Ancient Irish Poetry Part 4

Wheatlet son of Milklet, Son of juicy Bacon, Is mine own name.

Honeyed b.u.t.ter-roll Is the man's name That bears my bag.

Haunch of Mutton Is my dog's name, Of lovely leaps.

Lard, my wife, Sweetly smiles Across the brose.

Cheese-curds, my daughter, Goes round the spit, Fair is her fame.

Corned Beef is my son, Who beams over a cloak, Enormous, of fat.

Savour of Savours Is the name of my wife's maid: Morning-early Across New-milk Lake she went.

Beef-lard, my steed, An excellent stallion That increases studs; A guard against toil Is the saddle of cheese Upon his back.

A large necklace of delicious cheese-curds Around his back; His halter and his traces all Of fresh b.u.t.ter.

RELIGIOUS POETRY

THE DEER'S CRY

Patrick sang this hymn when the ambuscades were laid against him by King Loeguire (Leary) that he might not 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, following them. And its name is 'Deer's Cry.'

I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise to-day Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise to-day Through the strength of the love of Cherubim, In obedience of angels, In the service of archangels, In hope of resurrection to meet with reward, In prayers of patriarchs, In predictions of prophets, In preachings of apostles, In faiths of confessors, In innocence of holy virgins, In deeds of righteous men.

I arise to-day Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun, Radiance of moon, Splendour of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock.

I arise to day Through G.o.d's strength to pilot me: G.o.d's might to uphold me, G.o.d's wisdom to guide me, G.o.d's eye to look before me, G.o.d's ear to hear me, G.o.d's word to speak for me, G.o.d's hand to guard me, G.o.d's way to lie before me, G.o.d's shield to protect me, G.o.d's host to save me From snares of devils, From temptations of vices, From every one who shall wish me ill, Afar and anear, Alone and in a mult.i.tude.

I summon to-day all these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of women and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man's body and soul.

Christ to shield me to-day Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me abundance of reward.

Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise to-day Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation.

AN EVEN-SONG

PATRICK SANG THIS

May Thy holy angels, O Christ, son of living G.o.d, Guard our sleep, our rest, our shining bed.

Let them reveal true visions to us in our sleep, O high-prince of the universe, O great king of the mysteries!

May no demons, no ill, no calamity or terrifying dreams Disturb our rest, our willing, prompt repose.

May our watch be holy, our work, our task, Our sleep, our rest without let, without break.

PATRICK'S BLESSING ON MUNSTER

G.o.d's blessing upon Munster, Men, women, children!

A blessing on the land Which gives them fruit!

A blessing on every wealth Which is brought forth on their marches!

No one to be in want of help: G.o.d's blessing upon Munster!

A blessing on their peaks, On their bare flagstones, A blessing on their glens, A blessing on their ridges!

Like sand of sea under ships Be the number of their hearths: On slopes, on plains, On mountain-sides, on peaks.

THE HERMIT'S SONG

I wish, O Son of the living G.o.d, O ancient, eternal King, For a hidden little hut in the wilderness that it may be my dwelling.

An all-grey lithe little lark to be by its side, A clear pool to wash away sins through the grace of the Holy Spirit.

Quite near, a beautiful wood around it on every side, To nurse many-voiced birds, hiding it with its shelter.

A southern aspect for warmth, a little brook across its floor, A choice land with many gracious gifts such as be good for every plant.

A few men of sense--we will tell their number-- Humble and obedient, to pray to the King:--

Four times three, three times four, fit for every need, Twice six in the church, both north and south:--

Six pairs besides myself, Praying for ever the King who makes the sun shine.

A pleasant church and with the linen altar-cloth, a dwelling for G.o.d from Heaven; Then, shining candles above the pure white Scriptures.

One house for all to go to for the care of the body, Without ribaldry, without boasting, without thought of evil.