“It is the Song of Peace,” she said. And Torcall had peace.
“What is best, O Torcall?” she asked, rustling-sweet as rain among the leaves her voice was—“What is best? The sword, or peace?”
“Peace,” he answered: and he was white now, and was old.
“Take your harp,” Mary said, “and go in unto the Ford. But lo, now I clothe you with a white shroud. And if you fear the drowning flood, follow the bells that were your tears: and if the dark affright you, follow the song of the Prayer that came out of your heart.”
So Torcall the Harper moved into the whelming flood, and he played a wild strange air, like the laughing of a child.
Deep silence there was. The moonshine lay upon the obscure wood, and the darkling river flowed sighing through the soundless gloom. The Washer of the Ford stooped once more. Low and sweet, as of yore and for ever, over the drowning souls, she sang her immemorial song.
MUIME CHRIOSD
Note.—This “legendary romance” is based upon the ancient and still current (though often hopelessly contradictory) legends concerning Brighid, or Bride, commonly known as “Muime Chriosd,” that is, the Foster-Mother of Christ. From the universal honour and reverence in which she was and is held—second only in this respect to the Virgin herself—she is also called “Mary of the Gael.” Another name, frequent in the West, is “Brighde-nam-Brat,” that is, St. Bride of the Mantle, a name explained in the course of my legendary story. Brighid the Christian saint should not, however, as is commonly done, be confused with a much earlier and remoter Brighid, the ancient Celtic muse of Song.