Chapter IV: Preface (4)

Howbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took the halter off the horse's head, and turned him loose among the horses of the Fena.

But now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to graze, as every one thought he would, ran in among the horses of the Fena, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. He cocked his long, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his hind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and disabling several of the horses. Sometimes he went tearing through the thickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and he opened out his lips with a vicious grin, and tore all he could lay hold on, with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came in his way either before or behind. And the end of it was, that not an animal of the whole herd escaped, without having a leg broken, or an eye knocked out, or his ribs fractured, or his ear bitten off, or the side of his face torn open, or without being in some other way cut or maimed beyond cure.

At last he left them, and was making straight for a small field where Conan Mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play the same tricks among them. But Conan, seeing this, shouted in great alarm to the Gilla Dacker, to bring away his horse, and not let him work any more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go himself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot.

But the Gilla Dacker took the matter quite coolly; and he told Conan that he saw no way of preventing his horse from joining the others, except some one put the halter on him and held him, which would, of course, he said, prevent the poor animal from grazing, and would leave him hungry at the end of the day. "But," said he to Conan, "there is the halter; and if you are in any fear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from the field."

Conan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big horse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and running forward with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head and attempted to lead him back. But in a moment the horse stood stock still, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of wood; and though Conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not able to stir him an inch from his place.

He gave up pulling at last, when he found it was no use; but he still kept on holding the halter, while the big horse never made the least stir, but stood as if he had been turned into stone; the Gilla Dacker all the time looking on quite unconcernedly, and the others laughing at Conan's perplexity. But no one offered to relieve him.

At last Conan jumped up on the horse, and tried to urge him on, but all to no purpose: for the animal never stirred. Another of the Fena now mounted behind him, and another, and another, till there were fourteen of them on the horse's back. Then the Gilla Dacker, suddenly tucking up his skirts, darted away from the Fena, and ran south-west with the speed of a swallow flying across a mountain side, or of a March wind sweeping over the plain. When the horse saw his master running, he stirred himself at once and followed him with equal speed, carrying off the whole fourteen men, and plunging and tearing along as if he had nothing at all on his back.

The men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were not able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened firmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back. Moreover they found that their seat was not a comfortable one, for the old horse's backbone was rough and scraggy, and nearly as sharp as a saw.

And now Conan, looking round, raised his big voice, and shouted to Finn and the Fena, asking them were they content to let their friends be carried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre of a horse.

Finn and the others, hearing this, instantly started off in pursuit, and for miles on miles they kept the Gilla Dacker and the horse in view, but were not able to overtake them. At last the horse and his master came to the shore of the sea in the west of Kerry, and without stop or stay they plunged forward, moving over the waves the same as on the dry land: and just as the Fena arrived at the shore, they lost sight of them in the distance.

XXIX.

DERMOT O'DYNA AT THE WELL.

Great was the astonishment of the Fena, and great their dismay, on seeing their comrades carried off in this manner on the back of the big horse. And now they took counsel; and what they resolved on was, to send Dermot O'Dyna and a party of the Fena in a ship to search for their companions. And Dermot and the others went on board, and sailed to the west for many leagues, till they lost sight of the shores of Erin. At length they came to an island with steep cliffs all round, so high that its head seemed hidden in the clouds: and they saw by the tracks, that up the face of this cliff the horse had made his way. And it was agreed that Dermot O'Dyna should climb up and explore the island in quest of their comrades. Then Dermot put on his armour and his helmet, and took his shield, his two spears, and his sword: and leaning on the handles of the spears, he leaped with a light, airy bound on the nearest shelf of rock. Using his spears and his hands, he climbed from ledge to ledge, while his companions watched him anxiously from below; till, after much toil, he measured the soles of his two feet on the green sod at the top of the rock. And when, recovering breath, he turned round and looked at his companions in the ship far below, he started back with amazement and dread at the dizzy height.

He now looked inland, and saw a beautiful country spread out before him:--a lovely, flowery plain straight in front, bordered with pleasant hills, and shaded with groves of many kinds of trees. It was enough to banish all care and sadness from one's heart to view this country, and to listen to the warbling of the birds, the humming of the bees among the flowers, the rustling of the wind through the trees, and the pleasant voices of the streams and waterfalls.

Making no delay, Dermot set out to walk across the plain. He had not been long walking when he saw, right before him, a great tree laden with fruit, over-topping all the other trees of the plain. It was surrounded at a little distance by a circle of pillar-stones; and one stone, taller than the others, stood in the centre near the tree. Beside this pillar-stone was a spring well, with a large, round pool as clear as crystal; and the water bubbled up in the centre, and flowed away towards the middle of the plain in a slender stream.

Dermot was glad when he saw the well; for he was hot and thirsty after climbing up the cliff. He stooped down to take a drink; but before his lips touched the water, he heard the heavy tread of a body of warriors, and the loud clank of arms, as if a whole host were coming straight down on him. He sprang to his feet and looked round; but the noise ceased in an instant, and he could see nothing.

After a little while he stooped once more to drink; and again, before he had wet his lips, he heard the very same sounds, nearer and louder than before. A second time he leaped to his feet; and still he saw no one. He knew not what to think of this; and as he stood wondering and perplexed, he happened to cast his eyes on the tall pillar-stone that stood on the brink of the well; and he saw on its top a large, beautiful drinking-horn,[131-1] chased with gold and enamelled with precious stones.

[131-1] The ancient Irish used drinking vessels of various forms
and with several names. A "Drinking-horn" (called a
_corn_: pronounced _curn_) was usually made of a
bullock's horn, hollowed out, cut into shape, and often
highly ornamented with silver rim, precious stones,
carvings, and other decorations. A beautiful
drinking-horn will be found figured in the "Child's
History of Ireland," p. 26. Another kind of drinking
vessel--the mether--has been already noticed here (page
17 above).

"Now surely," said Dermot, "I have been doing wrong: it is, no doubt, one of the virtues of this well that it will not let any one drink of its waters except from the drinking-horn."

So he took down the horn, dipped it into the well, and drank without hindrance, till he had slaked his thirst.

XXX.

DERMOT O'DYNA FIGHTS THE WIZARD-CHAMPION, AND AFTER A TIME RESCUES HIS COMRADES.

Hardly had Dermot taken the horn from his lips, when he saw a tall wizard-champion coming towards him from the east, clad in a complete suit of mail, and fully armed with shield and helmet, sword and spear. A beautiful scarlet mantle hung over his armour, fastened at his throat by a golden brooch; he had a gold torque round his neck; and a broad circlet of sparkling gold was bended in front across his forehead, to confine his yellow hair, and keep it from being blown about by the wind.

As he came nearer, he increased his pace, moving with great strides; and Dermot now observed that he looked very wrathful. He offered no greeting, and showed not the least courtesy; but addressed Dermot in a rough, angry voice--

"Surely, Dermot O'Dyna, Erin of the green plains should be wide enough for you; and it contains abundance of clear, sweet water in its crystal springs and green bordered streams, from which you might have drunk your fill. But you have come into my island without my leave, and you have taken my drinking-horn, and have drunk from my well; and this spot you shall never leave till you have given me satisfaction for the insult."

of gold: a twisted collar for the neck. Golden torques were much used by kings and other rich people. Many torques are in the National Museum: but most of them are better made and twisted more closely than the one here represented.]

So spoke the wizard-champion, and instantly advanced on Dermot with fury in his eyes. But Dermot was not the man to be terrified by any hero or wizard-champion alive. He met the foe half-way; and now, foot to foot, and knee to knee, and face to face, they began a fight, watchful and wary at first, but soon hot and vengeful, till their shields and helmets could scarce withstand their strong thrusts and blows. Like two enraged lions fighting to the death, or two strong serpents intertwined in deadly strife, or two great opposing billows thundering against each other on the ocean border; such was the strength and fury and determination of the combat of these two heroes.

And so they fought through the long day, till evening came, and it began to be dusk; when suddenly the wizard-champion sprang outside the range of Dermot's sword, and leaping up with a great bound, he alighted in the very centre of the well. Down he went through it, and disappeared in a moment before Dermot's eyes, as if the well had swallowed him up. Dermot stood on the brink, leaning on his spear, amazed and perplexed, looking after him in the water; but whether the hero had meant to drown himself, or that he had played some wizard trick, Dermot knew not.

He sat down to rest, full of vexation that the wizard-champion should have got off so easily. And what chafed him still more was that his companions knew nought of what had happened, and that when he returned, he could tell them nothing of the strange hero; neither had he the least token or trophy to show them after his long fight.

Dermot now began to think what was best to be done; and he made up his mind to stay near the well all night, in the hope of finding out something further about the wizard-champion on the morrow.

He walked towards the nearest point of a great forest that stretched from the mountain down to the plain on his left; and as he came near, a herd of speckled deer ran by among the trees. Poising his spear, he threw it with an unerring cast, and brought down the nearest of the herd.

Then, having lighted a fire under a tree, he skinned the deer and fixed it on long hazel spits to roast, having first, however, gone to the well, and brought away the drinking-horn full of water. And he sat beside the roasting deer to turn it and tend the fire, waiting impatiently for his meal; for he was hungry and tired after the toil of the day.

When the deer was cooked, he ate till he was satisfied, and drank the clear water of the well from the drinking-horn; after which he lay down under the shade of the tree, beside the fire, and slept a sound sleep till morning.

Night passed away and the sun rose, bringing morning with its abundant light. Dermot started up, refreshed after his long sleep, and, repairing to the forest, he slew another deer, and fixed it on hazel spits to roast at the fire as before. For Dermot had this custom, that he would never eat of any food left from a former meal.

And after he had eaten of the deer's flesh and drunk from the horn, he went towards the well. But though his visit was early, he found the wizard-champion there before him, standing beside the pillar-stone, fully armed as before, and looking now more wrathful than ever. Dermot was much surprised; but before he had time to speak, the wizard-champion addressed him--

"Dermot O'Dyna, you have now put the cap on all your evil deeds. It was not enough that you took my drinking-horn and drank from my well: you have done much worse than this, for you have hunted on my grounds, and have killed some of my speckled deer. Surely there are many hunting-grounds in Erin of the green plains, with plenty of deer in them; and you need not have come hither to commit these robberies on me. But now for a certainty you shall not go from this spot till I have taken satisfaction for all these misdeeds."

And again the two champions attacked each other, and fought during the long day, from morning till evening. And when the dusk began to fall, the wizard-champion leaped into the well, and disappeared down through it, even as he had done the day before.

The selfsame thing happened on the third day. And each day, morning and evening, Dermot killed a deer, and ate of its flesh, and drank of the water of the well from the drinking-horn.

On the fourth morning, Dermot found the wizard-champion standing as usual by the pillar-stone near the well. And as each morning he looked more angry than on the morning before, so now he scowled in a way that would have terrified anyone but Dermot O'Dyna.

And they fought during the day till the dusk of evening. But now Dermot watched his foe narrowly; and when he saw him about to spring into the well he closed on him and threw his arms round him. The wizard-champion struggled to free himself, moving all the time nearer and nearer to the brink; but Dermot held on, till at last both fell into the well. Down they went, clinging to each other, Dermot and the strange champion; down, down, deeper and deeper they went; and Dermot tried to look round, but nothing could he see save darkness and dim shadows. At length there was a glimmer of light; then the bright day burst suddenly upon them; and presently they came to the solid ground, gently and without the least shock.

At the very moment they reached the ground, the wizard-champion, with a sudden effort, tore himself away from Dermot's grasp, and ran forward with great speed. Dermot leaped to his feet; and he was so amazed at what he saw around him that he stood stock still and let the wizard-champion escape:--a lovely country, with many green-sided hills and fair valleys between, woods of red yew trees, and plains laughing all over with flowers of every hue.

Right before him, not far off, lay a city of great tall houses with glittering roofs; and on the side nearest to him was a royal palace, larger and grander than the rest. On the level green in front of the palace were a number of knights, all armed, and amusing themselves with various warlike exercises of sword and shield and spear.

To tell all Dermot's adventures here would be too long for this book. But he remained in that strange country, till he met the wizard champion and subdued him in fight. And after much searching he found Conan and the others who had been carried off by the Gilla Dacker's horse after which they all returned to the ship. And they sailed back to Erin where, when they landed, they were welcomed with a mighty shout by the assembled Fena.

From "Old Celtic Romances," by P. W. JOYCE, LL.D.

XXXI.

SAINT COLUMKILLE: PART I.

Saint Columkille[139-1] was born in the year 521, in Gartan, a wild district in the county Donegal, not far from Letterkenny. He was a near relation of the kings of Ireland of his time; for his father was great-grandson of the mighty King Niall of the Nine Hostages (see p. 5): and his mother was related to the kings of Leinster. He spent his boyhood in a little village near Gartan; and when he was old enough, he was sent away from his home to a school kept by a distinguished bishop and teacher, St. Finnen, at Movilla, near the present Newtownards, in Down. Though he belonged to a princely family, and might easily have become rich and great, he gave up these worldly advantages for religion, and resolved to become a priest.

[139-1] In books he is often called Columba; but in Ireland he is
best known by the name Columkille. This is derived from
_colum_ [pron. _collum_] a dove, and _cill_, or _kill_, a
church: the "Dove of the church." This name was given him
when a boy from his gentle, affectionate disposition, and
because he was so fond of praying in the little church of
Tullydouglas, near where he was born: so that the little
boys who were accustomed to play with him used often to
ask: "Has our little _Colum_ yet come from the church?"

The sketch given here is taken chiefly, but not
altogether, from Adamnan's "Life of St. Columba." Adamnan
was a native of Tirconnell or Donegal, like Columba
himself. He died in the year 703. He was the ninth abbot
of Iona, of which Columba was the first. His "Life of St.
Columba" is a very beautiful piece of Latin composition.

Having spent some time at Movilla, the youthful Columkille went to several other Irish Colleges, including that of St. Movi, at Glasnevin, near Dublin; and as he was a diligent student, he made great progress in all. The most celebrated of these was at Clonard, in Meath, in which there were many hundreds of students under the instruction of another St. Finnen, a great and holy man, who is styled in old Irish writings "a doctor of wisdom and the tutor of the saints of Ireland in his time." Here Columkille met many young Irishmen who afterwards became distinguished saints and missionaries.

As soon as he was ordained priest, he set about the work of his life--spreading the Gospel. At that time the high ridge over the river Foyle, where now stands the old city of Derry, was an uninhabited spot, clothed with a splendid wood of oaks, from which it got the name of Derry, meaning an oak grove: this spot was presented to Columkille by his cousin, prince Aed, afterwards king of Ireland. Here, when he was twenty-five years of age, he built his first church, round which grew up a monastery that continued to flourish for many hundred years, so that, in memory of the saint, the place was long afterwards known by the name of Derry-Columkille. At this period of his life he was a man of noble presence, a worthy member of a kingly race, as one of the old Irish writers describes him:--tall, broad-shouldered, and powerful: with long, curling hair: luminous grey eyes, and a countenance bright and pleasing: and he was always lively and agreeable in conversation.

For fifteen years after the establishment of Derry, Columkille continued to found churches all over the country, among many others those of Kells in Meath, Tory Island, Swords near Dublin, Drumcliff in Sligo, and Durrow in King's County, the last of which was his chief establishment in Ireland. It is recorded that during these fifteen years he founded altogether three hundred churches and monasteries. These establishments, like all the other Irish monasteries, were the means of spreading not only religion but general enlightenment: for in most of them there were schools; and the priests and monks converted, and taught, and civilised, to the best of their power, the people in their neighbourhood.

Many years before this, St. Patrick and the missionaries who worked under his guidance, had converted the greatest part of the Irish people to Christianity. But the time was too short and the missionaries too few to instruct the newly-converted people fully in their faith: so that although they were Christians, many of them had only a poor knowledge of the Christian doctrine. In those times there were certain persons in Ireland called Druids, who were the learned men among the pagans of the day, and who taught the people the pagan religion known as Druidism. They hated the Christian faith, and gave St. Patrick and his companions great trouble by trying to persuade the pagan Irish not to become Christians. They continued in the country till the time of St. Columkille, as active as ever though much fewer; and St. Columkille and the other missionaries of his time had often hard work to win over the people from the false teaching of these druids, and make good Christians of them.

A great part of the north of Scotland was then inhabited by a people called the Picts. Those of them who lived south of the Grampian mountains had been converted some time before by St. Ninian of Glastonbury:[143-1] but the northern Picts were still pagans; and Columkille made up his mind to leave Ireland and devote the rest of his life to their conversion. In 563, in the forty-second year of his age, he bade a sorrowful farewell to his native country, and crossing the sea with twelve companions, he settled in the island of Iona, in the Hebrides, which had been presented to him by his relative, the king of that part of Scotland. Here he built his little church and monastery, all of wood, and began to prepare for his glorious work. This little island afterwards became the Greatest religious centre in Scotland: and grand churches and other buildings were erected in and around the site of Columkille's humble structures. For many centuries Iona was held in such honour that most of the kings and chiefs and other great people of Scotland were buried in it; and to this day it is full of venerable and beautiful ruins, which are every year visited by people from all parts of the British Islands.

[143-1] Glastonbury, a town in Somersetshire, in England, where in
old times there was a celebrated monastery, much reported
to by Irish students.

The most laborious part of St. Columkille's active life began after his settlement in Iona. He traversed the Highlands of Scotland and the Islands of the Hebrides, sometimes in a rude chariot, sometimes on foot, visiting the kings and chiefs of the Picts, and preaching to them in their homes; and he founded churches and monasteries all over that part of Scotland, just as he had done in Ireland. After many years of incessant labour he succeeded in converting the whole of the northern Picts.

When Columkille was at home in his monastery resting from his missionary labours, his favourite occupation was copying the Holy Scriptures. We are told that he wrote with his own hand, in the course of years, three hundred copies of the sacred books, which he presented to the various churches he had founded; and this good work he continued to the very last day of his life. Besides mere copying, he composed many hymns and other poems, both in Latin and Irish. He was always employed at something. Adamnan says that not an hour of the day passed by without some work for himself and his monks--praying, reading, writing, arranging the affairs of the monastery, or manual work: for he took his own share in cooking, grinding corn, overseeing the men who were working in the fields, and so forth.

XXXII.

SAINT COLUMKILLE: PART II.

During St. Columkille's residence in Iona he visited Ireland more than once, on important business: and we may be sure that he was delighted when the opportunity came to see again the land he loved so well. The most important of these occasions was when he came over to take part in a great Meeting--a sort of Parliament for all Ireland--which was held at a place called Drum-Ketta in Derry. The proceedings at this meeting will be found described in the "Child's History of Ireland."

Amidst all the earnest and laborious efforts of St. Columkille in the cause of religion, he never forgot his native country. He looked upon himself as an exile, though a voluntary exile in a great and glorious cause; and a tender regret was always mingled with his recollections of Ireland. We have in our old books a very ancient poem in the Irish language, believed to have been composed by him, in which he expresses himself in this manner:--

"How delightful to be on Ben-Edar before embarking on the foam-white
sea: how pleasant to row one's little curragh all round it, to look
upward at its bare steep border, and to hear the waves dashing;
against its rocky cliffs.

"A grey eye looks back towards Erin: a grey eye full of tears.

"While I traverse Alban of the ravens, I think on my little oak
grove in Derry. If the tributes and the riches of Alban were mine,
from the centre to the utmost borders, I would prefer to them all
one little house in Derry. The reason I love Derry is for its
quietness, for its purity, for its crowds of white angels.

"How sweet it is to think of Durrow: how delightful would it be to
hear the music of the breeze rustling through its groves.

"Plentiful is the fruit in the Western Island--beloved Erin of many
waterfalls: plentiful her noble proves of oak. Many are her kings
and princes; sweet-voiced her clerics; her birds warble joyously in
the woods; gentle are her youths; wise her seniors; comely and
graceful her women, of spotless virtue; illustrious her men, of
noble aspect.

"There is a grey eye that fills with tears when it looks back
towards Erin. While I stand on the oaken deck of my bark I stretch
my vision westwards over the briny sea towards Erin."

During his whole life Columkille retained his affection for his native land and for everything connected with it. One breezy day, when he was now in his old age in Iona, a crane appeared flying towards the island: it was beaten about by the wind, and with much difficulty it reached the beach, where it fell down quite spent with hunger and fatigue. And the good old man said to one of his monks:--

"That crane has come from our dear fatherland, and I earnestly commend it to thee: nurse and cherish it tenderly till it is strong enough to return again to its sweet home in Scotia."

Accordingly the monk took the bird up in his arms and brought it to the hospice, and fed and tended it for three days till it had quite recovered. The third day was calm, and the bird rose from the earth till it had come to a great height, when resting for a moment to look forward, it stretched out its neck and directed its course towards Ireland.

On the day before the saint's death he went to a little hill hard by the monastery that overlooked the whole place; and gazing-lovingly round him for the last time, he lifted up his hands and blessed the monastery. And as he was returning with his attendant, he grew tired and sat down half way to rest; for he was now very weak. While he was sitting here an old white horse that was employed for many years to carry the pails between the milking place and the monastery, first looked at him intently, and then, coming up slowly, step by step, he laid his head gently on the saint's bosom. And he began to moan pitifully, and big tears rolled from his eyes and fell into the saint's lap: which, when the attendant saw, he came up to drive him away. Put the old man said:--"Let him alone: he loves me. May be God has given him some dim knowledge that his master is going; from him and from you all: so let him alone." At last, standing up, he blessed the poor old animal and returned to the monastery.

The death call came to him when he was seventy-six years of age. Though his death was not a sudden one, he had no sickness before it: he simply sank, wearied out with his life-long labours. Although he knew his end was near, he kept writing one of the Psalms till he could write no longer; while his companion Baithen sat beside him. At last, laying down the pen, he said, "Let Baithen write the rest."

On the night of that same day, at the toll of the midnight bell for prayer, he rose, feeble as he was, from his bed, which was nothing but a bare flagstone, and went to the church hard by, followed immediately after by his attendant Dermot. He arrived there before the others had time to bring in the lights; and Dermot, losing sight of him in the darkness, called out several times, "Where are you, father?" Perceiving no reply, he felt his way, till he found his master before the altar kneeling and leaning forward on the steps: and raising him up a little, supported his head on his breast. The monks now came up with the lights; and seeing their beloved old master dying, they began to weep. He looked at them with his face lighted up with joy, and tried to utter a blessing; but being unable to speak, he raised his hand a little to bless them, and in the very act of doing so he died in Dermot's arms.[150-1]

[150-1] This simple and beautiful narrative of the last days of St.
Columkille, including the two pleasing little stories
about the crane and the old white horse, with the
affecting account of the saint's death, is taken
altogether from Adamnan's Life. The circumstances of
Columkille's death are, in some respects, very like those
attending the death of the Venerable Bede, as recorded in
the tender and loving letter of his pupil, the monk
Cuthbert. But Adamnan's narrative was written more than
forty years before that of Cuthbert.

Baithen was St. Columkille's first cousin and his most
beloved disciple, and succeeded him as abbot of Iona.

XXXIII.

PRINCE ALFRED IN IRELAND.

It has been already stated (p. 47) that in early ages great numbers of foreigners came to Ireland to study in the colleges. Among those was Aldfrid or Alfred,[150-2] Prince of Northumbria, one of the Kingdoms of the Saxon Heptarchy. His history is interesting to us as exhibiting an example of the class of persons who came to Ireland for education in those days, and as showing the close relations existing between many of the royal families of England and Ireland.

[150-2] This Alfred must be distinguished from Alfred the Great who
lived two centuries later.

In the year 670, on the death of his father Oswy, who was king of Northumbria, the throne was seized unjustly by Alfred's younger brother, Egfrid: whereupon Alfred fled to Ireland. He was all the more ready to choose this as his place of exile, inasmuch as he was fond of learning, and he knew well that there were more learned and skilful teachers and better opportunities for study in Ireland than elsewhere. But he had another good reason; for his mother Fina [Feena] was an Irish princess of the family of the kings of Meath. The Irish knew him by the name "Flann," or more commonly Flann Fina, from his mother. He remained many years in Ireland, studying with great diligence in various colleges, till he had mastered most of the branches of learning then taught. He became specially skilled in the Holy Scriptures, and he also learned to speak and write the Irish language.

While he was in Ireland he was for a time under the instruction of St. Adamnan, the writer of the life of St. Columkille (see p. 140, note); and so close and affectionate was the intimacy between them, that the ancient Irish writers often call Alfred Adamnan's foster-son.

In the year 684 a party of Saxons were sent from Northumbria by Egfrid across the sea on a plundering expedition to Ireland. Having ravaged the coast of Meath,[152-1] between Ben-Edar and the Boyne, these marauders carried off a number of captives, who were held in bondage during the short remainder of his reign. In the very next year Egfrid was killed in battle, on which the Northumbrian nobles, who were well aware of Alfred's virtues and great abilities, sent to Ireland inviting him to take the throne: and accordingly he returned to England and became king of the Northumbrians.

[152-1] Meath, one of the five Kingdoms into which Ireland was
divided. Ben-Edar, the old name of Howth, near Dublin.

The poor captives were still kept in slavery: but Adamnan, seeing now a chance for their release, proceeded to the Northumbrian court to plead with his friend and former pupil for their restoration. He was received most affectionately; and at his intercession the king had the captives set free. Adamnan then brought them back, to the number of sixty, and restored them all rejoicing to their homes and friends.

As soon as Alfred had taken possession of the throne he took careful measures to have his people instructed in learning, religion, and virtue, in accordance with what he had himself seen and learned in Ireland; and he governed his kingdom for nineteen years in peace and prosperity.

In several ancient Irish manuscripts, including the Book of Leinster, there is a poem in the Irish language in praise of Ireland, said to have been composed by Alfred Flann Fina; of which the following are some of the verses faithfully translated[153-1]:--

PRINCE ALDFRID'S ACCOUNT OF IRELAND.

I found in Inisfail the fair,
In Ireland, while in exile there,
Women of worth, both grave and gay men,
Many clerics and many laymen.

I travelled its fruitful provinces round,
And in every one of the five I found,
Alike in church and in palace hall,
Abundant apparel, and food for all.

Gold and silver I found, and money,
Plenty of wheat and plenty of honey;
I found God's people rich in pity,
Found many a feast and many a city.

I found in Munster, unfettered of any,
Kings, and queens, and poets a many--
Poets well skilled in music and measure,
Prosperous doings, mirth and pleasure.

I found in Connaught the just, redundance
Of riches, milk in lavish abundance;
Hospitality, vigour, fame,
In Cruachan's[154-1] land of heroic name.

I found in Ulster, from hill to glen,
Hardy warriors, resolute men;
Beauty that bloomed when youth was gone,
And strength transmitted from sire to son.

I found in Leinster the smooth and sleek,
From Dublin to Slewmargy's[154-2] peak;
Flourishing pastures, valour, health,
Long-living worthies, commerce, wealth.

I found in Meath's fair principality,
Virtue, vigour, and hospitality;
Candour, joyfulness, bravery, purity,
Ireland's bulwark and security.

I found strict morals in age and youth,
I found historians recording truth;
The things I sing of in verse unsmooth,
I found them all--I have written sooth.

[153-1] It was translated very exactly into prose in 1832 by the
great Irish scholar Dr. John O'Donovan: the Irish poet
James Clarence Mangan turned this prose with very little
change into verse, part of which is given here.

[154-1] Cruachan or Croghan in the north of the present Co.
Roscommon, the ancient palace of the kings of Connaught:
see page 52.

[154-2] Slewmargy, now Slievemargy, a low range of hills in Queen's
County.

XXXIV.

THE VOYAGE OF MAILDUNE.

AN ACCOUNT OF THE ADVENTURES OF MAILDUNE[155-1] AND HIS CREW, AND OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THEY SAW DURING THEIR VOYAGE OF THREE YEARS AND SEVEN MONTHS, IN THEIR CURRAGH, ON THE WESTERN SEA.

In that part of Thomond[155-2] lying opposite the Aran Islands there once lived a young chief named Maildune. When he was an infant, a band of marauders landed on the coast, and plundered the whole district, and slew his father by burning the house over his head. Maildune grew up knowing nothing of all this, for his mother concealed it from him. But one day, when he was now a young man, he was contending in certain games of strength with a number of young persons of his own age, and he obtained the victory in every contest. At last it came to throwing the handstone: and when he had thrown it farther than all the others, an envious foul-tongued fellow who was standing by said to him:--

"It would better become you to avenge the man who was burned to death here, than to be amusing yourself casting a stone over his bare, burnt bones."

[155-1] Only a few of his adventures are given here: but the whole
story of the voyage is in "Old Celtic Romances": see page
164, farther on.

[155-2] Thomond, North Munster, namely the present county Clare and
parts of Tipperary and Limerick.

"Who was he?" inquired Maildune.

"Your own father," replied the other.

"Who slew him?" asked Maildune.

"Plunderers from a fleet slew him and burned him in this house; and the same plunderers are now living in an island far out in the sea, and they still have the same fleet."

Maildune was disturbed and sad after hearing this. He dropped the stone that he held in his hand, folded his cloak round him, buckled on his shield, and left the company. And having made further inquiry and found that the story was true, he resolved that he would never rest till he had overtaken these plunderers, and avenged on them the death of his father.

Then he sent for a skilful workman to whom he gave directions to make for him a triple-hide curragh[157-1] large enough to hold sixty persons and all things needed for a voyage. This was done: and Maildune chose his companions; and having laid in a little stock of provisions, and whatever other things were needed, he put to sea.

[157-1] Curragh, a boat made of basket or wicker work, covered with
hides. Curraghs were generally small and light: but some,
intended for long voyages, were large and strong, and
covered with two, or three, layers of hide one outside
another. Sometimes the hides were tanned into leather to
give additional strength.

THE FIRST ISLAND.--TIDINGS OF THE PLUNDERERS.

They sailed that day and night, as well as the whole of the next day, till darkness came on again; and at midnight they saw two small bare islands, with two great houses on them near the shore. When they drew nigh, they heard the sounds of merriment and laughter, and the shouts of revellers intermingled with the loud voices of warriors boasting of their deeds. And listening to catch the conversation, they heard one warrior say to another--

"Stand off from me, for I am a better warrior than thou; it was I who slew Maildune's father, and burned the house over his head; and no one has ever dared to avenge it on me. Thou hast never done a great deed like that!"

"Now surely," said one of Maildune's companions to him, "Heaven has guided our ship to this place. Here is an easy victory. Let us sack this house, since our enemies have been revealed to us and delivered into our hands!"

While they were yet speaking, the wind arose, and a great tempest suddenly broke on them. And they were driven violently before the storm, all that night and a part of next day, into the great and boundless ocean; so that they saw neither the islands they had left nor any other land; and they knew not whither they were going.

Then Maildune said, "Take down your sail and put by your oars, and let the curragh drift before the wind in whatsoever direction it pleases God to lead us": which was done.

XXXV.

AN EXTRAORDINARY MONSTER.

During the next few days, the wind bore Maildune's curragh along smoothly, so that the crew had not to use their oars. The island they now came to had a wall all round it. When they approached the shore, an animal of vast size, with a thick, rough skin, started up inside the wall, and ran round the island with the swiftness of the wind. When he had ended his race, he went to a high point, and standing on a large, flat stone, began to exercise himself according to his daily custom, in the following manner. He kept turning himself completely round and round in his skin, the bones and flesh moving, while the skin remained at rest.

When he was tired of this exercise, he rested a little; and he then set to work turning his skin continually round his body, down at one side and up at the other like a mill-wheel; but the bones and flesh did not move.

After spending some time at this sort of exercise, he started and ran round the island as at first, as if to refresh himself. He then went back to the same spot, and this time, while the skin that covered the lower part of his body remained without motion, he whirled the skin of the upper part round and round like the movement of a flat-lying millstone. And it was in this manner that he passed most of his time on the island.

Maildune and his people, after they had seen these strange doings, thought it better not to venture nearer. So they put out to sea in great haste. The monster, observing them about to fly, ran down to the beach to seize the curragh; but finding that they had got out of his reach, he began to fling round stones at them with great force and an excellent aim. One of them struck Maildune's shield and went quite through it, lodging in the keel of the curragh; after which the voyagers got beyond his range and sailed away.

In a wall-circled isle a big monster they found,
With a hide like an elephant, leathery and bare;
He threw up his heels with a wonderful bound,
And ran round the isle with the speed of a hare.

But a feat more astounding has yet to be told:
He turned round and round in his leathery skin;
His bones and his flesh and his sinews he rolled--
He was resting outside while he twisted within!

Then changing his practice with marvellous skill,
His carcase stood rigid and round went his hide;
It whirled round his bones like the wheel of a mill--
He was resting within while he twisted outside!

Next, standing quite near on a green little hill,
After galloping round in the very same track,
While the skin of his breast remained perfectly still,
Like a millstone he twisted the skin of his back!

But Maildune and his men put to sea in their boat,
For they saw his two eyes looking over the wall;
And they knew by the way that he opened his throat,
He intended to swallow them, curragh and all!

THE SILVER PILLAR OF THE SEA.

The next wonderful thing the voyagers came across was an immense silver pillar standing in the sea. It had eight sides, each of which was the width of an oar-stroke of the curragh, so that its whole circumference was eight oar-strokes. It rose out of the sea without any land or earth about it, nothing but the boundless ocean; and they could not see its base deep down in the water, neither were they able to see the top on account of its vast height.

A silver net hung from the top down to the very water, extending far out at one side of the pillar; and the meshes were so large that the curragh in full sail went through one of them. When they were passing through it, Diuran, one of Maildune's companions, struck the mesh with the edge of his spear, and with the blow cut a large piece off it.

"Do not destroy the net," said Maildune; "for what we see is the work of great men."

"What I have done," answered Diuran, "is for the honour of my God, and in order that the story of our adventures may be more readily believed; and I shall lay this silver as an offering on the altar of Armagh, if I ever reach Erin."

That piece of silver weighed two ounces and a half, as it was reckoned afterwards by the people of the church of Armagh.

After this the voyagers heard someone speaking on the top of the pillar, in a loud, clear, glad voice; but they knew neither what he said, nor in what language he spoke.

XXXVI.

MAILDUNE MEETS HIS ENEMY, IS RECONCILED TO HIM, AND ARRIVES HOME.

The next land the travellers sighted was a small island. On a near approach they recognised it as the very same island they had seen in the beginning of their voyage, in which they had heard the man in the great house boast that he had slain Maildune's father, and from which the storm had driven them out into the great ocean.

They turned the prow of their vessel to the shore, landed, and went towards the house. It happened that at this very time the people of the house were seated at their evening meal; and Maildune and his companions, as they stood outside, heard a part of their conversation.

Said one to another, "It would not be well for us if we were now to see Maildune."

"As to Maildune," answered another, "it is very well known that he was drowned long ago in the great ocean."

"Do not be sure," observed a third; "perchance he is the very man that may waken you up some morning from your sleep."

"Supposing he came now," asked another, "what should we do?"

The head of the house now spoke in reply to the last question; and Maildune at once knew the voice, for it was the voice of the man who had made a boast of slaying the young chief's father.

And what he said was:--"I can easily answer that. Maildune has been for a long time suffering great afflictions and hardships; and if he were to come now, though we were enemies once, I should certainly give him a welcome and a kind reception."

When Maildune heard this he knocked at the door; and the door-keeper asked who was there; to which Maildune made answer--

"It is I, Maildune, returned safely from all my wanderings."

The chief of the house then ordered the door to be opened; and he went to meet Maildune, and brought him and his companions into the house. They were joyfully welcomed by the whole household; new garments were given to them; and they feasted and rested, till they forgot their weariness and their hardships.

They related all the wonders God had revealed to them in the course of their voyage, according to the word of the sage who says, "It will be a source of pleasure to remember these things at a future time."

After they had remained here for some days, Maildune and his companions returned to their own country. And Diuran took the piece of silver he had cut down from the great net at the Silver Pillar, and laid it, according to his promise, on the high altar of Armagh.

From "Old Celtic Romances," by P. W. JOYCE, LL.D.

XXXVII.

TENNYSON'S "VOYAGE OF MAILDUNE."

("FOUNDED ON AN IRISH LEGEND: A.D. 700.")

Of the tale called the "Voyage of Maildune," the oldest copy is in the Book of the Dun Cow, which was copied from older books eight hundred years ago: but here the story is imperfect at both the beginning and end, portions of the book having been torn away at some former time. There is, however, a perfect copy in the Yellow Book of Lecan.[164-1] It was translated and published for the first time in "Old Celtic Romances" in 1879. When this book appeared, the great English poet, Alfred Tennyson (afterwards Lord Tennyson), read the story, and made it the subject of a beautiful poem, also called "The Voyage of Maildune." Portions of the beginning and end of this poem are here given:--

I.

I was the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead--
But I gather'd my fellows together, I swore I would strike off his
head.
Each of them looked like a king, and was noble in birth as in worth,
And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth.
Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song,
And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong.
_He_ lived on an isle in the ocean--we sail'd on a Friday morn--
He that had slain my father the day before I was born.

[164-1] For the Book of the Dun Cow and the Yellow Book of Lecan,
see p. 118.

II.

And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the shore was he.
But a sudden blast blew us out and away thro' a boundless sea.

* * * * *

XI.

And we came to the Isle of a saint who had sail'd with St.
Brendan[165-1] of yore,
He had lived ever since on the Isle and his winters were fifteen
score,
And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet,
And his white hair sank to his heels and his white beard fell to his
feet,
And he spake to me, "O Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine!
Remember the words of the Lord when he told us 'Vengeance is mine!'
His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife,
Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life,
Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last?
Go back to the Isle of Finn[166-1] and suffer the Past to be Past."

[165-1] St. Brendan of Clonfert in Kerry, commonly called Brendan
the Navigator: born in Kerry in 484. He sailed from near
Brandon mountain in Kerry (which is named from him) on his
celebrated voyage of seven years on the Atlantic, in which
it is related he saw many wonderful things--quite as
wonderful as those of Maildune.

[166-1] The Isle of Finn: i.e. of Finn Mac Cumaill: Ireland (see p.
92).

XII.

And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the shore
was he,
The man that had slain my father. I saw him and let him be.
O weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife and the sin,
When I landed again, with a tithe of my men, on the Isle of Finn.

XXXVIII.

ST. DONATUS, BISHOP OF FIESOLE.[167-1]