"I could not put the pen aside
Till with my heart's love I had tried
To fashion some poor skilless crown
For that dear head so low bowed down."
--From the Celtic
It is but a step from Wales to Ireland. From the one, you can
see the "fair hills of holy Ireland" in the heart of any decent
sunset; from the other, you can see Wales shining landed in in
any shining dawn. No Roman legion ever landed in Ireland; yet
all through Roman times boats must have been slipping across and
across; there must have been constant communication, and there
was, really, no distinction of race. There was a time, I
believe, when they were joined, one island; and all the seas
were east of the Severn. Both peoples were a mixture of Gaels
and Cymry; only it happens that the Gaelic or Q language survived
in Ireland; the Cymric or P language in Wales. So, having
touched upon Wales last week, and shown the Crest-Wave flowing in
there, this week, following that Wave westward,
I invoke the land of Ireland!
Shining, shining sea!
Fertile, fertile mountain!
Gladed, gladed wood!
Abundant river, abundant in water!
Fish-abounding lake!
It was what Amargin the Druid sang, when the Gael first came
into Ireland. Here is the story of their coming:--
------
* The stories told in this and the following lecture, and the
translations of Irish poems, etc., are taken from Mr. T.W.
Rollertone's delightful _Myths and Legends of the Celtic
Race,_ or from M. de Jubainville's _Irish Mythological Cycle,_
translated and published in Dublin in the 'nineties.
------
Bregon built a tower in Spain. He had a son named Ith; and one
fine evening in winter Ith was looking out over the horizon from
Bregon's tower, and saw the coast of Ireland in the distance;
for "it is on a winter's evening when the air is pure that one's
sight carries farthest." So says the eleventh century bard who
tells the tale: he without knowing then that it was not in Spain
was Bregon's tower, but on the Great Plain, which is in the
Atlantic, and yet not in this world at all. Now this will tell
you what you ought to know about Ireland, and why it is we end
our lectures with her. We saw Wales near the border of things;
looking out from that cliff's edge on to the unknown and unseen,
and aware of mysterious things beyond. Now we shall see Ireland,
westward again, down where the little waves run in and tumble;
sunlit waves along shining sands; and with boats putting out at
any time; and indeed, so lively an intercourse going forward
always, that you never can be quite sure whether it is in mortal
Ireland or immortal Fairyland you are,--
"So your soul goes straying in a land more fair;
Half you tread the dew-wet grasses, half wander there."
For the wonder of Ireland is, that it is the West Pole of things;
there is no place else nearer the Unseen; its next-door
neighbor-land westward is this Great Plain, whither sail the
Happy Dead in their night-dark coracles,--to return, of course,
in due season; and all the peoplings of Ireland were from this
Great Plain. So you see why the Crest-Wave, passing from dying
Europe, "went west" by way of Ireland.