Tag: Poems

  • The Founding of Achonry

     

    Today is the feast of Saint Nathy, patron of the Diocese of Achonry. Below is an 1889 poem by an Irish-American contributor to the Catholic press of his day, Patrick J. Coleman, which recounts the founding of the diocese and the part played by Saint Finnian of Clonard in its establishment. Saint Finnian is depicted in hagiography as a teacher and guide to other Irish monastic saints and his Life includes the episode on which the poem is based. The idea of a monastery’s location being decided by divine intervention is a common trope in hagiography and here it provides the context for the relationship between the senior saint, Finnian, and the junior, Nathy. Modern scholars suggest that such stories really reflect the church politics of the time when the saint’s Life was written. Nathy himself is not the subject of a written Life but his small foundation was sufficiently important to merit the recording of its establishment in the Life of Saint Finnian:

    THE FOUNDING OF ACHONRY *



    THUS saith the legend of the bard: 

    To do the holy will of God, 

    To Leyney’s land from old Clonard 

    Afoot the saintly Finnian trod. 


     
    Then laid on Nathy in his cell, 

    Below the hill, anointed hands; 

    And gave him crozier, book, and bell. 

    As bishop-prince of Leyney’s lands. 


     
    With knitted brows of doubt he frowned 

    Where he should set the comer stone 

    Of Nathy’s church,— on level ground, 

    Or on the purple mountain cone ? 
    


    So Finnian slept, revolving deep, 

    And while he slept, an angel face 

    Of glory whispered in his sleep, 
    
“Lo, Nathy will appoint the place” 
    


    Because of comfort of the words, 

    Soul-glad went Finnian o’er the land, 

    About the singing of the birds 

    Of dawn, with Nathy hand in hand. 


     
    And while they went, behold, a field 

    Through which a silver stream did run,
     
Shone like a warrior’s golden shield 
    
In battle opposite the sun. 


     
    The lark sang shrilly o’er the trees, 

    The finch and linnet in the bowers; 

    There was a drowsy drone of bees, 
    
Gold-girdled in among the flowers. 


     
    And since his heart was pure, and he 
    
Loved all things for their native worth, 

    “Lo,” Nathy said, “God giveth me 

    Unto mine own this plot of earth. 
     
    

“Here will I build my church, and make 
    
Mine altar and my lowly cell. 

    Where morning music of the brake 

    Will mingle with my matin bell.” 


     
    And even as he spoke there came, 
    Knee-deep in flowers across the ground,

    The master of the field, aflame 

    With anger, at his side a hound; 


     
    And laid rude hands upon the twain. 
    
On Finnian and on Nathy mild,
     
Who stood with eyes upon the plain

    And simple-hearted as a child. 


     
    Then sudden wrought a mighty sign 
    
Unto the master of the plot,

    That so by miracle divine 

    For God he might possess the spot. 


     
    A spear’s cast from the place there lay 

    A rock, in stature like a man, 
    
A swarthy crag of mossy gray. 

    And many cubits in the span. 
     
    

Nor thinking any thought of ire. 

    Nor saying aught of mild reproof, 
    In heart with holy zeal afire, 

    Went Nathy from the man aloof. 


     
    Then raising psalms of prayer, while sweet, 

    Dim glory shone about his face. 

    He blessed the rock, which, at his feet. 

    Broke sundered to its flowery base. 


     
    Prone at the feet of Finnian fell 

    The prince, and gave the field; and so 

    Was builded there Saint Nathy’s cell 
    
In Ireland’s golden long-ago. 
     
    

And well in woe have clung to God 
    
The shepherds, who have bravely prest 

    O’er paths that Nathy’s feet have trod
     
In sweet Achonry of the west.

    Patrick J. Coleman.

    Philadelphia, April 30, 1889. 

     * The diocese of Achonry, which takes its name from a small village in
    County Sligo, includes portions of Sligo, Mayo, and Roscommon. St. Nathy
    (whose feast is the 9th of August) was the first bishop of the diocese,
    about the year of our Lord 630. The legendary circumstances of his
    consecration by St. Finnian of Clonard, whose disciple he was, are
    narrated in these verses. His present successor is the Most Rev. John
    Lyster, D.D. The name of Leyney still survives in the barony Leyney, in
    Sligo, originally the patrimony of the Clan O’Hara.  

    The Irish Monthly, Volume 17 (1889), 315-317.

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  • An Irish Poem in Praise of the Blessed Sacrament

    This beautiful poem in praise of the Blessed Sacrament was written by a 12th-century poet who may also have been an abbot, Donnchadh Mór Ó Dálaigh, described in The Annals of Clonmacnoise as “Chief of Ireland for poetry.” The Annals of the Four Masters recorded his death in the year 1244 with this entry: “Donagh More O Daly, a poet who never was, and never will be surpassed, died, and was interred in the abbey of Boyle.”  The Irish text is followed by a translation below:

    Here is the literal translation [by Professor O’Looney] of the foregoing, which was written in the twelfth century by Donogh Mór O’Daly, Abbot of Boyle, in the county Roscommon, called for the sweetness of his verses, not for the nature of their themes, the Ovid of Ireland : —
    1. Not more numerous the angels in heaven under the hand of the king; not more numerous the blessed names which are upon the saints; not more numerous the things which God hath created on the face of the world, than the praises of each tongue upon the Sacrament.
    2. Not more numerous the drops which are in the great tidal sea; not more numerous the fishes that swim in the bosoms of all waters; not more numerous the grasses of the world or the sands of the strand, than the praises of the holy Body of the only Son of the Father of grace.
    3. Not more numerous the years in the eternal perpetuity of the King; not more numerous the divine gifts which Christ hath [in store]; not more numerous the lights which are in the King’s high Paradise, than the praises to God which are truly given in the Sacrament.
    4. Not more numerous the radiant stars which appear in the skies; not more numerous the words [of praise] which his clergy read for Christ; not more numerous the small streams which flow into the great sea, than the praises unceasing of the divine, blessed Body of Christ.
    5. Not more numerous the letters to be seen in the Book of the Law; not more numerous the leaves of all the woods by the King made to grow; not more numerous the melodious voices which shall be heard in his kingdom for ever, than the praise of the Son of Mary oft-repeated in the Sacrament.
  • A Blessing on Christ who has Suffered Cross and Martyrdom

    A blessing on Christ, son of the living God,
    who has suffered cross and martyrdom;
    who has atoned on the cross, on the rood,
    for the transgression of Adam and Eve.

    James
    Carney, ed. and trans., The Poems of Blathmac Son of Cú Brettan –
    Together with the Irish Gospel of Thomas and a Poem on the Virgin Mary
    (Dublin, 1964).

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