With the morn Deep sleep descended on him. Waking soon, He rose a man of might, and in that might Laboured; and God His servant’s toil revered; And gladly on that coast Erin to Christ Paid her firstfruits. Three days he preached his Lord: The fourth embarking, cape succeeding cape They passed, and heard the lowing herds remote In hollow glens, and smelt the balmy breath Of gorse on golden hillsides; till at eve, The Imber Domnand reached, on silver sands Grated their keel. Around them flocked at dawn Warriors with hunters mixed, and shepherd youths And maids with lips as red as mountain berries And eyes like sloes, or keener eyes, dark-fringed And gleaming like the blue-black spear. They came With milk-pail, and with kid, and kindled fire And spread the genial board. Upon that shore Full many knelt and gave themselves to Christ, Strong men, and men at midmost of their hopes By sickness felled; old chiefs, at life’s dim close That oft had asked, “Beyond the grave what hope?” Worn sailors weary of the toilsome seas, And craving rest; they, too, that sex which wears The blended crowns of Chastity and Love; Wondering, they hailed the Maiden-Motherhood; And listening children praised the Babe Divine, And passed Him, each to each. Ere long, once more Their sails were spread. Again by grassy marge They rowed, and sylvan glades. The branching deer Like flying gleams went by them. Oft the cry Of fighting clans rang out: but oftener yet Clamour of rural dance, or mart confused With many-coloured garb and movements swift, Pageant sun-bright: or on the sands a throng Girdled with circle glad some bard whose song Shook the wild clan as tempest shakes the woods. Still north the wanderers sailed: at evening, mists Cumbered the shore and on them leaned the blast, And fierce rain flashed mingling with dim-lit sea. All night they toiled; next day at noon they kenned A seaward stream that shone like golden tress Severed and random-thrown. That river’s mouth Ere long attained was all with lilies white As April field with daisies. Entering there They reached a wood, and disembarked with joy: There, after thanks to God, silent they sat In thought, and watched the ripples, dusk yet bright, That lived and died like things that laughed at time, On gliding ’neath those many-centuried boughs. But, midmost, Patrick slept. Then through the trees, Shy as a fawn half-tamed now stole, now fled A boy of such bright aspect faëry child He seemed, or babe exposed of royal race: At last assured beside the Saint he stood, And dropped on him a flower, and disappeared: Thus flower on flower from the great wood he brought And hid them in the bosom of the Saint. The monks forbade him, saying, “Lest thou wake