Sunk in the vale, whose concave depth receives
The waters draining from these shelvy banks
When the shower beats, yon pool with pallid gleam
Betrays its icy covering. From the glade
Issuing in pensive file, and moving slow,
The cattle, all unwitting of the change,
To quench their customary thirst advance.
With wondering stare and fruitless search they trace
The solid margin: now bend low the head
In act to drink; now with fastidious nose
Snuffing the marble floor, and breathing loud,
From the cold touch withdraw. Awhile they stand
In disappointment mute; with ponderous feet
Then bruise the surface: to each stroke the woods
Reply; forth gushes the imprisoned wave.
~February 1.~
_St. Ignatius._ _St. Pionius_, A. D. 250. _St. Bridget._ _St. Kinnia._
_St. Sigebert II._ _King._
_St. Bridget._
St. Bride, otherwise St. Bridget, confers her name upon the parish of
St. Bride’s, for to her its church in Fleet-street is dedicated. Butler
says she was born in Ulster, built herself a cell under a large oak,
thence called Kill-dara, or cell of the oak, was joined by others of her
own sex, formed several nunneries, and became patroness of Ireland.
“But,” says Butler, “a full account of her virtues has not been
transmitted down to us, together with the veneration of her name;” yet
he declares that “her five modern lives mention little else but
wonderful miracles.” According to the same author, she flourished in the
beginning of the sixth century, her body was found in the twelfth
century, and her head “is now kept in the church of the Jesuits at
Lisbon.” This writer does not favour us with any of her miracles, but
bishop Patrick mentions, that wild ducks swimming in the water, or
flying in the air, obeyed her call, came to her hand, let her embrace
them, and then she let them fly away again. He also found in the
breviary of Sarum, that when she was sent a-milking by her mother to
make butter, she gave away all the milk to the poor; that when the rest
of the maids brought in their milk she prayed, and the butter
multiplied; that the butter she gave away she divided into twelve parts,
“as if it were for the twelve apostles; and one part she made bigger
than any of the rest, which stood for Christ’s portion; though it is
strange,” says Patrick, “that she forget to make another inequality by
ordering one portion more of the butter to be made bigger than the
remaining ones in honour of St. Peter, the prince of the apostles.”