BUCKLAND ABBEY - The Unhappy Monk
Posted: Wed Mar 07, 2012 9:46 pm
BUCKLAND ABBEY
Located near the village of Buckland Monachorum,, the former Cistercian Abbey, founded in 1278, later became the home of Tavistock born, Sir Francis Drake, during the Tudor period.
Drake, although a favourite of Queen Elizabeth I, was not to popular with the locals in South and Central America. His normal practice was to burn the place down and extract as much gold as he could lay his hands on. El Draco, or The Dragon, as the appeared to be more of a Pirate rather than Privateer, and national hero, as he was view by the English.
This lovely old building, now owned by the National Trust, still houses Drake’s Drum and other exhibits, plus an interesting Tudor Tithe barn, makes Buckland Abbey well worth a visit.
The Unhappy Monk
Scribe, and scribe, he toils away
By candles at night, the sun by day
Colour parchment, designed in view
Stories of fear, the old and new
His cell adorned with sacred text
His quill perched, on what to do next
He can reach as far, as his eyes can see
Writing as quickly as his hands can be
Toiling without sleep, well into the night
Chin in his hands, he can’t find the light.
© Ray Steed 2012
Located near the village of Buckland Monachorum,, the former Cistercian Abbey, founded in 1278, later became the home of Tavistock born, Sir Francis Drake, during the Tudor period.
Drake, although a favourite of Queen Elizabeth I, was not to popular with the locals in South and Central America. His normal practice was to burn the place down and extract as much gold as he could lay his hands on. El Draco, or The Dragon, as the appeared to be more of a Pirate rather than Privateer, and national hero, as he was view by the English.
This lovely old building, now owned by the National Trust, still houses Drake’s Drum and other exhibits, plus an interesting Tudor Tithe barn, makes Buckland Abbey well worth a visit.
The Unhappy Monk
Scribe, and scribe, he toils away
By candles at night, the sun by day
Colour parchment, designed in view
Stories of fear, the old and new
His cell adorned with sacred text
His quill perched, on what to do next
He can reach as far, as his eyes can see
Writing as quickly as his hands can be
Toiling without sleep, well into the night
Chin in his hands, he can’t find the light.
© Ray Steed 2012