which it is enforced, it is scarcely possible not to feel that the venerable apostle of the sister island has exhibited no very abundant stock of pity or forbearance. O Oisin of the mighty deed! O! cease thy frenzy thus to feed, Nor Finn, nor all the Finnian race, For man yon azure vault he spreads, 'Tis he who gives the peopled stream, Who gives the moon's resplendent beam, And sun's meridian glow! Would'st thou thy puny king compare To that Almighty hand Which form'd fair earth, and ambient air, The rejoinder which now falls from the lips of Oisin is, in the highest degree, animated and cha racteristic: It was not on a fruit or flower To load with death the hostile field, In peace his tranquil hours to bless, Or, on the chequer'd field of chess * Dr. Hyde says, "the old Irish were so greatly addicted to chess, that amongst them the possession of good estates has been often decided by it; and,” adds he, “ there are some estates, at this very time, the property whereof still depends upon the issue of a game at chess. For example, the heirs of two certain noble Irish families, whom we could name (to say nothing of others), hold their lands upon this tenure, viz. that one of them shall encounter the other at chess in this manner; that which ever of them conquered, should seize and possess the estate of the other. Therefore," says the doctor, "I am told they manage the affair prudently among themselves: once a year they meet, by appointment, to play at chess; one of them makes a move, and the other says, I will consider how to answer you next year. This being done, a public notary commits to writing the situation of the game, by which method a game that neither has won has been, and will be, continued for some hundred of years.' -Vallancey's Irish Grammar, Essay on the Celtic Language, p. 85. Or sylvan sports, that well beseem But, when the rage of battle bled!— Where was thy God on that sad day, Two heroes plough'd the wat'ry way, From Lochlin's king of ships, his bride, Through whom unnumber'd warriors die, And bathed in blood our shore. Or on that day when Tailk's proud might Where was thy Godhead in that fight, While round the bravest Fenii bled, No help did he bestow; 'Twas Osgur's arm avenged the deed, And gave the glorious blow! Where was thy God when Magnus came ? Magnus the brave and great; The man of might, the man of fame, Whose threat'ning voice was fate! Thy Godhead did not aid us then,- He should have favour'd gallant men, Fierce Anninir's wide wasting son, Who Tamor's treasures oft had won, And wrapt her walls in flame. Not by thy God, in single fight, The deathful hero fell, But by Finn's arm, whose matchless might In ev'ry mouth his fame we meet, Well known, and well believed ; I have not heard of any feat Thy cloudy king achieved. The somewhat sarcastic insinuation with which these fine stanzas conclude has the effect of throwing the saint completely off his guard, and he bursts into a strain of invective which does not present us with a very favourable idea of his progress in Christian charity. In fact, he tells the aged poet in plain terms, that he is a bald and senseless fool, and that as long as God shall rule in heaven, his race shall endure unremitting torment. "It must be owned," says the fair translator, "this railing is rather of the coarsest; but our poet seems more partial to his heroes than to his saints, or he would hardly have put this language into the mouth of the good bishop." We can scarcely, however, regret this want of equanimity on the part of St. Patrick, since it introduces the following wild but beautifully characteristic expostulation from the lips of his companion, who, shocked, as he well might be, by the anathema we have just recorded, exclaims If God then rules, why is the chief When, were thy God himself confined, Would quickly all his chains unbind, For never did his generous breast Or slight the captive's woe. His ransom loosed the prisoner's chains, Or, with his hosts, on glory's plains, He fought to set them free! |