[Footnote 5: Vol. iii. book xi. ch. 2.]
To this cry of despair succeed more plaintive notes breathing resignation. In one of his elegies, he regrets not being able to sail once more on the lakes and gulfs of his fatherland, nor to listen to the song of the swans with his friend Comgall. He mourns especially his having to leave Erin through his own fault, on account of the blood shed in the battles which he had provoked. He envies his friend Cormac, who can return to his dear monastery of Durrow, to hearken there to the murmur of the winds among the oaks, and drink in the song of the blackbird and the cuckoo. As for him, Columba, everything in Ireland is dear to him, except the rulers that govern it! In another poem still more characteristic, he exclaims: "Oh! what delight to glide over the foam-crested waves of the sea, and see the breakers roll on the sandy beaches of Ireland! Oh! how swiftly my bark would bound over the waters, if its prow were turned toward my grove of oaks in Ireland! But the noble sea must only bear me for ever toward Albania, the gloomy land of the raven. My feet repose in my skiff, but my sad heart ever bleeds.
...
From the deck of my boat I cast my eyes over the billows, and the big tears stand in my moistened gray eyes, when I look toward Erin; toward Erin, where the birds sing so melodiously, and where the priests sing like the birds; where the young men are so gentle, and the old so wise; the nobles so illustrious and handsome, and the women so fair to wed. ... Young navigator, carry with thee my woes, bear them to Comgall the immortal. Bear with thee, noble youth, my prayer and my blessing: one half for Ireland; that she may receive seven-fold blessings! and the other half for Albania. Carry my benediction across the sea; carry it toward the west. My heart is broken within my bosom; if sudden death should befall me, it would be through my great love for the Gaels." [Footnote 6]
[Footnote 6: Vol. iii. book xi. ch. 2.]
An opportunity was afforded him of seeing once more this beloved land of which he sang with such ardent enthusiasm. He had to accompany the king of the Dalriadians, whom he had just consecrated, to meet the supreme monarch of Ireland and other Irish princes and chiefs assembled in parliament at Drumkeath. There was question of recognizing the independence of the new Scottish royalty, hitherto the vassal and tributary of Erin. But as the exile had made a vow never again in this life to behold the men and women of Erin, he appeared in the national assembly with his eyes blindfolded, and his monk's cowl drawn over the bandage. Columba was listened to as an oracle in the parliament of Drumkeath. He not only obtained the complete emancipation of the Dalriadian colony, but he also saved the order of the bards, whose proscription had been demanded by the king of Ireland. They were for ever won over to Christianity by the holy monk, and, transformed into minstrels, continued for the future to be the most efficacious propagators of the spirit of patriotism, the indomitable prophets of national independence, and the faithful champions of catholic faith.
Arrived at the term of his career, the servant of God spent himself in vigils, fastings, and formidable macerations of the flesh. He knew in advance and predicted with certainty the day and the very hour when he should pass to a better life; and he made all things ready for his departure. He went to take leave of the monks who worked in the fields, in the only fertile portion of the island of Iona, on the western coast. He wished to visit and bless the granary of the community. He blessed the old white horse which used to carry from the sheep-fold of the monastery the milk which was consumed daily by the brothers. Having done this, he was barely able to ascend an eminence from which the whole island and monastery were visible, and from this elevated position he extended his hands and pronounced on the sanctuary which he had founded a prophetic benediction. "This little spot, so low and so narrow, will be greatly honored, not only by the kings and people of Scotland, but also by foreign chiefs and barbarous nations; it will be even venerated by the saints of other churches." He then descended to the monastery, entered his cell, and applied himself to his work for the last time. He was at that time busied in transcribing the psalter. At the thirty-third psalm, and the verse, "Inquirentes autem Dominum non deficient omni bono," [Footnote 7] he ceased and said: "Here I must finish; Baithan will write the rest." After this he went to the church to assist at the vigils of Sunday; then returning to his cell, he sat down on the cold stones which had been his bed and pillow for over seventy years. There he entrusted his solitary companion with a last message for the community. This done, he never spoke more. But no sooner had the midnight bell tolled for matins, than he ran faster than the other monks to the church. His companion found him lying before the altar, and raising his head, placed it on his knees. The whole community soon arrived with lights. At the sight of their father dying, all wept. The abbot opened his eyes once more, looking around on all with a serene and joyous expression. Then, assisted by his companion, Columba lifted as well as he could his right hand, and silently blessed the whole choir of monks. His hands fell powerless to his sides, and he breathed his last.
[Footnote 7: "They that seek the Lord shall not be deprived of any good." Ps. xxxiii. 11.]
What a scene! Such were the life and death of this great man and great saint. After having loved Ireland so much, he could repose nowhere more appropriately than in her sacred soil. His body was transported thither to the monastery of Down, and buried between the mortal remains of St. Patrick and St. Bridget. Thus those three names, for the future inseparable, became interwoven with the history and traditions, and engraved in the worship and on the memory, of the Irish people.
Such were the men to whom Ireland owed not only her indestructible faith, but also her intellectual and moral civilization. It is not sufficiently known that Ireland in the seventh century was regarded by all Europe as the principal focus of science and piety.
There, more than anywhere else, every monastery was a school, and every school a studio of calligraphy, where the artists were not confined to copying the Holy Scriptures alone; but where even the Greek and Latin authors were reproduced, sometimes in Celtic characters, with gloss and commentary in Irish, like that copy of Horace which contemporary erudition has discovered in the library of Berne. Besides, in all those monasteries, exact annals of passing events were recorded; and these annals still constitute the chief source of Irish history. We recognize in them a vast and continual development of serious literary and religious studies, far superior to anything found in any other European nation. Certain arts even, such as architecture, carving, metallurgy applied to the objects of public worship, were cultivated with success; not to speak of music, a knowledge of which was a common accomplishment not exclusively possessed by the learned, but also by the common people. The classic languages, not only the Latin, but even in an especial manner the Greek, were spoken, written, and studied with a sort of passion, which shows the sway which intellectual preoccupations held over those ardent Celtic minds.
But whatever may have been the influence of Columba on the Picts and Scots, neither he nor his successors could exercise any direct or efficacious action on the Anglo-Saxons, who became daily more redoubtable, and whose ferocious incursions menaced not only the Caledonian clans, but also the Britons. Other missionaries were therefore needed. Whence were they to come? From that ever-burning centre of faith and charity from which the light of Christianity had already been brought to the Irish by Patrick; to the Bretons and Scots by Palladius, Ninian, and Germain—from Rome!