The Legends of Saint Patrick by Vere, Aubrey de, 1814-1902

For they lay on one bed, like Brides new-wed, By Clebach well; and, the dirge days over, On their smiling faces a veil was spread, And a green mound raised that bed to cover. Such were the ways of those ancient days - To Patrick for aye that grave was given; And above it he built a church in their praise; For in them had Eire been spoused to heaven.

SAINT PATRICK AND THE CHILDREN OF FOCHLUT WOOD.

ARGUMENT.

Saint Patrick makes way into Fochlut wood by the sea, the oldest of Erin's forests, whence there had been borne unto him, then in a distant land, the Children's Wail from Erin. He meets there two young Virgins, who sing a dirge of man's sorrowful condition. Afterwards they lead him to the fortress of the king, their father. There are sung two songs, a song of Vengeance and a song of Lament; which ended, Saint Patrick makes proclamation of the Advent and of the Resurrection. The king and all his chiefs believe with full contentment.

One day as Patrick sat upon a stone Judging his people, Pagan babes flocked round, All light and laughter, angel-like of mien, Sueing for bread. He gave it, and they ate: Then said he, "Kneel;" and taught them prayer: but lo! Sudden the stag hounds' music dinned the wind; They heard; they sprang; they chased it. Patrick spake; "It was the cry of children that I heard Borne from the black wood o'er the midnight seas: Where are those children? What avails though Kings Have bowed before my Gospel, and in awe Nations knelt low, unless I set mine eyes On Fochlut Wood?" Thus speaking, he arose, And, journeying with the brethren toward the West, Fronted the confine of that forest old.

Then entered they that darkness; and the wood Closed as a cavern round them. O'er its roof Leaned roof of cloud, and hissing ran the wind, And moaned the trunks for centuries hollowed out Yet stalwart still. There, rooted in the rock, Stood the huge growths, by us unnamed, that frowned Perhaps on Partholan, the parricide, When that first Pagan settler fugitive Landed, a man foredoomed. Between the stems The ravening beast now glared, now fled. Red leaves, The last year's phantoms, rattled here and there. The oldest wood that ever grew in Eire Was Fochlut Wood, and gloomiest. Spirits of Ill Made it their palace, and its labyrinths sowed With poisons. Many a cave, with horrors thronged Within it yawned, and many a chasm unseen Waited the unwary treader. Cry of wolf Pierced the cold air, and gibbering ghosts were heard; And o'er the black marsh passed those wandering lights That lure lost feet. A thousand pathways wound From gloom to gloom. One only led to light: That path was sharp with flints.