When Patrick now o'er Ulster's forest bound, And Connact, echoing to the western wave, And Leinster, fair with hill-suspended woods, Had raised the cross, and where the deep night ruled,
Splendour had sent of everlasting light, Sole peace of warring hearts, to Munster next, Thomond and Desmond, Heber's portion old, He turned; and, fired by love that mocks at rest
Pushed on through raging storm the whole night long, Intent to hold the Annunciation Feast At Cashel of the Kings. The royal keep High-seated on its Rock, as morning broke
Faced them at last; and at the selfsame hour Aengus, in his father's absence lord, Rising from happy sleep and heaven-sent dreams Went forth on duteous tasks. With sudden start
The prince stept back; for, o'er the fortress court Like grove storm-levelled lay the idols huge, False gods and foul that long had awed the land, Prone, without hand of man. O'er-awed he gazed;
Then on the air there rang a sound of hymns, And by the eastern gate Saint Patrick stood, The brethren round him. On their shaggy garb Auroral mist, struck by the rising sun,
Glittered, that diamond-panoplied they seemed, And as a heavenly vision. At that sight The youth, descending with a wildered joy, Welcomed his guests: and, ere an hour, the streets
Sparkled far down like flowering meads in spring, So thronged the folk in holiday attire To see the man far-famed. “Who spurns our gods?” Once they had cried in wrath: but, year by year,
Tidings of some deliverance great and strange, Some life more noble, some sublimer hope, Some regal race enthroned beyond the grave, Had reached them from afar. The best believed,
Great hearts for whom nor earthly love sufficed Nor earthly fame. The meaner scoffed: yet all Desired the man. Delay had edged their thirst. Then Patrick, standing up among them, spake,
And God was with him. Not as when loose tongue Babbles vain rumour, or the Sophist spins Thought's air-hung cobwebs gay with Fancy's dews, Spake he, but words of might, as when a man
Bears witness to the things which he has seen, And tells of that he knows: and as the harp Attested is by rapture of the ear, And sunlight by consenting of the eye
That, seeing, knows it sees, and neither craves Inferior demonstration, so his words Self-proved, went forth and conquered: for man's mind, Created in His image who is Truth,
Challenged by truth, with recognising voice Cries out “Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone,” And cleaves thereto. In all that listening host One vast, dilating heart yearned to its God.
Then burst the bond of years. No haunting doubt They knew. God dropped on them the robe of Truth Sun-like: down fell the many-coloured weed Of error; and, reclothed ere yet unclothed,
They walked a new-born earth. The blinded Past Fled, vanquished. Glorious more than strange it seemed That He who fashioned man should come to man, And raise by ruling. They, His trumpet heard,
In glory spurned demons misdeemed for gods: The great chief had returned: the clan enthralled Trod down the usurping foe. Then rose the cry,
“Join us to Christ!” His strong eyes on them set, Patrick replied, “Know ye what thing ye seek Ye that would fain be house-mates with my King? Ye seek His cross!” He paused, then added slow:
“If ye be liegeful, sirs, decree the day, His baptism shall be yours.” That eve, while shone The sunset on the green-touched woods, that, grazed
By onward flight of unalighting spring, Caught warmth yet scarcely flamed, Aengus stood With Patrick in a westward-facing tower Which overlooked far regions town-besprent,
And lit with winding waters. Thus he spake: “My Father! what is sovereignty of man? Say, can I shield yon host from death, from sin, Taking them up into my breast, like God?
I trow not so! Mine be the lowliest place Following thy King who left his Father's throne To walk the lowliest!” Patrick answered thus: “Best lot thou choosest, son. If thine that lot
Thou know'st not yet; nor I. The Lord, thy God, Will teach us.” When the day decreed had dawned Loud rang the bull-horn; and on every breeze
Floated the banners, saffron, green, and blue; While issuing from the horizon's utmost verge The full-voiced People flocked. So swarmed of old Some migratory nation, instinct-urged
To fly their native wastes sad winter's realm; So thronged on southern slopes when, far below, Shone out the plains of promise. Bright they came! No summer sea could wear a blithsomer sheen
Though every dancing crest and milky plume Ran on with rainbows braided. Minstrel songs Wafted like winds those onward hosts, or swayed Or stayed them; while among them heralds passed
Lifting white wands of office. Foremost rode Aileel, the younger brother of the prince: He ruled a milk-white horse. Fluttered, breeze-borne His mantle green, while all his golden hair
Streamed back redundant from the ring of gold Circling his head uncovered. Loveliest light Of innocence and joy was on that face: Full well the young maids marked it! Brighter yet
Beamed he, his brother noting. On the verge Of Cashel's Rock that hour Aengus stood, By Patrick's side. That concourse nearer now He gazed upon it, crying, with clasped hands,
“My Father, fair is sunrise, fair the sea, The hills, the plains, the wind-stirred wood, the maid; But what is like a People onward borne In gladness? When I see that sight, my heart
Expands like palace-gates wide open flung That say to all men,‘ Enter.’” Then the Saint Laid on that royal head a hand of might, And said, “The Will of God decrees thee King!
Son of this People art thou: Sire one day Thou shalt be! Son and Sire in one are King. Shepherd for God thy flock, thou Shepherd true!” He spake: that word was ratified in Heaven.
Meantime that multitude innumerable Had reached the Rock, and, now the winding road In pomp ascending, faced those fair-wrought gates Which, by the warders at the prince's sign
Drawn back, to all gave entrance. In they streamed, Filling the central courtway. Patrick stood High stationed on a prostrate idol's base, In vestments of the Vigil of that Feast
The Annunciation, which with annual boon Whispers, while melting snows dilate those streams Purer than snows, to universal earth That Maiden Mother's joy. The Apostle watched
The advancing throng, and gave them welcome thus; “As though into the great Triumphant Church, O guests of God, ye flock! Her place is Heaven: Sirs! we this day are militant below:
Not less, advance in faith. Behold your crowns - Obedience and Endurance.” There and then The Rite began: his people's Chief and Head
Beside the font Aengus stood; his face Sweet as a child's, yet grave as front of eld: For reverence he had laid his crown aside, And from the deep hair to the unsandalled feet
Was raimented in white. With mitred head And massive book, forward Saint Patrick leaned, Stayed by the gem-wrought crosier. Prayer on prayer Went up to God; while gift on gift from God,
All Angel-like, invisibly to man, Descended. Thrice above that princely brow Patrick the cleansing waters poured, and traced Three times thereon the Venerable Sign,
Naming the Name Triune. The Rite complete, Awestruck that concourse downward gazed. At last Lifting their eyes, they marked the prince's face That pale it was though bright, anguished and pale,
While from his naked foot a blood-stream gushed And o'er the pavement welled. The crosier's point, Weighted with weight of all that priestly form, Had pierced it through. “Why suffer'dst thou so long
The pain in silence?” Patrick spake, heart-grieved: Smiling, Aengus answered, “O my Sire, I thought, thus called to follow Him whose feet Were pierced with nails, haply the blissful Rite
Bore witness to their sorrows.” At that word The large eyes of the Apostolic man Grew larger; and within them lived that light
Not fed by moon or sun, a visible flash Of that invisible lightning which from God Vibrates ethereal through the world of souls, Vivific strength of Saints. The mitred brow
Uptowered sublime: the strong, yet wrinkled hands, Ascending, ceased not, till the crosier's head Glittered above the concourse like a star. At last his hands disparting, down he drew
From Heaven the Royal Blessing, speaking thus: “For this cause may the blessing, Sire of kings, Cleave to thy seed forever! Spear and sword Before them fall! In glory may the race
Of Nafrach's sons, Aengus, and Aileel, Hold sway on Cashel's summit! Be their kings Great-hearted men, potent to rule and guard Their people; just to judge them; warriors strong;
Sage counsellors; faithful shepherds; men of God, That so through them the everlasting King May flood their land with blessing.” Thus he spake; And round him all that nation said, “Amen.”
Thus held they feast in Cashel of the Kings That day till all that land was clothed with Christ: And when the parting came from Cashel's steep Patrick the People's Blessing thus forth sent:
“The Blessing fall upon the pasture broad, On fruitful mead, and every corn-clad hill, And woodland rich with flowers that children love: Unnumbered be the homesteads, and the hearths: -
A blessing on the women, and the men, On youth, and maiden, and the suckling babe: A blessing on the fruit-bestowing tree, And foodful river tide. Be true; be pure,
Not living from below, but from above, As men that over-top the world. And raise Here, on this rock, high place of idols once, A kingly church to God. The same shall stand
For aye, or, wrecked, from ruin rise restored, His witness till He cometh. Over Eire The Blessing speed till time shall be no more From Cashel of the Kings.”
The Saint fared forth: The People bare him through their kingdom broad With banner and with song; but o'er its bound The women of that People followed still
A half day's journey with lamenting voice; Then silent knelt, lifting their babes on high; And, crowned with two-fold blessing, home returned.
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