SCENE.--_A large room as it was in the old time. A long table
in it. A troop of children, a share of them eating their dinner, another
share of them sitting after eating. There is a teacher stooping over a
book in the other part of the room._
A CHILD (_standing up_). Come out, Felim, till we see the new
hound.
ANOTHER CHILD. We can't. The master told us not to go out till
we would learn this poem, the poem he was teaching us to-day.
ANOTHER CHILD. He won't let anyone at all go out till he can
say it.
ANOTHER CHILD. _Maisead_, disgust for ever on the same old
poem; but there is no fear for myself--I'll get out, never fear; I'll
remember it well enough. But I don't think you will get out, Conall. Oh,
there is the master ready to begin.
TEACHER (_lifting up his head_). Now, children, have you
finished your dinner?
CHILDREN. Not yet. (_A poor-looking, grey old man comes to the
door._)
A CHILD. Oh, that is old Cormacin that grinds the meal for us,
and minds the oven.
OLD MAN. The blessing of God here! Master, will you give me
leave to gather up the scraps, and to bring them out with me?
MASTER. You may do that. (_To the children._) Come here now,
till I see if you have that poem right, and I will let you go out when
you have it said.
FEARALL. We are coming; but wait a minute till I ask old
Cormacin what is he going to do with the leavings he has there.
OLD MAN. I am gathering them to give to the birds, avourneen.
TEACHER. We will do it now; come over here. (_The children
stand together in a row._)
TEACHER. Now I will tell you who made the poem you are going to
say to me: There was a holy, saintly man in Ireland some years ago.
Aongus Ceile Dé was the name he had. There was no man in Ireland had
greater humility than he. He did not like the people to be giving honour
to him, or to be saying he was a great saint, or that he made fine
poems. It was because of his humility he stole away one night, and put a
disguise on himself; and he went like a poor man through the country,
working for his own living without anyone knowing him. He is gone away
out of knowledge now, without anyone at all knowing where he is. Maybe
he is feeding pigs or grinding meal now like any other poor person.
A CHILD. Grinding meal like old Cormacin here.
TEACHER. Exactly. But before he went away, it is many fine
sweet poems he made in the praise of God and the angels; and it was one
of those I was teaching you to-day.
A CHILD. What is the name you said he had?
TEACHER. Aongus Ceile Dé, the servant of God. They gave him
that name because he was so holy. Now, Felim, say the first two lines
you; and Art will say the two next lines; and Aodh the two lines after
that, and so on to the end.