The Legends of Saint Patrick Part 7

As he spake, The sun, new-risen, flashed on a breast of wood That answered from a thousand jubilant throats: Then Fiacc, with all their music in his face, Resumed: "My father, upon Tara's steep Patient thou sat'st whole months, sifting with care The laws of Eire, recasting for all time, Ill laws from good dissevering, as that Day Shall sever tares from wheat. I see thee still, As then we saw--thy clenched hand lost in beard Propping thy chin; thy forehead wrinkle-trenched Above that wondrous tome, the 'Senchus Mohr,'

Like his, that Hebrew lawgiver's, who sat Throned on the clouded Mount, while far below The Tribes waited in awe. Now answer make!

Three bishops, and three brehons, and three kings.

Ye toiled--who helped thee best?" "Dubtach, the bard,"

Patrick replied--"Yea, wise was he, and knew Man's heart like his own strings." "All bards are wise,"

Shouted the youth, "except when war they wage On thee, the wisest. In their music bath They cleanse man's heart, not less, and thus prepare, Though hating thee, thy way. The bards are wise For all except themselves. Shall G.o.d not save them, He who would save the worst? Such grace were hard Unless, death past, their souls to birds might change, And in the darksomest grove of Paradise Lament, amerced, their error, yet rejoice In souls that walked obedient!" "Darksomest grove,"

Patrick made answer; "darksome is their life; Darksome their pride, their love, their joys, their hopes; Darksome, though gleams of happier lore they have, Their light! Seest thou yon forest floor, and o'er it, The ivy's flash--earth-light? Such light is theirs: By such can no man walk."

Thus, gay or grave, Conversed they, while the Brethren paced behind; Till now the morn crowded each cottage door With cl.u.s.tered heads. They reached ere long in woods A hamlet small. Here on the weedy thatch White fruit-bloom fell: through shadow, there, went round The swinging mill-wheel tagged with silver fringe; Here rang the mallet; there was heard remote The one note of the love-contented bird.

Though warm the sun, in shade the young spring morn Was edged with winter yet, and icy film Glazed the deep ruts. The swarthy smith worked hard, And working sang; the wheelwright toiled close by; An armourer next to these: through flaming smoke Glared the fierce hands that on the anvil fell In thunder down. A sorcerer stood apart Kneading Death's messenger, that missile ball, The Lia Laimbhe. To his heart he clasped it, And o'er it muttered spells with flatteries mixed: "Hail, little daughter mine! 'Twixt hand and heart I knead thee! From the Red Sea came that sand Which, blent with viper's poison, makes thy flesh!

Be thou no shadow wandering on the air!

Rush through the battle gloom as red-combed snake Cleaves the blind waters! On! like Witch's glance, Or forked flash, or shaft of summer pest, And woe to him that meets thee! Mouth blood-red My daughter hath: --not healing be her kiss!"

Thus he. In shade he stood, and phrensy-fired; And yet he marked who watched him. Without word Him Patrick pa.s.sed; but spake to all the rest With voice so kindly reverent, "Is not this,"

Men asked, "the preacher of the 'Tidings Good?'"

"What tidings? Has he found a mine?" "He speaks To princes as to brothers; to the hind As we to princes' children! Yea, when mute, Saith not his face 'Rejoice'?"

At times the Saint Laid on the head of age his strong right hand, Gentle as touch of soft-accosting eyes; And once before an open door he stopped, Silent. Within, all glowing like a rose, A mother stood for pleasure of her babes That--in them still the warmth of couch late left - Around her gambolled. On his face, as hers, Their sport regarding, long time lay the smile; Then crept a shadow o'er it, and he spake In sadness: "Woman! when a hundred years Have pa.s.sed, with opening flower and falling snow, Where then will be thy children?" Like a cloud Fear and great wrath fell on her. From the wall She s.n.a.t.c.hed a battle-axe and raised it high In both hands, clamouring, "Wouldst thou slay my babes?"

He answered, "I would save them. Woman, hear!

Seest thou yon floating shape? It died a worm; It lives, the blue-winged angel of spring meads.

Thy children, likewise, if they serve my King, Death past, shall find them wings." Then to her cheek The bloom returned, and splendour to her eye; And catching to her breast, that larger swelled, A child, she wept, "Oh, would that he might live For ever! Prophet, speak! thy words are good!

Their father, too, must hear thee." Patrick said, "Not so; nor falls this seed on every road;"

Then added thus: "You child, by all the rest Cherished as though he were some infant G.o.d, Is none of thine." She answered, "None of ours; A great chief sent him here for fosterage."

Then he: "All men on earth the children are Of One who keeps them here in fosterage: They see not yet His face; but He sees them, Yea, and decrees their seasons and their times: Like infants, they must learn Him first by touch, Through nature, and her gifts--by hearing next, The hearing of the ear, and that is Faith - By Vision last. Woman, these things are hard; But thou to Limneach come in three days' time, Likewise thy husband; there, by Sangul's Well, Thou shalt know all."

The Saint had reached ere long That festal mount. Thousands with bannered line Scaled it light-hearted. Never favourite lamb In ribands decked shone brighter than that hour The fair flank of Knock Cae. Heath-scented airs Lightened the clambering toil. At times the Saint Stayed on their course the crowds, and towards the Truth Drew them by parable, or record old, Oftener by question sage. Not all believed: Of such was Derball. Man of wealth and wit, Nor wise, nor warlike, toward the Saint he strode With bubble-seething brain, and head high tossed, And cried, "Great Seer! remove yon mountain blue, Cenn Abhrat, by thy prayer! That done, to thee Fealty I pledge." Saint Patrick knelt in prayer: Soon Derball cried, "The central ridge descends; - Southward, beyond it, Longa's lake shines out In sunlight flashing!" At his word drew near The men of Erin. Derball homeward turned, Mocking: "Believe who will, believe not I!

Me more imports it o'er my foodful fields To draw the Maigue's rich waters than to stare At moving hills." But certain of that throng, Light men, obsequious unto Derball's laugh, Questioned of Patrick if the mountain moved.

He answered, "On the ground mine eyes were fixed; Nought saw I. Haply, through defect of mine, It moved not. Derball said the mountain moved; Yet kept he not his pledge, but disbelieved.

'Faith can move mountains.' Never said my King That mountains moved could move reluctant faith In unbelieving heart." With sad, calm voice He spake; and Derball's laughter frustrate died.

Meantime, high up on that thyme-scented hill By shadows swept, and lights, and rapturous winds, Lonan prepared the feast, and, with that chief, Mantan, a deacon. Tables fair were spread; And tents with branches gay. Beside those tents Stood the sweet-breathing, mournful, slow-eyed kine With hazel-shielded horns, and gave their milk Gravely to merry maidens. Low the sun Had fallen, when, Patrick near the summit now, There burst on him a wandering troop, wild-eyed, With scant and quaint array. O'er sunburnt brows They wore sere wreaths; their piebald vests were stained, And lean their looks, and sad: some piped, some sang, Some tossed the juggler's ball. "From far we came,"

They cried; "we faint with hunger; give as food!"

Upon them Patrick bent a pitying eye, And said, "Where Lonan and where Mantan toil Go ye, and pray them, for mine honour's sake, To gladden you with meat." But Lonan said, And Mantan, "Nay, but when the feast is o'er, The fragments shall be yours." With darkening brow The Saint of that denial heard, and cried, "He cometh from the North, even now he cometh, For whom the Blessing is reserved; he cometh Bearing a little wether at his back:"

And, straightway, through the thicket evening-dazed A shepherd--by him walked his mother--pushed, Bearing a little wether. Patrick said, "Give them to eat. They hunger." Gladly then That shepherd youth gave them the wether small: With both his hands outstretched, and liberal smile, He gave it, though, with angry eye askance His mother grudged it sore. The wether theirs, As though earth-swallowed, vanished that wild tribe, Fearing that mother's eye.

Then Patrick spake To Lonan, "Zealous is thy service, friend; Yet of thy house no king shall sit on throne, No bishop bless the people." Turning then To Mantan, thus he spake, "Careful art thou Of many things; not less that church thou raisest Shall not be of the honoured in the land; And in its chancel waste the mountain kine Shall couch above thy grave." To Nessan last Thus spake he: "Thou that didst the hungry feed, The poor of Christ, that know not yet His name, And, helping them that cried to me for help, Cherish mine honour, like a palm, one day, Shall rise thy greatness." Nessan's mother old For pardon knelt. He blessed her h.o.a.ry head, Yet added, mournful, "Not within the Church That Nessan serves shall lie his mother's grave."

Then Nessan he baptized, and on him bound Ere long the deacon's grade, and placed him, later, Priest o'er his church at Mungret. Centuries ten It stood, a convent round it as a star Forth sending beams of glory and of grace O'er woods Teutonic and the Tyrrhene Sea.

Yet Nessan's mother in her son's great church Slept not; nor where the ma.s.s bell tinkled low: West of the church her grave, to his--her son's - Neighbouring, yet severed by the chancel wall.

Thus from the morning star to evening star Went by that day. In Erin many such Saint Patrick lived, using well pleased the chance, Or great or small, since all things come from G.o.d: And well the people loved him, being one Who sat amid their marriage feasts, and saw, Where sin was not, in all things beauty and love.

But, ere he pa.s.sed from Munster, longing fell On Patrick's heart to view in all its breadth Her river-flood, and bless its western waves; Therefore, forth journeying, to that hill he went, Highest among the wave-girt, heathy hills, That still sustains his name, and saw the flood At widest stretched, and that green Isle {111} hard by, And northern Th.o.m.ond. From its coasts her sons Rushed countless forth in skiff and coracle Smiting blue wave to white, till Sheenan's sound Ceased, in their clamour lost. That hour from G.o.d Power fell on Patrick; and in spirit he saw, Invisible to flesh, the western coasts, And the ocean way, and, far beyond, that land The Future's heritage, and prophesied Of Brendan who ere long in wicker boat Should over-ride the mountains of the deep, Shielded by G.o.d, and tread--no fable then - Fabled Hesperia. Last of all he saw More near, thy hermit home, Sena.n.u.s;--'Hail, Isle of blue ocean and the river's mouth!

The People's Lamp, their Counsel's Head, is thine!"

That hour shone out through cloud the westering sun And paved the wave with fire: that hour not less Strong in his G.o.d, westward his face he set, Westward and north, and spread his arms abroad, And drew the blessing down, and flung it far: "A blessing on the warriors, and the clans, A blessing on high field, and golden vales, On sea-like plain and on the showery ridge, On river-ripple, cliff, and murmuring deep, On seaward peaks, harbours, and towns, and ports; A blessing on the sand beneath the ships: On all descend the Blessing!" Thus he prayed, Great-hearted; and from all the populous hills And waters came the People's vast "Amen!"

SAINT PATRICK AND KING EOCHAID.

ARGUMENT.

King Eochaid submits himself to the Christian Law because Saint Patrick has delivered his son from bonds, yet only after making a pact that he is not, like the meaner sort, to be baptized. In this stubbornness he persists, though otherwise a kindly king; and after many years, he dies. Saint Patrick had refused to see his living face; yet after death he prays by the death-bed. Life returns to the dead; and sitting up, like one sore amazed, he demands baptism. The Saint baptizes him, and offers him a choice either to reign over all Erin for fifteen years, or to die. Eochaid chooses to die, and so departs.

Eochaid, son of Crimther, reigned, a King Northward in Clochar. Dearer to his heart Than kingdom or than people or than life Was he, the boy long wished for. Dear was she, Keine, his daughter. Babyhood's white star, Beauteous in childhood, now in maiden dawn She witched the world with beauty. From her eyes A light went forth like morning o'er the sea; Sweeter her voice than wind on harp; her smile Could stay men's breath. With winged feet she trod The yearning earth that, if it could, like waves Had swelled to meet their pressure. Ah, the pang!

Beauty, the immortal promise, like a cheat If unwed glides into the shadow land, Childless and twice defeated. Beauty wed To mate unworthy, suffers worse eclipse - "Ill choice between two ills!" thus spleenfull cried Eochaid; but not his the pensive grief: He would have kept his daughter in his house For ever; yet, since better might not be, Himself he chose her out a mate, and frowned, And said, "The dog must have her." But the maid Wished not for marriage. Tender was her heart; Yet though her twentieth year had o'er her flown, And though her tears had dewed a mother's grave, In her there lurked, not flower of womanhood, But flower of angel texture. All around To her was love. The crown of earthly love Seemed but its crown of mockery. Love Divine - For that she yearned, and yet she knew it not; Knew less that love she feared.

She walked in woods While all the green leaves, drenched by sunset's gold, Upon a shower-bespangled sycamore Shivered, and birds among them choir on choir Chanted her praise--or spring's. "Ill sung," she laughed, "My dainty minstrels! Grant to me your wings, And I for them will teach you song of mine: Listen!" A carol from her lip there gushed That, ere its time, might well have called the spring From winter's coldest cave. It ceased; she turned.

Beside her Patrick stood. His hand he raised To bless her. Awed, though glad, upon her knees The maiden sank. His eye, as if through air, Saw through that stainless soul, and, crystal-shrined Therein, its inmate, Truth. That other Truth Instant to her he preached--the Truth Divine-- (For whence is caution needful, save from sin?) And those two Truths, each gazing upon each, Embraced like sisters, thenceforth one. For her No arduous thing was Faith, ere yet she heard In heart believing: and, as when a babe Marks some bright shape, if near or far, it knows not, And stretches forth a witless hand to clasp Phantom or form, even so with wild surmise And guesses erring first, and questions apt, She chased the flying light, and round it closed At last, and found it substance. "This is He."

Then cried she, "This, whom every maid should love, Conqueror self-sacrificed of sin and death: How shall we find, how please Him, how be nigh?"

Patrick made answer: "They that do His will Are nigh Him." And the virgin: "Of the nigh, Say, who is nighest?" Thus, that winged heart Rushed to its rest. He answered: "Nighest they Who offer most to Him in sacrifice, As when the wedded leaves her father's house And cleaveth to her husband. Nighest they Who neither father's house nor husband's house Desire, but live with Him in endless prayer, And tend Him in His poor." Aloud she cried, "The nearest to the Highest, that is love; - I choose that bridal lot!" He answered, "Child, The choice is G.o.d's. For each, that lot is best To which He calls us." Lifting then pure hands, Thus wept the maiden: "Call me, Virgin-born!

Will not the Mother-Maid permit a maid To sit beside those nail-pierced feet, and wipe, With hair untouched by wreaths of mortal love, The dolorous blood-stains from them? Stranger guest, Come to my father's tower! Against my will, Against his own, in bridal bonds he binds me: My suit he might resist: he cannot thine!"

She spake; and by her Patrick paced with feet To hers accordant. Soon they reached that fort: Central within a circling rath earth-built It stood; the western tower of stone; the rest, Not high, but spreading wide, of wood compact; For thither many a forest hill had sent His wind-swept daughter brood, relinquishing Converse with cloud and beam and rain forever To echo back the revels of a Prince.

Mosaic was the work, beam laced with beam In quaint device: high up, o'er many a door Shone blazon rich of vermeil, or of green, Or shield of bronze, glittering with veined boss, Chalcedony or agate, or whate'er The wave-lipped marge of Neagh's broad lake might boast, Or ocean's sh.o.r.e, northward from Brandon's Head To where the myriad-pillared cliffs hang forth Their stony organs o'er the lonely main.

And trembles yet the pilgrim, noting at eve The pride Fomorian, and that Giant Way {116} Trending toward eastern Alba. From his throne Above the semicirque of gra.s.sy seats Whereon by Brehons and by Ollambs girt Daily be judged his people, rose the king And bade the stranger welcome.

Day to day And night to night succeeded. In fit time, For Patrick, sometimes sudden, oft was slow, He spoke his Master's message. At the close, As though in trance, the warriors circling stood With hands outstretched; the Druids downward frowned, Silent; and like a strong man awed for once, Eochaid round him stared. A little while, And from him pa.s.sed the amazement. Buoyant once more, And bright like trees fresher for thunder-shower, With all his wonted aspect, bold and keen, He answered: "O my prophet, words, words, words!

We too have Prophets. Better thrice our Bards; Yet, being no better these than trumpet's blast, The trumpet more I prize. Had words been work, Myself in youth had led the loud-voiced clan!

Deeds I preferred. What profit e'er had I From windy marvels? Once with me in war A seer there camped that, bending back his head, Fit rites performed, and upward gazing, blew With rounded lips into the heaven of heavens Druidic breath. That heaven was changed to cloud, Cloud that on borne to Claire's hated bound Down fell, a rain of blood! To me what gain?

Within three weeks my son was trapped and snared By Aodh of Hy Brinin, king whose hosts Number my warriors fourfold. Three long years Beyond those purple mountains in the west Hostage he lies." Lightly Eochaid spake, And turned: but shaken chin betrayed that grief Which lived beneath his lightness.

Sudden thronged High on the neighbouring hills a jubilant troop, Their banners waving, while the midway vale With harp and horn resounded. Patrick spake: "Rejoice! thy son returns! not sole he comes, But in his hand a princess, fair and good, A kingdom for her dowry. Aodh's realm, By me late left, welcomed MY King with joy: All fire the mountains shone. 'The G.o.d I serve,'

Thus spake I, Aodh pointing to those fires, 'In mountains of rejoicing hath no joy While sad beyond them sits a childless man, His only son thy captive. Captive groaned Creation; Bethlehem's Babe set free the slave.

For His sake loose thy thrall!' A sweeter voice Pleaded with mine, his daughter's 'mid her tears.

'Aodh,' I said, 'these two each other love!

What think'st thou? He who shaped the linnet's nest, Indifferent unto Him are human loves?

Arise! thy work make perfect! Righteous deeds Are easier whole than half.' In thought awhile Old Aodh sat; then to his daughter turned, And thus, imperious even in kindness, spake: 'Well fought the youth ere captured, like the son Of kings, and worthy to be sire of kings: Wed him this hour: and in three days, at eve, Restore him to his father!' King, this hour Thou know'st if Christ's strong Faith be empty words, Or truth, and armed with power."

That night was pa.s.sed In feasting and in revel, high and low Rich with a common gladness. Many a torch Flared in the hand of servitors hill-sent, That standing, each behind a guest, retained Beneath that roof clouded by banquet steam Their mountain wildness. Here, the splendour glanced On goblet jewel-chased and dark with wine, Swift circling; there, on walls with antlers spread, And rich with yew-wood carvings, flower or bud, Or cl.u.s.tered grape pendent in russet gleam As though from nature's hand. A hall hard by Echoed the harp that now nor kindled rage, Nor grief condoled, nor sealed with slumber's balm Tempestuous spirits, triumphs three of song, But raised to rapture, mirth. Far shone that hall Glowing with hangings steeped in every tinct The boast of Erin's dyeing-vats, now plain, Now pranked with bird or beast or fish, whate'er Fast-flying shuttle from the craftsman's thought Catching, on bore through glimmering warp and woof, A marvellous work; now traced by broiderer's hand With legends of Ferdiadh and of Meave, Even to the golden fringe. The warriors paced Exulting. Oft they showed their merit's prize, Poniard or cup, tribute ordained of tribes From age to age, Eochaid's right, on them With equal right devolving. Slow they moved In mantle now of crimson, now of blue, Clasped with huge torque of silver or of gold Just where across the snowy shirt there strayed Tendril of purple thread. With jewelled fronts Beauteous in pride 'mid light of winsome smiles, Over the rushes green with slender foot In silver slipper hid, the ladies pa.s.sed, Answering with eyes not lips the whispered praise, Or loud the bride extolling--"When was seen Such sweetness and such grace?"

Meantime the king Conversed with Patrick. Vexed he heard announced His daughter's high resolve: but still his looks Went wandering to his son. "My boy! Behold him!

His valour and his gifts are all from me: My first-born!" From the dancing throng apart His daughter stood the while, serene and pale, Down-gazing on that lily in her hand With face of one who notes not shapes around, But dreams some happy dream. The king drew nigh, And on her golden head the sceptre staff Leaning, but not to hurt her, thus began: "Your prophets of the day, I trust them not!

If sent from G.o.d, why came they not long since?

Our Druids came before them, and, belike, Shall after them abide! With these new seers I count not Patrick. Things that Patrick says I ofttimes thought. His lineage too is old - Wide-browed, grey-eyed, with downward lessening face, Not like your baser breeds, with questing eyes And jaw of dog. But for thy Heavenly Spouse, I like not Him! At least, wed Cormac first!

If rude his ways, yet n.o.ble is his name, And being but poor the man will bide with me: He's brave, and likeliest soon in fight may fall!

When Cormac dies, wed next--" a music clash Forth bursting drowned his words.

Three days pa.s.sed by: To Patrick, then preparing to depart, Thus spake Eochaid in the ears of all: "Herald Heaven-missioned of the Tidings Good!

Those tidings I have pondered. They are true: I for that truth's sake, and in honour bound By reason of my son set free, resolve The same, upon conditions, to believe, And suffer all my people to believe, Just terms exacted. Briefly these they are: First, after death, I claim admittance frank Into thy Heavenly Kingdom: next, till death For me exemption from that Baptism Rite, Imposed on kerne and hind. Experience-taught, I love not rigid bond and written pledge: 'Tis well to brand your mark on sheep or lamb: Kings are of lion breed; and of my house 'Tis known there never yet was king baptized.

This pact concluded, preach within my realm Thy Faith; and wed my daughter to thy G.o.d.

Not scholarly am I to know what joy A maid can find in psalm, and cell, and spouse Unseen: yet ever thus my sentence stood, 'Choose each his way.' My son restored, her loss To me is loss the less." Thus spake the king.

Then Patrick, on whose face the princess bent The supplication softly strong of eyes Like planets seen through mist, Eochaid's heart Knowing, which miracle had hardened more, Made answer, "King, a man of jests art thou, Claiming free range in heaven, and yet its gate Thyself close barring! In thy daughter's prayers Belike thou trustest, that where others creep Thou shalt its golden bastions over-fly.

Far otherwise than in that way thou ween'st, That daughter's prayers shall speed thee. With thy word I close, that word to frustrate. G.o.d be with thee!

Thou living, I return not. Fare thee well."

Thus speaking, by the hand he took the maid, And led her through the concourse. At her feet The poor fell low, kissing her garment's hem, And many brought their gifts, and all their prayers, And old men wept. A maiden train snow-garbed, Her steps attending, whitened plain and field, As when at times dark glebe, new-turned, is changed To white by flock of ocean birds alit, Or inland blown by storm, or hunger-urged To filch the late-sown grain. Her convent home Ere long received her. There Ethembria ruled, Green Erin's earliest nun. Of princely race, She in past years before the font of Christ Had knelt at Patrick's feet. Once more she sought him: Over the lovely, lovelier change had pa.s.sed, As when on childish girlhood, 'mid a shower Of lilies earthward wafted, maidenhood In peacefuller state a.s.sumes her spotless throne; So, from that maiden, vestal now had risen: - Lowlier she seemed, more tender, soft, and grave, Yet loftier; hushed in quiet more divine, Yet wonder-awed. Again she knelt, and o'er The bending queenly head, till then unbent, He flung that veil which woman bars from man To make her more than woman. Nigh to death The Saint forgat not her. With her remained Keine; but Patrick dwelt far off at Saul.

Years came and went: yet neither chance nor change, Nor war, nor peace, nor warnings from the priests, Nor whispers 'mid the omen-mongering crowd, Might from Eochaid charm his wayward will, Nor reasonings of the wise that still preferred Safe port to victory's pride. He reasoned too, For confident in his reasonings was the king, Reckoning on pointed fingers every link That clenched his mail of proof. "On Patrick's word Ye tell me Baptism is the gate of Heaven: Attend, Sirs! I have Patrick's word no less That I shall enter Heaven. What need I more?

If, Death, truth-speaker, shows that Patrick lied, Plain is my right against him! Heaven not won, Patrick bare hence my daughter through a fraud: He must restore her fourfold--daughters four, As fair and good. If not, the prophet's pledge For honour's sake his Master must redeem, And unbaptized receive me. Dupes are ye!

Doomed 'mid the common flock, with branded fleece Bleating to enter Heaven!"