Then Patrick mused, “O life of man, how dark a wood art thou! Erring how many track thee till Despair, Sad host, receives them in his crypt-like porch At nightfall.” Mute he paced. The brethren feared; And fearing, knelt to God. Made strong by prayer Westward once more they trod that dark, sharp way Till deeper gloom announced the night, then slept Guarded by angels. But the Saint all night Watched, strong in prayer. The second day still on They fared, like mariners o’er strange seas borne, That keep in mist their soundings when the rocks Vex the dark strait, and breakers roar unseen. At last Benignus cried, “To God be praise! He sends us better omens. See! the moss Brightens the crag!” Ere long another spake: “The worst is past! This freshness in the air Wafts us a welcome from the great salt sea; Fair spreads the fern: green buds are on the spray, And violets throng the grass.”
A few steps more Brought them to where, with peaceful gleam, there spread A forest pool that mirrored yew trees twain With beads like blood-drops hung. A sunset flash Kindled a glory in the osiers brown Encircling that still water. From the reeds A sable bird, gold-circled, slowly rose; But when the towering tree-tops he outsoared, Eastward a great wind swept him as a leaf. Serenely as he rose a music soft Swelled from afar; but, as that storm o’ertook him, The music changed to one on-rushing note O’ertaken by a second; both, ere long, Blended in wail unending. Patrick’s brow, Listening that wail, was altered, and he spake: “These were the Voices that I heard when stood By night beside me in that southern land God’s angel, girt for speed. Letters he bare Unnumbered, full of woes. He gave me one, Inscribed, ‘The Wailing of the Irish Race;’ And as I read that legend on mine ear Forth from a mighty wood on Erin’s coast There rang the cry of children, ‘Walk once more Among us; bring us help!’” Thus Patrick spake: Then towards that wailing paced with forward head.
Ere long they came to where a river broad, Swiftly amid the dense trees winding, brimmed The flower-enamelled marge, and onward bore Green branches ’mid its eddies. On the bank Two virgins stood. Whiter than earliest streak Of matin pearl dividing dusky clouds Their raiment; and, as oft in silent woods White beds of wind-flower lean along the earth-breeze, So on the river-breeze that raiment wan Shivered, back blown. Slender they stood and tall, Their brows with violets bound; while shone, beneath, The dark blue of their never-tearless eyes. Then Patrick, “For the sake of Him who lays His blessing on the mourners, O ye maids, Reveal to me your grief—if yours late sent, Or sped in careless childhood.” And the maids: “Happy whose careless childhood ’scaped the wound:” Then she that seemed the saddest added thus: “Stranger! this forest is no roof of joy, Nor we the only mourners; neither fall Bitterer the widow’s nor the orphan’s tears Now than of old; nor sharper than long since That loss which maketh maiden widowhood. In childhood first our sorrow came. One eve Within our foster-parents’ low-roofed house The winter sunset from our bed had waned: I slept, and sleeping dreamed. Beside the bed There stood a lovely Lady crowned with stars; A sword went through her heart. Down from that sword Blood trickled on the bed, and on the ground. Sorely I wept. The Lady spake: ‘My child, Weep not for me, but for thy country weep; Her wound is deeper far than mine. Cry loud! The cry of grief is Prayer.’ I woke, all tears; And lo! my little sister, stiff and cold, Sat with wide eyes upon the bed upright: That starry Lady with the bleeding heart She, too, had seen, and heard her. Clamour vast Rang out; and all the wall was fiery red; And flame was on the sea. A hostile clan Landing in mist, had fired our ships and town, Our clansmen absent on a foray far, And stricken many an old man, many a boy To bondage dragged. Oh night with blood redeemed! Upon the third day o’er the green waves rushed The vengeance winged, with axe and torch, to quit Wrong with new wrong, and many a time since then. That night sad women on the sea sands toiled, Drawing from wreck and ruin, beam or plank To shield their babes. Our foster-parents slain, Unheeded we, the children of the chief, Roamed the great forest. There we told our dream To children likewise orphaned. Sudden fear Smote them as though themselves had dreamed that dream, And back from them redoubled upon us; Until at last from us and them rang out— The dark wood heard it, and the midnight sea— A great and bitter cry.”