A Celtic Psaltery Part 2

Three signs whereby to mark a man of vice Are hatred, bitterness, and avarice.

Three graceless sisters in the bond of unity Are lightness, flightiness, and importunity.

Three clouds, the most obscuring Wisdom's glance, Forgetfulness, half-knowledge, ignorance.

Three savage sisters sharpening life's distress, Foul Blasphemy, Foul Strife, Foul-mouthedness.

Three services the worst for human hands, A vile Lord's, a vile Lady's, a vile Land's.

Three gladnesses that soon give way to griefs, A wooer's, a tale-bearer's, and a thief's.

Three signs of ill-bred folk in every nation-- A visit lengthened to a visitation, Staring, and overmuch interrogation.

Three arts that const.i.tute a true physician: To cure your malady with expedition.

To let no after-consequence remain, And make his diagnosis without pain.

Three keys that most unlock our secret thinking Are love and trustfulness and overdrinking.

Three nurses of hot blood to man's undoing-- Excess of pride, of drinking, and of wooing.

Three the receivers are of stolen goods: A cloak, the cloak of night, the cloak of woods.

Three unions, each of peace a proved miscarriage, Confederate feats, joint ploughland, bonds of marriage.

Three lawful hand-breadths for mankind about the body be, From shoes to hose, from ear to hair, from tunic unto knee.

Three youthful sisters for all eyes to see, Beauty, desire, and generosity.

Three excellences of our dress are these-- Elegance, durability, and ease.

Three idiots of a bad guest-house are these-- A hobbling beldam with a hoicking wheeze, A brainless tartar of a serving-girl, For serving-boy a swinish lubber-churl.

Three slender ones whereon the whole earth swings-- The thin milk stream that in the keeler sings; The thin green blade that from the cornfield springs; That thin grey thread the housewife's shuttle flings.

The three worst welcomes that will turn a guest-house For weary wayfarers into a Pest-house-- Within its roof a workman's hammer beat; A bath of scalding water for your feet; With no a.s.suaging draught, salt food to eat.

Three finenesses that foulness keep from sight-- Fine manners in the most misfeatured wight; Fine shapes of art by servile fingers moulded; Fine wisdom from a cripple's brain unfolded.

Three fewnesses that better are than plenty: A fewness of fine words--but one in twenty; A fewness of milch cows, when gra.s.s is shrinking; Fewness of friends when beer is best for drinking.

Three worst of snares upon a Chieftain's way: Sloth, treachery, and evil counsel they!

Three ruins of a tribe to west or east: A lying Chief, false Brehon, l.u.s.tful Priest.

The rudest three of all the sons of earth: A youngster of an old man making mirth; A strong man at a sick man poking fun; A wise man gibing at a foolish one.

Three signs that show a fop: the comb-track on his hair; The track of his nice teeth upon his nibbled fare; His cane-track on the dust, oft as he takes the air.

Three sparks that light the fire of love are these-- Glamour of face, and grace, and speech of ease.

Three steadinesses of wise womanhood-- steady tongue through evil, as through good; A steady chast.i.ty, whoso else shall stray; Steady house service, all and every day.

Three sounds of increase: kine that low, When milk unto their calves they owe; The hammer on the anvil's brow, The pleasant swishing of the plough.

Three sisters false: I would! I might! I may!

Three fearful brothers: Hearken! Hush! and Stay!

Three coffers of a depth unknown Are his who occupies the throne, The Church's, and the privileged Poet's own.

Three glories of a gathering free from strife-- Swift hound, proud steed, and beautiful young wife.

The world's three laughing-stocks (be warned and wiser!)-- An angry man, a jealoused, and a miser.

Three powers advantaging a Chieftain most Are Peace and Justice and an Armed Host.

Lays of the Irish Saints

ST. PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER

(From the Early Irish)

Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie; To her sons and daughters all Choicest blessing still befall; Fruitful blessing on the soil That supports her faithful toil.

Blessing full of ruddy health, Blessing full of every wealth That her borders furnish forth, East and west and south and north; Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie!

Blessing on her peaks in air, Blessing on her flagstones bare, Blessing from her ridges flow To her gra.s.sy glens below!

Blessing from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie!

As the sands upon her sh.o.r.e Underneath her ships, for store, Be her hearths, a twinkling host, Over mountain, plain and coast; Blessings from the Lord on High Over Munster fall and lie!

THE BREASTPLATE OF ST. PATRICK

Otherwise called "The Deer's Cry." For St. Patrick sang this hymn when the ambuscades were laid against him by King Leary that he might go to Tara to sow the Faith. Then it seemed to those lying in ambush that he and his monks were wild deer with a fawn, even Benen (Benignus) following him.

I invoke, upon my path To the King of Ireland's rath, The Almighty Power of the Trinity; Through belief in the Threeness, Through confession of the Oneness Of the Maker's Eternal Divinity.