“This is my realm, and men call it Eire, Wherein I have lived and live in hate Like Nial before me and Erc his sire, Of the race Lagenian, ill-named the Great!”
Thus spake Laeghaire, and his host rushed on, A river of blood as yet unshed:— At noon they fought: and at set of sun That king lay captive, that host lay dead!
The Lagenian loosed him, but bade him swear He would never demand of them Tribute more: So Laeghaire by the dread “God-Elements” swore, By the moon divine and the earth and air; He swore by the wind and the broad sunshine That circle for ever both land and sea, By the long-backed rivers, and mighty wine, By the cloud far-seeing, by herb and tree, By the boon spring shower, and by autumn’s fan, By woman’s breast, and the head of man, By Night and the noonday Demon he swore He would claim the Boarian Tribute no more.
But with time wrath waxed; and he brake his faith: Then the dread “God-Elements” wrought his death; For the Wind and Sun-Strength by Cassi’s side Came down and smote on his head that he died. Death-sick three days on his throne he sate; Then died, as his father died, great in hate.
They buried their king upon Tara’s hill, In his grave upright—there stands he still: Upright there stands he as men that wade By night through a castle-moat, undismayed; On his head is the crown, the spear in his hand; And he looks to the hated Lagenian land.
Such rites in the time of wrath and wrong Were Eire’s: baptised, they were hers no longer: For Patrick had taught her his sweet new song, “Though hate is strong, yet love is stronger.”
SAINT PATRICK AND THE IMPOSTOR; OR, MAC KYLE OF MAN.
Mac Kyle, a child of death, dwells in a forest with other men like unto himself, that slay whom they will. Saint Patrick coming to that wood, a certain Impostor devises how he may be deceived and killed; but God smites the Impostor through his own snare, and he dies. Mac Kyle believes, and demanding penance is baptised. Afterwards he preaches in Manann { 77} Isle, and becomes a great Saint.
IN Uladh, near Magh Inis, lived a chief, Fierce man and fell. From orphaned childhood he Through lawless youth to blood-stained middle age Had rushed as stormy morn to stormier noon, Working, except that still he spared the poor, All wrongs with iron will; a child of death. Thus spake he to his followers, while the woods Snow-cumbered creaked, their scales of icy mail Angered by winter winds: “At last he comes, He that deceives the people with great signs, And for the tinkling of a little gold Preaches new Gods. Where rises yonder smoke Beyond the pinewood, camps this Lord of Dupes: How say ye? Shall he track o’er Uladh’s plains, As o’er the land beside, his venomous way? Forth with your swords! and if that God he serves Can save him, let him prove it!”