His work was done, his prize was won, The holy Monk was gone, To join the virgin song notes, Before th’ Eternal Throne. * * * * * The boy, so beautiful and pure, Grew up to manhood’s bloom, And ofttimes visited for prayer The Blessed Cadfan’s Tomb. One night the sun was sinking Behind the Western wave, Dubritius was kneeling Beside St. Cadfan’s grave. The Compline chants were over, The twilight almost gone, The youth was startled by a voice Which cried—“My son! 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. * * * * *