Magic Music
Magic Music
There was once a pious monk at Clynnog Fawr, in Arfon, whose, delight was in the law of the Lord, and in His law did he meditate day and night. One evening he was walking in deep thought through a grove near the monastery, by the side of a stream, which tumbled noisily over the stones in its hurry to reach the sea. Suddenly a bird burst into song, and its lay was the sweetest and most lovely music that the man of God had ever listened to. He paused to listen, and remained listening until the bird ceased to pour forth its golden notes. Then he passed out of the grove and looked around. The monastery was unchanged, but everything else was different. He went to the monastery. The faces of all the monks were strange to him, and not a soul knew him. The brethren crowded round him, and he told them how he had been listening in the grove for a short time to the melody of a bird. He asked them to put him in a cell, for he wanted to pray. This was done. Some time after a brother went to see whether he could render him any service. The cell was empty, but there was a handful of ashes on the stone floor.
Search was made in the books of the monastery, and it was found that some hundreds of years before a brother had gone out of the monastery and never returned. Since then the trees in which he listened to the magic music have been called the Grove of Heaven.
There was once a pious monk at Clynnog Fawr, in Arfon, whose, delight was in the law of the Lord, and in His law did he meditate day and night. One evening he was walking in deep thought through a grove near the monastery, by the side of a stream, which tumbled noisily over the stones in its hurry to reach the sea. Suddenly a bird burst into song, and its lay was the sweetest and most lovely music that the man of God had ever listened to. He paused to listen, and remained listening until the bird ceased to pour forth its golden notes. Then he passed out of the grove and looked around. The monastery was unchanged, but everything else was different. He went to the monastery. The faces of all the monks were strange to him, and not a soul knew him. The brethren crowded round him, and he told them how he had been listening in the grove for a short time to the melody of a bird. He asked them to put him in a cell, for he wanted to pray. This was done. Some time after a brother went to see whether he could render him any service. The cell was empty, but there was a handful of ashes on the stone floor.
Search was made in the books of the monastery, and it was found that some hundreds of years before a brother had gone out of the monastery and never returned. Since then the trees in which he listened to the magic music have been called the Grove of Heaven.
