“Were Conan living, the bald-head shrill, With the flail of his scoff and gibe, He would break thy neck, and thy convent wreck, And lash from the land thy tribe! “But one of our chiefs thy head had spared-- My Oscar--my son--my child: He was storm in the foray, and fire in the fight, But in peace he was maiden-mild.” Then Patrick answered: “Old man, old man, That pagan realm lies low. This day Christ ruleth. Forget thy chiefs, And thy deeds gone by forego! “High feast thou hast on the festal days, And cakes on the days of fast--” “Thou liest, thou priest, for in wrath and scorn Thy cakes to the dogs I cast!” “Old man, thou hearest our Christian hymns: 187 Such strains thou hadst never heard--” “Thou liest, thou priest! for in Letter Lee wood I have listened its famed blackbird! “I have heard the music of meeting swords, And the grating of barks on the strand, And the shout from the breasts of the men of help That leaped from the decks to land. “Twelve hounds had my sire, with throats like bells, Loud echoed on lake and bay: By this hand, they lacked but the baptism rite To chant with thy monks this day!” Oisin’s white head on his breast dropt down, Till his hair and his beard, made one, Shone out like the spine of a frosty hill Far seen in the wintry sun. “One question, O Patrick! I ask of thee, Thou king of the saved and the shriven: My sire, and his chiefs, have they their place In thy city, star-built, of heaven?” “Oisin, old chief of the shining sword, That questionest of the soul, That city they tread not who lived for war: Their realm is a realm of dole.” “By this head, thou liest, thou son of Calphurn! In heaven I would scorn to bide, If my father and Oscar were exiled men, And no friend at my side.” “That city, old man, is the city of peace: Loud anthems, not widows’ wail--” “It is not in bellowings chiefs take joy, But in songs of the wars of Fail! “Are the men in the streets like Baoigne’s chiefs? Great-hearted like us are they? Do they stretch to the poor the ungrudging hand, Or turn they their heads away? “Thou man with the chant, and thou man with the creed, 188 This thing I demand of thee: My dog, may he pass through the gates of heaven? May my wolf-hound enter free?”