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104

THE ABBOT OF INISFĀLEN.

A beautiful Island in the Lower Lake of Killarney, hiding among old trees the ruins of an Abbey, founded in the seventh century. The island is named from Fathlenn, a man whose identity is lost in the abyss of time. This legend is one of those which are found in various countries, and to which no locality has an exclusive claim. Indeed, such an occurrence may as easily have happened many times as once.

(A KILLARNEY LEGEND.)

I.

The Abbot of Inisfālen awoke ere dawn of day;
Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray.
The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep,
And wrapt in a misty stillness the mountains were all asleep.
Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac when the dawn was dim and gray;
The prayers of his holy office he faithfully 'gan say.
Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac while the dawn was waxing red;
And for his sins' forgiveness a solemn prayer he said:
Low kneel'd that holy Abbot while the dawn was waxing clear;
And he pray'd with loving-kindness for his convent-brethren dear.
Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot while the dawn was waxing bright;
He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, he pray'd with all his might.
Low kneel'd that good old Father while the sun began to dart;
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He pray'd a prayer for all men, he pray'd it from his heart.
His blissful soul was in Heaven, tho' a breathing man was he;
He was out of time's dominion, so far as the living may be.

II.

The Abbot of Inisfālen arose upon his feet;
He heard a small bird singing, and O but it sung sweet!
It sung upon a holly-bush, this little snow-white bird;
A song so full of gladness he never before had heard.
It sung upon a hazel, it sung upon a thorn;
He had never heard such music since the hour that he was born.
It sung upon a sycamore, it sung upon a briar;
To follow the song and hearken this Abbot could never tire.
Till at last he well bethought him; he might no longer stay;
So he bless'd the little white singing-bird, and gladly went his way.

III.

But, when he came to his Abbey, he found a wondrous wondrous change;
He saw no friendly faces there, for every face was strange.
The strange men spoke unto him; and he heard from all and each
The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, not wholesome Irish speech.
Then the oldest monk came forward, in Irish tongue spake he:
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‘Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, and who hath given it to thee?’
‘I wear the holy Augustine's dress, and Cormac is my name,
The Abbot of this good Abbey by grace of God I am.
I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; and when my prayers were said,
I hearken'd awhile to a little bird, that sung above my head.’
The monks to him made answer, ‘Two hundred years have gone o'er,
Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, and never was heard of more.
Matthias now is our Abbot, and twenty have pass'd away.
The stranger is lord of Ireland; we live in an evil day.’
‘Days will come and go,’ he said, ‘and the world will pass away,
In Heaven a day is a thousand years, a thousand years are a day.’

IV.

‘Now give me absolution; for my time is come,’ said he.
And they gave him absolution, as speedily as might be.
Then, close outside the window, the sweetest song they heard
That ever yet since the world began was utter'd by any bird.
The monks look'd out and saw the bird, its feathers all white and clean;
And there in a moment, beside it, another white bird was seen.
Those two they sang together, waved their white wings, and fled;
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Flew aloft, and vanish'd; but the good old man was dead.
They buried his blessed body where lake and green-sward meet;
A carven cross above his head, a holly-bush at his feet;
Where spreads the beautiful water to gay or cloudy skies,
And the purple peaks of Killarney from ancient woods arise.
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