The third hour they talked about the beasts of the earth and the fowls
of the air.
At the last Ardan said: "The ancient wisdom hath it that these are the
souls of men and women, that have been, or are to be."
Whereat Colum answered: "The new wisdom, that is old as eternity,
declareth that God created all things in love. Therefore are we at
one, O Ardan, though we sail to the Isle of Truth from the West and
the East. Let there be peace between us."
"Peace," said Ardan.
That eve, Ardan of the Picts sat with the monks of Iona. Colum blessed
him and said a saying. Oran of the Songs sang a hymn of beauty. Ardan
rose, and put the wine of guests to his lips, and chanted this rune:
O Colum and monks of Christ,
It is peace we are having this night:
Sure, peace is a good thing,
And I am glad with the gladness.
We worship one God,
Though ye call him Dè--
And I say not, _O Dia!_
But cry _Bea'uil!_
For it is one faith for man,
And one for the living world,
And no man is wiser than another--
And none knoweth much.
None knoweth a better thing than this:
The Sword, Love, Song, Honour, Sleep.
None knoweth a surer thing than this:
Birth, Sorrow, Pain, Weariness, Death.
Sure, peace is a good thing;
Let us be glad of Peace:
We are not men of the Sword,
But of the Rune and the Wisdom.
I have learned a truth of Colum,
He hath learned of me:
All ye on the morrow shall see
A wonder of the wonders.
The thought is on you, that the Cross
Is known only of you:
Lo, I tell you the birds know it
That are marked with the Sorrow.
Listen to the Birds of Sorrow,
They shall tell you a great Joy:
It is Peace you will be having,
With the Birds.
No more would Ardan say after that, though all besought him.
Many pondered long that night. Oran made a song of mystery. Colum
brooded through the dark; but before dawn he slept upon the fern that
strewed his cell. At dawn, with waking eyes, and weary, he saw his
Sleep in a vision.
It stood gray and wan beside him.
"What art thou, O Spirit?" he said.
"I am thy Sleep, Colum."
"And is it peace?"
"It is peace."
"What wouldest thou?"
"I have wisdom. Thy heart and thy brain were closed. I could not give
you what I brought. I brought wisdom."
"Give it."
"Behold!"
And Colum, sitting upon the strewed fern that was his bed, rubbed his
eyes that were heavy with weariness and fasting and long prayer. He
could not see his Sleep now. It was gone, as smoke that is licked up
by the wind.
But on the ledge of the hole that was in the eastern wall of his cell
he saw a bird. He leaned his elbow upon the leabhar-aifrionn that was
by his side.[3] Then he spoke.
[3] The "leabhar-aifrionn" (pron. lyo-ur-eff-runn) is a missal:
literally a mass-book, or chapel-book. Bru-dhearg is literally
red-breast.
"Is there song upon thee, O Bru-dhearg?"
Then the Redbreast sang, and the singing was so sweet that tears came
into the eyes of Colum, and he thought the sunlight that was
streaming from the east was melted into that lilting sweet song. It
was a hymn that the Bru-dhearg sang, and it was this:
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Christ upon the Cross;
My little nest was near,
Hidden in the moss.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Christ was pale and wan:
His eyes beheld me singing
_Bron, Bron, mo Bron_![4]
Holy, Holy, Holy,
"Come near, O wee brown bird!"
Christ spake: and low I lighted
Upon the Living World.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
I heard the mocking scorn!
But _Holy, Holy, Holy_,
I sang against a thorn!
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Ah, his brow was bloody;
Holy, Holy, Holy,
All my breast was ruddy.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
Christ's-Bird shalt thou be:
Thus said Mary Virgin
There on Calvary.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
A wee brown bird am I:
But my breast is ruddy
For I saw Christ die.
Holy, Holy, Holy,
By this ruddy feather,
Colum, call thy monks, and
All the birds together.
[4] "O my Grief, my Grief!"
And at that Colum rose. Awe was upon him, and joy.
He went out, and told all to the monks. Then he said Mass out on the
green sward. The yellow sunshine was warm upon his gray hair. The love
of God was warm in his heart.
"Come, all ye birds!" he cried.
And lo, all the birds of the air flew nigh. The golden eagle soared
from the Cuchullins in far-off Skye, and the osprey from the wild
lochs of Mull; the gannet from above the clouds, and the fulmar and
petrel from the green wave: the cormorant and the skua from the weedy
rock, and the plover and the kestrel from the machar: the corbie and
the raven from the moor, and the snipe and the bittern and the heron:
the cuckoo and cushat from the woodland; the crane from the swamps,
the lark from the sky, and the mavis and the merle from the green
bushes: the yellowyite, the shilfa, and the lintie, the gyalvonn and
the wren and the redbreast, one and all, every creature of the wings,
they came at the bidding.
"Peace!" cried Colum.
"Peace!" cried all the Birds, and even the Eagle, the Kestrel, the
Corbie, and the Raven cried _Peace, Peace!_
"I will say the Mass," said Colum the White.
And with that he said the Mass. And he blessed the birds. When the
last chant was sung, only Bru-dhearg remained.
"Come, O Ruddy-Breast," said Colum, "and sing to us of the Christ."
Through a golden hour thereafter the Redbreast sang. Sweet was the joy
of it.
At the end, Colum said "Peace! In the Name of the Father, the Son, and
the Holy Ghost."
Thereat Ardan the Pict bowed his head, and in a loud voice
repeated--"_Sìth_ (shee)! _An ainm an Athar, 's an mhic, 's an
Spioraid Naoimh!_"
And to this day the song of the Birds of Colum, as they are called in
Hy, is _Sìth--Sìth--Sìth--an--ainm--Chriosd_--"Peace--Peace--Peace--in
the name of Christ!"