Twas in the year five hundred and nineteen,
In Brevi's valley green,

That all the holy ones of Wales assembled

(How Satan must have trembled!)

In synod 'neath the Druid oaks umbrageous,
A fierce crusade to wage

Against the great arch-heretic Pelagius,

That nightmare of the Faith in that dark age,
Whose wicked power had become outrageous.
Llandevi-brevi was the place's name,

A sound quite smooth and tame
Compared with syllables like Llanfairfechan,
Or Ystradfellte, county Brecon,

Or, still more trying to each vocal organ,
Llanychaiarn,

Llanllwchalarn,

Llanchwg, and Castell Llwchwr in Glamorgan.

O'er all the priestly throng

St. David's influence was very strong;

His eloquence, his learning,

His faith so bold and burning,

Won their regard and widen'd his repute;
And when he'd spoken

Pelagianism's back was quickly broken.
His miracles assisted to confute :
There was a child lay dead-

What mortal could restore the spirit fled ?
St. David said, "We'll see,

I will not brag, but bring the child to me."
They did; he pray'd,

And on its corse his potent fingers laid.
The child awoke once more,

Better in health than it had been before.

Then, while St. David preach'd of faith and love,

There came a snow-white dove,

And perch'd familiarly on his shoulder,

Surprising each beholder.

All saw at once, enlighten'd by religion,

It was his angel frien

Whom heaven in feather'd form did send,

And not a common pigeon.

Like a much damaged piece of the antique ;

How could he come ? David his prayer outpour'd

Kined was straight restored

And walked upright and firmly on his feet,

Unto that Saintly "meet."

But when anon he tried

Himself to do the like, it was denied.

St. Kined's prayers went wrong,

His newly strengthen'd limbs no more were strong,
But doubled up again

To lameness and infirmity and pain.

Seeing all this,

The synod felt it would not be amiss

To have St. David for their Church's head.
Bishop Dubricius said,

"My earthly sun is setting,

Too old for work I'm getting,

So, Brother David, rule thou in my stead,"

And all the rest cried, "He's the man for us
To be Episcopus."

But David with humility refusing,

Time and persuasion needed to be spent
Before he would consent,

To ratify their choosing.

His fitness soon was proved;

Deck'd with a Bishop's might and mitred crown,

His station he removed

From Caerleon, the Tennysonian town

Of Arthur's great renown,

To settle in a district more sequester'd,

Some wild monastic glen,

"Far from the hum (and humbug too) of men."

So, emigrating west'ard,

He chose Menevia, a secluded spot,

Tho' picturesque 'twas not,

Stony and barren, void of woods and rivers,

In winter never warm,

Exposed to ocean storm

And cutting winds that gave the monks the shivers.

But to such holy livers

It matter'd not what mundane ills they felt,

Or where on earth they dwelt.

Their rules were very strict;

Speech was forbidden by an interdict,

And, saving when necessity compell'd,

His peace each brother held.

Dreadful to one who loves his tongue to wag
Must be such moral gag!

And then they had to work.

"To labour is to pray," our Saint maintain'd, To both they were constrain'd,

Time was divided 'twixt the field and kirk,
"Twixt tilling earth and cultivating heaven.
Sins could not be forgiven

Until the erring one each secret thought
Had to his Abbot brought.

Strict, too, the stipulations for admission;
Whatever his condition

Ten days the would-be friar had to wait
Outside the Abbey gate,

Bearing hard speech, refusal, irksome task,

And ask, and ask, and ask.

No entrance could he find,

Unless he left, not hope, but wealth behind.

Bread, roots, milk, water form'd the convent feasts;

David, tho' father and superior there,

The same did share,

And had no farther or superior fare;

And all the monks were clad in skins of beasts."

Not only as a priestly champion strong

Is David famed in song

A warrior, too, was he-on Badon's mount The British army fought,

Routed the hosts the tyrant Saxons brought.

To follow one account,

King Arthur-others say St. David-led it;
But all agree

"It was a famous victory,"
Whosever was the credit.

'Twas then, first worn,

The fragrant leek did David's brow adorn;
Thenceforward it became

As much a part of Cambria's name and fame

As ours the Lion and the Unicorn.

Well, after a long while,

The holy man retired to Bardsey Isle,

And there the common fate

Smote him. I don't exactly know the date-
Most writers say five-hundred-forty-four-
His age above four-score.

471

Among his other claims to be respected,

It should be recollected

That twelve Welsh monasteries he erected.

Alas, how Wales did mourn!

After his death the Saint was borne

To heaven in bliss to reign,

Right in the middle of a seraph train.

St. Kentigern-call'd Mungo by the Scotch-
That radiant scene did watch.

Oh, would that I had been by Mungo's side!
(And now my words are serious, not jocular)
I surely would have spied

St. David's heavenward ride

Thro' the clear medium of a strong "binocular."

St. David's legend-that is, history-closes

With that apotheosis.

A thousand miracles he wrought, 'tis said,

Long after he was dead,

And Glastonbury'd in that famous fane

Where Arthur's dust reposes;

But, not to be diffuse,

Our wit by brevity we must restrain,

So, reader, please deduce

The moral-plain as on your face your nose is.

St. David's name

In Celtic hearts high place must ever claim;

And Cambria's ancient spirit is not dead,

For often may be read

Accounts of "Eisteddfodau," festivals

Worthy the warlike halls

Of old Llewellyn. Thither Wales invites

Her sons to see the rites

And hear the songs of Druid, Vate, and Bard,

Antique, but slightly marr'd

By newer customs clashing with the old.

Thus, we are told,

Each Druid wears his robe, and over that

A modern "stove-pipe" hat.

The "ancient Britons," too, of present date,

On David's Day keep state,

And wear or eat the leek; St. James's Hall (St. David's for the time),

Responsive to the patriotic call,