“_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!”
II
THE SABBATH OF THE FISHES AND THE FLIES
For three days Colum had fasted, save for a mouthful of meal at dawn, a
piece of rye-bread at noon, and a mouthful of dulse and spring-water at
sundown. On the night of the third day, Oran and Keir came to him in his
cell. Colum was on his knees, lost in prayer. There was no sound there,
save the faint whispered muttering of his lips, and on the plastered
wall the weary buzzing of a fly.
“Master!” said Oran in a low voice, soft with pity and awe, “Master!”
But Colum took no notice. His lips still moved, and the tangled hairs
below his nether lip shivered with his failing breath.
“Father!” said Keir, tender as a woman, “Father!”
Colum did not turn his eyes from the wall. The fly droned his drowsy hum
upon the rough plaster. It crawled wearily for a space, then stopped.
The slow hot drone filled the cell.
“Master,” said Oran, “it is the will of the brethren that you break your
fast. You are old, and God has your glory. Give us peace.”
“Father,” urged Keir, seeing that Colum kneeled unnoticingly, his lips
still moving above his black beard, with the white hair of him falling
about his head like a snowdrift slipping from a boulder. “Father, be
pitiful! We hunger and thirst for your presence. We can fast no longer,
yet have we no heart to break our fast if you are not with us. Come,
holy one, and be of our company, and eat of the good broiled fish that
awaiteth us. We perish for the benediction of thine eyes.”
Then it was that Colum rose, and walked slowly towards the wall.
“Little black beast,” he said to the fly that droned its drowsy hum and
moved not at all; “little black beast, sure it is well I am knowing what
you are. You are thinking you are going to get my blessing, you that
have come out of hell for the soul of me!”
At that the fly flew heavily from the wall, and slowly circled round and
round the head of Colum the White.
“What think you of that, brother Oran, brother Keir?” he asked in a low
voice, hoarse because of his long fast and the weariness that was upon
him.
“It is a fiend,” said Oran.
“It is an angel,” said Keir.
Thereupon the fly settled upon the wall again, and again droned his
drowsy hot hum.
“Little black beast,” said Colum, with the frown coming down into his
eyes, “is it for peace you are here, or for sin? Answer, I conjure you
in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost!”
“_An ainm an Athar, ’s an mhic, ’s an Spioraid Naoimh_,” repeated Oran
below his breath.
“_An ainm an Athar, ’s an mhic, ’s an Spioraid Naoimh_,” repeated Keir
below his breath.
Then the fly that was upon the wall flew up to the roof and circled to
and fro. And it sang a beautiful song, and its song was this:
I
Praise be to God, and a blessing too at that, and a blessing!
For Colum the White, Colum the Dove, hath worshipped;
Yea, he hath worshipped and made of a desert a garden,
And out of the dung of men’s souls hath made a sweet savour of
burning.