The cohesiveness of all these columns will be best estimated by the fact of the Round Tower at Clondalkin having firmly stood its ground when, in the year 1786-87, the powder-mill explosion, which took place within twenty-four feet of its base, shivered to annihilation every other structure within its influence; nay, extended its violence so far as to shatter the windows in some of the streets of Dublin. That at Maghera also lay unbroken after its fall, exhibiting to the spectator the almost appalling spectacle of a gigantic cannon!
That both Indians and Irish performed circular dances around them, typical of the motions of the heavenly bodies, is highly probable, as we have still the name of a particular movement, apparently that practised on the occasion, still amongst us in common use, namely, Rinke-teumpoil, or the temple dance: and that they otherwise honoured them by performing penances around them, is evident from the name of Turrish, which means a religious circuit round a tower! applied afterwards by the Catholics to any penitential round. And we have the authority of Sanchoniathon, when talking of the Creation, for stating that “the next race consecrated pillars—that they prostrated themselves before them, and made annual libations to them”![611]
These, I conceive, were the halcyon days of Ireland’s legendary and romantic greatness. In this sequestered isle, aloof from the tumults of a bustling world, this Tuath-de-danaan colony, all of a religious race, and all disposed to the pursuits of literature, united into a circle of international love, and spread the fame of their sanctity throughout the remotest regions of the universe. That its locality was familiar to the Brahmins of India I make no earthly question; that it was that sacred island which they eulogised so fondly, and spoke of with such raptures, I am sanguinely satisfied; and equally convinced am I, that it was that beautifying region, whose widespread holiness, and far-famed renown, made such an impression on the minds of Orpheus and of Pindar, when those divine bards, speaking of its Hyperborean inhabitants, thus enchantingly sung—
“On sweet and fragrant herbs they feed, amid verdant and grassy pastures, and drink ambrosial dew, divine potation: all resplendent alike in coeval youth; a placid serenity for ever smiles on their brows and lightens in their eyes; the consequence of a just temperament of mind and disposition, both in the parents and in the sons, inclining them to do what is great, and to speak what is wise. Neither disease nor wasting old age infest this holy people, but without labour, without war, they continue to live happy, and to escape the vengeance of the cruel Nemesis.”[612]
Though clothed in the cadence of measured phraseology, and decked in the charms of an imaginative style, this is scarely more beautiful than the simple summary of the Tuath-de-danaan moral code, as given you at [page 112], and of which, in truth, this is but the paraphrase. For instance, they fed, it is stated, “on sweet and fragrant herbs,” because they were prevented by their first commandment from eating “anything endowed with life.”[613] They drank “ambrosial dew,” because their fifth commandment forbade their touching “any intoxicating liquor.” And the healthful aspects they exhibited were but the natural result of temperate habits and virtuous demeanour.
“The simplest flow’ret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common air, the earth, the skies,
To them were opening Paradise!”
Five hundred years after the period of their dethronement, while the influence of their example still continued to operate, we are told by the Dinn Seanchas, that “The people deemed each other’s voices sweeter than the warblings of a melodious harp, such peace and concord reigned amongst them, that no music could delight them more than the sound of each other’s voices.”
With these compare what Cambrensis, who was no friend, has said of this island, about two thousand years after. “Of all climes,” says he, “Ireland is the most temperate; neither Cancer’s violent heat is felt there in summer, nor Capricorn’s cold in winter; but in these particulars it is so blessed, that it seems as if Nature looked upon this zephyric realm with its most benignant eye. It is so temperate,” he adds, “that neither infectious fogs, nor pestilential winds, are felt there, so that the aid of doctors is seldom looked for, and sickness rarely appears except among the dying.”
The repose of this happy people being at length disturbed by the ungenial inundation of the Scythian intruders, the ritual of the temple worship was precipitated apace; and this, if I mistake not, “satisfactorily removes the uncertainty in which the origin and uses of those ancient buildings has been heretofore involved.”[614] For the Scythians being warriors[615] rather than students, and looking with distrust upon the emblematic images of their temple-serving predecessors, which they considered to be idolatry, did all in their power by legislative, as well as military enactments, to efface every trace thereof; so that in a few years the temple, or tower, worship became utterly extinct, and—more than annihilated—forgotten.
Instead thereof, they substituted the worship of fire,[616] which, though their predecessors were far from recognising as a deity, yet they always showed to it some reverential respect: and this approximation of sentiment, on both parts, contributed to what may be called a passive reconciliation; the victors assuming the mastery of the soil; and the vanquished, in deference to their high literary repute, being continued as superintendents of the national education, as well as the practical followers of all trades and professions.