In the ancient times a man the name of M'Gauran ruled in these
parts. He was a cruel tyrant surely and prouder than the High King of
Ireland or O'Rourke was a Prince in Breffny. He conceited for to build
a house would stand to the end of time, a stronghold past the art of
man to overthrow or the fury of the wind to batter down. He gave out
that all the bullocks in his dominions were to be slaughtered and
mortar wet with the blood of them. Evenly the cows were not spared
at the latter end, the way a powerful lamentation went up from the
poor of the world were looking on the lonesome fields.
You that are young will be thinking the blackness of his spirit and
the cruelty of his heart brought a curse on him to rot the flesh off
his living bones. You will be expectant of the story of a king, and
he walking the provinces of Ireland a skeleton and a warning to the
eyes of man. But the aged and wise have understanding to know of the
tribulation laid out for the good and the just, they putting their
sorrows over them in this world where the evil have prosperity. The
like will be enduring for a short space only, and a queer fate waits
the wicked in the age-long hours of eternity. Proud is the tyrant
and wealthy till they set him in the clay: humbled with fear is his
spirit at the journey's end.
There was a widow woman had her little dwelling convenient to where
M'Gauran was building his castle. Gold she had none, nor evenly a
coin was of silver, one cow only was her riches on the earth. (And
surely them that had heart to molest her like would be robbing the
dead of the raiment is with them in the grave.) Herself was more nor
horrid lonesome the day she seen the creature driven from her by a
man of the chiefs, he having a lengthy knife in his hand.
At the fall of night a traveller came to the poor woman's cabin
door. He was a bent, aged man with a sorrowful countenance on him,
and the garments did cover him were rags. She invited him within,
giving him the kindly welcome, and she set out what food was in the
place for his refreshment.
"It is destroyed I am with a parching drouth is splitting my gullet,"
says he, "and I walking the mountainy ways since the screech of
dawn. The sun was splitting the bushes at the noon of day, and the
fury of it was eating into my skin. But no person took compassion on
me at all."
With that the widow set a mug of milk before him, and it the last
drop was in the countryside. He drank it down, middling speedy,
and he held out the cup to be filled again.
"'Tis a heart scald surely," says herself, "that I be to refuse the
request of a man is weary walking the territory of Ireland, since the
rising sun brought light on his path. There is a king in these parts,
stranger, and he has the cattle destroyed on the poor of the world,
the way he will have a lasting mortar to his house."
"Isn't yourself after giving me the loveliest mug of sweet milk?" says
he, like one was doubtful of the honesty of her words.
"The last drop was in this townland, stranger, and it is heart glad
I am that it refreshed you. I had but the one cow only, the grandest
milker in the land, and she was driven from me this day--up yonder
to the masons are working with their shovels dripping red."
"I am thinking it is four strong walls in the pit of Hell are
building for that chieftain's soul. Maybe it's red hot they'll be,
and he imprisoned within them for a thousand years and more," says
the traveller.
"Let there be what masonry there will in the next world, the wealth
of the people cements his castle there beyond. For the cow and the
milk and the butter are the gold of the dwellers on the land," says
the widow. "But let you be resting a while in this place: what haste
is on you to depart?" For she seen he was rising to be gone.
He raised his hand in benediction, and the voice of him speaking was
that sweet it charmed the birds off the bushes, the way they flew
round him in the darkening night. "May the blessing of the King of
Heaven be upon you. May He send you a cow will never run dry, and you
milking her at all seasons of the year to the day of your departure
from the world."
With that the place was bare of his presence. He was gone the like
of a spirit has power to travel the land unseen.
At the morning of the day following the poor woman stood at her
cottage door, facing out to the mountains are a long journey from
that place. Didn't she see a great wonder:--A piece fell clean from
the hillside and from it came a cow, white as the driven snow, she
travelling faster nor the wind. The widow seen all as clear as we
do be regarding the rising of the sun in the Eastern sky. Whatever
power was laid on her eyes the distance was no obstruction to her
vision that day. But it was not until the creature came and stood by
herself that she bethought her of the benediction of the traveller,
and the cow would never run dry.
That was the beast had the great renown on her: people came from every
art and part to be looking on her. The milk she gave was richer nor
the best of cream, and the butter off it was the best in Ireland.
The day the widow died, a young child seen the white cow travelling
away to the mountains. And no man beheld her more, nor evenly heard
tell of the like. But the Gap of Glan confronts us to this day,
and that is where the creature rose to the light of the world.