"But say, at that feast hath the poor man place?

Is reverence there for the old head h.o.a.r?

For the cripple that never might join the race?

For the maimed that fought, and can fight no more?"

"Reverence is there for the poor and meek; And the great King kisses the worn, pale cheek; And the King's Son waits on the pilgrim guest; And the Queen takes the little blind child to her breast: There with a crown is the just man crowned; But the false and the vengeful are branded and bound In knots of serpents, and flung without pity From the bastions and walls of the saintly City."

Then the eyes of the Maidens grew dark, as though That judgment of G.o.d had before them pa.s.sed: And the two sweet faces grew dim with woe; But the rose and the radiance returned at last.

"Are gardens there? Are there streams like ours?

Is G.o.d white-headed, or youthful and strong?

Hang there the rainbows o'er happy bowers?

Are there sun and moon and the thrush's song?"

"They have gardens there without noise or strife, And there is the Tree of immortal Life: Four rivers circle that blissful bound; And Spirits float o'er it, and Spirits go round: There, set in the midst, is the golden throne; And the Maker of all things sits thereon: A rainbow o'er-hangs him; and lo! therein The beams are His Holy Ones washed from sin."

As he spake, the hearts of the Maids beat time To music in heaven of peace and love; And the deeper sense of that lore sublime Came out from within them, and down from above; By degrees came down; by degrees came out: Who loveth, and hopeth, not long shall doubt.

"Who is your G.o.d? Is love on His brow?

Oh how shall we love Him and find Him? How?"

The pure cheek flamed like the dawn-touched dew: There was silence: then Patrick began anew.

The princes who ride in your father's train Have courted your love, but sued in vain; - Look up, O Maidens; make answer free: What boon desire you, and what would you be?"

"Pure we would be as yon wreath of foam, Or the ripple which now yon sunbeams smite: And joy we would have, and a songful home; And one to rule us, and Love's delight."

"In love G.o.d fashioned whatever is, The hills, and the seas, and the skiey fires; For love He made them, and endless blis Sustains, enkindles, uplifts, inspires: That G.o.d is Father, and Son, and Spirit; And the true and spotless His peace inherit: And G.o.d made man, with his great sad heart, That hungers when held from G.o.d apart.

Your sire is a King on earth: but I Would mate you to One who is Lord on high: There bride is maid: and her joy shall stand, For the King's Son hath laid on her head His hand."

As he spake, the eyes of that lovely twain Grew large with a tearful but glorious light, Like skies of summer late cleared by rain, When the full-orbed moon will be soon in sight.

"That Son of the King--is He fairest of men?

That mate whom He crowns--is she bright and blest?

Does she chase the red deer at His side through the glen?

Does she charm Him with song to His noontide rest?"

"That King's Son strove in a long, long war: His people He freed; yet they wounded Him sore; And still in His hands, and His feet, and His side, The scars of His sorrow are 'graved, deep-dyed."

Then the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the Maidens began to heave Like harbour waves when beyond the bar The great waves gather, and wet winds grieve, And the roll of the tempest is heard afar.

"We will kiss, we will kiss those bleeding feet; On the bleeding hands our tears shall fall; And whatever on earth is dear or sweet, For that wounded heart we renounce them all.

"Show us the way to His palace-gate:" - "That way is th.o.r.n.y, and steep, and straight; By none can His palace-gate be seen, Save those who have washed in the waters clean."

They knelt; on their heads the wave he poured Thrice in the name of the Triune Lord: And he signed their brows with the Sign adored.

On Fedelm the "Red Rose," on Ethna "The Fair,"

G.o.d's dew shone bright in that morning air: Some say that Saint Agnes, 'twixt sister and sister, As the Cross touched each, bent over and kissed her.

Then sang G.o.d's new-born Creatures, "Behold!

We see G.o.d's City from heaven draw nigh: But we thirst for the fountains divine and cold: We must see the great King's Son, or die!

Come, Thou that com'st! Our wish is this, That the body might die, and the soul, set free, Swell out, like an infant's lips, to the kiss Of the Lover who filleth infinity!"

"The City of G.o.d, by the water's grace, Ye see: alone, they behold His Face, Who have washed in the baths of Death their eyes, And tasted His Eucharist Sacrifice."

"Give us the Sacrifice!" Each bright head Bent toward it as sunflowers bend to the sun: They ate; and the blood from the warm cheek fled: The exile was over: the home was won: A starry darkness o'erflowed their brain: Far waters beat on some heavenly sh.o.r.e: Like the dying away of a low, sweet strain, The young life ebbed, and they breathed no more: In death they smiled, as though on the breast Of the Mother Maid they had found their rest.

The rumour spread: beside the bier The King stood mute, and his chiefs and court: The Druids dark-robed drew surlily near, And the Bards storm-hearted, and humbler sort: The "Staff of Jesus" Saint Patrick raised: Angelic anthems above them swept: There were that muttered; there were that praised: But none who looked on that marvel wept.

For they lay on one bed, like Brides new-wed, By Clebach well; and, the dirge days over, On their smiling faces a veil was spread, And a green mound raised that bed to cover.

Such were the ways of those ancient days - To Patrick for aye that grave was given; And above it he built a church in their praise; For in them had Eire been spoused to heaven.

SAINT PATRICK AND THE CHILDREN OF FOCHLUT WOOD.

ARGUMENT.

Saint Patrick makes way into Fochlut wood by the sea, the oldest of Erin's forests, whence there had been borne unto him, then in a distant land, the Children's Wail from Erin. He meets there two young Virgins, who sing a dirge of man's sorrowful condition. Afterwards they lead him to the fortress of the king, their father.

There are sung two songs, a song of Vengeance and a song of Lament; which ended, Saint Patrick makes proclamation of the Advent and of the Resurrection.

The king and all his chiefs believe with full contentment.

One day as Patrick sat upon a stone Judging his people, Pagan babes flocked round, All light and laughter, angel-like of mien, Sueing for bread. He gave it, and they ate: Then said he, "Kneel;" and taught them prayer: but lo!

Sudden the stag hounds' music dinned the wind; They heard; they sprang; they chased it. Patrick spake; "It was the cry of children that I heard Borne from the black wood o'er the midnight seas: Where are those children? What avails though Kings Have bowed before my Gospel, and in awe Nations knelt low, unless I set mine eyes On Fochlut Wood?" Thus speaking, he arose, And, journeying with the brethren toward the West, Fronted the confine of that forest old.

Then entered they that darkness; and the wood Closed as a cavern round them. O'er its roof Leaned roof of cloud, and hissing ran the wind, And moaned the trunks for centuries hollowed out Yet stalwart still. There, rooted in the rock, Stood the huge growths, by us unnamed, that frowned Perhaps on Partholan, the parricide, When that first Pagan settler fugitive Landed, a man foredoomed. Between the stems The ravening beast now glared, now fled. Red leaves, The last year's phantoms, rattled here and there.

The oldest wood that ever grew in Eire Was Fochlut Wood, and gloomiest. Spirits of Ill Made it their palace, and its labyrinths sowed With poisons. Many a cave, with horrors thronged Within it yawned, and many a chasm unseen Waited the unwary treader. Cry of wolf Pierced the cold air, and gibbering ghosts were heard; And o'er the black marsh pa.s.sed those wandering lights That lure lost feet. A thousand pathways wound From gloom to gloom. One only led to light: That path was sharp with flints.

Then Patrick mused, "O life of man, how dark a wood art thou!

Erring how many track thee till Despair, Sad host, receives them in his crypt-like porch At nightfall." Mute he paced. The brethren feared; And fearing, knelt to G.o.d. Made strong by prayer Westward once more they trod that dark, sharp way Till deeper gloom announced the night, then slept Guarded by angels. But the Saint all night Watched, strong in prayer. The second day still on They fared, like mariners o'er strange seas borne, That keep in mist their soundings when the rocks Vex the dark strait, and breakers roar unseen.

At last Benignus cried, "To G.o.d be praise!

He sends us better omens. See! the moss Brightens the crag!" Ere long another spake: "The worst is past! This freshness in the air Wafts us a welcome from the great salt sea; Fair spreads the fern: green buds are on the spray, And violets throng the gra.s.s."

A few steps more Brought them to where, with peaceful gleam, there spread A forest pool that mirrored yew trees twain With beads like blood-drops hung. A sunset flash Kindled a glory in the osiers brown Encircling that still water. From the reeds A sable bird, gold-circled, slowly rose; But when the towering tree-tops he outsoared, Eastward a great wind swept him as a leaf.

Serenely as he rose a music soft Swelled from afar; but, as that storm o'ertook him, The music changed to one on-rushing note O'ertaken by a second; both, ere long, Blended in wail unending. Patrick's brow, Listening that wail, was altered, and he spake: "These were the Voices that I heard when stood By night beside me in that southern land G.o.d's angel, girt for speed. Letters he bare Unnumbered, full of woes. He gave me one, Inscribed, 'The Wailing of the Irish Race;'

And as I read that legend on mine ear Forth from a mighty wood on Erin's coast There rang the cry of children, 'Walk once more Among us; bring us help!'" Thus Patrick spake: Then towards that wailing paced with forward head.

Ere long they came to where a river broad, Swiftly amid the dense trees winding, brimmed The flower-enamelled marge, and onward bore Green branches 'mid its eddies. On the bank Two virgins stood. Whiter than earliest streak Of matin pearl dividing dusky clouds Their raiment; and, as oft in silent woods White beds of wind-flower lean along the earth-breeze, So on the river-breeze that raiment wan Shivered, back blown. Slender they stood and tall, Their brows with violets bound; while shone, beneath, The dark blue of their never-tearless eyes.

Then Patrick, "For the sake of Him who lays His blessing on the mourners, O ye maids, Reveal to me your grief--if yours late sent, Or sped in careless childhood." And the maids: "Happy whose careless childhood 'scaped the wound:"

Then she that seemed the saddest added thus: "Stranger! this forest is no roof of joy, Nor we the only mourners; neither fall Bitterer the widow's nor the orphan's tears Now than of old; nor sharper than long since That loss which maketh maiden widowhood.

In childhood first our sorrow came. One eve Within our foster-parents' low-roofed house The winter sunset from our bed had waned: I slept, and sleeping dreamed. Beside the bed There stood a lovely Lady crowned with stars; A sword went through her heart. Down from that sword Blood trickled on the bed, and on the ground.

Sorely I wept. The Lady spake: 'My child, Weep not for me, but for thy country weep; Her wound is deeper far than mine. Cry loud!

The cry of grief is Prayer.' I woke, all tears; And lo! my little sister, stiff and cold, Sat with wide eyes upon the bed upright: That starry Lady with the bleeding heart She, too, had seen, and heard her. Clamour vast Rang out; and all the wall was fiery red; And flame was on the sea. A hostile clan Landing in mist, had fired our ships and town, Our clansmen absent on a foray far, And stricken many an old man, many a boy To bondage dragged. Oh night with blood redeemed!

Upon the third day o'er the green waves rushed The vengeance winged, with axe and torch, to quit Wrong with new wrong, and many a time since then.

That night sad women on the sea sands toiled, Drawing from wreck and ruin, beam or plank To shield their babes. Our foster-parents slain, Unheeded we, the children of the chief, Roamed the great forest. There we told our dream To children likewise orphaned. Sudden fear Smote them as though themselves had dreamed that dream, And back from them redoubled upon us; Until at last from us and them rang out - The dark wood heard it, and the midnight sea - A great and bitter cry."

"That cry went up, O children, to the heart of G.o.d; and He Down sent it, pitying, to a far-off land, And on into my heart. By that first pang Which left the eternal pallor in your cheeks, O maids, I pray you, sing once more that song Ye sang but late. I heard its long last note: Fain would I hear the song that such death died."

They sang: not scathless those that sing such song!

Grief, their instructress, of the Muses chief To hearts by grief unvanquished, to their hearts Had taught a melody that neither spared Singer nor listener. Pale when they began, Paler it left them. He not less was pale Who, out of trance awaking, thanked them thus: "Now know I of that sorrow in you fixed; What, and how great it is, and bless that Power Who called me forth from nothing for your sakes, And sent me to this wood. Maidens, lead on!

A chieftain's daughters ye; and he, your sire, And with him she who gave you your sweet looks (Sadder perchance than you in songless age) They, too, must hear my tidings. Once a Prince Went solitary from His golden throne, Tracking the illimitable wastes, to find One wildered sheep, the meanest of the flock, And on His shoulders bore it to that House Where dwelt His Sire. 'Good Shepherd' was His Name.

My tidings these: heralds are we, footsore, That bring the heart-sore comfort."