ST. BRIGID
By Denis A. McCarthy
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she wasn’t like other young things,Dreaming of lads for her lovers, and twirling her bracelets and rings;Combing and coiling and curling her hair that was black as the sloes,Painting her lips and her cheeks that were ruddy and fresh as the rose.Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would waste all her days in such follies as these—Christ was the Lover she worshipped for hour after hour on her knees;Christ and His Church and His poor,—and ’twas many a mile that she trodServing the loathsomest lepers that ever were stricken by God.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she sold all her jewels and gems,Sold all her finely-spun robes that were braided with gold to the hems;Kept to her back but one garment, one dress that was faded and old,Gave all her goods to the poor who were famished with hunger and cold.Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would fling at the poor the hard word like a stone—Christ the Redeemer she saw in each wretch that was ragged and lone;Every wandering beggar who asked for a bite or a bedKnocked at her heart like the Man who had nowhere to shelter His head.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she angered her father at last.“Where are your dresses, my daughter? Crom Cruach! You wear them out fast!Where are the chains that I bought you all wrought in red gold from the mine?Where the bright brooches of silver that once on your bosom would shine?”Ah, but ’twas he was the man that was proud of his name and his race,Proud of their prowess in battle and proud of their deeds in the chase!Knew not the Christ, the pale God Whom the priests from afar had brought in,Held to the old Gaelic gods that were known to Cuchullin and Finn.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer, “O father,” said she,“What is the richest of raiment, and what are bright jewels to me?Lepers of Christ must I care for, the hungry of Christ must I feed;How can I walk in rich robes when His people and mine are in need?”Ah, but ’twas she didn’t fear for herself when he blustered and swore,Meekly she bowed when he ordered his chariot brought to the door;Meekly obeyed when he bade her get in at the point of his sword,Knowing whatever her fate she’d be safe with her Lover and Lord.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was brought to the court of the King,(Monarch of Leinster, MacEnda, whose praises the poets would sing).“Hither, O monarch,” said Duffy, “I’ve come with a maiden to sell;Buy her and bind her to bondage—she’s needing such discipline well!”Ah, but ’twas wise was the King. From the maid to the chieftain he turned;Mildness he saw in her face, in the other ’twas anger that burned;“This is no bondmaid, I’ll swear it, O chief, but a girl of your own.Why sells the father the flesh of his flesh and the bone of his bone?”Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was mute while her father replied—“Monarch, this maid has no place as the child of a chieftain of pride.Beggars and wretches whose wounds would the soul of a soldier affright,Sure, ’tis on these she is wasting my substance from morning till night!”Ah, but ’twas bitter was Duffy; he spoke like a man that was vext.Musing, the monarch was silent; he pondered the question perplexed.“Maiden,” said he, “if ’tis true, as I’ve just from your father heard tell,Might it not be, as my bondmaid, you’d waste all my substance as well?”Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer. “O monarch,” she said,“Had I the wealth from your coffers, and had I the crown from your head—Yea, if the plentiful yield of the broad breasts of Erin were mine,All would I give to the people of Christ who in poverty pine.”Ah, but ’twas then that the King felt the heart in his bosom upleap,“I am not worthy,” he cried, “such a maiden in bondage to keep!Here’s a king’s sword for her ransom, and here’s a king’s word to decreeNever to other than Christ and His poor let her servitude be!”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she wasn’t like other young things,Dreaming of lads for her lovers, and twirling her bracelets and rings;Combing and coiling and curling her hair that was black as the sloes,Painting her lips and her cheeks that were ruddy and fresh as the rose.Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would waste all her days in such follies as these—Christ was the Lover she worshipped for hour after hour on her knees;Christ and His Church and His poor,—and ’twas many a mile that she trodServing the loathsomest lepers that ever were stricken by God.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she sold all her jewels and gems,Sold all her finely-spun robes that were braided with gold to the hems;Kept to her back but one garment, one dress that was faded and old,Gave all her goods to the poor who were famished with hunger and cold.Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would fling at the poor the hard word like a stone—Christ the Redeemer she saw in each wretch that was ragged and lone;Every wandering beggar who asked for a bite or a bedKnocked at her heart like the Man who had nowhere to shelter His head.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she angered her father at last.“Where are your dresses, my daughter? Crom Cruach! You wear them out fast!Where are the chains that I bought you all wrought in red gold from the mine?Where the bright brooches of silver that once on your bosom would shine?”Ah, but ’twas he was the man that was proud of his name and his race,Proud of their prowess in battle and proud of their deeds in the chase!Knew not the Christ, the pale God Whom the priests from afar had brought in,Held to the old Gaelic gods that were known to Cuchullin and Finn.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer, “O father,” said she,“What is the richest of raiment, and what are bright jewels to me?Lepers of Christ must I care for, the hungry of Christ must I feed;How can I walk in rich robes when His people and mine are in need?”Ah, but ’twas she didn’t fear for herself when he blustered and swore,Meekly she bowed when he ordered his chariot brought to the door;Meekly obeyed when he bade her get in at the point of his sword,Knowing whatever her fate she’d be safe with her Lover and Lord.Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was brought to the court of the King,(Monarch of Leinster, MacEnda, whose praises the poets would sing).“Hither, O monarch,” said Duffy, “I’ve come with a maiden to sell;Buy her and bind her to bondage—she’s needing such discipline well!”Ah, but ’twas wise was the King. From the maid to the chieftain he turned;Mildness he saw in her face, in the other ’twas anger that burned;“This is no bondmaid, I’ll swear it, O chief, but a girl of your own.Why sells the father the flesh of his flesh and the bone of his bone?”Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was mute while her father replied—“Monarch, this maid has no place as the child of a chieftain of pride.Beggars and wretches whose wounds would the soul of a soldier affright,Sure, ’tis on these she is wasting my substance from morning till night!”Ah, but ’twas bitter was Duffy; he spoke like a man that was vext.Musing, the monarch was silent; he pondered the question perplexed.“Maiden,” said he, “if ’tis true, as I’ve just from your father heard tell,Might it not be, as my bondmaid, you’d waste all my substance as well?”Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer. “O monarch,” she said,“Had I the wealth from your coffers, and had I the crown from your head—Yea, if the plentiful yield of the broad breasts of Erin were mine,All would I give to the people of Christ who in poverty pine.”Ah, but ’twas then that the King felt the heart in his bosom upleap,“I am not worthy,” he cried, “such a maiden in bondage to keep!Here’s a king’s sword for her ransom, and here’s a king’s word to decreeNever to other than Christ and His poor let her servitude be!”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she wasn’t like other young things,Dreaming of lads for her lovers, and twirling her bracelets and rings;Combing and coiling and curling her hair that was black as the sloes,Painting her lips and her cheeks that were ruddy and fresh as the rose.Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would waste all her days in such follies as these—Christ was the Lover she worshipped for hour after hour on her knees;Christ and His Church and His poor,—and ’twas many a mile that she trodServing the loathsomest lepers that ever were stricken by God.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she wasn’t like other young things,
Dreaming of lads for her lovers, and twirling her bracelets and rings;
Combing and coiling and curling her hair that was black as the sloes,
Painting her lips and her cheeks that were ruddy and fresh as the rose.
Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would waste all her days in such follies as these—
Christ was the Lover she worshipped for hour after hour on her knees;
Christ and His Church and His poor,—and ’twas many a mile that she trod
Serving the loathsomest lepers that ever were stricken by God.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she sold all her jewels and gems,Sold all her finely-spun robes that were braided with gold to the hems;Kept to her back but one garment, one dress that was faded and old,Gave all her goods to the poor who were famished with hunger and cold.Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would fling at the poor the hard word like a stone—Christ the Redeemer she saw in each wretch that was ragged and lone;Every wandering beggar who asked for a bite or a bedKnocked at her heart like the Man who had nowhere to shelter His head.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she sold all her jewels and gems,
Sold all her finely-spun robes that were braided with gold to the hems;
Kept to her back but one garment, one dress that was faded and old,
Gave all her goods to the poor who were famished with hunger and cold.
Ah, ’twasn’t Brigid would fling at the poor the hard word like a stone—
Christ the Redeemer she saw in each wretch that was ragged and lone;
Every wandering beggar who asked for a bite or a bed
Knocked at her heart like the Man who had nowhere to shelter His head.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she angered her father at last.“Where are your dresses, my daughter? Crom Cruach! You wear them out fast!Where are the chains that I bought you all wrought in red gold from the mine?Where the bright brooches of silver that once on your bosom would shine?”Ah, but ’twas he was the man that was proud of his name and his race,Proud of their prowess in battle and proud of their deeds in the chase!Knew not the Christ, the pale God Whom the priests from afar had brought in,Held to the old Gaelic gods that were known to Cuchullin and Finn.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, she angered her father at last.
“Where are your dresses, my daughter? Crom Cruach! You wear them out fast!
Where are the chains that I bought you all wrought in red gold from the mine?
Where the bright brooches of silver that once on your bosom would shine?”
Ah, but ’twas he was the man that was proud of his name and his race,
Proud of their prowess in battle and proud of their deeds in the chase!
Knew not the Christ, the pale God Whom the priests from afar had brought in,
Held to the old Gaelic gods that were known to Cuchullin and Finn.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer, “O father,” said she,“What is the richest of raiment, and what are bright jewels to me?Lepers of Christ must I care for, the hungry of Christ must I feed;How can I walk in rich robes when His people and mine are in need?”Ah, but ’twas she didn’t fear for herself when he blustered and swore,Meekly she bowed when he ordered his chariot brought to the door;Meekly obeyed when he bade her get in at the point of his sword,Knowing whatever her fate she’d be safe with her Lover and Lord.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer, “O father,” said she,
“What is the richest of raiment, and what are bright jewels to me?
Lepers of Christ must I care for, the hungry of Christ must I feed;
How can I walk in rich robes when His people and mine are in need?”
Ah, but ’twas she didn’t fear for herself when he blustered and swore,
Meekly she bowed when he ordered his chariot brought to the door;
Meekly obeyed when he bade her get in at the point of his sword,
Knowing whatever her fate she’d be safe with her Lover and Lord.
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was brought to the court of the King,(Monarch of Leinster, MacEnda, whose praises the poets would sing).“Hither, O monarch,” said Duffy, “I’ve come with a maiden to sell;Buy her and bind her to bondage—she’s needing such discipline well!”Ah, but ’twas wise was the King. From the maid to the chieftain he turned;Mildness he saw in her face, in the other ’twas anger that burned;“This is no bondmaid, I’ll swear it, O chief, but a girl of your own.Why sells the father the flesh of his flesh and the bone of his bone?”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was brought to the court of the King,
(Monarch of Leinster, MacEnda, whose praises the poets would sing).
“Hither, O monarch,” said Duffy, “I’ve come with a maiden to sell;
Buy her and bind her to bondage—she’s needing such discipline well!”
Ah, but ’twas wise was the King. From the maid to the chieftain he turned;
Mildness he saw in her face, in the other ’twas anger that burned;
“This is no bondmaid, I’ll swear it, O chief, but a girl of your own.
Why sells the father the flesh of his flesh and the bone of his bone?”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was mute while her father replied—“Monarch, this maid has no place as the child of a chieftain of pride.Beggars and wretches whose wounds would the soul of a soldier affright,Sure, ’tis on these she is wasting my substance from morning till night!”Ah, but ’twas bitter was Duffy; he spoke like a man that was vext.Musing, the monarch was silent; he pondered the question perplexed.“Maiden,” said he, “if ’tis true, as I’ve just from your father heard tell,Might it not be, as my bondmaid, you’d waste all my substance as well?”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, was mute while her father replied—
“Monarch, this maid has no place as the child of a chieftain of pride.
Beggars and wretches whose wounds would the soul of a soldier affright,
Sure, ’tis on these she is wasting my substance from morning till night!”
Ah, but ’twas bitter was Duffy; he spoke like a man that was vext.
Musing, the monarch was silent; he pondered the question perplexed.
“Maiden,” said he, “if ’tis true, as I’ve just from your father heard tell,
Might it not be, as my bondmaid, you’d waste all my substance as well?”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer. “O monarch,” she said,“Had I the wealth from your coffers, and had I the crown from your head—Yea, if the plentiful yield of the broad breasts of Erin were mine,All would I give to the people of Christ who in poverty pine.”Ah, but ’twas then that the King felt the heart in his bosom upleap,“I am not worthy,” he cried, “such a maiden in bondage to keep!Here’s a king’s sword for her ransom, and here’s a king’s word to decreeNever to other than Christ and His poor let her servitude be!”
Brigid, the daughter of Duffy, made answer. “O monarch,” she said,
“Had I the wealth from your coffers, and had I the crown from your head—
Yea, if the plentiful yield of the broad breasts of Erin were mine,
All would I give to the people of Christ who in poverty pine.”
Ah, but ’twas then that the King felt the heart in his bosom upleap,
“I am not worthy,” he cried, “such a maiden in bondage to keep!
Here’s a king’s sword for her ransom, and here’s a king’s word to decree
Never to other than Christ and His poor let her servitude be!”