CHAPTER IX GAEL AND GALL ONE of Ireland's oldest historical tunes is associated with the battle of Clontarf. It is called "The Gathering Sound," and legend says that, to this martial strain, Brian Boru formed his men in battle array. Another story says it is the melody of the dirge chanted by the people as the bodies of the king and Morrough were carried in somber triumph from the field. That it actually comes down from the eleventh century has nothing impossible in it, or even improbable. The historic continuity of Gaelic story, Irish tenacity of the past, and the greatness of the event alike warrant us in taking this view. The battle of Clontarf saved Ireland for the Gael. While England, France and Sicily bowed their neck to the yoke of the Northmen, Ireland, after cruel experiences, found strength to throw it off. That it was able to do so was largely due to the genius of Brian, and on no image does the Irish fancy dwell more fondly than on that of the venerable monarch, worn in years, riding through the ranks, crucifix in hand, to exhort his followers to do or die. It was on Good Friday of the year 1014 that the battle was fought. Brian besought the Danes to put off the battle till Easter; but, reinforced by friends from the Orkneys, Sweden, and Britain, they were impatient for the fray. But Brian had fired the Gaels with a spirit as indomitable as his own. Even the wounded begged to be allowed to take part. "Let stakes be stuck into the ground," said they, "and suffer each of us, tied to and supported by Ex. 36. Gathering Sound. 4 one of these stakes, to be placed in the ranks at the side of a sound man." And it was done as they asked. Brian was too advanced in years to lead the battle and Morrough, his son, "The swimmer of rivers," took his place. Legend says that even the invisible forces of faerie were moved and took sides, like the Homeric deities in the siege of Troy. Morrough's friend, Dublaing, had been banished by Brian; but he besought the aid of Aevil, his spirit bride, and she covered him with a mantle of invisibility. So shrouded he fought in the ranks of Erin. But Morrough was quick to know he was there. Methinks I hear the battle blows of Dublaing," said he; "but I see him not." Then Dublaing re 66 vealed himself to his friend. Aevil warned Mor Two rough that, before morning dawned, he and his father would be dead, and so it came to pass. Morrough was the first to fall, in the forefront of the strife. Brian was on his knees praying for victory, when the tidings came. Girding on his sword, he stood to meet the foe. The Danish prince, Brodar, was the first to come and Brian laid him low. Danes besides fell by the monarch's sword; the fourth gave him his death blow. But the day was to the Irish. The Danes were driven to the margin of the deep; their ships had been burned; they had only the choice of death in battle or death by the wave. Never was a defeat more complete and, from that day, the Danes bowed their heads to Gaelic rule, and, in the course of time, were assimilated by the native population. 66 Seven centuries later, Thomas Moore celebrated Brian and his great contemporaries in the stately measures of Remember the Glories of Brian the Brave" and the sixteenth-century tune of "Molly McAlpin." But we get a more intimate picture of the old hero from his chief bard, Mac Liag. King and poet were not merely sovereign and dependant; they were friends together. Mac Liag seems to weep as he calls to mind the brave days of old, when he sat with Brian in the halls of Kincora. Here is the heart of his song, told in English by that Gael of our day-Gael in genius, Gael in misfortune-Clarence Mangan: O where, Kinkora, is Brian the Great, O where are the princes and nobles that sate O where, Kinkora, are thy valorous lords? O whither, thou hospitable, are they gone? O where are the Dalcassians of the golden swords? Where, O Kinkora? And where is Morrough, the descendant of kings, Who swam down the torrent and laughed at its wave? They are gone, those heroes of royal birth Who plundered no churches and broke no trust; "Tis weary for me to be living on earth When they, O Kinkora, lie low in the dust. O dear are the images my memory calls up I am Mac Liag and my home is on the lake: It is inconceivable that the Danes should establish themselves in Ireland, and become part of the people, without leaving a mark on the national character, arts, and habits of mind. The big-boned, florid-complexioned Irishman of the North is of Scandinavian ancestry. Danish musicians detect a Danish flavor in the famous "Gramachree." Many other airs doubtless owe something to Danish influence. We come now to the twelfth century and the Norman invasion. A woman's fault was the beginning of the story. Grecian Helen was not more fatal to Troy than Dearborghil to Ireland. The wife of O'Ruark, prince of Breffni, she conceived a passion for MacMurcad, king of Leinster. When O'Ruark was away on pilgrimage, Dearborghil eloped with her lover and then began the contentions which led to the appeal to Henry the Second of England and the coming of Strongbow. The one drop of satisfaction in the cup is the disillusion of Dearborghil, who, like another Guinevere, retired to a nunnery and spent the evening of her life in almsdeeds and penance. The genius of Moore has wrought this story into the pathetic song known to all the world, "The Valley Lay Smiling Before Me." He set it to one of the most pathetic of Irish tunes, "The Song of the Pretty Girl Milking Her Cow." The Norman-Welsh barons and their Saxon soldiers came under the spell of Erin as the Danes had done. They adopted Irish customs, dressed like the Gael, and began to talk Irish. They wearied of the |