The Holy Isle: A Legend of Bardsey Abbey — A Reader’s Guide

n! my son!” A gentle light shone round the grave, He raised his eyes, and lo! St. Cadfan stood beside him, Amid the weird-like glow; “My son, make haste, thy solemn vows Thou speedily must make, Then to the men of Abermawr The Cross of Jesus take. The Banner and the Gospel, With holy Chant and Psalm, Straight to the Druid’s Temple go, Nor fear, nor feel alarm. For Jesus must be Cambria’s God, The night must hie away, Thyself must be the harbinger Of Everlasting Day.” The youth sprung forward to embrace The friend he loved so well, But he was gone; no sound was heard, Save the lone ocean’s swell.

How beautiful! how beautiful! Is now the Convent Choir; All deck’d for some high festival In exquisite attire. Most precious gems are gleaming Upon the frontal fair, The Mass Priests too are vested In garments passing rare. The sacred tapers glisten The Altar all along; The holy Monks are chanting Some sweet—some wedding song! And tall white lilies, scenting The Incense laden air, Are bending down their petals, T’wards a novice bow’d in prayer. Yes! there before the Altar, I see Dubritius bow, Pure as the virgin lilies, Encircling his fair brow. His vows are said—the Cowl is given, His live-long promise made; All earthly loves are buried now, Within the Cloister’s shade.

“Unfurl the sail! unloose the chain! That links us to the shore— To our own precious Island home Which we may see no more!” Thus spake Dubritius; and the tide Fast wafted him away, Out t’wards the rocky Cambrian coast Of Cardigan’s fair bay. The sea was calmly resting, Lit by the summer’s sun; In three short hours the Convent boat Her little voyage had run. Dubritius and his monkish band At once pursued their way, Reaching the town of Abermawr Just at the close of day. The evening’s hush was resting So peacefully around, Alone was heard the shrill sea bird, And the waves’ soft murmuring sound. When all at once through th’ restful air, Dread shrieks of anguish rung From the idol temple near the town, While Druid choirs sung Fierce hymns to their false savage gods, Around the kindling flame, Prepared for sacrificial rites, Too terrible to name. A fair young mother brings her babe, A warrior brings his boy, The Druids bind their victims With fierce, fanatic joy! The weeping mother hears the wail Well from her darling’s breast; The father sees the Druids bind His boy with savage zest. The lad was fair to look upon, Ah! must he really die, Oh! shall such sacrifice pollute That calm blue evening sky? The boy, though brave, is trembling now, He nears the dreadful fire, He feels its scorch, yet gives his life, To still the idol’s ire. The father’s cheek grows blanched and pale, The poor young mother stands, Yearning to snatch her precious one From the stern Druid’s hands. High leaps the flame, loud swells the song, From the Druids’ choirs around; But suddenly the evening wind Fills with another sound! ’Tis “Miserere Domine,” Sung by the Monkish train, “Exurgat Deus Dominus,” {20} A grand and glorious strain! With Crucifix and banner bright, The bold brave monks appear; And then among the heathen crowd, Christ’s mighty Cross they rear. “Cease, cease, ye sons of wickedness, This useless wicked rite; The God of Heaven has sent me here, Of Majesty and Might!” Dubritius spoke, and seized the boy Straight from the altar’s side; And caught the infant from the flame, Or ere the darling died! While this was done, some novices Had hurl’d the idol down; “Jesus is God!” the Monks proclaim, “Your King with homage crown! Ye Druids move not, or we call God’s Angels to our aid. The hour has come. By Abermawr Worship must now be paid To Jesus Christ, and Him alone, Crown Him ye people all; He bought you with His Precious Blood, Prostrate before Him fall!” Dubritius, with mighty power, Told of the love so free, That made God Man to die to save, And bring true liberty. God gave the Monks the victory, The power of Jesus’ Name Prevailed among those savage hearts, Put out the cruel flame; Rescued the boy, and snatched the babe From that dread altar’s side; Plunged them in gentle mercy’s stream, The blest Baptismal tide. The days and weeks passed swiftly, New converts owned the Lord, Ere long, all Abermawr became Obedient to the Word.