And what he said was:--"I can easily answer that. Maildune has been for a long time suffering great afflictions and hardships; and if he were to come now, though we were enemies once, I should certainly give him a welcome and a kind reception."

When Maildune heard this he knocked at the door; and the door-keeper asked who was there; to which Maildune made answer--

"It is I, Maildune, returned safely from all my wanderings."

The chief of the house then ordered the door to be opened; and he went to meet Maildune, and brought him and his companions into the house.

They were joyfully welcomed by the whole household; new garments were given to them; and they feasted and rested, till they forgot their weariness and their hardships.

They related all the wonders G.o.d had revealed to them in the course of their voyage, according to the word of the sage who says, "It will be a source of pleasure to remember these things at a future time."

After they had remained here for some days, Maildune and his companions returned to their own country. And Diuran took the piece of silver he had cut down from the great net at the Silver Pillar, and laid it, according to his promise, on the high altar of Armagh.

From "Old Celtic Romances," by P. W. JOYCE, LL.D.

x.x.xVII.

TENNYSON'S "VOYAGE OF MAILDUNE."

("FOUNDED ON AN IRISH LEGEND: A.D. 700.")

Of the tale called the "Voyage of Maildune," the oldest copy is in the Book of the Dun Cow, which was copied from older books eight hundred years ago: but here the story is imperfect at both the beginning and end, portions of the book having been torn away at some former time.

There is, however, a perfect copy in the Yellow Book of Lecan.[164-1] It was translated and published for the first time in "Old Celtic Romances"

in 1879. When this book appeared, the great English poet, Alfred Tennyson (afterwards Lord Tennyson), read the story, and made it the subject of a beautiful poem, also called "The Voyage of Maildune."

Portions of the beginning and end of this poem are here given:--

I.

I was the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead-- But I gather'd my fellows together, I swore I would strike off his head.

Each of them looked like a king, and was n.o.ble in birth as in worth, And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth.

Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song, And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong.

_He_ lived on an isle in the ocean--we sail'd on a Friday morn-- He that had slain my father the day before I was born.

[164-1] For the Book of the Dun Cow and the Yellow Book of Lecan, see p. 118.

II.

And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the sh.o.r.e was he.

But a sudden blast blew us out and away thro' a boundless sea.

XI.

And we came to the Isle of a saint who had sail'd with St.

Brendan[165-1] of yore, He had lived ever since on the Isle and his winters were fifteen score, And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet, And his white hair sank to his heels and his white beard fell to his feet, And he spake to me, "O Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine!

Remember the words of the Lord when he told us 'Vengeance is mine!'

His fathers have slain thy fathers in war or in single strife, Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life, Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last?

Go back to the Isle of Finn[166-1] and suffer the Past to be Past."

[165-1] St. Brendan of Clonfert in Kerry, commonly called Brendan the Navigator: born in Kerry in 484. He sailed from near Brandon mountain in Kerry (which is named from him) on his celebrated voyage of seven years on the Atlantic, in which it is related he saw many wonderful things--quite as wonderful as those of Maildune.

[166-1] The Isle of Finn: i.e. of Finn Mac c.u.maill: Ireland (see p.

92).

XII.

And we came to the Isle we were blown from, and there on the sh.o.r.e was he, The man that had slain my father. I saw him and let him be.

O weary was I of the travel, the trouble, the strife and the sin, When I landed again, with a t.i.the of my men, on the Isle of Finn.

x.x.xVIII.

ST. DONATUS, BISHOP OF FIESOLE.[167-1]

PART I.

At page 47 of this book it has been related how missionaries and learned men went in great numbers from Ireland to the Continent in the early ages of Christianity to preach the Gospel and to teach in colleges. A full account of the lives and labours of these earnest and holy men would fill several volumes: but the following short sketch of one of them will give the reader a good idea of all.

[167-1] Fiesole in Tuscany, Italy: p.r.o.nounced in four syllables: Fee-ess'-o-le.

Donatus was born in Ireland of n.o.ble parents towards the end of the eighth century. There is good reason to believe that he was educated in the monastic school of Inishcaltra, a little island in Lough Derg, near the Galway sh.o.r.e, now better known as Holy Island[167-2]: so that he was probably a native of that part of the country. Here he studied with great industry and success. He became a priest, and in course of time a bishop: and he was greatly distinguished as a professor.

[167-2] In the "Child's History of Ireland" there is a picture of the round tower and church ruins on this little island.

Having spent a number of years teaching, he resolved to make a pilgrimage to Rome and visit the holy places on the way. He had a favourite pupil named Andrew, belonging to a n.o.ble Irish family, a handsome, high-spirited youth, but of a deeply religious turn: and these two, master and scholar, were much attached. And when Donatus made known his intention to go as a pilgrim to foreign lands, Andrew, who could not bear to be separated from him, begged to be permitted to go with him: to which Donatus consented. When they had made the few simple preparations necessary, they went down to the sh.o.r.e, accompanied by friends and relatives; and bidding farewell to all--home, friends, and country--amid tears and regrets, they set sail and landed on the coast of France.

And now, here were these two men, with stout hearts, determined will, and full trust in G.o.d, exhibiting an excellent example of what numberless Irish exiles of those days gave up, and of what trials and dangers they exposed themselves to, for the sake of religion. One was a successful teacher and a bishop; the other a young chief; and both might have lived in their own country a life of peace and plenty. But they relinquished all that for a higher and holier purpose; and they brought with them neither luxury nor comfort. They had, on landing, just as much money and food as started them on their journey; and with a small satchel strapped on shoulder, containing a book or two and some other necessary articles, and with stout staff in hand, they travelled the whole way on foot. Whenever a monastery lay near their road, there they called, sure of a kind reception, and rested for a day or two. When no monastery was within reach, they simply begged for food and night shelter as they fared along, making themselves understood by the peasantry as best they could, for they knew little or nothing of their language. Much hardship they endured from hunger and thirst, bad weather, rough paths that often led them astray, and constant fatigue.

They were sometimes in danger too from rude and wicked peasants, some of whom thought no more of killing a stranger than of killing a sparrow.

But before setting out, the two pilgrims knew well the hardships and dangers in store for them on the way: so that they were quite prepared for all this: and on they trudged, contented and cheerful, never swerving an instant from their purpose. They travelled in a sort of zigzag way, continually turning aside to visit churches, shrines, hermitages, and all places consecrated by memory of old-time saints, or of past events of importance in the history of Christianity. And whenever they heard, as they went slowly along, of a man eminent for holiness and learning, they made it a point to visit him, so as to have the benefit of his conversation and advice; using the Latin language, which all learned men spoke in those times.

x.x.xIX.

ST. DONATUS, BISHOP OF FIESOLE: