KING AND HERMIT

Marvan, brother of King Guare of Connaught, in the seventh century, had renounced the life of a warrior prince for that of a hermit.  The King endeavoured to persuade his brother to return to his Court, when the following colloquy took place between them: 

  Guare

  Now Marvan, hermit of the grot,
    Why sleep’st thou not on quilted feathers? 
  Why on a pitch-pine floor instead
    At night make head against all weathers?

  Marvan

  I have a shieling in the wood,
    None save my God has knowledge of it,
  An ash-tree and a hazelnut
    Its two sides shut, great oak-boughs roof it.

  Two heath-clad posts beneath a buckle
    Of honeysuckle its frame are propping,
  The woods around its narrow bound
    Swine-fattening mast are richly dropping.

  From out my shieling not too small,
    Familiar all, fair paths invite me;
  Now, blackbird, from my gable end,
    Sweet sable friend, thy notes delight me.

  With joys the stags of Oakridge leap
    Into their clear and deep-banked river,
  Far off red Roiny glows with joy,
    Muckraw, Moinmoy in sunshine quiver.

  With mighty mane a green-barked yew
    Upholds the blue; his fortress green
  An oak uprears against the storms,
    Tremendous forms, stupendous scene.

  Mine apple-tree is full of fruit
    From crown to root—­a hostel’s store—­
  My bonny nutful hazel-bush
    Leans branching lush against my door.

  A choice, pure spring of cooling draught
    Is mine.  What prince has quaffed a rarer? 
  Around it cresses keen, O King,
    Invite the famishing wayfarer.

  Tame swine and wild and goat and deer
    Assemble here upon its brink,
  Yea! even the badger’s brood draw near
    And without fear lie down to drink.

  A peaceful troop of creatures strange,
    They hither range from wood and height,
  To meet them slender foxes steal
    At vesper peal, O my delight!

  These visitants as to a Court
    Frequent resort to seek me out,
  Pure water, Brother Guare, are they
    The salmon grey, the speckled trout;

  Red rowans, dusky sloes and mast—­
    O unsurpassed and God-sent dish—­
  Blackberries, whortleberries blue,
    Red strawberries to my taste and wish;

  Sweet apples, honey of wild bees
    And after them of eggs a clutch,
  Haws, berries of the juniper;
    Who, King, could cast a slur on such?

  A cup with mead of hazelnut
    Outside my hut in summer shine,
  Or ale with herbs from wood and spring
    Are worth, O King, thy costliest wine.

  Bright bluebells o’er my board I throw—­
    A lovely show my feast to spangle—­
  The rushes’ radiance, oaklets grey,
    Brier-tresses gay, sweet, goodly tangle.