* * * * * 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; Præstet fides supplementum, Sensuum defectui.” “O Jesus! my sweet Jesus!” The warrior-monk doth pray, “Shew her Thine Own great Beauty, Make her Thine Own to-day; Be Thou her glorious Bridegroom, Be Thou her only Choice, Ravish her with Thy Beauty, Make her to hear Thy voice.” But as the long procession Did wind its joyous way, Making the evening twilight Almost as bright as day, The countless tapers glittered Like hosts of meteors round, And sent a glow of radiance Athwart the Bardsey Sound. Right round the Islet pealing, The gladsome songs ascend, And with the evening breezes