Irish Nationality

								

While the spirit of Ireland manifested itself in the shaping of a
national university, and of a national church, in the revival of the
glories of the Ardri, and in vigour of art and learning, there was an
outburst too among the common folk of jubilant patriotism. We can hear
the passionate voice of the people in the songs and legends, the
prophecies of the enduring life of Irishmen on Irish land, the popular
tales that began at this time to run from mouth to mouth. They took to
themselves two heroes to be centres of the national hope--Finn the
champion, leader of the "Fiana," the war-bands of old time; and
Patrick the saint. A multitude of tales suddenly sprang up of the
adventures of Finn--the warrior worthy of a king, the son of wisdom,
the mighty hunter of every mountain and forest in Ireland, whose death
no minstrel cared to sing. Every poet was expected to recite the fame
in life of Finn and his companions. Pedigrees were invented to link
him with every great house in Ireland, for their greater glory and
authority. Side by side with Finn the people set St. Patrick--keeper
of Ireland against all strangers, guardian of their nation and
tradition. It was Patrick, they told, who by invincible prayer and
fasting at last compelled Heaven to grant that outlanders should not
for ever inhabit Erin; "that the Saxons should not dwell in Ireland,
by consent or perforce, so long as I abide in heaven:" "Thou shalt
have this," said the outwearied angel. "Around thee," was the
triumphant Irish hope, "on the Day of Judgment the men of Erin shall
come to judgment"; for after the twelve thrones of the apostles were
set in Judæa to judge the tribes of Israel, Patrick himself should at
the end arise and call the people of Ireland to be judged by him on a
mountain in their own land.
As in the old Gaelic tradition, so now the people fused in a single
emotion the nation and the church. They brought from dusky woods the
last gaunt relics of Finn's company, sad and dispirited at the falling
of the evening clouds, and set them face to face with Patrick as he
chanted mass on one of their old raths--men twice as tall as the
modern folk, with their huge wolf-dogs, men "who were not of our epoch
or of one time with the clergy." When Patrick hesitated to hear their
pagan memories of Ireland and its graves, of its men who died for
honour, of its war and hunting, its silver bridles and cups of yellow
gold, its music and great feastings, lest such recreation of spirit
and mind should be to him a destruction of devotion and dereliction of
prayer, angels were sent to direct him to give ear to the ancient
stories of Ireland, and write them down for the joy of companies and
nobles of the latter time. "Victory and blessing wait on thee,
Caeilte," said Patrick, thus called to the national service; "for the
future thy stories and thyself are dear to me"; "grand lore and
knowledge is this thou hast uttered to us." "Thou too, Patrick, hast