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;