Saint Patrick, seeing that now Erin believes, desires that the whole land should stand fast in belief till Christ returns to judge the world. For this end he resolves to offer prayer on Mount Cruachan; but Victor, the Angel who has attended him in all his labours, restrains him from that prayer as being too great. Notwithstanding, the Saint prays three times on the mountain, and three times all the demons of Erin contend against him, and twice Victor, the Angel, rebukes his prayers. In the end Saint Patrick scatters the demons with ignominy, and G.o.d's Angel bids him know that his prayer hath conquered through constancy.

From realm to realm had Patrick trod the Isle; And evermore G.o.d's work beneath his hand, Since G.o.d had blessed that hand, ran out full-sphered, And brighter than a new-created star.

The Island race, in feud of clan with clan Barbaric, gracious else and high of heart, Nor worshippers of self, nor dulled through sense, Beholding, not alone his wondrous works; But, wondrous more, the sweetness of his strength And how he neither shrank from flood nor fire, And how he couched him on the wintry rocks, And how he sang great hymns to One who heard, And how he cared for poor men and the sick, And for the souls invisible of men, To him made way--not simple hinds alone, But chiefly wisest heads, for wisdom then Prime wisdom saw in Faith; and, mixt with these, Chieftains and sceptred kings. Nigh Tara, first, Scorning the king's command, had Patrick lit His Paschal fire, and heavenward as it soared, The royal fire and all the Beltaine fires Shamed by its beam had withered round the Isle Like fires on little hearths whereon the sun Looks in his greatness. Later, to that plain Central 'mid Eire, "of Adoration" named, Down-trampled for two thousand years and more By erring feet of men, the Saint had sped In Apostolic might, and kenned far off Ill-pleased, the nation's idol lifting high His head, and those twelve va.s.sal G.o.ds around All mailed in gold and shining as the sun, A pomp impure. Ill-pleased the Saint had seen them, And raised the Staff of Jesus with a ban: Then he, that demon named of men Crom-dubh, With all his va.s.sal G.o.ds, into the earth That knew her Maker, to their necks had sunk While round the island rang three times the cry Of fiends tormented.

Not for this as yet Had Patrick perfected his strength: as yet The depths he had not trodden; nor had G.o.d Drawn forth His total forces in the man Hidden long since and sealed. For this cause he, Who still his own heart in triumphant hour Suspected most, remembering Milchoe's fate, With fear lest aught of human mar G.o.d's work, And likewise from his handling of the Gael Knowing not less their weakness than their strength, Paused on his conquering way, and lonely sat In cloud of thought. The great Lent Fast had come: Its first three days went by; the fourth, he rose, And meeting his disciples that drew nigh Vouchsafed this greeting only: "Bide ye here Till I return," and straightway set his face Alone to that great hill "of eagles" named Huge Cruachan, that o'er the western deep Hung through sea-mist, with shadowing crag on crag, High-ridged, and dateless forest long since dead.

That forest reached, the angel of the Lord Beside him, as he entered, stood and spake: "The gifts thy soul demands, demand them not; For they are mighty and immeasurable, And over great for granting." And the Saint: "This mountain Cruachan I will not leave Alive till all be granted, to the last."

Then knelt he on the shrouded mountain's base, And was in prayer; and, wrestling with the Lord, Demanded wondrous things immeasurable, Not easy to be granted, for the land; Nor brooked repulse; and when repulse there came, Repulse that quells the weak and crowns the strong, Forth from its gloom like lightning on him flashed Intelligential gleam and insight winged That plainlier showed him all his people's heart, And all the wound thereof: and as in depth Knowledge descended, so in height his prayer Rose, and far spread; nor roused alone those Powers Regioned with G.o.d; for as the strength of fire When flames some palace pile, or city vast, Wakens a tempest round it dragging in Wild blast, and from the aggression mightier grows, So wakened Patrick's prayer the demon race, And drew their legions in upon his soul From near and far. First came the Accursed encamped On Connact's cloudy hills and watery moors; Old Umbhall's Heads, Iorras, and Arran Isle, And where Tyrawley clasps that sea-girt wood Fochlut, whence earliest rang the Children's Cry, To demons trump of doom. In stormy rack They came, and hung above the invested Mount Expectant. But, their mutterings heeding not, When Patrick still in puissance rose of prayer, O'er all their armies round the realm dispersed There ran prescience of fate; and, north and south, From all the mountain-girdled coasts--for still Best site attracts worst Spirit--on they came, From Aileach's sh.o.r.e and Uladh's h.o.a.ry cliffs, Which held the aeries of that eagle race More late in Alba throned, "Lords of the Isles" - High chiefs whose bards, in strong transmitted line, Filled with the name of Fionn, and thine, Oiseen, The blue glens of that never-vanquished land - From those purpureal mountains that o'ergaze Rock-bowered Loch Lene broidered with sanguine bead, They came, and many a ridge o'er sea-lake stretched That, autumn-robed in purple and in gold, Pontific vestment, guard the memories still Of monks who reared thereon their mystic cells, Finian and Kieran, Fiacre, and Enda's self Of hermits sire, and that sea-facing Saint Brendan, who, in his wicker boat of skins Before that Genoese a thousand years Found a new world; and many more that now Under wind-wasted Cross of Clonmacnoise Await the day of Christ.

So rushed they on From all sides, and, close met, in circling storm Besieged the enclouded steep of Cruachan, That scarce the difference knew 'twixt night and day More than the sunless pole. Him sought they, him Whom infinitely near they might approach, Not touch, while firm his faith--their Foe that dragged, Sole-kneeling on that wood-girt mountain's base, With both hands forth their realm's foundation stone.

Thus ruin filled the mountain: day by day The forest torment deepened; louder roared The great aisles of the devastated woods; Black cave replied to cave; and oaks, whole ranks, Colossal growth of immemorial years, Sown ere Milesius landed, or that race He vanquished, or that earliest Scythian tribe, Fell in long line, like deep-mined castle wall, At either side G.o.d's warrior. Slowly died At last, far echoed in remote ravines, The thunder: then crept forth a little voice That shrilly whispered to him thus in scorn: "Two thousand years yon race hath walked in blood Neck-deep; and shall it serve thy Lord of Peace?"

That whisper ceased. Again from all sides burst Tenfold the storm; and as it waxed, the Saint Waxed in strong heart; and, kneeling with stretched hands, Made for himself a panoply of prayer, And wound it round his bosom twice and thrice, And made a sword of comminating psalm, And smote at them that mocked him. Day by day, Till now the second Sunday's vesper bell Gladdened the little churches round the isle, That conflict raged: then, maddening in their ire, Sudden the Princedoms of the Dark, that rode This way and that way through the tempest, brake Their sceptres, and with one great cry it fell: At once o'er all was silence: sunset lit The world, that shone as though with face upturned It gazed on heavens by angel faces thronged And answered light with light. A single bird Carolled; and from the forest skirt down fell, Gem-like, the last drops of the exhausted storm.

Then bowed the Saint his forehead to the ground Thanking his G.o.d; and there in sacred trance, Which was not sleep, abode not hours alone But silent nights and days; and, 'mid that trance, G.o.d fed his heart with unseen Sacraments, Immortal food. Awaking, Patrick felt Yearnings for nearer commune with his G.o.d, Though great its cost; and gat him on his feet, And, mile by mile, ascended through the woods Till stunted were its growths; and still he clomb Printing with sandalled foot the dewy steep: But when above the mountain rose the moon Brightening each mist, while sank the p.r.o.ne mora.s.s In double night, he came upon a stone Tomb-shaped, that flecked that steep: a little stream Dropped by it from the summits to the woods: Thereon he knelt; and was once more in prayer.

Nor prayed unnoticed by that race abhorred.

No sooner had his knees the mountain touched Than through their realm vibration went; and straight His prayer detecting back they trooped in clouds And o'er him closed, blotting with bat-like wing And inky pall, the moon. Then thunder pealed Once more, nor ceased from pealing. Over all Night ruled, except when blue and forked flash Revealed the on-circling waterspout or plunge Of rain beneath the blown cloud's ravelled hem, Or, huge on high, that lion-coloured steep Which, like a lion, roared into the night Answering the roaring from sea-caves far down.

Dire was the strife. That hour the Mountain old, An anarch throned 'mid ruins flung himself In madness forth on all his winds and floods, An omnipresent wrath! For G.o.d reserved, Too long the prey of demons he had been; Possession foul and fell. Now nigh expelled Those demons rent their victim freed. Aloft, They burst the rocky barrier of the tarn That downward dashed its countless cataracts, Drowning far vales. On either side the Saint A torrent rushed--mightiest of all these twain - Peeling the softer substance from the hills Their flesh, till glared, deep-trenched, the mountain's bones; And as those torrents widened, rocks down rolled Showering upon that unsubverted head Sharp spray ice-cold. Before him closed the flood, And closed behind, till all was raging flood, All but that tomb-like stone whereon he knelt.

Unshaken there he knelt with hands outstretched, G.o.d's Athlete! For a mighty prize he strove, Nor slacked, nor any whit his forehead bowed: Fixed was his eye and keen; the whole white face Keen as that eye itself, though--shapeless yet - The infernal horde to ear not eye addressed Their battle. Back he drave them, rank on rank, Routed, with psalm, and malison, and ban, As from a sling flung forth. Revolt's blind sp.a.w.n He named them; one time Spirits, now linked with brute, Yea, b.e.s.t.i.a.l more and baser: and as a ship Mounts with the mounting of the wave, so he O'er all the insurgent tempest of their wrath Rising rode on triumphant. Days went by, Then came a lull; and lo! a whisper shrill, Once heard before, again its poison cold Distilled: "Albeit to Christ this land should bow, Some conqueror's foot one day would quell her Faith."

It ceased. Tenfold once more the storm burst forth: Once more the ecstatic pa.s.sion of his prayer Met it, and, breasting, overbore, until Sudden the Princedoms of the dark that rode This way and that way through the whirlwind, dashed Their vanquished crowns of darkness to the ground With one long cry. Then silence came; and lo!

The white dawn of the fourth fair Day of G.o.d O'erflowed the world. Slowly the Saint upraised His wearied eyes. Upon the mountain lawns Lay happy lights; and birds sang; and a stream That any five-years' child might overleap, Beside him lapsed crystalline between banks With violets all empurpled, and smooth marge Green as that spray which earliest sucks the spring.

Then Patrick raised to G.o.d his orison On that fair mount, and planted in the gra.s.s His crozier staff, and slept; and in his sleep G.o.d fed his heart with unseen Sacraments, Manna of might divine. Three days he slept; The fourth he woke. Upon his heart there rushed Yearning for closer converse with his G.o.d Though great its cost; and on his feet he gat, And high, and higher yet, that mountain scaled, And reached at noon the summit. Far below Basking the island lay, through rainbow shower Gleaming in part, with shadowy moor, and ridge Blue in the distance looming. Westward stretched A galaxy of isles, and, these beyond, Infinite sea with sacred light ablaze, And high o'erhead there hung a cloudless heaven.

Upon that summit kneeling, face to sea The Saint, with hands held forth and thanks returned, Claimed as his stately heritage that realm From north to south: but instant as his lip Printed with earliest pulse of Christian prayer That clear aerial clime Pagan till then; The Host Accursed, sagacious of his act, Rushed back from all the isle and round him met With anger seven times heated, since their hour, And this they knew, was come. Nor thunder din And challenge through the ear alone, sufficed That hour their rage malign that, craving sore Material bulk to rend his bulk--their foe's - Through fleshly strength of that their murder-l.u.s.t Flamed forth in fleshly form phantoms night-black Though bodiless yet to bodied ma.s.s as nigh As Spirits can reach. More thick than vultures winged To fields with carnage piled, the Accursed thronged Making thick night which neither earth nor sky Could pierce, from sense expunged. In phalanx now, Anon in breaking legion, or in globe, With clang of iron pinion on they rushed And spectral dart high-held. Nor quailed the Saint, Contending for his people on that Mount, Nor spared G.o.d's foes; for as old minster towers Besieged by midnight storm send forth reply In storm outrolled of bells, so sent he forth Defiance from fierce lip, vindictive chaunt, And blight and ban, and maledictive rite Potent on face of Spirits impure to raise These plague-spots three, Defeat, Madness, Despair; Nor stinted flail of taunt--"When first my bark Threatened your coasts, as now upon the hills Hung ye in cloud; as now, I raised this Cross; Ye fled before it and again shall fly!"

So hurled he back their squadrons. Day by day The hurricanes of war shook earth and heaven: Till now, on Holy Sat.u.r.day, that hour Returned which maketh glad the Church of G.o.d When over Christendom in widowed fanes Two days by penance stripped, and dumb as though Some Antichrist had trodd'n them down, once more Swells forth amid the new-lit paschal lights The "Gloria in Excelsis:" sudden then That mighty conflict ceased, save one low voice Twice heard before, now edged with bitterer scoff, "That race thou lov'st, though fierce in wrath, is soft: Plenty and peace will melt their Faith one day:"

Then with that whisper dying, died the night: Then forth from darkness issued earth and sky: Then fled the phantoms far o'er ocean's wave, Thence to return not till the day of doom.

But he, their conqueror wept, upon that height Standing; nor of his victory had he joy, Nor of that jubilant isle restored to light, Nor of that heaven relit; so worked that scoff Winged from the abyss; and ever thus the man With darkness communed and that poison cold: "If Faith indeed should flood the land with peace, And peace with gold, and gold eat out her heart Once true, till Faith one day through Faith's reward Or die, or live diseased, the shame of Faith, Then blacker were this land and more accursed Than lands that knew no Christ." And musing thus The whole heart of the man was turned to tears, A fount of bale and chalice brimmed with death - For oft a thought chance-born more racks than truth Proven and sure--and, weeping, still he wept Till drenched was all his sad monastic cowl As sea-weed on the dripping shelf storm-cast Latest, and tremulous still.

As thus he wept Sudden beside him on that summit broad, Ran out a golden beam like sunset path Gilding the sea: and, turning, by his side Victor, G.o.d's angel, stood with l.u.s.trous brow Fresh from that Face no man can see and live.

He, putting forth his hand, with living coal s.n.a.t.c.hed from G.o.d's altar, made that dripping cowl Dry as an Autumn sheaf. The angel spake: "Rejoice, for they are fled that hate thy land, And those are nigh that love it." Then the Saint Upraised his head; and lo! in snowy sheen Cresting high rock, and ridge, and airy peak, Innumerable the Sons of G.o.d all round Vested the invisible mountain with white light, As when the foam-white birds of ocean throng Sea-rock so close that none that rock may see.

In trance the Living Creatures stood, with wings That pointing crossed upon their b.r.e.a.s.t.s; nor seemed As new arrived but native to that site Though veiled till now from mortal vision. Song They sang to soothe the vexed heart of the Saint - Love-song of Heaven: and slowly as it died Their splendours waned; and through that vanishing light Earth, sea, and heaven returned.

To Patrick then, Thus Victor spake: "Depart from Cruachan, Since G.o.d hath given thee wondrous gifts, immense, And through thy prayer routed that rebel host."

And Patrick, "Till the last of all my prayers Be granted, I depart not though I die: - One said, 'Too fierce that race to bend to faith.'"

Then spake G.o.d's angel, mild of voice, and kind: "Not all are fierce that fiercest seem, for oft Fierceness is blindfold love, or love ajar.

Souls thou wouldst have: for every hair late wet In this thy tearful cowl and habit drenched G.o.d gives thee myriads seven of Souls redeemed From sin and doom; and Souls, beside, as many As o'er yon sea in legioned flight might hang Far as thine eye can range. But get thee down From Cruachan, for mighty is thy prayer."

And Patrick made reply: "Not great thy boon!

Watch have I kept, and wearied are mine eyes And dim; nor see they far o'er yonder deep."

And Victor: "Have thou Souls from coast to coast In cloud full-stretched; but, get thee down: this Mount G.o.d's Altar is, and puissance adds to prayer."

And Patrick: "On this Mountain wept have I; And therefore giftless will I not depart: One said, 'Although that People should believe Yet conqueror's heel one day would quell their Faith.'"

To whom the angel, mild of voice, and kind: "Conquerors are they that subjugate the soul: This also G.o.d concedes thee; conquering foe Trampling this land, shall tread not out her Faith Nor sap by fraud, so long as thou in heaven Look'st on G.o.d's Face; nay, by that Faith subdued, That foe shall serve and live. But get thee down And worship in the vale." Then Patrick said, "Live they that list! Full sorely wept have I, Nor will I hence depart unsatisfied: One said; 'Grown soft, that race their Faith will shame;'

Say therefore what the Lord thy G.o.d will grant, Nor stint His hand; since never scanter grace Fell yet on head of nation-taming man Than thou to me hast portioned till this hour."

Then answer made the angel, soft of voice: "Not all men stumble when a Nation falls; There are that stand upright. G.o.d gives thee this: They that are faithful to thy Faith, that walk Thy way, and keep thy covenant with G.o.d, And daily sing thy hymn, when comes the Judge With Sign blood-red facing Jehosaphat, And fear lays p.r.o.ne the many-mountained world, The same shall 'scape the doom." And Patrick said, "That hymn is long, and hard for simple folk, And hard for children." And the angel thus: "At least from 'Christum Illum' let them sing, And keep thy Faith: when comes the Judge, the pains Shall take not hold of such. Is that enough?"

And Patrick answered, "That is not enough."

Then Victor: "Likewise this thy G.o.d accords: The Dreadful Coming and the Day of Doom Thy land shall see not; for before that day Seven years, a great wave arched from out the deep, Ablution pure, shall sweep the isle and take Her children to its peace. Is that enough?"

And Patrick answered, "That is not enough."

Then spake once more that courteous angel kind: "What boon demand'st then?" And the Saint, "No less Than this. Though every nation, ere that day Recreant from creed and Christ, old troth forsworn, Should flee the sacred scandal of the Cross Through pride, as once the Apostles fled through fear, This Nation of my love, a priestly house, Beside that Cross shall stand, fate-firm, like him That stood beside Christ's Mother." Straightway, as one Who ends debate, the angel answered stern: "That boon thou claimest is too great to grant: Depart thou from this mountain, Cruachan, In peace; and find that Nation which thou lov'st, That like thy body is, and thou her head, For foes are round her set in valley and plain, And instant is the battle." Then the Saint: "The battle for my People is not there, With them, low down, but here upon this height From them apart, with G.o.d. This Mount of G.o.d Dowerless and bare I quit not till I die; And dying, I will leave a Man Elect To keep its keys, and pray my prayer, and name Dying in turn, his heir, successive line, Even till the Day of Doom."

Then heavenward sped Victor, G.o.d's angel, and the Man of G.o.d Turned to his offering; and all day he stood Offering in heart that Offering Undefiled Which Abel offered, and Melchisedek, And Abraham, Patriarch of the faithful race, In type, and which in fulness of the times The Victim-Priest offered on Calvary, And, bloodless, offers still in Heaven and Earth, Whose impetration makes the whole Church one.

Thus offering stood the man till eve, and still Offered; and as he offered, far in front Along the aerial summit once again Ran out that beam like fiery pillar p.r.o.ne Or sea-path sunset-paved; and by his side That angel stood. Then Patrick, turning not His eyes in prayer upon the West close held Demanded, "From the Maker of all worlds What answer bring'st thou?" Victor made reply: "Down knelt in Heaven the Angelic Orders Nine, And all the Prophets and the Apostles knelt, And all the Creatures of the hand of G.o.d Visible, and invisible, down knelt, While thou thy mighty Ma.s.s, though altarless, Offeredst in spirit, and thine Offering joined; And all G.o.d's Saints on earth, or roused from sleep Or on the wayside pausing, knelt, the cause Not knowing; likewise yearned the Souls to G.o.d In that fire-clime benign that clears from sin; And lo! the Lord thy G.o.d hath heard thy prayer, Since fort.i.tude in prayer--and this thou know'st," - Smiling the Bright One spake, "is that which lays Man's hand upon G.o.d's sceptre. That thou sought'st Shall lack not consummation. Many a race Shrivelling in sunshine of its prosperous years, Shall cease from faith, and, shamed though shameless, sink Back to its native clay; but over thine G.o.d shall extend the shadow of His Hand, And through the night of centuries teach to her In woe that song which, when the nations wake, Shall sound their glad deliverance: nor alone This nation, from the blind dividual dust Of instincts brute, thoughts driftless, warring wills By thee evoked and shapen by thy hands To G.o.d's fair image which confers alone Manhood on nations, shall to G.o.d stand true; But nations far in undiscovered seas, Her stately progeny, while ages fleet Shall wear the kingly ermine of her Faith, Fleece uncorrupted of the Immaculate Lamb, For ever: lands remote shall raise to G.o.d HER fanes; and eagle-nurturing isles hold fast HER hermit cells: thy nation shall not walk Accordant with the Gentiles of this world, But as a race elect sustain the Crown Or bear the Cross: and when the end is come, When in G.o.d's Mount the Twelve great Thrones are set, And round it roll the Rivers Four of fire, And in their circuit meet the Peoples Three Of Heaven, and Earth, and h.e.l.l, fulfilled that day Shall be the Saviour's word, what time He stretched Thy crozier-staff forth from His glory-cloud And sware to thee, 'When they that with Me walked Sit with Me on their everlasting thrones Judging the Twelve Tribes of Mine Israel, Thy People thou shalt judge in righteousness.'

Thou therefore kneel, and bless thy Land of Eire."

Then Patrick knelt, and blessed the land, and said, "Praise be to G.o.d who hears the sinner's prayer."

EPILOGUE.

THE CONFESSION OF SAINT PATRICK.

ARGUMENT.

Before his death, Saint Patrick makes confession to his brethren concerning his life; of his love for that land which had been his House of Bondage; of his ceaseless prayer in youth: of his sojourn at Tours, where St. Martin had made abode, at Auxerres with St. Germa.n.u.s, and at Lerins with the Contemplatives: of that mystic mountain where the Redeemer Himself lodged the Crozier Staff in his hand; of Pope Celestine who gave him his Mission; of his Visions; of his Labours. His last charge to the sons of Erin is that they should walk in Truth; that they should put from them the spirit of Revenge; and that they should hold fast to the Faith of Christ.

At Saul then, by the inland-spreading sea, There where began my labour, comes the end: I, blind and witless, willed it otherwise: G.o.d willed it thus. When prescience came of death I said, "My Resurrection place I choose" - O fool, for ne'er since boyhood choice was mine Save choice to subject will of mine to G.o.d - "At great Ardmacha." Thitherward I turned; But in my pathway, with forbidding hand, Victor, G.o.d's angel stood. "Not so," he said, "For in Ardmacha stands thy princedom fixed, Age after age, thy teaching, and thy law, But not thy grave. Return thou to that sh.o.r.e Thy place of small beginnings, and thereon Lessen in body and mind, and grow in spirit: Then sing to G.o.d thy little hymn and die."

Yea, Lord, my mouth would praise Thee ere I die, The Father, and the Son, and Holy Spirit Who knittest in His Church the just to Christ: Help me, my sons--mine orphans soon to be - Help me to praise Him; ye that round me sit On those grey rocks; ye that have faithful been, Honouring, despite dishonour of my sins, His servant: I would praise Him yet once more, Though mine the stammerer's voice, or as a child's; For it is written, "Stammerers shall speak plain Sounding Thy Gospel." "They whom Christ hath sent Are Christ's Epistle, borne to ends of earth, Writ by His Spirit, and plain to souls elect:"

Lord, am not I of Thine Apostolate?

Yea, by abjection Thine, by suffering Thine!

Till I was humbled I was as a stone In deep mire sunk. Then, stretched from heaven, Thy hand Slid under me in might, and lifted me, And fixed me in Thy Temple where Thou wouldst.

Wonder, ye great ones, wonder, ye the wise!

On me, the last and least, this charge was laid This crown, that I in humbleness and truth Should walk this nation's Servant till I die.

Therefore, a youth of sixteen years, or less, With others of my land by pirates seized I stood on Erin's sh.o.r.e. Our bonds were just; Our G.o.d we had forsaken, and His Law, And mocked His priests. Tending a stern man's swine I trod those Dalaraida hills that face Eastward to Alba. Six long years went by; But--sent from G.o.d--Memory, and Faith, and Fear Moved on my spirit as winds upon the sea, And the Spirit of Prayer came down. Full many a day Climbing the mountain tops, one hundred times I flung upon the storm my cry to G.o.d.

Nor frost, nor rain might harm me, for His love Burned in my heart. Through love I made my fast; And in my fasts one night I heard this voice, "Thou fastest well: soon shalt thou see thy Land."

Later, once more thus spake it: "Southward fly, Thy ship awaits thee." Many a day I fled, And found the black ship dropping down the tide, And entered with those Gentiles by Thy grace Vanquished, though first they spurned me, and was free.

It was Thy leading, Lord; the Hand was Thine!

For now when, perils past, I walked secure, Kind greetings round me, and the Christian Rite, There rose a clamorous yearning in my heart, And memories of that land so far, so fair, And lost in such a gloom. And through that gloom The eyes of little children shone on me, So ready to believe! Such children oft Ran by me naked in and out the waves, Or danced in circles upon Erin's sh.o.r.es, Like creatures never fallen! Thought of such Pa.s.sed into thought of others. From my youth Both men and women, maidens most, to me As children seemed; and O the pity then To mark how oft they wept, how seldom knew Whence came the wound that galled them! As I walked, Each wind that pa.s.sed me whispered, "Lo, that race Which trod thee down! Requite with good their ill!

Thou know'st their tongue; old man to thee, and youth, For counsel came, and lambs would lick thy foot; And now the whole land is a sheep astray That bleats to G.o.d."

Alone one night I mused, Burthened with thought of that vocation vast.

O'er-spent I sank asleep. In visions then, Satan my soul plagued with temptation dire.

Methought, beneath a cliff I lay, and lo!

Thick-legioned demons o'er me dragged a rock, That falling, seemed a mountain. Near, more near, O'er me it blackened. Sudden from my heart This thought leaped forth: "Elias! Him invoke!"

That name invoked, vanished the rock; and I, On mountains stood watching the rising sun, As stood Elias once on Carmel's crest, Gazing on heaven unbarred, and that white cloud, A thirsting land's salvation.

Might Divine!

Thou taught'st me thus my weakness; and I vowed To seek Thy strength. I turned my face to Tours, There where in years gone by Thy soldier-priest Martin had ruled, my kinsman in the flesh.

Dead was the lion; but his lair was warm: In it I laid me, and a conquering glow Rushed up into my heart. I heard discourse Of Martin still, his valour in the Lord, His rugged warrior zeal, his pa.s.sionate love For Hilary, his vigils, and his fasts, And all his pitiless warfare on the Powers Of darkness; and one day, in secrecy, With Ninian, missioned then to Alba's sh.o.r.e, I peered into his branch-enwoven cell, Half-way between the river and the rocks, From Tours a mile and more.

So pa.s.sed eight years Till strengthened was my heart by discipline: Then spake a priest, "Brother, thy will is good, Yet rude thou art of learning as a beast; Fare thee to great Germa.n.u.s of Auxerres, Who lightens half the West!" I heard, and went, And to that Saint was subject fourteen years.