{"id":3891,"date":"2019-09-10T08:48:47","date_gmt":"2019-09-10T08:48:47","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.kildare.ie\/ehistory\/?p=3891"},"modified":"2025-10-29T17:58:55","modified_gmt":"2025-10-29T17:58:55","slug":"3891","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/3891\/","title":{"rendered":"KENELM HENRY DIGBY"},"content":{"rendered":"

In Local Studies you often meet people with secrets to tell or treasure they have uncovered. One such was Fr. William Dempsey of Daingean, Co. Offaly who called visited in 2006. I only recently had the photographic negative he gave to me scanned.<\/p>\n

\"The<\/a><\/p>\n

The Descent from the Cross<\/em><\/p>\n

According to Fr. William Dempsey, Kenelm Henry Digby painted this picture from the original, The Descent from the Cross, by Peter Paul Rubens, 1577-1640, a celebrated Flemish painter. Digby\u2019s painting hangs in the parish church of SS Mary and Laurence O\u2019Toole, Crookstown, Athy, Co. Kildare.<\/p>\n

KENELM HENRY DIGBY 1800-1880<\/p>\n

Borrn in the Rectory Geashill, Co. Offaly. His father was rector of Geashill and Dean of Clonfert. Kenelm graduated with a B.A. at Cambridge University, 1819. While there he became a Catholic. He spent most of his life in literary pursuits. His chief works are: \u2018The Broad Stone of Honour or Rules for the Gentlemen of England,\u2019<\/p>\n

And \u2018The Ages of Faith.\u2019 He married Jane Mary, daughter of Thomas Dillon, of Mount Dillon, Co. Dublin, who bore him a son and four daughters. He painted a great deal but donated his paintings to various religious houses. He is buried in St. Mary\u2019s Cemetery, Kensal Green, London.<\/p>\n

For more information<\/p>\n

http:\/\/www.newadvent.org\/cathen\/04791b.htm<\/a><\/p>\n

https:\/\/en.wikipedia.org\/wiki\/Kenelm_Henry_Digby<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

https:\/\/www.patheos.com\/blogs\/yimcatholic\/2010\/11\/because-kenelm-henry-digby-could-write-such-a-poem.html<\/a><\/p>\n

All Souls<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n

There\u2019s a race that we love, though it thinks it can soar
\nAbove truths that it held to in ages of yore.
\nWe deem it pretension; and we judge it from acts;
\nLet us single but one out of numberless facts,<\/p>\n

Not confined to the circle which doubts or denies
\nThat a prayer can be needed when any one dies,
\nBut e\u2019en showing this error extending as wide
\nAs the nation renouncing the primitive side.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, it was once here well known;
\nYes, but then all such fancies have hence long flown.
\nFor religion reform\u2019d is now far too wise
\nTo demand of our time such a fond sacrifice.<\/p>\n

For suppressing the custom, this way is the first;
\nBut then who can feel certain that it is the worst?
\nAlthough heads remain firm, one quickly discovers
\nThat hearts pretty nearly agree with the others.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year,
\nBut sooth few are now found to attend to it here.
\nFor some are too busy, aye with too much in hand,
\nTo suppose that a moment they have at command.<\/p>\n

And there\u2019s always some pressure on that very day,
\nWhich must keep both the busy and idle away;
\nOur profession, affairs, visits\u2014these are supreme\u2014
\nAnd to think of suspending them, merely a dream.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, and it comes with the cold,
\nWith the fall of the leaf and the soft drench\u2019d black mould;
\nThe long damp waving grass and the tall dripping trees
\nWould do quite as much hurt as the wild wintry breeze.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, and long has it gone by;
\nMediaevalists only can like thus to sigh:
\nIf you will talk and have us both pray and feel so,
\n\u2018Tis in warm and gay churches we should all of us kneel.<\/p>\n

For what can one place be now more than another,
\nUnless superstition your reason will smother?
\nThese old customs romantic and certainly wild
\nBelong to the vulgar for too often beguiled.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, but then what would they say
\nWho might hear that through graves thus we too would stray?
\nYou and I, my good friend, must now be like others,
\nHowever thus any one talks on and bothers.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead\u2014but no great bell sounds
\nTo invite us in thought from our brief earthly bounds:
\nThrough the streets one runs hastening, another one stays;
\nAll for business or pleasure; in brief no one prays.<\/p>\n

Oh! England, that once wert believing and holy,
\nSo free too from Pagan-like dull melancholy,
\nAye so quick to attend to religion\u2019s great voice,
\nInviting gravely to mourn or gladly rejoice,<\/p>\n

Just behold thy graves now left so lonely ever!
\nWith the tears of fond memory on them never!
\nSo deserted by all their surviving best friends:
\nAnd you\u2019ll see at least here where thy long boasting ends.<\/p>\n

But the scene changes now to a different shore,
\nWhere religion exists as in ages of yore,
\nWhere no one pretends that men are not clever,
\nThe true and the false to distinguish and sever.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, and it comes once a year:
\nThe crowds are now moving, none ashamed to appear.
\nSo the busiest men all engaged in their trade
\nLeave their shops and their ledgers, and thoughtful are made.<\/p>\n

The statesman. the senator, the great and the small,
\nView the spot loved by each one, and kneeling down fall,
\nYet at home much to do! constant work for their head!
\nBut now all is forgotten excepting the dead.<\/p>\n

Then the maiden so pale, and the old pensive sire,
\nWith the youth for the day free, in deep black attire,
\nThe widow, the orphan, and the seamstress so shy,
\nGently pass to the spot where their loved ones still lie.<\/p>\n

The little one grasping, and with such a tight hold,
\nThe frock of sweet sissy, who herself\u2019s not too bold;
\nThough all walk on order like relatives dear,
\nBy their looks even charity letting appear.<\/p>\n

Then some strew their pale flowers, and some light the lamp,
\nUnlocking in silence the cold monument damp,
\nAnd kneel like mute statues, and others stray on,
\nAnd all love to linger, and thence none will be gone.<\/p>\n

There is woodbine that flourishes best o\u2019er a grave;
\nEach alley, death\u2019s violets\u2014Pervenche<\/strong><\/a>\u2014will pave;
\nPoet\u2019s fictions of worms all engender\u2019d below
\nYield to wreaths of immortals which friends will bestow.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead; it comes bright or cold,
\nBut all are not nervous like some timid and old;
\nThe slopes amid flowers, and the high stirring breeze,
\nHave enchantment for him who both feels and who sees.<\/p>\n

So the tortuous path and the dark cypress spire,
\nHe will follow half pleased, e\u2019en, and he will admire;
\nThe tombs shining graceful, or the green mossy sod\u2013
\nOh, how all of these lift up his heart unto God!<\/p>\n

The day of the dead\u2013to our old faith we owe it;
\nBoth dear to the Christian and dear to the poet.
\nOur fathers they taught us on the graves thus to stray,
\nAlthough still in churches each morning we pray.<\/p>\n

And the men of our age with their courage so high,
\nHave yet time thus, and hearts too, to breathe a soft sigh.
\nAnd let no one suppose we are sorrowful made
\nBy wandering so thoughtful through this peaceful shade.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, and the day of each home,
\nWhile recalling each household, wherever we roam;
\n\u2018Tis the day of our fathers, of sons, and of brothers,
\nThe day of our sisters so fond, and of mothers.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day for the young, for the old, and for all,
\nAnd which needs not of priests the particular call.
\nThus domestic, ancestral, the day has its claims
\nStill on every being who human remains.<\/p>\n

See whole families walk in groups as they pass.
\nDo they weep for a brother, a boy, or a lass?
\nDo they think of a mother, a sister, or bride?
\nOh, then mark with what pains will they seek tears to hide!<\/p>\n

And when now fresh processions are seen to arrive,
\nWhat a sympathy moves all the rest who survive!
\nDuring eight days, from morning till evening \u2019tis so,
\nAnd all raise up to Heaven the hearts from below.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, and here no one is found
\nTo take his way reckless to a differnt ground;
\nIt is known, and respected, and honor\u2019d here still,
\nBy all those who have even the faintest weak will<\/p>\n

Thus to follow the customs so closely allied
\nWith the faith of the Church that is elsewhere denied;
\nFor the worst and most thoughtless, the wildest here then
\nWill remember that they too are mortal and men.<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the day of the dead, do you hear the strange bell?
\nHark! it tolls thus all day, through the night too as well:
\nThe guards are there mounted to keep the long way,
\nSuch multitudes hasten to weep and to pray.<\/p>\n

O then France, sprightly France, still so faithful and true
\nTo defend what their fathers all believed in and knew,
\nWith soft hearts that are warm, and aye kindled with light,
\nThe same that dispell\u2019d once, the old sad Pagan night,<\/p>\n

Now behold thy deck\u2019d graves thus from year unto year,
\nSo bedew\u2019d and refresh\u2019d with poor grateful tear,
\nThus frequented at times as the sweetest of fields,
\nAnd see there what good fruits now thy old faith still yields.<\/p>\n

Thou art praised for thy science, thy art, and thy grace,
\nFor courage so high that belongs to thy race,
\nBut when all is admired, and all has been said,
\nThere is nothing surpasses thy love for the dead.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

In Local Studies you often meet people with secrets to tell or treasure they have uncovered. One such was Fr. William Dempsey of Daingean, Co. Offaly who called visited in 2006. I only recently had the photographic negative he gave to me scanned. The Descent from the Cross According to Fr. William Dempsey, Kenelm Henry […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":12,"featured_media":3892,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[118],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3891","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-people"],"blocksy_meta":[],"featured_image_src":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/09\/The-Desent-fromthe-Crosssm.jpg","featured_image_src_square":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/09\/The-Desent-fromthe-Crosssm.jpg","author_info":{"display_name":"Kildare Local Studies","author_link":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/author\/localstudies\/"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3891","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/12"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3891"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3891\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8138,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3891\/revisions\/8138"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3892"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3891"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3891"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/kildarelibraries.ie\/ehistory\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3891"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}