Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy (great novels txt) 📕

of chariots, see "The Sick Bed of Cuchullin," Atlantis, i., p. 375.

38. "The plains of Aie" (son of Allghuba the Druid), in Roscommon. Here stood the palace of Cruachain (O'Curry's "Lectures," p. 35; "Battle of Magh Leana," p. 61).

39. "Fair-brow" (O'Curry, "Exile of the Children of Uisnech," Atlantis, ii., p. 386).

40. Here in the original there is a sudden change from prose to verse. "It is generally supposed that these stories were recited by the ancient Irish poets for the amusement of their chieftains at their public feasts, and that the portions given in metre were sung" ("Battle of Magh Rath," p. 12). The prose portions of this tale are represented in the translation by blank verse, and the lyrical portions by rhymed verse.

41. "Ugaine Mor exacted oaths by the sun and moon, the sea, the dew, and colours . . . that the sovereignty of Erin should be invested in his descendants for ever" (Ib. p. 3).

42. The high dignity of Domnal may be inferred from the following lines, quoted from MacLenini, in the preface to "Cormac's Glossary," p. 51:-
"As blackbirds to swans, as an ounce to a mass of gold,
As the forms of peasant women to the forms of queens,
As a king to Domnal . . .
As a taper to a candle, so is a sword to my sword."

43. She was the wife of Ned, the war-god. See O'Donovan's "Annals of the Four Masters," vol. i., p. 24.

44. Etan is said to have been 'muime na filed,' nurse of the poets ("Three Irish Glossaries," preface, p. 33).

45. At Rathcroghan was the palace of the Kings of Connacht.

46. A name of Ireland ("Battle of Magh Leana," p. 79).

47. So the night before the battle of Magh Rath, "the monarch, grandson of Ainmire, slept not, in consequence of the weight of the battle and the anxiety of the conflict pressing on his mind; for he was certain that his own beloved foster-son would, on the morrow, meet his last fate."

48. In the "Battle of Magh Leana" these mysterious beings are called "the Women of the Valley" (p. 120).

49. For this line and for many valuable suggestions throughout the poem I am indebted to the deep poetical insight and correct judgment of my friend, Aubrey de Vere.

50. "Derg Dian Scothach saw this order, and he put his forefinger into the string of the spear." "Fate of the Children of Tuireann," by O'Curry, Atlantis, iv., p. 233. See also "Battle of Magh Rath," pp. 140, 141, 152.

51. Bregia was the ancient name of the plain watered by the Boyne.

52. According to the marginal note of the learned editor, the last four lines appear to be a sort of epilogue, in which the poet extols the victor.


THE VOYAGE OF ST. BRENDAN. A.D. 545.

[We are informed that Brendan, hearing of the previous voyage of his cousin, Barinthus, in the western ocean, and obtaining an account from him of the happy isles he had landed on in the far west, determined, under the strong desire of winning heathen souls to Christ, to undertake a voyage of discovery himself. And aware that all along the western coast of Ireland there were many traditions respecting the existence of a western land, he proceeded to the islands of Arran, and there remained for some time, holding communication with the venerable St. Enda, and obtaining from him much information relating to his voyage. Having prosecuted his inquiries with diligence, Brendan returned to his native Kerry; and from a bay sheltered by the lofty mountain that is now known by his name, he set sail for the Atlantic land; and, directing his course towards the south-west, in order to meet the summer solstice, or what we should call the tropic, after a long and rough voyage, his little bark being well provisioned, he came to summer seas, where he was carried along, without the aid of sail or oar, for many a long day. This, which it is to be presumed was the great gulf-stream, brought his vessel to shore somewhere about the Virginian capes, or where the American coast tends eastward, and forms the New England States. Here landing, he and his companions marched steadily into the interior for fifteen days, and then came to a large river, flowing from east to west: this, evidently, was the river Ohio. And this the holy adventurer was about to cross, when he was accosted by a person of noble presence-but whether a real or visionary man does not appear-who told him he had gone far enough; that further discoveries were reserved for other men, who would, in due time, come and Christianise all that pleasant land. It is said he remained seven years away, and returned to set up a college of three thousand monks, at Clonfert.-"Caesar Otway's Sketches in Erris and Tyrawley," note, pp. 98, 99.]


THE VOCATION.

[When St. Brendan was an infant, says Colgan, he was placed under the care of St. Ita, and remained with her five years, after which period he was led away by Bishop Ercus in order to receive from him the more solid instruction necessary for his advancing years. Brendan always retained the greatest respect and affection for his foster-mother, and he is represented, after his seven years' voyage, amusing St. Ita with an account of his adventures in the ocean.]

O Ita, mother of my heart and mind-
My nourisher, my fosterer, my friend, Who taught me first to God's great will resigned,
Before his shining altar-steps to bend; Who poured his word upon my soul like balm,
And on mine eyes what pious fancy paints- And on mine ear the sweetly swelling psalm,
And all the sacred knowledge of the saints;

To whom but thee, dear mother, should be told
Of all the wonders I have seen afar?- Islands more green and suns of brighter gold
Than this dear land or yonder blazing star; Of hills that bear the fruit-trees on their tops,
And seas that dimple with eternal smiles; Of airs from heaven that fan the golden crops,
O'er the great ocean 'mid the blessed isles!

Thou knowest, O my mother! how to thee
The blessed Ercus led me when a boy, And how within thine arms and at thine knee,
I learned the lore that death cannot destroy; And how I parted hence with bitter tears,
And felt, when turning from thy friendly door, In the reality of ripening years,
My paradise of childhood was no more.

I wept-but not with sin such tear-drops flow;-
I sighed-for earthly things with heaven entwine; Tears make the harvest of the heart to grow,
And love though human is almost divine. The heart that loves not knows not how to pray;
The eye can never smile that never weeps: 'Tis through our sighs hope's kindling sunbeams play
And through our tears the bow of promise peeps.

I grew to manhood by the western wave,
Among the mighty mountains on the shore: My bed the rock within some natural cave,
My food whate'er the seas or seasons bore: My occupation, morn and noon and night:
The only dream my hasty slumbers gave, Was Time's unheeding, unreturning flight,
And the great world that lies beyond the grave.

And thus, where'er I went, all things to me
Assumed the one deep colour of my mind; Great nature's prayer rose from the murmuring sea,
And sinful man sighed in the wintry wind. The thick-veiled clouds by shedding many a tear,
Like penitents, grew purified and bright, And, bravely struggling through earth's atmosphere,
Passed to the regions of eternal light.

I loved to watch the clouds now dark and dun,
In long procession and funeral line, Pass with slow pace across the glorious sun,
Like hooded monks before a dazzling shrine. And now with gentler beauty as they rolled
Along the azure vault in gladsome May, Gleaming pure white, and edged with broidered gold,
Like snowy vestments on the Virgin's day.

And then I saw the mighty sea expand
Like Time's unmeasured and unfathomed waves, One with its tide-marks on the ridgy sand,
The other with its line of weedy graves; And as beyond the outstretched wave of time,
The eye of Faith a brighter land may meet, So did I dream of some more sunny clime
Beyond the waste of waters at my feet.

Some clime where man, unknowing and unknown,
For God's refreshing word still gasps and faints; Or happier rather some Elysian zone,
Made for the habitation of his saints: Where Nature's love the sweat of labour spares,
Nor turns to usury the wealth it lends, Where the rich soil spontaneous harvest bears,
And the tall tree with milk-filled clusters bends.

The thought grew stronger with my growing days,
Even like to manhood's strengthening mind and limb, And often now amid the purple haze
That evening breathed upon the horizon's rim- Methought, as there I sought my wished-for home,
I could descry amid the waters green, Full many a diamond shrine and golden dome,
And crystal palaces of dazzling sheen.

And then I longed, with impotent desire,
Even for the bow whereby the Python bled, That I might send on dart of the living fire
Into that land, before the vision fled, And thus at length fix the enchanted shore,
Hy-Brasail, Eden of the western wave! That thou again wouldst fade away no more,
Buried and lost within thy azure grave.

But angels came and whispered as I dreamt,
"This is no phantom of a frenzied brain- God shows this land from time to time to tempt
Some daring mariner across the main: By thee the mighty venture must be made,
By thee shall myriad souls to Christ be won! Arise, depart, and trust to God for aid!"
I woke, and kneeling, cried, "His will be done!"


ARA OF THE SAINTS.[53]

Hearing how blessed Enda lived apart,
Amid the sacred caves of Ara-mhor, And how beneath his eye, spread like a chart,
Lay all the isles of that remotest shore; And how he had collected in his mind
All that was known to man of the Old Sea,[54] I left the Hill of Miracles[55] behind,
And sailed from out the shallow, sandy Leigh.

Betwixt the Samphire Isles swam my light skiff,
And like an arrow flew through Fenor Sound, Swept by the pleasant strand, and the tall cliff,
Whereon the pale rose amethysts are found. Rounded Moyferta's rocky point, and crossed
The mouth of stream-streaked Erin's mightiest tide, Whose troubled waves break o'er the City lost,
Chafed by the marble turrets that they hide.

Beneath Ibrickan's hills, moory and tame,
And Inniscaorach's caves, so wild and dark, I sailed along. The white-faced otter came,
And gazed in wonder on my floating bark. The