PATRICK. Then hear: Patrick is my name, my country Ireland, and an humble hamlet,* Scarcely known to men, called Empthor,** Is my place of birth: It standeth Midway 'twixt the north and west, On a mountain which is guarded As a prison by the sea,-- In the island which hereafter Will be called the Isle of Saints, To its glory everlasting; Such a crowd, great lord, therein Will give up their lives as martyrs In religious attestation Of the faith, faith's highest marvel. Of an Irish cavalier, And of his chaste spouse and partner, A French lady, I was born, Unto whom I owe (oh, happy That 'twas so!), beyond my birthright Of nobility, the vantage Of the Christian faith, the light Of Christ's true religion granted In the sacred rite of baptism, Which a mark indelibly stampeth On the soul, heaven's gate, as it Is the sacrament first granted By the Church. My pious parents, Having thus the debt exacted From all married people paid By my birth, retired thereafter To two separate convents, where In the purity and calmness Of their chaste abodes they lived, Till the fatal line of darkness, Ending life, was reached, and they, Fortified by every practice Of the Catholic faith, in peace Yielded up their souls in gladness, Unto heaven their spirits giving, Giving unto earth their ashes. I, an orphan, then remained Carefully and kindly guarded By a very holy matron, Underneath whose rule I hardly Had completed one brief lustrum -- Five short years had scarce departed -- Five bright circles of the sun Wheeling round on golden axles, Twelve high zodiac signs illuming And one earthly sphere, when happened Through me an event that showed God's omnipotence and marvels; Since of weakest instruments God makes use of, to enhance his Majesty the more, to show That for what men think the grandest And most strange effects, to Him Should alone the praise be granted.-- It so happened, and Heaven knoweth That it is not pride, but rather Pure religious zeal, that men Should know how the Lord hath acted, Makes me tell it, that one day To my doors a blind man rambled, Gormas was his name, who said, "God who sends me here commands thee In His name to give me sight;" I, obedient to the mandate, Made at once the sign of the cross On his sightless eyes, that started Into life and light once more From their state of utter darkness. At another time when heaven, Muffled in the thickest, blackest Clouds, made war upon the world, Hurling at it lightning lances Of white snow, which fell so thickly On a mountain, that soon after They being melted by the sun, So filled up our streets and alleys, So inundated our houses, That amid the wild waves stranded They were ships of bricks and stones, Barks of cement and of plaster. Who before saw waves on mountains? Who 'mid woods saw ships at anchor? I the sign of the cross then made On the waters, and in accents, In a tone of grave emotion, In God's name the waves commanded To retire: they turned that moment