Never yet was fetter found,
    Never lock contrived, to hold them;
  Never dungeon underground,
    Moor or mountain keep controlled them.

  Thou whose glance alone makes pure,
    Searcher of all hearts and Saviour,
  With Thy Sevenfold Spirit cure
    My stray thoughts’ unblessed behaviour.

  God of earth, air, fire and flood,
    Rule me, rule me in such measure,
  That to my eternal good
    I may live to love Thy pleasure.

  Christ’s own flock thus may I reach,
    At the flash of Death’s sharp sickle,
  Just in deed, of steadfast speech,
    Not, as now, infirm and fickle.

THE MONK AND HIS WHITE CAT

(After an eighth- or early ninth-century Irish poem.  Text and translation in Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus.)

  Pangar, my white cat, and I
    Silent ply our special crafts;
  Hunting mice his one pursuit,
    Mine to shoot keen spirit shafts.

  Rest, I love, all fame beyond,
    In the bond of some rare book;
  Yet white Pangar from his play
    Casts, my way, no jealous look.

  Thus alone within one cell
    Safe we dwell—­not dull the tale—­
  Since his ever favourite sport
    Each to court will never fail.

  Now a mouse, to swell his spoils,
    In his toils he spears with skill;
  Now a meaning deeply thought
    I have caught with startled thrill.

  Now his green full-shining gaze
    Darts its rays against the wall;
  Now my feebler glances mark
    Through the dark bright knowledge fall.

  Leaping up with joyful purr,
    In mouse fur his sharp claw sticks,
  Problems difficult and dear,
    With my spear I, too, transfix.

  Crossing not each other’s will,
    Diverse still, yet still allied,
  Following each his own lone ends,
    Constant friends we here abide.

  Pangar, master of his art,
    Plays his part in pranksome youth;
  While in age sedate I clear
    Shadows from the sphere of Truth.

Invocations and Reflections

A PRAYER TO THE VIRGIN

(Edited by Strachan in Eriu, vol. i, p. 122.  Tenth or perhaps ninth century)

  Gentle Mary, Noble Maiden,
  Hearken to our suppliant pleas! 
  Shrine God’s only Son was laid in! 
  Casket of the Mysteries!

  Holy Maid, pure Queen of Heaven,
  Intercession for us make,
  That each hardened heart’s transgression
  May be pardoned for Thy sake.

  Bent in loving pity o’er us,
  Through the Holy Spirit’s power,
  Pray the King of Angels for us
  In Thy Visitation hour.

  Branch of Jesse’s tree whose blossoms
  Scent the heavenly hazel wood,
  Pray for me for full purgation
  Of my bosom’s turpitude.