It may be added that it is interesting to compare both the story of Shion ap Shenkin, and that of the birds of Rhiannon, with Longfellow's "Golden Legend," originally written in the thirteenth century by Jacobus de Voragine, in which Monk Felix is represented as listening to the singing of a snow-white bird for a hundred years, which period passed as a single hour.
"One morning all alone, Out of his covenant of gray stone, Into the forest older, darker, grayer His lips moving as if in prayer, His head sunken upon his breast As in a dream of rest, Walked the Monk Felix. All about The broad, sweet sunshine lay without, Filling the summer air; And within the woodlands as he trod, The twilight was like the Truce of God With worldly woe and care. Under him lay the golden moss; And above him the boughs of hemlock-trees Waved, and made the sign of the cross, And whispered their benedicites, And from the ground Rose an odour sweet and fragrant Of the wild-flowers and the vagrant Vines that wandered, Seeking the sunshine, round and round.
"Those he heeded not, but pondered On the volume in his hand, A volume of Saint Augustine, Wherein he read of the unseen Splendours of God's great town In the unknown land, And, with his eyes cast down In humility he said: 'I believe, O God, What herein I have read, But alas! I do not understand'?
"And lo! he heard The sudden singing of a bird, A snow-white bird, that from a cloud Dropped down, And among the branches brown Sat singing So sweet, and clear, and loud, It seemed a thousand harp-strings ringing; And the Monk Felix closed his book, And long, long, With rapturous look, He listened to the song. And hardly breathed or stirred, Until he saw, as in a vision, The land Elysian, And in the heavenly city heard Angelic feet Fall on the golden flagging of the street, And he would fain Have caught the wondrous bird, But strove in vain; For it flew away, away, Far over hill and dell, And instead of its sweet singing, He heard the convent bell Suddenly in the silence ringing, For the service of noonday. And he retraced His pathway homeward sadly and in haste.
"In the convent there was a change! He looked for each well-known face, But the faces were new and strange; New figures sat in the oaken stalls. New voices chanted in the choir; Yet the place was the same place, The same dusky walls Of cold, gray stone, The same cloisters and belfry and spire.