now my spirit wanders,
Tempted by that distant hymn,
Through the hallowed door, over the storied floor,
To the dim steps of the chancel.
p. 43The nuns’ sweet hymn was fading
In the faintest tones,
While prostrate at the altar,
A maiden’s figure lay.
Two years had passed since Mabel
Had heard the Bridegroom’s voice,
In Bardsey’s Holy Island,
And made her happy choice.
And now before His altar,
She lays her young life down,
And from the hands of Rudolph
Receives the virgin crown!
Yes! Father Rudolph blesses,
The Virgin Crown and Veil
Adorn Mabel’s brow,
With wreaths of pale lilies.
Her vows, like his, are joined,
Forever and always,
To One Whose Love and Beauty
Cannot change or decay.
p. 44O happy youths and virgins!
In cloistered homes that dwell,
Forever and ever
Your joyful songs shall rise—
On the soft sweet breezes
Of Zion’s sunlit lands—
On the lily-covered hills,
With all the virgin bands.

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And so Carnarvon Convent
Welcomed another bride,
For Jesus Christ, the Bridegroom,
The Virgins' Joy and Pride.

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It was a calm, festive day,
In joyful summer time,
And the bell of Bardsey’s Abbey
Rang out a cheerful chime.
p. 45The Island seemed to celebrate,
With holy joy and happiness,
The Monks were honoring
St. John the Baptist’s birth.
For John stands out as the leader
Of Monastic Choirs above,
On earth he lived in solitude,
And knew no earthly love.
The poor, the sad, the orphans,
All adore St. Mary’s shrine,
And respect her Cloister,
Filled with Divine Love.
The Fathers and the Novices,
They’re seen as loving friends,
Whom Jesus in His Mercy,
Sends to the poor and helpless.
They teach their children kindly,
The Gospel’s glorious stories,
And care for the sick and dying
With attention that never fails.
p. 46No poor rates, and no workhouse,
Were needed in those days,
The monks were all that was needed,
They worked for Jesus’ praise.

The Holy Mass has ended,
The Abbot heads to his cell,
His heart is oddly trembling,
He doesn’t know why it’s so.
It’s some ominous sorrow
That leaves his spirit down,
Though all around is sunshine
And everything seems bright.
A strange, chilling warning,
Shakes the old man with dread,
Some fear, some terrible affliction,
Must surely be close ahead.
That night, before quiet Compline
Had closed the sacred day,
p. 47Two boats were rounding the Point,
Of Aberdaron’s Bay.
In just one short hour they landed,
On Bardsey’s holy shore,
Ten men from Windsor, bringing
News that’s quite sad and sore.
They seek immediate entry,
Sharing the dreadful news,
The Monks must, by dawn,
Surrender to the king
The Abbey and its treasures,
Its Church, its rare relics,
Its Vestments and its Chalices,
Its Shrines adorned with jewels.
The Monks must sign the surrender,
Acknowledge many a sin
They never could have imagined,
If they wish to be safe.
And call the tyrant merciful,
For forcing them away,
p. 48Making them abandon their Abbey
To ruin and decay. [48]
The Compline Bell rang
Its last beloved Compline chime,
Tomorrow, deathly ruin
Would fall upon the Convent.
That night the holy Fathers
Held a long discussion,
And all agreed—surrender
Would be unjust and wrong.
“Then we’ll die at God’s Altar,
Sooner than give up the right
That God Himself has given us,
To sacrilegious might.”
And true to their confession
The holy Monks remained,
And with their virgin life-blood
The Altar steps were stained.
p. 49The poor rose up courageously,
Their beloved Monks to help,
And many gladly
Gave their lives as a sacrifice.
Now having finished all thoroughly,
Their acts of cruel wrong,
They left the Island weeping,
All silent the Holy Song,
Which for so many ages,
By night and by day,
Had praised the Love of Jesus,
In one long, endless hymn.
And now the poor are searching,
Among the dreary ruins,
For the bodies of the Martyrs,
So holy, and so cherished.
Ah! there before the Altar,
The brave old Abbot lies;
And there, too, Father Rudolph,
With fixed and glassy eyes.
p. 50But oh! a calm serene
Enfolds the blessed Martyrs,
Strange joy lights up their faces,
Their spirits are at peace.
The dear old Abbey crumbles
All rapidly to decay:
Oh! for its restoration!
Cadfan! Dubritius! pray!
Ye thousand Saints of Bardsey,
Lift up your pleading song,
That Jesus may avenge you,
For this most cruel wrong!

Understood! Please provide the text you'd like me to modernize.

A hundred years have passed,
Two unknown pilgrims come,
To Bardsey’s Abbey ruins,
To pray for Bardsey’s well-being.
The night was stormy and dark,
No moonlight’s silver glow
p. 51Illuminated the emptiness
That surrounded them.
It was a lonely midnight,
Look! now beside the tomb,
Where holy Cadfan rests,
A light breaks through the darkness,
And in the light a figure,
Dressed like a holy monk,
And smiling sweetly, brightly,
Points to the ruined choir.
“Faithful pilgrims, true pilgrims,
Listen to what I have to say.
Three hundred years won’t pass,
Before the King of Heaven will send,
Saints to rebuild this sacred place,
And restore its walls again.
The saints above don’t stop their pleas,
To Christ, the Lord Most High,
That His endless praises may
Here rise both night and day.
p. 52Newborough’s Lord will own this land;
Before he rests from life’s labor,
Jesus, for His servants’ sake,
Orders him to make repairs.
And if Newborough’s Lord complies,
With what Jesus’ servants say,
He will receive a bright blessing,
In the realms of Morning Light.
If he ignores their request,
He will miss a rare blessing,
When he lies on his deathbed,
Sad regret will weigh on him.
To his son will then be given, [52]
p. 53Finest blessings from High Heaven,
For he will restore to God,
Through the Monks, this sacred land.”
Saying this, he sought rest,
In the tomb from which he arose.

* * * * *

The angel showed me these things,
In bright and vivid images;
I woke!—my eyes were resting
On the blue waters.
But oh! the waves seem to sigh
In sorrow at my story,
The sea-birds floating above them.
Let out a pitiful cry.
Oh happy waves! no tyrant
Can silence your endless song.
May you once again mingle
With Bardsey’s chants soon.
p. 54Then Heaven, Earth, and Nature,
In harmony shall raise,
One grand joy-peal of happiness,—
One mighty shout of praise!

Written at Barmouth and Aberdaron, off Bardsey Isle, February, 1870.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY G.J. PALMER, 32, LITTLE QUEEN STREET,
Lincoln's Inn Fields.

[6] The Bardsey Monks, during this period (the eighth century), likely wore black robes, but they adopted the white robes of the Premonstratensians several hundred years later.

[8] Aberdaron is located on the mainland of Carnarvonshire, just five miles from Bardsey Island, in its own cozy bay, right around the last point of the Lleyn Peninsula. It was the departure point for pilgrims heading to the Holy Isle.

[11] Barmouth is almost thirty miles due east of Bardsey, across Cardigan Bay, and clearly visible on a clear day. It is a port in Merionethshire.

[12a] This might seem outdated, but it's important to remember that Druidism survived for a long time in Wales, even after it was mostly pushed out of the rest of Britain.

[12b] The Church here is dedicated to St. Cadfan.

[14] St. Dubritius spent a lot of his early life in Bardsey, and he was buried there.

__A_TAG_PLACEHOLDER_0__  Psalm 68.

[23a] The Church of Aberdaron is still standing near the seashore and was roofless and falling apart until a few years ago when the current vicar re-roofed the sacred place. It could easily be restored for worship if £500 could be raised for that purpose. The parish and vicar are too poor to do any more. I had the honor of preaching in this ancient church to a large crowd of villagers last Quinquagesima Sunday.

[23b] My friend and I waited an entire week at Aberdaron this spring, but it was all for nothing, as we were hoping for calm seas to visit the Holy Isle, which is cut off from the mainland by a very treacherous current.

[25] Aberdaron Church later became a place for a group of priests and was served by regular Canons.

[27] St. Dubritius was at the Council in Verulam with St. Germanus, and it’s also said he was there at the “Alleluiatic Battle.”

[30] Historians from Bardsey say that 20,000 Saints are buried there. A local from Bardsey told me the other day while I was in Aberdaron that he has seen perfectly preserved skeletons of tall, strong men lying intact in five separate layers, one on top of the other, which were revealed near the shore of the Island by the wind and waves. He also mentioned that he believed bodies were buried all over the Island.

[33] Ynys Enlli is the ancient British name for Bardsey, and it translates to “The Island in the Flood.”

[48] See Collier’s Eccles. History, Vol. ii., where you can find an exact version of this.

[52] Lord Newborough currently owns Holy Island. The people living there don’t have a church or a clergyman. I reached out to him to ask if he would let us have the Abbey Ruins, and in exchange, I promised to try to build a small church and school there, which we would manage at no cost to anyone. The kind priest of Aberdaron was really happy with our proposed plan.