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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536743" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Abbot Of Innisfallen</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Abbot of Innisfallen<br>awoke ere dawn of day;<br>Under the dewy green leaves<br>went he forth to pray.<br>The lake around his island<br>lay smooth and dark and deep,<br>And wrapt in a misty stillness<br>the mountains were all asleep.<br>Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac<br>when the dawn was dim and gray;<br>The prayers of his holy office<br>he faithfully 'gan say.<br>Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac<br>while the dawn was waxing red;<br>And for his sins' forgiveness<br>a solemn prayer he said:<br>Low kneel'd that holy Abbot<br>while the dawn was waxing clear;<br>And he pray'd with loving-kindness<br>for his convent-brethren dear.<br>Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot<br>while the dawn was waxing bright;<br>He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland,<br>he pray'd with all his might.<br>Low kneel'd that good old Father<br>while the sun began to dart;<br>He pray'd a prayer for all men,<br>he pray'd it from his heart.<br>His blissful soul was in Heaven,<br>tho' a breathing man was he;<br>He was out of time's dominion,<br>so far as the living may be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Abbot of Innisfallen<br>arose upon his feet;<br>He heard a small bird singing,<br>and O but it sung sweet!<br>It sung upon a holly-bush,<br>this little snow-white bird;<br>A song so full of gladness<br>he never before had heard.<br>It sung upon a hazel,<br>it sung upon a thorn;<br>He had never heard such music<br>since the hour that he was born.<br>It sung upon a sycamore,<br>it sung upon a briar;<br>To follow the song and hearken<br>this Abbot could never tire.<br>Till at last he well bethought him;<br>he might no longer stay;<br>So he bless'd the little white singing-bird,<br>and gladly went his way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But, when he came to his Abbey,<br>he found a wondrous change;<br>He saw no friendly faces there,<br>for every face was strange.<br>The strange men spoke unto him;<br>and he heard from all and each<br>The foreign tongue of the Sassenach,<br>not wholesome Irish speech.<br>Then the oldest monk came forward,<br>in Irish tongue spake he:<br>'Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress,<br>and who hath given it to thee?'<br>'I wear the Augustine's dress,<br>and Cormac is my name,<br>The Abbot of this good Abbey<br>by grace of God I am.<br>I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day;<br>and when my prayers were said,<br>I hearken'd awhile to a little bird,<br>that sung above my head.'<br>The monks to him made answer,<br>'Two hundred years have gone o'er,<br>Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate,<br>and never was heard of more.<br>Matthias now is our Abbot,<br>and twenty have pass'd away.<br>The stranger is lord of Ireland;<br>we live in an evil day.'<br>'Days will come and go,' he said,<br>'and the world will pass away,<br>In Heaven a day is a thousand years,<br>a thousand years are a day.'<br>'Now give me absolution;<br>for my time is come,' said he.<br>And they gave him absolution,<br>as speedily as might be.<br>Then, close outside the window,<br>the sweetest song they heard<br>That ever yet since the world began<br>was utter'd by any bird.<br>The monks look'd out and saw the bird,<br>its feathers all white and clean;<br>And there in a moment, beside it,<br>another white bird was seen.<br>Those two they sang together,<br>waved their white wings, and fled;<br>Flew aloft, and vanish'd;<br>but the good old man was dead.<br>They buried his blessed body<br>where lake and green-sward meet;<br>A carven cross above his head,<br>a holly-bush at his feet;<br>Where spreads the beautiful water<br>to gay or cloudy skies,<br>And the purple peaks of Killarney<br>from ancient woods arise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Allingham">William Allingham</a><div class=q>
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awoke ere dawn of day;
Under the dewy green leaves
went he forth to pray.
The lake around his island
lay smooth and dark and deep,
And wrapt in a misty stillness
the mountains were all asleep.
Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac
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