Brighde nighean Dughaill Duinn,
’Ic Aoidth, ’ic Arta, ’ic Cuinn.
Gach la is gach oidhche
Ni mi cuimhneachadh air sloinneadh Brighde.
Cha mharbhar mi,
Cha ghuinear mi,
Cha ghonar mi,
Cha mho dh’ fhagas Criosd an dearmad mi;
Cha loisg teine gniomh Shatain mi;
’S cha bhath uisge no saile mi;
’S mi fo chomraig Naoimh Moire
’S mo chaomh mhuime, Brighde.
_The Genealogy of St Bridget or St Bride, Foster-Mother of Christ_
St Bridget, the daughter of Dùghall Donn,
Son of Hugh, son of Art, son of Conn.
Each day and each night
I will meditate on the genealogy of St Bridget.
[Whereby] I will not be killed,
I will not be wounded,
I will not be bewitched;
Neither will Christ forsake me;
Satan’s fire will not burn me;
Neither water nor sea shall drown me;
For I am under the protection of the Virgin Mary,
And my gentle foster-mother, St Bridget.
I
Before ever St Colum came across the Moyle to the island of Iona, that
was then by strangers called Innis-nan-Dhruidhneach, the Isle of the
Druids, and by the natives Ioua, there lived upon the south-east slope
of Dun-I a poor herdsman named Dùvach. Poor he was, for sure, though it
was not for this reason that he could not win back to Ireland, green
Banba, as he called it: but because he was an exile thence, and might
never again smell the heather blowing over Sliabh-Gorm in what of old
was the realm of Aoimag.
He was a prince in his own land, though none on Iona save the Arch-Druid
knew what his name was. The high priest, however, knew that Dùvach was
the royal Dùghall, called Dùghall Donn, the son of Hugh the King, the
son of Art, the son of Conn. In his youth he had been accused of having
done a wrong against a noble maiden of the blood. When her child was
born he was made to swear across her dead body that he would be true to
the daughter for whom she had given up her life, that he would rear her
in a holy place, but away from Eiré, and that he would never set foot
within that land again. This was a bitter thing for Dùghall Donn to do:
the more so as, before the King, and the priests, and the people, he
swore by the Wind, and by the Moon, and by the Sun, that he was
guiltless of the thing of which he was accused. There were many there
who believed him because of that sacred oath: others, too, forasmuch as
that Morna the Princess had herself sworn to the same effect. Moreover,
there was Aodh of the Golden Hair, a poet and seer, who avowed that
Morna had given birth to an immortal, whose name would one day be as a
moon among the stars for glory. But the King would not be appeased,
though he spared the life of his youngest son. So it was that, by the
advice of Aodh of the Druids, Dùghall Donn went northwards through the
realm of Clanadon and so to the sea-loch that was then called Loc
Feobal. There he took boat with some wayfarers bound for Alba. But in
the Moyle a tempest arose, and the frail galley was driven northward,
and at sunrise was cast like a fish, spent and dead, upon the south end
of Ioua, that is now Iona. Only two of the mariners survived: Dùghall
Donn and the little child. This was at the place where, on a day of the
days in a year that was not yet come, St Colum landed in his coracle,
and gave thanks on his bended knees.
When, warmed by the sun, they rose, they found themselves in a waste
place. Ill was Dùghall in his mind because of the portents, and now to
his fear and amaze the child Bridget knelt on the stones, and, with
claspt hands, small and pink as the sea-shells round about her, sang a
song of words which were unknown to him. This was the more marvellous,
as she was yet but an infant, and could say no word even of Erse, the
only tongue she had heard.
At this portent, he knew that Aodh had spoken seeingly. Truly this child
was not of human parentage. So he, too, kneeled, and, bowing before her,
asked if she were of the race of the Tuatha de Danann, or of the older
gods, and what her will was, that he might be her servant. Then it was
that the kneeling babe looked at him, and sang in a low sweet voice in
Erse:
I am but a little child,
Dùghall, son of Hugh, son of Art,
But my garment shall be laid
On the lord of the world,
Yea, surely it shall be that He
The King of the Elements Himself
Shall lean against my bosom,
And I will give him peace,
And peace will I give to all who ask
Because of this mighty Prince,
And because of his Mother that is the Daughter of Peace.
And while Dùghall Donn was still marvelling at this thing, the
Arch-Druid of Iona approached, with his white-robed priests. A grave
welcome was given to the stranger. While the youngest of the servants of
God was entrusted with the child, the Arch-Druid took Dùghall aside and
questioned him. It was not till the third day that the old man gave his
decision. Dùghall Donn was to abide on Iona if he so willed: but the
child was to stay. His life would be spared, nor would he be a bondager
of any kind, and a little land to till would be given him, and all that
he might need. But of his past he was to say no word. His name was to
become as nought, and he was to be known simply as Dùvach. The child,
too, was to be named Bride, for that was the way the name Bridget was
called in the Erse of the Isles.
To the question of Dùghall, that was thenceforth Dùvach, as to why he
laid so great stress on the child that was a girl, and the reputed
offspring of shame at that, Cathal the Arch-Druid replied thus: “My
kinsman Aodh of the Golden Hair who sent you here, was wiser than Hugh
the King and all the Druids of Aoimag. Truly, this child is an Immortal.
There is an ancient prophecy concerning her: surely of her who is now
here, and no other. There shall be, it says, a spotless maid born of a
virgin of the ancient immemorial race in Innisfail. And when for the
seventh time the sacred year has come, she will hold Eternity in her lap
as a white flower. Her maiden breasts shall swell with milk for the
Prince of the World. She shall give suck to the King of the Elements. So
I say unto you, Dùvach, go in peace. Take unto thyself a wife, and live
upon the place I will give thee on the east side of Ioua. Treat Bride as
though she were thy spirit, but leave her much alone, and let her learn
of the sun and the wind. In the fulness of time the prophecy shall be
fulfilled.”
So was it, from that day of the days. Dùvach took a wife unto himself,
who weaned the little Bride, who grew in beauty and grace, so that all
men marvelled. Year by year for seven years the wife of Dùvach bore him
a son, and these grew apace in strength, so that by the beginning of the
third year of the seventh cycle of Bride’s life there were three
stalwart youths to brother her, and three comely and strong lads, and
one young boy fair to see. Nor did anyone, not even Bride herself,
saving Cathal the Arch-Druid, know that Dùvach the herdsman was Dùghall
Donn, of a princely race in Innisfail.
In the end, too, Dùvach came to think that he had dreamed, or at the
least that Cathal had not interpreted the prophecy aright. For though
Bride was of exceeding beauty, and of a strange piety that made the
young Druids bow before her as though she were a bàndia, yet the world
went on as before, and the days brought no change. Often, while she was
still a child, he had questioned her about the words she had said as a
babe, but she had no memory of them. Once, in her ninth year, he came
upon her on the hillside of Dun-I singing these self-same words. Her
eyes dreamed far away. He bowed his head, and, praying to the Giver of
Light, hurried to Cathal. The old man bade him speak no more to the
child concerning the mysteries.
Bride lived the hours of her days upon the slopes of Dun-I, herding the
sheep, or in following the kye upon the green hillocks and grassy dunes
of what then as now was called the Machar. The beauty of the world was
her daily food. The spirit within her was like sunlight behind a white
flower. The birdeens in the green bushes sang for joy when they saw her
blue eyes. The tender prayers that were in her heart for all the beasts
and birds, for helpless children, and tired women, and for all who were
old, were often seen flying above her head in the form of white doves of
sunshine.
But when the middle of the year came that was, though Dùvach had
forgotten it, the year of the prophecy, his eldest son, Conn, who was
now a man, murmured against the virginity of Bride, because of her
beauty and because a chieftain of the mainland was eager to wed her. “I
shall wed Bride or raid Ioua,” was the message he had sent.
So one day, before the great fire of the summer-festival, Conn and his
brothers reproached Bride.
“Idle are these pure eyes, O Bride, not to be as lamps at thy
marriage-bed.”
“Truly, it is not by the eyes that we live,” replied the maiden gently,
while to their fear and amazement she passed her hand before her face
and let them see that the sockets were empty.
Trembling with awe at this portent, Dùvach intervened.
“By the Sun I swear it, O Bride, that thou shalt marry whomsoever thou
wilt and none other, and when thou willest, or not at all if such be thy
will.”
And when he had spoken, Bride smiled, and passed her hand before her
face again, and all there were abashed because of the blue light as of
morning that was in her shining eyes.