Iona to Erin!
What Saint Columba Said To The Bird
Blown Over From Ireland To Iona. [Footnote 21]
[Footnote 21: This is a very ancient legend of the great founder of Iona, and very characteristic of his exalted patriotism and loving tenderness for all creatures, in which he was an antitype of the seraphic St. Francis.]
I.
Cling to my breast, my Irish bird,
Poor storm-tost stranger, sore afraid!
How sadly is thy beauty blurred—
The wing whose hue was as the curd,
Rough as the seagull's pinion made!
II.
Lay close thy head, my Irish bird.
Upon this bosom, human still!
Nor fear the heart that still has stirred
To every tale of pity heard
From every shape of earthly ill.
III.
For you and I are exiles both;
Rest you, wanderer, rest you here!
Soon fair winds shall waft you forth
Back to our own beloved north—
Would God, I could go with you, dear!
IV.
Were I as you, then would they say,
Hermits and all in choir who join,
'Behold two doves upon their way;
The pilgrims of the air are they,
Birds from the Liffey or the Boyne!'
V.
But you will see what I am banned
No more, for my youth's sins, to see—
My Derry's oaks in council stand.
By Roseapenna's silver strand—
Or by Raphoe your flight may be.
VI.
The shrines of Meath are fair and far,
White-winged one! not too far for thee—
Emania, shining like a star,
(Bright brooch on Erin's breast you are!) [Footnote 22]
That I am never more to see.
[Footnote 22: It is said that Macha, the queen, traced out
the site of the royal rath of Emania, near Armagh, with the
pin of her golden brooch. See Mrs. Ferguson's "Ireland
before the Conquest," for this and other interesting
Celtic legends.]
VII.
You'll see the homes of holy men
Far west upon the shoreless main—
In sheltered vale, on cloudy Ben,
Where saints still pray, and scribes still pen
The sacred page, despising gain!
VIII.
Above the crofts of virgin saints.
There pause, my dove, and rest thy wing.
But tell them not our sad complaints!
For if they dreamt our spirit faints
There would be fruitless sorrowing.
IX.
Perch as you pass amid their trees,
At noon or eve, my travelled dove.
And blend with voices of their bees
In croft, or school, or on their knees—
They'll bind you with their hymns of love!
X.
Be thou to them, O dove! where'er
The men or women saints are found.
My hyssop flying through the air;
My seven-fold benedictions bear—
To them, and all on Irish ground.
XI.
Thou wilt return, my Irish bird—
I, Colum, do foretell it thee.
Would thou couldst speak as thou hast heard
To all I love—O happy bird!
At home in Eri soon to be!
Magas; or, Long Ago.
A Tale Of The Early Times.
Chapter VII.
Are there any souls who can read the gospels as they would a common history of an heroic being? Whose frames do not thrill at the sublime words the anointed Saviour uttered? Whose hearts do not glow with an unearthly warmth at the touching incidents which mark the divine footsteps? Who see in the miracles only a temporary relief from natural ailments? Who feel in the tremendous agony of the passion only the ordinary tide of human emotion in contemplating suffering? Such as these will not sympathize with Lotis, as she rose from the cleansing waters with one sole aspiration in her heart; one firm, unchangeable purpose in her will; one object of interest for her intellect; one single love to fill every affection she was conscious of. Long ago she had sought the truth, the light, the life, the way. She possessed them now; it remained for her to form herself upon the model, to think his thoughts, to act his deeds, to live in his sight, and be crucified in him; and all because she felt that here on earth it was the only life worth having, the only love worth loving. The perversion of the world had become to her the necessary result of its having forsaken God; and because it has forsaken God, and cannot recognize truth, it will ever persecute good; and they that live godly in Jesus Christ must necessarily suffer persecution—the persecution to which a blessing is promised. Day and night did Lotis meditate on the words of God; nor was it long ere she desired to bring them into action. After the example of the Christians of Jerusalem, she had placed her resources at the feet of the Bishop of Athens, and now she placed her services under his direction. But there was one thought that haunted her, and often she uttered one word in his presence; that word was Chione.