THE STORY OF IRELAND

New Zealand Tablet, 17 October 1918, Page 9

THE STORY OF IRELAND

(By A. M. Sullivan.)

VI.—THE “GOLDEN AGE’’ OF PRE-CHRISTIAN ERINN (Continued). In the two centuries succeeding, there flourished amongst other sovereigns of Ireland less known to fame, the celebrated Niall of the Nine Hostages, and King Dahi. During these two hundred years the flag of Ireland waved through continental Europe over victorious legions and fleets; the Irish monarchs leading powerful armies across the plains of Gaul, and up to the very confines of “the Ceasars’ domains’’ in Italy. It was the day of Ireland’s military power in Europe ; a day which subsequently dawned so disastrously, and, later on, set in utter gloom. Neighboring Britain, whose yoke a thousand years subsequently Ireland was to wear, then lay helpless and abject at the mercy of the Irish hosts; the Britons, as history relates, absolutely weeping and wailing at the departure of the enslaving Roman legions, because now there would be nought to stay the visits of the Scoti, or Irish, and the Piets ! The courts of the Irish princes and homes of the Irish nobility were filled with white slave attendants, brought from abroad, some from Gaul, but the most from Anglia. It was in this way the youthful Patricias, or Patrick, was brought a slave into Ireland from Gaul. As the power of Imperial Rome began to pale, and the outlying regions were being every year drawn in nearer and nearer to the great city" itself, the Irish sunburst blazed over the scene, and the retreating Romans found the cohorts of Erinn pushing dauntlessly and vengefully on their track. Although the Irish chronicles of the period themselves say little of the deeds of the armies abroad, the continental records of the time give us pretty full insight into the part they played on the European stage in that day. Niall of the Niue Hostages met his death in Gaul, on the banks of the Loire, while leading his armies in one of those campaigns. The death of King Dahi, who was killed by lightning at the foot of the Alps while marching at the head of his legions, one of our national poets, Davis, has immortalised in a poem, from which I quote here ; Darkly their glibs o’erhang. Sharp is their wolf-dog’s fang, Bronze spear and falchion clang Brave men might shun them ! Heavy the spoil they bear — Jewels and gold are thereHostage and maiden fair— How have they won them? From the soft sons of Gaul, Roman, and Frank, and thrall, Borough, and hut, and hall,— These have been torn. Over Britannia wide, Over fair Gaul they hied, Often in Jrattlo tried — Enemies mourn ! Up on the glacier's snow, Down on the vales below. Monarch and clansmen go Bright is the morning. Never their march they slack, Jura is at their back, ' When falls the evening black, Hideous and warning. Eagles scream loud on high ; Far off the chamois fly; Hoarse comes the torrent’s cry, On the - rocks whitening. Strong arc the storm's wings : Down the tall pine it flings; Hailstone and sleet it brings— Thunder and lightning. Little these veterans mind Thundering, hail, or wind ; Closer their ranks they bind — Matching the storm.

While, a spear-cast or more, On, J,he first ranks before, Dathi the sunburst bore — Haughty his'form. Forth from the thunder-cloud Leaps oat a foe as proud— Sudden the monarch bowed — On rush the vanguard. Wildly the king they raise— Struck by the lightning’s blaze— Ghastly his dying gaze, Clutching his standard ! Mild is the morning beam. Gently the rivers stream. Happy the valleys seem; But the lone islanders — Mark how they guard their king ! Hark to the wail they sing! Dark is their counselling— Helvetia’s highlanders Gather like ravens, near— Shall Datbi’s soldiers fear:' Soon their home-path they clear— Rapid and daring. On through the pass and plain. Until the shore they gain, And with their spoil again Landed in Eirinn. Little does Fire care. For gold or maiden fair —- “Where is King Dathi —where, Where is my bravest?’’ On the rich deck he lies; O'er him his sunburst flies; Solemn the obsequies. Eire! thou gavest. See ye that countless train Crossing Ros-Comain’s plain. Crying, like hurricane, Uil Ii « ai ? Broad is his cairn's base — Nigh the “King’s burial place,’’ Last of the Pagan race, Lieth King Dathi ! (To be continued.)