 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
43
THE BELL OF CIL-MIHIL.
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The legend of Lough Ennel confuses dates. Going back in Irish history as far as Irish history can be dissevered from bardic tradition, we find frequent mention of the beautiful sheet of water known by the name, which seems to have existed when Patrick made his advent as apostle and bishop, at or about A.D. 432. It was the same lake which, five hundred and thirty years later, King Donald, then ard-righ of Ireland, made the base of his internaval operations against the Munster insurgents. If the legend had been based on any convulsion of nature, the event must have occurred anterior to the conversion of the Gael to Christianity.
No vale of more beauty than Ennel
Could vision or fancy reveal,
As it lay stretched in emerald beauty
For miles round the rath of ua Nial,
While crowning a mound in the center
Rose, mossy and hoary, Cil-Mihil.
Could vision or fancy reveal,
As it lay stretched in emerald beauty
For miles round the rath of ua Nial,
While crowning a mound in the center
Rose, mossy and hoary, Cil-Mihil.
Woods here and woods there in the valley,
The farms of the peasants between,
Tipped with light and low-nestled in shadow,
Flecked the whole with their varying green;
And far to the northward, copse-sheltered,
There bubbled the fountain of Caoin.
The farms of the peasants between,
Tipped with light and low-nestled in shadow,
Flecked the whole with their varying green;
And far to the northward, copse-sheltered,
There bubbled the fountain of Caoin.
In the days of the power of the Druids,
They laid on that grove in the dell,
By charms and by doings unholy,
A deep and a mystical spell;
And its name told the destiny fearful
In future attached to the well.
They laid on that grove in the dell,
By charms and by doings unholy,
A deep and a mystical spell;
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In future attached to the well.
Said the Druids: “So long as around it
Shall truth, love and justice abound,
So long shall its clear crystal waters
Flow freely and sink in the ground,
And peace to near dwellers and comfort
And plenty and gladness be found.
Shall truth, love and justice abound,
So long shall its clear crystal waters
Flow freely and sink in the ground,
And peace to near dwellers and comfort
And plenty and gladness be found.
“But whenever, if ever, arises
A ruler unjust and unwise,
At whose hands, in the fury of passion,
A holy man innocent dies,
The well shall burst forth in a torrent
And cover the land where it lies.”
A ruler unjust and unwise,
At whose hands, in the fury of passion,
A holy man innocent dies,
The well shall burst forth in a torrent
And cover the land where it lies.”
The Druids had gone, and the Christians
Came there, and they builded Cil-Mihil;
They taught men the truths of the Gospel,
The ills of our nature to heal,
Till the time when to rule o'er the valley
Came the worst of the tribe of O'Neil.
Came there, and they builded Cil-Mihil;
They taught men the truths of the Gospel,
The ills of our nature to heal,
Till the time when to rule o'er the valley
Came the worst of the tribe of O'Neil.
His smile fell in blight upon woman;
His frown fell in wrath upon man;
And the wrong and the shame of the chieftain
Infected the hearts of the clan,
Till, in face of the world, prince and vassals
A race in iniquity ran.
His frown fell in wrath upon man;
And the wrong and the shame of the chieftain
Infected the hearts of the clan,
Till, in face of the world, prince and vassals
A race in iniquity ran.
When the priest rose to preach in the lecturn,
They scoffed at both sermon and text;
With jeering at matins and vespers,
The soul of the good father vext;
While each night that they wasted in riot
Was only the type of the next.
They scoffed at both sermon and text;
With jeering at matins and vespers,
The soul of the good father vext;
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Was only the type of the next.
Prince Brian was first in the revel,
And first in the scoffing as well;
On the priest and the young, pallid curate
His sarcasm bitterly fell;
But his anger waxed highest whenever
They rang, night or morning, the bell.
And first in the scoffing as well;
On the priest and the young, pallid curate
His sarcasm bitterly fell;
But his anger waxed highest whenever
They rang, night or morning, the bell.
Yet that bell to the church had been given
By Lorcan, his grandsire of old;
It was wrought in a pattern of beauty,
Sounding sweetly through silver and gold,
From coins that were flung in the metal
As molten it ran to the mold.
By Lorcan, his grandsire of old;
It was wrought in a pattern of beauty,
Sounding sweetly through silver and gold,
From coins that were flung in the metal
As molten it ran to the mold.
The bishop had sprinkled and blessed it,
And hallowed by mass and by prayer;
An anthem was reverent chanted
By silver-voiced choristers there,
And sweet-smelling incense ascended
As high rose the bell in the air.
And hallowed by mass and by prayer;
An anthem was reverent chanted
By silver-voiced choristers there,
And sweet-smelling incense ascended
As high rose the bell in the air.
And there in the turret suspended
The spires of the grey church among,
It was said that on Sundays and feast-days
The music in air that it flung
Brought kneeling the chiefest of sinners,
Subdued by its musical tongue.
The spires of the grey church among,
It was said that on Sundays and feast-days
The music in air that it flung
Brought kneeling the chiefest of sinners,
Subdued by its musical tongue.
When it rang at the birth of an infant,
With blessing the ringing was rife;
It assured, when 'twas pealed at the bridal,
Sweet concord for husband and wife;
When tolled at the earthing the knelling
Gave hopes of a heavenly life.
With blessing the ringing was rife;
It assured, when 'twas pealed at the bridal,
Sweet concord for husband and wife;
46
Gave hopes of a heavenly life.
But now, under Brian, the wicked,
Men scoffed at its sweet, silver note;
No longer on senses of hearers
Remorse for their wickedness smote;
They bowed not in humble contrition
When the Angelus pealed from its throat.
Men scoffed at its sweet, silver note;
No longer on senses of hearers
Remorse for their wickedness smote;
They bowed not in humble contrition
When the Angelus pealed from its throat.
But, one night, in the month of November—
Heaven guard us!—it sudden befell,
While the valley was covered with slumber,
Resounded the clang of the bell,
Awful, slow, through the murk of the midnight,
Waking all with its funeral knell.
Heaven guard us!—it sudden befell,
While the valley was covered with slumber,
Resounded the clang of the bell,
Awful, slow, through the murk of the midnight,
Waking all with its funeral knell.
Rose the sexton from bed at the tolling
To learn who the ringer might be;
Half-clad came the folk from the village,
And roisterers checked in their glee,
Terror-struck, when below at the bell-rope
Mortal ringer no vision could see.
To learn who the ringer might be;
Half-clad came the folk from the village,
And roisterers checked in their glee,
Terror-struck, when below at the bell-rope
Mortal ringer no vision could see.
Then the boldest climbed up to the turret,
Whence came the deep sound to the air;
The bell it was swinging and ringing,
But no mortal ringer was there;
And he quickly descended where bended
The priest and the curate at prayer.
Whence came the deep sound to the air;
The bell it was swinging and ringing,
But no mortal ringer was there;
And he quickly descended where bended
The priest and the curate at prayer.
Came a giolla in haste from the castle,
And said to the neighbors around:
“Ochone! for the son of Prince Brian
Dead, dead in his bed has been found—
In the bed where his nurse left him sleeping—
An hour ere the bell gave a sound!”
And said to the neighbors around:
“Ochone! for the son of Prince Brian
Dead, dead in his bed has been found—
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An hour ere the bell gave a sound!”
Later on, when the corpse came for burial,
Prince Brian, who stood at its head—
“Take the bell from yon turret and break it,
Not alone for its jangling,” he said;
“But the bell that has tolled for my Eoghan
Shall sound for no commoner dead!”
Prince Brian, who stood at its head—
“Take the bell from yon turret and break it,
Not alone for its jangling,” he said;
“But the bell that has tolled for my Eoghan
Shall sound for no commoner dead!”
In vain did the priest, horror-stricken,
The sacrilege ban in despair;
The Kerns, at command of their master,
Climbed, eager, the steep turret stair;
The belfry before them was empty;
The bell which they sought was not there.
The sacrilege ban in despair;
The Kerns, at command of their master,
Climbed, eager, the steep turret stair;
The belfry before them was empty;
The bell which they sought was not there.
Then Brian broke forth in his fury—
“A trick, done to thwart me!” cried he.
“Somewhere in the church it is hidden;
We'll gain it, wherever it be.
Rack the place! Tear to pieces the altar!
Bring the bell from its hiding to me!”
“A trick, done to thwart me!” cried he.
“Somewhere in the church it is hidden;
We'll gain it, wherever it be.
Rack the place! Tear to pieces the altar!
Bring the bell from its hiding to me!”
High the Host held the old priest before him.
“Bad man, from thy purpose refrain!
Lost is he, both in body and spirit,
Who the House of Our Lord would profane!”
Prince Brian he blenched not, and feared not,
Though shrank back the Kerns in his train.
“Bad man, from thy purpose refrain!
Lost is he, both in body and spirit,
Who the House of Our Lord would profane!”
Prince Brian he blenched not, and feared not,
Though shrank back the Kerns in his train.
Like cords stood the veins in his forehead;
His face grey as ashes, then red.
“For insolence die by the sword-strokes,
A warning to others!” he said.
And, their blood sprinkled over the altar,
The priest and the curate fell dead.
His face grey as ashes, then red.
“For insolence die by the sword-strokes,
A warning to others!” he said.
48
The priest and the curate fell dead.
A shock like the shock of an earthquake;
A crash like the loud thunder's sound;
Burst the fountain of Caoin in a torrent,
Surged the fierce-rushing waters around.
At noon were church, valley and castle—
At night, but Lough Ennel was found.
A crash like the loud thunder's sound;
Burst the fountain of Caoin in a torrent,
Surged the fierce-rushing waters around.
At noon were church, valley and castle—
At night, but Lough Ennel was found.
Next morning, the priest and the curate
Were found in their robes on the shore;
With rites of the church, and with mourning,
Their forms to the church-yard they bore;
But the others, engulfed in the waters,
Were seen of the world never more.
Were found in their robes on the shore;
With rites of the church, and with mourning,
Their forms to the church-yard they bore;
But the others, engulfed in the waters,
Were seen of the world never more.
And to-day, when the death-angel hovers
O'er one of the house of O'Neil,
The pitiful wail of the Bean Sighe
They hear o'er the dark waters steal,
While wells from the depths of Lough Ennel
The sound of the bell of Cil-Mihil.
O'er one of the house of O'Neil,
The pitiful wail of the Bean Sighe
They hear o'er the dark waters steal,
While wells from the depths of Lough Ennel
The sound of the bell of Cil-Mihil.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |