Transcribed from the 1870 G. J. Palmer edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org IN OMNIBUS GLORIFICETUR DEUS. —_Regula_, _S. Benedicti_, _Cap. lvij_. [Picture: Decorative graphic of cross] THE HOLY ISLE; A Legend of Bardsey Abbey. 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. [Picture: Decorative graphic of cross] THE HOLY ISLE. A Legend of Bardsey Abbey. I WATCHED the sea waves ebbing, Beneath the crimson glow, Which sunset light was pouring, Upon their soft, sweet flow. The wavelets looked liked dancers, Upon the sun-lit sea, They sung in whispering chorus,— I thought they sung to me Of fair and far off landscapes Beyond that molten tide, Of better joys, and gladness Beyond those waters wide. The wavelets all seemed passing On, to some other strands, And following the sun’s-glow, To ever sun-lit lands. But as I thought these fancies, Again I raised mine eyes And saw the sunset tinting The glorious western skies. Now ’mid the farewell glories “Of Sol’s departing ray,” I saw an Island resting Upon his golden way. There, misty mid the Sunshine, The far off Isle appears, Right out among the sea waves Its rocky coast uprears. And as I gaze, the sunset Seems lighting up its shore, Bathing the isle in glory And then is seen no more. Sweet, soothing calm fell o’er me I watched the Islet still, All round me heard I voices Which seemed the air to fill. Said one, “That Isle is holy, For Saints are sleeping there, Now lonely and deserted, T’was once an Isle of prayer.” “O Man! say would’st thou tremble, To come away and see, In vision, strange, sweet pictures Which I can shew to thee?” The Angel was so lovely, So sweet the Angel’s smile, I easily consented,— He pointed to the Isle! “Then will I bear thee thither, One thousand years ago;— I speak to aid thy weakness, No _time_ can Angels know. The present, past, and future, All one they are to me, I pass along their boundaries, Unlimited, and free.” A strange, calm change stole o’er me, My spirit seemed to rise In gentle, tireless motion, Just as the sea-bird flies. My Angel-guide was leading My spirit o’er the sea One moment—and we rested, Upon the Islet’s lea.