Mingled among the mossy marbles of fallen altars; among the mouldering stones and the rusted iron of crumbled cloisters; beneath the “churchyard’s bowers”; by the bleak hillsides; on the margins of the sunlit lakes, or under the shadow of the mysterious Round Towers, lie, almost countless, the defaced, mutilated emblems of Ireland’s heart-deep faith—broken crosses—innumerable broken crosses—eloquent of the piety of those by-gone days, eloquent of the ruthlessness of the devastator. They are found scattered over the whole island, and are as various in their styles as in the perfection of their workmanship—some, differing in nothing from the pillar-stones of the pagans, save that they are rudely sculptured with a cross, to mark the graves of the early Irish saints—others have the upper part of the shaft hewn into the form of a circle, from which the arms and the top extend. Crosses, highly sculptured, appear to date from the ninth and twelfth centuries. In these the circle, instead of being simply cut into the face of the stone, is represented by a ring, binding, as it were, the shaft, arms, and upper portion of the cross together. There are scores of these beautiful remains in Ireland, but the
finest, perhaps, are those at Monasterboice, near Drogheda; they are so singularly symmetrical and artistic as to have excited the enthusiasm of every learned archæologist who has seen them.
There were originally three crosses at Monasterboice; two still exist, well preserved; the third was broken, tradition says, by Cromwell. The larger of the two nearly perfect crosses measures twenty-seven feet in height, and is composed of three stones. The shaft, at its junction with the base, is two feet in breadth and one foot three inches in thickness. It is divided upon the western side by fillets into seven compartments, each of which contains two or more boldly-cut figures, now much worn by the rain and wind of nine centuries. The sides of the cross are ornamented with figures and scroll-work alternately.
“The smaller cross, fifteen feet high, is exquisitely beautiful,” says Mr. Wakeman, in the Archæologia Hibernica, “and has suffered little from the effects of time. It stands almost as perfect as when first erected nine hundred years ago. The figures retain almost all their original sharpness and beauty of execution. Within the circular head of the cross, on its eastern face, our Saviour is represented sitting in judgment. A choir of angels occupy the arm to the right of the figure. Several hold musical instruments, among which is seen the ancient small and triangular Irish harp. The space to the left of our Saviour is crowded with figures, several of which are in an attitude of despair; an armed fiend is driving them from before the throne. The compartment immediately beneath bears a figure weighing in a pair of huge scales a smaller figure, the balance seeming to preponderate in his favor. One who appears to have
been weighed and found wanting is lying beneath the scales in an attitude of terror. The next compartment beneath represents apparently the adoration of the wise men. The star above the head of the infant Christ is distinctly marked. The third compartment contains several figures, the action of which we do not understand. The signification of the sculpture of the next following compartment is also very obscure. A figure seated upon a throne or chair is blowing a horn, and soldiers with conical helmets, broad-bladed swords, and with small circular shields appear crowding in. The fifth and lowest division illustrates the Temptation and the Expulsion. An inscription in Irish, upon the lower part of the shaft, desires “a prayer for Muiredach, by whom was made this cross.”
We can imagine how, when this masterpiece was pronounced finished by the gifted artist, the chiefs and abbots, the bards and warriors, the monks and priests, and may be many a rival sculptor, crowded around it, full of wonder and admiration for what they must have considered a truly glorious, nay, unequalled work. And Muiredach most certainly was not refused the boon he craved.
We have mentioned pillar-stones, and though they do not belong to the Christian vestiges of the Island of Saints, still they are so mingled with the holier relics that they cannot be passed over in silence. Obscure, mysterious in their origin, many hypotheses have been formed respecting them by the learned, and they have been supposed by turns to be landmarks, idols, or monumental stones. Some of the Irish pillar-stones are inscribed with the Ogham character, a kind of writing believed to have been in use in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity.
Stones very similar, but perforated, are also found in Ireland, in Scotland, and even, it is said, in India. What may have been their origin is completely unknown.
The most remarkable of the pillar-stones is found at the celebrated hill of Tara, in the county of Meath. Dr. Petrie thinks that this monument is the famous Lia Fail, or Stone of Destiny, upon which, for many ages, the kings of Ireland were crowned, and which is generally supposed to have been removed from Ireland to Scotland for the coronation of Fergus Mac Eark, an Irish prince—a prophecy having declared that in whatever country this stone was preserved, a king of the Scotic (ancient Irish) race should reign. The learned Doctor refers to some MSS., not earlier certainly than the tenth century, in which the stone is mentioned as still existing at Tara. “If this authority may be relied on,” says Mr. Wakeman, “the stone carried away from Scotland by Edward the First, and now preserved in Westminster Abbey, under the coronation chair, has long attracted a degree of celebrity to which it was not entitled, while the veritable Lia Fail, the stone which, according to the early bardic accounts, roared beneath the ancient Irish monarchs at their inauguration, remained forgotten and diregarded among the green raths of deserted Tara.” Deserted Tara! thirteen centuries have passed away since the kings and chiefs of Ireland were wont to assemble in the royal city—
“Tara, where the voice of music sung,
And many a harp and cruit responsive rung,
And many a bard, in high heroic verse,
The deeds of heroes gloried to rehearse.
And many a shell went round, and loud and long
Rose the full chorus of the festive song.
Ah! who can tell how beautiful were they—
The Fenian chiefs—how joyous, young, and gay!
Each stood a champion on the battle-field,
And but with life the victory would yield.”