ST. COLUMBA'S GREETING TO IRELAND

(An old Irish poem recounting the Saint's voyage from Erin to Alba (Scotland), from which he but once returned)

Delightful to stand on the brow of Ben Edar,
Before being a speeder on the white-haired sea!
The dashing of the wave in wild disorder
On its desolate border delightful to me!
Delightful to stand on the brow of Ben Edar,
After being a speeder o'er the white-bosomed sea,
After rowing and rowing in my little curragh!
To the loud shore thorough, O, Och, Ochonee!
Great is the speed of my little wherry,
As afar from Derry its path it ploughs;
Heavy my heart out of Erin steering
And nearing Alba of the beetling brows.
My foot is fast in my chiming curragh,
Tears of sorrow my sad heart fill.
Who lean not on God are but feeble-minded,
Without His Love we go blinded still.
There is a grey eye that tears are thronging,
Fixed with longing on Erin's shore,
It shall never see o'er the waste of waters
The sons and daughters of Erin more.
Its glance goes forth o'er the brine wave-broken,
Far off from the firm-set, oaken seat;
Many the tears from that grey eye streaming,
The faint, far gleaming of Erin to meet.
[18]
For indeed my soul is set upon Erin,
And all joys therein from Linnhe to Lene,
On each pleasant prospect of proud Ultonia,
Mild Momonia and Meath the green.
In Alba eastward the lean Scot increases,
Frequent the diseases and murrain in her parts,
Many in her mountains the scanty-skirted fellows,
Many are the hard and the jealous hearts.
Many in the West are our Kings and Princes noble,
Orchards bend double beneath their fruitage vast;
Sloes upon the thorn-bush shine in blue abundance,
Oaks in redundance drop the royal mast.
Melodious are her clerics, melodious Erin's birds are,
Gentle her youths' words are, her seniors discreet;
Famed far her chieftains—goodlier are no men—
Very fair her women for espousal sweet.
'Tis within the West sweet Brendan is residing,
There Colum MacCriffan is indeed abiding now;
And 'tis unto the West ruddy Baithir is repairing
And Adamnan shall be faring to perform his vow.
Salute them courteously, salute them all and single,
After them Comgall, Eternity's true heir,
Then to the stately Monarch of fair Navan
Up from the haven my greeting greatly bear.
My blessing, fair youth, and my full benediction
Without one restriction be bearing to-day—
One half above Erin, one half seven times over,
And one half above Alba to hover for aye.
Carry to Erin that full load of blessing,
For sorrow distressing my heart's pulses fail,
If Death overtake me, the whole truth be spoken!
My heart it was broken by great love for the Gael.
[19]
"Gael, Gael," at that dear word's repeating,
Again with glad beating my heart takes my breast.
Beloved is Cummin of the tresses most beauteous,
And Cainnech the duteous and Comgall the Blest.
Were all of Alba mine now to enter,
Mine from the centre and through to the sea;
I would rather possess in deep-leaved Derry
The home that was very very dear to me.
To Derry my love is ever awarded,
For her lawns smooth-swarded, her pure clear wells,
And the hosts of angels that hover and hover
Over and over her oak-set dells.
Indeed and indeed for these joys I love her,
Pure air is above her, smooth turf below;
While evermore over each oak-bough leafy
A beautiful bevy of angels go.
My Derry, my little oak grove of Erin!
My dwelling was therein, my small dear cell.
Strike him, O Living God out of Heaven,
With Thy red Levin who works them ill.
Beloved shall Derry and Durrow endure,
Beloved Raphoe of the pure clear well,
Beloved Drumhome with its sweet acorn showers,
Beloved the towers of Swords and Kells!
Beloved too at my heart as any
Art thou Drumcliffe on Culcinné's strand,
And over Loch Foyle—'tis delight to be gazing—
So shapely are her shores on either hand.
Delightful indeed, is the purple sea's glamour,
Where sea-gulls clamour in white-winged flight,
As you view it afar from Derry belovèd,
O the peace of it, the peace and delight!

[20]

ST. COLUMBA IN IONA

(From an Irish Manuscript in the Burgundian Library, Brussels)

Delightful would it be to me
From a rock pinnacle to trace
Continually
The Ocean's face:
That I might watch the heaving waves
Of noble force
To God the Father chant their staves
Of the earth's course.
That I might mark its level strand,
To me no lone distress,
That I might hark the sea-bird's wondrous band—
Sweet source of happiness.
That I might hear the clamorous billows thunder
On the rude beach.
That by my blessed church side I might ponder
Their mighty speech.
Or watch surf-flying gulls the dark shoal follow
With joyous scream,
Or mighty ocean monsters spout and wallow,
Wonder supreme!
That I might well observe of ebb and flood
All cycles therein;
And that my mystic name might be for good
But "Cul-ri. Erin."
That gazing toward her on my heart might fall
A full contrition,
That I might then bewail my evils all,
Though hard the addition;
That I might bless the Lord who all things orders
For their great good.
The countless hierarchies through Heaven's bright borders—
Land, strand, and flood,
That I might search all books and from their chart
Find my soul's calm;
Now kneel before the Heaven of my heart,
[21] Now chant a psalm;
Now meditate upon the King of Heaven,
Chief of the Holy Three;
Now ply my work by no compulsion driven.
What greater joy could be?
Now plucking dulse upon the rocky shore,
Now fishing eager on,
Now furnishing food unto the famished poor;
In hermitage anon:
The guidance of the King of Kings
Has been vouchsafed unto me;
If I keep watch beneath His wings,
No evil shall undo me.