Cornelia Warner has submitted a wonderful, romantic poem written by her grandfather's half-sister in the 1950s or 60s. In Cornelia's words: "My great half-aunt (my grandfather's half sister) was a writer, and after seeing a Frisian movie about the island Schiermonnikoog, she wrote this highly romantic and probably historically incorrect poem. Yes, people picked boats clean, against the laws of the island, and yes, it was originally a monastery, but I have been told by many Frisians that as far as they knew, there was no pirate monk on the island.

The Ballad of Schiermonnikoog

by Alice Fenenga Roos

Among the dunes of Schiermonnikoog
There dwelt a monk-a grey-gowned rogue
Who on this island in the sea
Engaged in evil piracy.

Alone he lived upon the wild
Except for one, a foster child.
She was a maiden slight and fair
With soft, sad eyes and ringlet hair.

Her kin had drowned, but maid Marie
The monk had rescued from the sea.
She was a prisoner on the isle
And many, many a stormy mile

Did drearily stretch the foaming sea
Betwixt her and the mainland free.
Upon this isle in days of yore,
When blasting breakers lashed the shore,

When black clouds in their fury rolled,
when ocean wind blew strong and cold,
And ships sea tossed with tattered sail
Could not withstand the fearful gale,

There many a sailor saw too late
The treacherous rocks of Devil's Plate.
On such wild nights the pirate fox
Led forth an ancient, crippled ox,

Around whose neck he fixed a light
A lantern gleaming in the night.
And all along the shore he led
The ox whose halting, hobbling tread

Did in the black and murky night
Bob up and down the lantern light.
And sailors in distress afar
Mistook the light for harbor star-

Or life buoy shining in the dark,
A haven safe from storm to mark.
Their boats were dashed upon the stones,
And grief reigned sad in desolate homes.

Alas, the seaman's fearful fate,
Shipwrecked to be on Devil's Plate.
The friar, that avarious man,
He swiftly to the wrecked ships ran,

With evil eye and greedy hand
He dragged the spoil upon the sand.
The lovely damsel, Maid Marie
Had seen the rude monk's piracy.

Long afterward upon the fate
Of those lost men she'd contemplate.
In dreams at night she heard their cries
And tears fell from her soft, sad eyes.

One day as on the shore she stood
The monk being inland, gathering wood,
She saw afar two white sailed boats,
And sailors clad in fisher's coats.

It was a bright and sunny day,
No waves rose high, no clouds loomed grey.
She climbed upon a sand dune high,
A silhouette against the sky.

Aloft she waved her kerchief white
To thus attract the sailor's sight
And swiftly then they made their way
And landed in a sheltered bay.

To them she told her grievous tale
With tearful eye, her fair face pale.
Of how the monk, that wicked rogue
Had wrecked the ships on Schiermonnikoog.

The fisherman with scowling mien
And anger hot at such a scheme,
Dragged forth the monk, to their ships mast
With heavy ropes they tied him fast.

In dungeon deep across the main
They bound the thief with ball and chain.
No more at night upon the rocks
Doth trod the ancient, crippled ox.

And still on Schiermonnikoog is told
The tale of that rude pirate bold.
And maid Marie, the maiden fair,
With soft, sad eyes and ringlet hair.