The Legends of Saint Patrick Part 5

Round him they stood, as oft in Grecian days, Some haughty city sieged, her penitent sons Thronging green Pnyx or templed Forum hushed Hung listening on that People's one true Voice, The man that ne'er had flattered, ne'er deceived, Nursed no false hope. It was the time of Faith; Open was then man's ear, open his heart: Pride spurned not then that chiefest strength of man The power, by Truth confronted, to believe.

Not savage was that wild, barbaric race: Spirit was in them. On their knees they sank, With foreheads lowly bent; and when they rose Such sound went forth as when late anch.o.r.ed fleet Touched by dawn breeze, shakes out its canvas broad And sweeps into new waters. Man with man Clasped hands; and each in each a something saw Till then unseen. As though flesh-bound no more, Their souls had touched. One Truth, the Spirit's life, Lived in them all, a vast and common joy.

And yet as when, that Pentecostal morn, Each heard the Apostle in his native tongue, So now, on each, that Truth, that Joy, that Life Shone forth with beam diverse. Deep peace to one Those tidings seemed, a still vale after storm; To one a sacred rule, steadying the world; A third exulting saw his youthful hope Written in stars; a fourth triumphant hailed The just cause, long oppressed. Some laughed, some wept: But she, that aged chieftain's mournful wife Clasped to her boding breast his h.o.a.ry head Loud clamouring, "Death is dead; and not for long That dreadful grave can part us." Last of all, He too believed. That h.o.a.ry head had shaped Full many a crafty scheme: --behind them all Nature held fast her own.

O happy night!

Back through the gloom of centuries sin-defaced With what a saintly radiance thou dost s.h.i.+ne!

They slept not, on the loud-resounding sh.o.r.e In glory roaming. Many a feud that night Lay down in holy grave, or, mockery made, Was quenched in its own shame. Far shone the fires Crowning dark hills with gladness: soared the song; And heralds sped from coast to coast to tell How He the Lord of all, no Power Unknown But like a man rejoicing in his house, Ruled the glad earth. That demon-haunted wood, Sad Erin's saddest region, yet, men say, Tenderest for all its sadness, rang at last With hymns of men and angels. Onward sailed High o'er the long, unbreaking, azure waves A mighty moon, full-faced, as though on winds Of rapture borne. With earliest red of dawn Northward once more the winged war-s.h.i.+ps rushed Swift as of old to that long hated sh.o.r.e - Not now with axe and torch. His Name they bare Who linked in one the nations.

On a cliff Where Fochlut's Wood blackened the northern sea A convent rose. Therein those sisters twain Whose cry had summoned Patrick o'er the deep, Abode, no longer weepers. Pallid still, In radiance now their faces shone; and sweet Their psalms amid the clangour of rough brine.

Ten years in praise to G.o.d and good to men That happy precinct housed them. In their morn Grief had for them her great work perfected; Their eve was bright as childhood. When the hour Came for their blissful transit, from their lips Pealed forth ere death that great triumphant chant Sung by the Virgin Mother. Ages pa.s.sed; And, year by year, on wintry nights, THAT song Alone the sailors heard--a cry of joy.

SAINT PATRICK AND KING LAEGHAIRE.

"Thou son of Calphurn, in peace go forth!

This hand shall slay them whoe'er shall slay thee!

The carles shall stand to their necks in earth Till they die of thirst who mock or stay thee!

"But my father, Nial, who is dead long since, Permits not me to believe thy word; For the servants of Jesus, thy heavenly Prince, Once dead, lie flat as in sleep, interred: But we are as men that through dark floods wade; We stand in our black graves undismayed; Our faces are turned to the race abhorred, And at each hand by us stand spear or sword, Ready to strike at the last great day, Ready to trample them back into clay!

"This is my realm, and men call it Eire, Wherein I have lived and live in hate Like Nial before me and Erc his sire, Of the race Lagenian, ill-named the Great!"

Thus spake Laeghaire, and his host rushed on, A river of blood as yet unshed: - At noon they fought: and at set of sun That king lay captive, that host lay dead!

The Lagenian loosed him, but bade him swear He would never demand of them Tribute more: So Laeghaire by the dread "G.o.d-Elements" swore, By the moon divine and the earth and air; He swore by the wind and the broad suns.h.i.+ne That circle for ever both land and sea, By the long-backed rivers, and mighty wine, By the cloud far-seeing, by herb and tree, By the boon spring shower, and by autumn's fan, By woman's breast, and the head of man, By Night and the noonday Demon he swore He would claim the Boarian Tribute no more.

But with time wrath waxed; and he brake his faith: Then the dread "G.o.d-Elements" wrought his death; For the Wind and Sun-Strength by Ca.s.si's side Came down and smote on his head that he died.

Death-sick three days on his throne he sate; Then died, as his father died, great in hate.

They buried their king upon Tara's hill, In his grave upright--there stands he still: Upright there stands he as men that wade By night through a castle-moat, undismayed; On his head is the crown, the spear in his hand; And he looks to the hated Lagenian land.

Such rites in the time of wrath and wrong Were Eire's: baptised, they were hers no longer: For Patrick had taught her his sweet new song, "Though hate is strong, yet love is stronger."

SAINT PATRICK AND THE IMPOSTOR;

OR, MAC KYLE OF MAN.

Mac Kyle, a child of death, dwells in a forest with other men like unto himself, that slay whom they will.

Saint Patrick coming to that wood, a certain Impostor devises how he may be deceived and killed; but G.o.d smites the Impostor through his own snare, and he dies. Mac Kyle believes, and demanding penance is baptised. Afterwards he preaches in Manann {77} Isle, and becomes a great Saint.

In Uladh, near Magh Inis, lived a chief, Fierce man and fell. From orphaned childhood he Through lawless youth to blood-stained middle age Had rushed as stormy morn to stormier noon, Working, except that still he spared the poor, All wrongs with iron will; a child of death.

Thus spake he to his followers, while the woods Snow-c.u.mbered creaked, their scales of icy mail Angered by winter winds: "At last he comes, He that deceives the people with great signs, And for the tinkling of a little gold Preaches new G.o.ds. Where rises yonder smoke Beyond the pinewood, camps this Lord of Dupes: How say ye? Shall he track o'er Uladh's plains, As o'er the land beside, his venomous way?

Forth with your swords! and if that G.o.d he serves Can save him, let him prove it!"

Dark with wrath Thus spake Mac Kyle; and all his men approved, Shouting, while downward fell the snows hard-caked Loosened by shock of forest-echoed hands, Save Garban. Crafty he, and full of lies, That thing which Patrick hated. Sideway first Glancing, as though some secret foe were nigh, He spake: "Mac Kyle! a counsel for thine ear!

A man of counsel I, as thou of war!

The people love this stranger. Patrick slain, Their wrath will blaze against us, and demand An ERIC for his head. Let us by craft Unravel first HIS craft: then safe our choice; We slay a traitor, or great ransom take: Impostors lack not gold. Lay me as dead Upon a bier: above me spread yon cloth, And make your wail: and when the seer draws nigh Wors.h.i.+p him, crying, 'Lo, our friend is dead!

Kneel, prophet, kneel, and pray that G.o.d thou serv'st To raise him.' If he kneels, no prophet he, But like the race of mortals. Sweep the cloth Straight from my face; then, laughing, I will rise."

Thus counselled Garban; and the counsel pleased; Yet pleased not G.o.d. Upon a bier, branch-strewn, They laid their man, and o'er him spread a cloth; Then, moving towards that smoke behind the pines, They found the Saint and brought him to that bier, And made their moan--and Garban 'neath that cloth Smiled as he heard it--"Lo, our friend is dead!

Great prophet kneel; and pray the G.o.d thou serv'st To raise him from the dead."

The man of G.o.d Upon them fixed a sentence-speaking eye: "Yea! he is dead. In this ye have not lied: Behold, this day shall Garban's covering be The covering of the dead. Remove that cloth."

Then drew they from his face the cloth; and lo!

Beneath it Garban lay, a corpse stone-cold.

Amazement fell upon that bandit throng, Contemplating that corpse, and on Mac Kyle Grief for his friend, remorse, and strong belief, A threefold power: for she that at his birth, Her brief life faithful to that Law she knew, Had died, in region where desires are crowned That hour was strong in prayer. "From G.o.d he came,"

Thus cried they; "and we worked a work accursed, Tempting G.o.d's prophet." Patrick heard, and spake; "Not me ye tempted, but the G.o.d I serve."

At last Mac Kyle made answer: "I have sinned; I, and this people, whom I made to sin: Now therefore to thy G.o.d we yield ourselves Liegemen henceforth, his thralls as slave to Lord, Or horse to master. That which thou command'st That will we do." And Patrick said, "Believe; Confess your sins; and be baptised to G.o.d, The Father, and the Son, and Holy Spirit, And live true life." Then Patrick where he stood Above the dead, with hands uplifted preached To these in anguish and in terror bowed The tidings of great joy from Bethlehem's Crib To Calvary's Cross. Sudden upon his knees, Heart-pierced, as though he saw that Head thorn-pierced, Fell that wild chief, and was baptised to G.o.d; And, lifting up his great strong hands, while still The waters streamed adown his matted locks, He cried, "Alas, my master, and my sire!

I sinned a mighty sin; for in my heart Fixed was my purpose, soon as thou hadst knelt, To slay thee with my sword. Therefore judge thou What ERIC I must pay to quit my sin?"

Him Patrick answered, "G.o.d shall be thy Judge: Arise, and to the seaside flee, as one That flies his foe. There shalt thou find a boat Made of one hide: eat nought, and nothing take Except one cloak alone: but in that boat Sit thou, and bear the sin-mark on thy brow, Facing the waves, oarless and rudderless; And bind the boat chain thrice around thy feet, And fling the key with strength into the main, Far as thou canst: and wheresoe'er the breath Of G.o.d shall waft thee, there till death abide Working the Will Divine." Then spake that chief, "I, that commanded others, can obey; Such lore alone is mine: but for this man That sinned my sin, alas, to see him thus!"

To whom the Saint, "For him, when thou art gone, My prayer shall rise. If G.o.d will raise the dead He knows: not I."

Then rose that chief, and rushed Down to the sh.o.r.e, as one that flies his foe; Nor ate, nor drank, nor spake to wife or child, But loosed a little boat, of one hide made, And sat therein, and round his ankles wound The boat chain thrice; and flung the key far forth Above the ridged sea foam. The Lord of all Gave ordinance to the wind, and, as a leaf Swift rushed that boat, oarless and rudderless, Over the on-shouldering, broad-backed, glaucous wave Slow-rising like the rising of a world, And purple wastes beyond, with funeral plume Crested, a pallid pomp. All night the chief Under the roaring tempest heard the voice That preached the Son of Man; and when the morn Shone out, his coracle drew near the surge Reboant on Manann's Isle. Not unbeheld Rose it, and fell; not unregarded danced A black spot on the inrolling ridge, then hung Suspense upon the mile-long cataract That, overtoppling, changed gra.s.s-green to light, And drowned the sh.o.r.es in foam. Upon the sands Two white-haired Elders in the salt air knelt, Offering to G.o.d their early orisons, Coninri and Romael. Sixty years These two unto a hard and stubborn race Had preached the Word; and gaining by their toil But thirty souls, had daily prayed their G.o.d To send ere yet they died some ampler arm, And reap the ill-grown harvest of their youth.

Ten years they prayed, not doubting, and from G.o.d, Who hastens not, this answer had received, "Ye shall not die until ye see his face."

Therefore, each morning, peered they o'er the waves, Long-watching. These through breakers dragged the man, Their wished-for prize, half-frozen, and nigh to death, And bare him to their cell, and warmed and fed him, And heaped his couch with skins. Deep sleep he slept Till evening lay upon the level sea With roses strewn like bridal chamber's floor; Within it one star shone. Rested, he woke And sought the sh.o.r.e. From earth, and sea, and sky, Then pa.s.sed into his spirit the Spirit of Love; And there he vowed his vow, fierce chief no more, But soldier of the cross.

The weeks ran on, And daily those grey Elders ministered G.o.d's teaching to that chief, demanding still, "Son, understandst thou? Gird thee like a man To clasp, and hold, the total Faith of Christ, And give us leave to die." The months fled fast: Ere violets bloomed, he knew the creed; and when Far heathery hills purpled the autumnal air, He sang the psalter whole. That tale he told Had power, and Patrick's name. His strenous arm Labouring with theirs, reaped harvest heavy and sound, Till wondering gazed their wearied eyes on barns Knee-deep in grain. At last an eve there fell, When, on the sh.o.r.e in commune, with such might Discoursed that pilgrim of the things of G.o.d, Such insight calm, and wisdom reverence-born, Each on the other gazing in their hearts Received once more an answer from the Lord, "Now is your task completed: ye shall die."

Then on the red sand knelt those Elders twain With hands upraised, and all their h.o.a.ry hair Tinged like the foam-wreaths by that setting sun, And sang their "Nunc Dimittis." At its close High on the sandhills, 'mid the tall hard gra.s.s That sighed eternal o'er the unbounded waste With ceaseless yearnings like their own for death They found the place where first, that bark descried, Their sighs were changed to songs. That spot they marked, And said, "Our resurrection place is here:"

And, on the third day dying, in that place The man who loved them laid them, at their heads Planting one cross because their hearts were one And one their lives. The snowy-breasted bird Of ocean o'er their undivided graves Oft flew with wailing note; but they rejoiced 'Mid G.o.d's high realm glittering in endless youth.

These two with Christ, on him, their son in Christ Their mantle fell; and strength to him was given.

Long time he toiled alone; then round him flocked Helpers from far. At last, by voice of all He gat the Island's great episcopate, And king-like ruled the region. This is he, Mac Kyle of Uladh, bishop, and Penitent, Saint Patrick's missioner in Manann's Isle, Sinner one time, and, after sinner, Saint World-famous. May his prayer for sinners plead!

SAINT PATRICK AT CASHEL;

OR, THE BAPTISM OF AENGUS.

ARGUMENT.

Saint Patrick goes to Cashel of the Rings to celebrate the Feast of the Annunciation. Aengus, who reigns there, receives him with all honour. He and his people believe, and by Baptism are added unto the Church. Aengus desires to resign his sovereignty, and become a monk. The Saint suffers not this, because he had discovered by two notable signs, both at the baptism of Aengus and before it, that the Prince is of those who are called by G.o.d to rule men.

When Patrick now o'er Ulster's forest bound, And Connact, echoing to the western wave, And Leinster, fair with hill-suspended woods, Had raised the cross, and where the deep night ruled, Splendour had sent of everlasting light, Sole peace of warring hearts, to Munster next, Th.o.m.ond and Desmond, Heber's portion old, He turned; and, fired by love that mocks at rest Pushed on through raging storm the whole night long, Intent to hold the Annunciation Feast At Cashel of the Kings. The royal keep High-seated on its Rock, as morning broke Faced them at last; and at the selfsame hour Aengus, in his father's absence lord, Rising from happy sleep and heaven-sent dreams Went forth on duteous tasks. With sudden start The prince stept back; for, o'er the fortress court Like grove storm-levelled lay the idols huge, False G.o.ds and foul that long had awed the land, p.r.o.ne, without hand of man. O'er-awed he gazed; Then on the air there rang a sound of hymns, And by the eastern gate Saint Patrick stood, The brethren round him. On their s.h.a.ggy garb Auroral mist, struck by the rising sun, Glittered, that diamond-panoplied they seemed, And as a heavenly vision. At that sight The youth, descending with a wildered joy, Welcomed his guests: and, ere an hour, the streets Sparkled far down like flowering meads in spring, So thronged the folk in holiday attire To see the man far-famed. "Who spurns our G.o.ds?"

Once they had cried in wrath: but, year by year, Tidings of some deliverance great and strange, Some life more n.o.ble, some sublimer hope, Some regal race enthroned beyond the grave, Had reached them from afar. The best believed, Great hearts for whom nor earthly love sufficed Nor earthly fame. The meaner scoffed: yet all Desired the man. Delay had edged their thirst.

Then Patrick, standing up among them, spake, And G.o.d was with him. Not as when loose tongue Babbles vain rumour, or the Sophist spins Thought's air-hung cobwebs gay with Fancy's dews, Spake he, but words of might, as when a man Bears witness to the things which he has seen, And tells of that he knows: and as the harp Attested is by rapture of the ear, And sunlight by consenting of the eye That, seeing, knows it sees, and neither craves Inferior demonstration, so his words Self-proved, went forth and conquered: for man's mind, Created in His image who is Truth, Challenged by truth, with recognising voice Cries out "Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,"

And cleaves thereto. In all that listening host One vast, dilating heart yearned to its G.o.d.

Then burst the bond of years. No haunting doubt They knew. G.o.d dropped on them the robe of Truth Sun-like: down fell the many-coloured weed Of error; and, reclothed ere yet unclothed, They walked a new-born earth. The blinded Past Fled, vanquished. Glorious more than strange it seemed That He who fas.h.i.+oned man should come to man, And raise by ruling. They, His trumpet heard, In glory spurned demons misdeemed for G.o.ds: The great chief had returned: the clan enthralled Trod down the usurping foe.

Then rose the cry, "Join us to Christ!" His strong eyes on them set, Patrick replied, "Know ye what thing ye seek Ye that would fain be house-mates with my King?

Ye seek His cross!" He paused, then added slow: "If ye be liegeful, sirs, decree the day, His baptism shall be yours."

That eve, while shone The sunset on the green-touched woods, that, grazed By onward flight of unalighting spring, Caught warmth yet scarcely flamed, Aengus stood With Patrick in a westward-facing tower Which overlooked far regions town-besprent, And lit with winding waters. Thus he spake: "My Father! what is sovereignty of man?