PS 3529 
 .B8 L4 
 1890 
 Copy 1 
 
 E'GEND OF ST. PATRICK 
 
 APOSTLE OF ERIN, 
 
 BY 
 
 M. C.'O'BYRNE, 
 
 Author of "Upon This Rock." 
 
 LA SALLE, ILL., 
 
 Hennessey & Bostwick, Printers. 
 1890. 
 

H 
 
 H 
 
 H 
 
 PA- 
 
 APOSTLE OF ERIN, 
 
 BY 
 
 M. C. O'BYRNE 
 
 I 
 
 
 Authok of "Upon This Rock." 
 
 )V 25 1890 
 
 LA SALLE, ILL., 
 
 Hennessey & Bostwick, Printers. 
 
 1890. 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1890. 
 
 BY M. C. O'BYENE. 
 
REVERENDO 
 
 R, J, C„ A, M„ 
 
 Pastori, Monitori, et Amico, 
 
 HIC LIBELLUS 
 
 Reverentissime Offertur 
 DEDICATURQUE. 
 
s 
 
A LEGEND OF ST, PATRICK, 
 
 FYTTEI. 
 
 Saint Patrick one night, 
 
 In a terrible fright. 
 Jumped up from his goose-feather heel; 
 
 For a knock at the door 
 
 Interrupted his snore,— 
 A knock that might waken the dead. 
 
 Had you or I, when snug and warm 
 In bed beneath the clothes 
 
 Been wakened thus rudely 
 
 We might have sworn shrewdly, 
 Turned round and completed the doze,— 
 That is, if we could while an arm like a flail 
 Thrashed out with the knocker a devils' reveil. 
 
 But the patron of Erin 
 
 Detested all swearing;— 
 
 Some say that the first 
 
 And last time he cursed 
 Was when fishing one day 
 On the banks of Lough Neagh, 
 
 The great Peisthe Mor 
 
 Crawled out on the shore, 
 
 And seeing the line dangling, 
 Guessed his Saintship was angling,— 
 Aimed a blow at his skull which fie happened 
 to miss, 
 And got an immersion 
 Through over exertion, 
 Falling into the lake with a terrible hiss. 
 "Ho, ho!" cried Saint Patrick, 
 "Had I received that lick, 
 'Twould have hashed all my mutton,— Anathema 
 sis!" 
 
 Be that as it may, 'twas a thundering knock 
 Tempted Patrick to say, at eleven o'clock, 
 "Who the devil is there?" 
 Though the saint did not swear, 
 But did, as the French say, the very contraire, 
 For he muttered a blessing 
 While hurriedly dressing, 
 And then, with serenity worthy all praise, 
 He sought to discover his Bryant and May's, 
 Then a recent invention, but lately brought over 
 By a sailor named Murphy who traded to Dover. 
 
 At length he reached the big hall door, 
 
 Where the rapping resounded more and more ; 
 As brave as a lion, he slipped back the bolt, 
 And swung the portal round,— 
 One hand held a candle, the other a Colt, 
 Carrying; bullets thirty-six to the pound. 
 
 The door was opened, and the saint, 
 
 Though bold as King Boru, 
 Saw what would make a lady faint 
 
 However deep the blue 
 Shade of her hosen,— Mrs. B., 
 Had she beheld the sight, 
 Would find in her philosophy 
 No fruits that could requite 
 Her for the terror caused by such a shocking 
 Rascal as he who seemed to have done the 
 knocking. 
 
 FYTTE II. 
 Enshrouded in mystery, 
 
 Who can discover 
 Ireland's history 
 
 Ere Patrick came over? 
 Her battles and glories 
 
 Are known to no person, 
 Save to those who tell stories 
 Like "Ossian" Macpherson, 
 True, Erin had lyres 
 
 Of wonderful power, 
 And by Tara's proud fires 
 Bards sang by the hour; 
 But the yarns that they spun 
 
 Were a little romantic, 
 And ten chances to one 
 
 That a listener pedantic 
 Would cry "Credat Apella! 
 This impudent fella 
 Tells lies like Tom Pepper and swears they're 
 authentic. 
 
 But with lyre and liar 
 
 'Tis always the way,— 
 The hand must not tire, 
 The tongue never stay. 
 For Care, Haggard Rider, top-booted and spur- 
 red 
 Suggests that some rival, more wildly absurd 
 And grotestque, may figure as drawing-room 
 dandy, 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 Be dubbed Master Fool and be dry-nursed by 
 
 Sandy. 
 
 Who with ten lines of Greek, read defiant oi 
 
 measure 
 
 With broad Scotch inflections, will trumpet the 
 
 treasure. 
 
 For terror can board the brazen-beaked galley, 
 
 As Horace assures us; the author of "She" 
 
 Perchance in his dreams may find his Scotch 
 
 valet 
 Preferring rupees to the humbler bawbee 
 
 As arles for his homage, full rightly discerning 
 How best to dispose of, that's market, his learn- 
 ing. 
 
 "The learned pate ducks to the golden fool:" 
 Alack, my masters ! can the love of pelf 
 
 Degrade the scholar to the buffoon's tool, 
 And make e'en Genius prostitute itself? 
 
 O Rider, Rudyard ! spurn the sordid varlet 
 
 Whose greed would make Calliope a harlot. 
 There was a boy named Julius Caesar, 
 Whose mother kept a shop in Rome, 
 And day by day the youth would tease her 
 
 To give him cash and leave to roam : 
 For though by nature not a laggard, 
 The boy, by reading Rider Hagg^fd, --- 
 Great annalist of the age,— became 
 On fire to climb the hill of fame ; 
 He longed to occupy a place 
 In the Waihalla of his race, 
 To do great deeds that should proclaim 
 Him great as Allan Quatermain, 
 And win him immortality 
 More permanent than that of "She." 
 His fond mama, though loth to lose him, 
 Was too indulgent to refuse him. 
 So having made a little money 
 By selling cheese and mel— that's honey- 
 Went to the Horse Guards, near the Forum, 
 Called for the Custos Rotulorum, 
 Bought a commission for her Julie, 
 And saw it signed and sigilled duly. 
 
 A witty Frenchman,— politician 
 
 Or poet, they are much the same 
 In France,— defined the true position 
 
 Of Mauritania, that's the name 
 I give to Algiers : "Tis a region 
 
 Wherein," said he, "our youths are made 
 To serve in the Kabylean legion 
 
 Instead of by a barricade 
 In Paris." So the famous senate, 
 
 The House of Commons of old Rome, 
 Were wont to keep their fighting men at 
 
 Some thousand miles away from home. 
 Accordingly young Caesar packed his 
 
 Martini -Henry, sword and lance, 
 An opera-glass for target practice, 
 
 And thus equipped set out for France. 
 The native Gauls could never rightly 
 
 Appreciate or understand 
 The Roman rule, which pressed them tightly,— 
 
 Which proves how savage was the land. 
 
 Its barbarous princes and their forces, 
 Disdaining civilized resources, 
 Were wont at times to ease their feelings 
 By bloody raids and cattle stealings : 
 As old Scotch nobles near the border,— 
 When urged to set their house in order,— 
 Their oatmeal gone and winter coming, 
 'Mongst English farms they went a bumming. 
 Just such a party Julius met when 
 
 He crossed the frontier into Gaul, 
 But being courageous would not let men 
 
 So ragged rob him of his all. 
 So wheu their leader, one Dumnorix, 
 
 Brandished his spear and shook his brand, 
 Grinned and performed a hundred more tricks, 
 
 Caesar resolved to show his hand, 
 And, a Gaul's life being but a trifle, 
 Shot the barbarian with his rifle. 
 
 The fickle Gauls took great delight in 
 
 Absinthe and gossip, save when fighting; 
 
 They stopped the tourist on his way, 
 
 And cried Bon jour! that is Good day! 
 
 And while he paid the customs' dues 
 
 They made him tell the latest news : 
 
 And when a merchant, came to town 
 
 Reporters swiftly ran him down, 
 
 To learn his business, age and name, 
 
 The prix courant and whence he came, 
 
 The news he brought, the Kaiser's capers, 
 
 Which things they published in the papers, 
 
 Aud taking all they heard as true 
 
 Deliberated what to do. 
 
 Then, rash in council as in war, 
 
 Scenting the battle from afar, 
 
 They looked around to find a victim, 
 
 Went out to fight and sometimes licked him; 
 
 And being armed with spears and sabres, 
 
 Though whipped themselves they plagued their 
 
 neighbours. 
 Trains being unknown, his way through France 
 \oung Caesar made by diligence,— 
 A sort of stage-coach, — in due course 
 He joined his regiment, bought a horse, 
 Was drilled and learned to drink champagne, 
 Six months before his first campaign. 
 
 Nine years or more were passed by Caesar 
 In active service there in Gaul : 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 'Gainst savage tribes who crossed the Weser, 
 
 'Gainst High Dutch, Low Dutch, one and 
 all, 
 He fought and vanquished; every city 
 
 Whose gates were shut he took by storm, 
 And being by nature prone to pity 
 
 He made three million men reform. 
 His plan was good, and I commend it 
 
 To czars and kaisers, all who fear 
 Sedition, for they soon may end it 
 
 By Caesar's method, skill and care. 
 
 Since might is right, —and who'll deny it 
 That ever read Tom Carlyle's page? 
 
 Be thorough : that's the secret, try it, 
 You'll find it does not fail with age. 
 
 Caesar killed millions, so they tell us, 
 
 And made the others quiet fellows : 
 
 By force of arms he civilized 'em 
 
 And being a Pontifex, baptized 'em, 
 
 That is, he would have done of course, 
 
 Had Christian baptism been in force. 
 
 One day, the war in Treves being over, 
 The Roman "army sailed for Dover, 
 Or somewhere else, the nearest high land 
 They chanced to make on Britain's island 
 (To make the land as sailors do it 
 Means, as of course you know, to view it 
 After a voyage) for General Caasar, 
 Tired of French wines and liver pies. 
 Hearing of Britain longed to seize her 
 And make of her his noblest prize. 
 
 The Britons, being a warlike people, 
 
 Preferring liberty to Rome, 
 Sounding alarms from every steeple, 
 
 Prepared to drive the invader home. 
 And sooth to say, these proud barbarians, 
 
 Loved most to hear a call to fight, 
 . Because they were not vegetarians, 
 
 Milk and flesh meat being their delight : 
 Britannia then was full of cattle, 
 
 "Pecorum magnus Humerus," 
 (See Gallic War, V. 12) and battle 
 
 Gives joy to the carnivorous. 
 
 And so the natives fought like lions 
 
 To drive the Romans from the strand : 
 Fought no less bravely than their scions 
 
 Whose fame is heard in every land. 
 But, history shows when barbarous forces 
 
 Contend with valour trained and tried 
 Their chance is small, success of course is 
 
 Predestined to the nobler side : 
 Though victory leans to the aggressor, 
 
 While to man'sview this should not be, 
 
 The eternal mills grind down the oppres- 
 sor, 
 The grist being ordered liberty. 
 The Romans, Saxons, Danes and North- 
 men, 
 In turn all these the isle possessed, 
 
 Which blending all in time brought forth 
 men 
 Whose might the world has long confessed. 
 Though Caius Julius soon did make her 
 
 Acknowledge Rome's supremacy, 
 Not twice a Caesar now could break her, 
 Our modern England, proud and free. 
 So Cowper wrote while time parturient 
 
 Another Caesar brought to birth, 
 Who, victory-flushed, of fame esurient, 
 
 Aspired to subjugate the earth. 
 He, twice a Caesar, thunderbolt of war, 
 Whose star of destiny shone o'er fallen 
 thrones, 
 Who filled earth's eyes with tears, Heaven's ear 
 with moans, 
 
 Essayed to rive the founded rock 
 Of Britain, breathless from the shock, 
 He fell and cursed his star. 
 
 The Roman general, having quelled the 
 British, 
 Demanded hostages in pledge of peace ; 
 Because he knew the race was fickle, skittish, 
 With whom a treaty was an armistice, 
 A truce or breathing-time ; experience told him 
 'Twas easier to catch an eel than hold him. 
 Among the hostages there was a maiden, 
 
 Daughter of Segovax, a King of Kent, 
 Conspicuous for her loveliness which made an 
 Exciting topic even in Caesar's tent, 
 While in the mess-room certain primipili 
 Discussed it with strong ale till they werf* silly . 
 
 Segonigaher name,— a patronymic 
 
 Or appellation from the she derived, 
 Which means just what you please, should any 
 cynic 
 This laxity rebuke, I have contrived 
 To supplement and buttress my conjecture 
 By Mr. Lang, who'll prove it in a lecture. 
 
 MaJgre her name, Segoniga's rare beauty 
 Impressed great Caesar, though a man of 
 mind ; 
 The artless maiden deemed consent a duty 
 When urged by one whose greatness awed 
 mankind; 
 For aught that I can tell some love was thrown 
 in, 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICE. 
 
 Howbeit 'eluse partheniken zonen. 
 
 To err is human ; living in glass houses 
 Folks should be careful when they play with 
 stones. 
 God keep us honest, lovers, husbands, spouses ! 
 Far from the risky light that beats on 
 thrones ! 
 Above all let us pray that opportunity 
 May ne'er be ours to trespass with impunity. 
 
 Winter being nigh at hand victorious Caesar, 
 
 Secure of lasting fame, returned to Gaul ; 
 The princess wept, and Julius to appease her 
 Received her in his ship, the Capitol. 
 The sea was choppy in the Straits of Dover, 
 But after some sea-sickness they a;ot over. 
 
 A man of action, though a sorry seaman, 
 
 The hero's taste for dalliance quickly cloyed; 
 And if a married man should keep a leman 
 Too long his wife might justly feel annoyed ; 
 There might be a divorce, a cause celebre. 
 To render Julius odious to his neighbour. 
 
 Of course she wept and tore her hair,— bar- 
 barians 
 Have hearts to feel when outraged or be- 
 trayed ; 
 The Britons though were latitudinarians 
 In love ; the princess dried her eyes and laid 
 Her sullenness aside when Caesar bought a 
 House for the twain and married her to Cotta— 
 
 A tall lieutenant and a famous fighter, 
 
 But just a stick to bear in mind a date ; 
 Too dull a man to comprehend the fright her 
 First child's nativity brought to his mate; 
 Six months of married life and this auspicious 
 Event occurred,— they named the boy Patricius. 
 
 Had Cotta been of a suspicious nature 
 
 They might have called the baby Spurius, 
 Though this experiment in nomenclature 
 Might well have made the mother furious, 
 For she was British, and they stood in fear 
 Whene'er Segoniga stood on her ear. 
 
 Thus Patrick was the name; for generations 
 
 The family lived in comfort near Boulogne, 
 And from it sprang the herald of the nations, 
 The saint who is the hero of my song ; 
 Good blood flowed in his veins, although some 
 
 sceptic 
 Has said that Caesar was an epileptic. 
 
 And here ends fytte ye second of my story, 
 
 Prolix it has been, but not too diffuse; 
 For had there been no Caesar, Erin's glory 
 
 Might never have been quickened, to reduce 
 The Pagans 'neath the cross and to extermine 
 Snakes, scorpions, centipedes, and all such 
 vermin. 
 
 FYTTE III. 
 
 "Give me that man that is not passion's slave," 
 (See Shakespeare's Hamlet, act 3rd., scene 
 the second,) 
 '•And I will wear,"— but here I think I'll waive 
 Further quotation ; ataraxy's reckoned 
 A sort of heavenly calm, attainable in fancy 
 By spellbound Quietists lost in omphaloinancy. 
 
 Who does not know, who knows his accidence, 
 
 That Scipio drubbed the Carthaginian trader? 
 
 He conquered him, of course at great expense, 
 
 As being the foe of Borne, who would have 
 
 made her 
 
 Subordinate to Carthage; Scipio's reputation 
 
 Conies rather from resisting sensual temptation. 
 
 The Pagans taught this duty very well,— 
 
 Horatius, Ovid, and a lot of others; 
 Their lines read nicely, though the truth to tell 
 Their lives were much like yours and mine, 
 my brothers : 
 The Hebrew king, too, wrote, ere woman made 
 
 him flighty, 
 "He that is slow to wrath is better than the 
 mighty." 
 Saint Patrick was not passion's slave, 
 
 However great the provocation ; 
 No Stoic could so well behave 
 
 Himself in times of perturbation. 
 Good breeding marked his ev^ry act, 
 
 He stood unmoved in every crisis ; 
 Displaying zeal allied with tact 
 
 In combatting the chieftains' vices. 
 When that his crosier pierced the foot 
 Of that old king he was baptizing,— 
 Who must have thrown aside his boot 
 Like pious Moslems whose surprising 
 Devotion makes them, when they go" 
 To mosque, that's church, their shoes sur- 
 render,— 
 Nor saint nor King made any show 
 Of pain, though royal flesh is tender. 
 
 And so, when having overthrown 
 
 In Magh Sleacht, or the Plain of Slaughter, 
 Cromcruach, the giant pillar stone, 
 
 Old Erin's Moloch, Patrick taught her 
 The way of truth without a thought 
 
 Of self, nor asking grace or kindness, 
 , Although he knew some chieftains sought 
 
 To kill him in their heathen blindness. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 They slew O'Ran, his charioteer, 
 
 Believing him to he the master, 
 In going through Leinster, but the dear 
 
 Saint Patrick only drove the faster, 
 For he was brave and calm and cool, 
 
 And knew wherein to place reliance, 
 Too wise by far to play the fool 
 
 By bidding angry men defiance. 
 He would not palter, temporise, 
 
 Or quibble to conciliate men ; 
 With amphibology and lies 
 
 He never tried to wheedle statesmen, 
 In short, Saint Patrick w r as the type of pastor 
 Whose life approves the doctrine of the Master. 
 
 SjC Sg! ;jc sfs 
 
 Now all this time that big hall door 
 
 Has stood with bolt withdrawn, 
 With Patrick standing on the floor 
 
 Surveying a Shaughraun, 
 That is a stray man, or 'a scamp, 
 In modern parlance called a tramp. 
 And sooth to say Saint Patrick cocked 
 
 His pistol when he saw 
 A man whose figure would have shocked 
 
 A blanketted Choctaw. 
 
 The native Irish w r ere not over chaste 
 In dress, though always clothed below the waist, 
 But Patrick's modesty was hurt, 
 
 As it ne'er was before, 
 To see a man without a shirt 
 Standing outside the door,— 
 A tall man, with long hair black as the raven, 
 With face, except the upper lip, close shaven. 
 The only dress this fellow wore 
 
 Was a thin coat of paint, 
 Dark blue in colour, though he bore 
 Himself without restraint; 
 No lounger in St. James's or Pall Mall 
 E'er looked a calmer, more unconscious swell. 
 
 "Pax cum domo et cum Patre!" 
 
 Thus in Latin spoke the stranger, 
 Hoping by judicious flattery 
 To avert a threatened danger ; 
 For a pistol pointed level 
 At his head might scare the devil. 
 
 "Pax, O f rater, et indusium !" 
 
 That is, Peace and eke a shirt!— 
 Though he wished him at Brundusium 
 Not for worlds would Patrick hurt 
 By wound or deed the stranger's feelings 
 While he was honest in his dealings . 
 
 Taking this as sign of favour, 
 
 Bowing low the stranger stepped 
 O'er the threshold, while a flavour 
 
 Grateful to his nostrils crept 
 Through the hall, for Lent being over 
 Patrick's servants lived in clover. 
 
 And as luck would have it, Nora, 
 
 Fair factotum in the house, 
 , Niece of Berraidhe of Kinkora, 
 
 (Patrick's butler was her spouse), 
 At that moment from the kitchen, 
 Draped in raiment quite bewitching, 
 
 Though a robe de nuit, came beaming 
 From the basement with a steaming 
 
 Flagon in her dexter hand, 
 For her husband had a weakness, 
 And his wife, the soul of meekness, 
 
 Had fulfilled her lord's command ; 
 Night by night, when all were sleeping 
 But the twain the wife went creeping, 
 
 Somewhere about twelve o'clock, 
 
 To the kitchen in her smock, 
 There to brew, her spouse to please, 
 Whiskey toddy en chemise. 
 
 Employed in this momentous matter, 
 She did not hear the noise q'erhead, 
 Although, as hath been said, the clatter 
 Was loud enough to wake the dead : 
 To folks absorbed in spirit pecks of trouble 
 Come when they see too little or see double. 
 
 Oh for a pen like that of Rudyard Kipling, 
 
 Whose "Ditties"now, I hear, are all the rage 
 
 Among the Upper Ten, whom every stripling 
 
 Proclaims the Crichton of our sordid age ! 
 
 Then might I show how Nora looked when 
 
 fainting 
 At sight of such a masterpiece of painting 
 As he who, ravished by the heavenly smell 
 From that bright tankard, seized it as she fell ; 
 Seized it and raised his hand, 
 
 Though not in malice ; 
 Straightway he took a grand 
 
 Swig from the chalice. 
 One, two, and eke a third 
 Draught had he taken, 
 Nothing by shame deterred, 
 While to awaken 
 His faithful handmaid, Nora, toiled the saint, 
 Who ne'er before had seen a woman faint. 
 'Twas fortunate that as regards attire 
 
 She could not have been in a better state 
 To be recovered, and I much admire 
 The good saint's fortitude who felt the 
 weight 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 But little in his haste to give assistance,— 
 
 Her fall was in the line of least resistance 
 Eight in his arms,— he chafed her hands 
 and face, 
 Glad that there was no corset to unlace. 
 And now the stranger, setting down the 
 flagon, 
 Came to the rescue with a grin inhuman ; 
 With bony claws that might have shamed a 
 dragon 
 Grasping her arm, he rudely pinched the 
 woman, 
 While with a vet's dexterity he wrenched her 
 Jaws wide apart and then with whiskey 
 drenched her. 
 
 Although his method can't he recommended, 
 'Twas sure as quick, for Nora's swoon was 
 ended : 
 Kestored to sense, this female most erratic 
 Gave a loud shriek and fled towards the 
 attic. 
 
 The stranger laughed : "Ha ha!" he shouted, 
 "I thought 'twould serve, it was our way 
 
 Before that hook-nosed Roman routed 
 Our Kentish League and brtfke the sway 
 
 Of Casibelaun o r er the Trinobantes"— 
 "Fellow!" cried Patrick, "tell me what 
 this rant is! 
 
 What art thou, man or demon? for I never 
 
 Saw such a fright before on land or ocean, 
 
 And well I wot no baptised Christian ever 
 
 Found such a dress conducive to devotion . 
 
 Speak ! or I exorcise you 
 
 And banish you to — well, 
 I'd rather civilize you 
 Than ban with book and bell : 
 Art thou a man?" 
 
 The stranger bowed his head : 
 "I was one once, though now among the dead 
 
 I lie forgotten by the sons of men, 
 But not for ever, for great Caesar's pen 
 Once wrote my name and linked it to his 
 story, 
 So that in coming years when all Rome's glory 
 
 Shall only be a schoolboy's theme, 
 In the bright halls of fame 
 The Kentish patriot's name 
 Shall nerve the warrior's arm, inspire the 
 poet's dream. 
 This is the noblest life, 
 High immortality,— 
 To know that when the strife 
 Is o'er the brave may be 
 
 Victorious over death ; 
 
 The fallen patriot's sigh, 
 The bard's expiring breath 
 Can never wholly die; 
 In all that made our truer, better part 
 We live to animate some valiant heart." 
 
 "Man!" cried the angry saint, 
 
 "This heterodox position 
 Would give your coat of paint 
 
 Up to the Inquisition. 
 But that the Irish Church 
 
 Is famed for toleration, 
 The rack and wheel should search 
 
 Your bones in exculpation." 
 
 "A thousand wheels and racks 
 Were powerless to distress 
 
 The joints of Segovax 
 
 Or bring him to confess :" 
 Thus quoth the stranger, while the startled host 
 Drew back in terror from the royal ghost. 
 
 "And art thou Segovax,] my great-great- 
 grandsire?" 
 "I am, my son, but come, my time is brief; 
 Within my chamber burns a bog-oak fire, 
 The very thing to give my bones relief, 
 For rheumatism will afflict the body. 
 Though spiritual,— don't forget the toddy. 
 I have some secrets to disclose ; m Hades 
 We learn these matters chiefly through the 
 ladies." 
 
 FYTTE IV. 
 
 I wish that I could find an apt quotation 
 To herald in this section of my tale 
 
 And make it more imposing; observation 
 Convinces me those authors seldom fail 
 
 To take a high place in this age progressive 
 Whose dearth of thought, concealed by words 
 impressive, 
 
 Is taken for profundity : in science 
 
 You must use phrases that but few can speak ; 
 
 This is the coming priesthood's main reliance 
 
 'Gainst vulgarizing knowledge, hotch-potch 
 
 Greek 
 
 Gives them their terms, makes Nature private 
 
 grazing, 
 Converting simple truths to mysteries amazing. 
 
 Omne ignotum pro magniflco, 
 (Supply hahetur, reader, if you please), 
 
 That is, those things of which the vulgar know 
 But little always bring them to their knees 
 
 In admiration when some knave, discerning 
 Their native weakuess, dazzles them with 
 learning. 
 
A LEGEND OP ST. PATRICK. 
 
 While doctors of divinity are modest, 
 As men whose learning no sane man will 
 question, 
 Your man of physic sometimes has the oddest 
 Terms for wind colic or the indigestion ; 
 For aught susceptible of plain description 
 In English some would not write a prescription. 
 
 A quack who makes some magic drug or heal all 
 
 May, if he will, indulge in Anglo-Saxon 
 To advertise his nostrum, for we seal all 
 Such things up in their phials, put a tax on, 
 And call them patent medicines, the solution 
 Thus benefits the British Constitution. 
 
 But when some Don of Medicine (opiferque 
 Per orbem), with a crotchet, to advance it 
 Writes to the press, Asclepios, what work we 
 Poor laymen have to read him in the Lancet ! 
 Though you know all the freaks of tense formation 
 Sir Paeon's Greek will lead to irritation. 
 
 It is not Science but the counterfeit 
 
 Vain Sciolism, arrogant and proud, 
 That loves to gratify its own conceit 
 At the expense of knowledge, using loud 
 High-sounding terms, impossible to rhyme, 
 Which make the road to science hard to climb. 
 
 Like that odd sophist whose peculiar mission 
 
 Was to dislodge God from the universe 
 And rob man of his soul, the first condition 
 In this philosophy being the reverse 
 Of common method, for he made the ideal 
 The cause of all, the basis of the real. 
 
 And having gifted matter with a spirit 
 
 Inplanted or ingrafted, then maintained 
 That man, the chief of beings, could inherit 
 No energy that after death remained ; 
 Ontologists affirmed this was a schism, 
 The sophist called his creed Hylozoism. 
 
 A thing of bombast and of words uncouth, . 
 
 This cheerless doctrine scarcely came to birth 
 Before it died dishonoured, for in sooth 
 It bore no hope or solace to the earth : 
 Live for to-day, it said, and some who taught it, 
 Believing death was better, madly sought it. 
 
 As well they might, for such a creed makes life 
 
 A gladiator fight, whose only guerdon 
 Is but a Dead Sea apple : when the strife 
 Can thus be shunned how fond to bear the 
 burden 
 Of pain, defeat, the myriad pangs that grieve us, 
 When Death can thus be summoned to relieve us? 
 
 Without the expectation of our sires, 
 
 The faith by which they saw beyond the veil 
 Of time and circumstance, the spirit tires 
 And human life becomes a tedious tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and passion, 
 Men become base and women fools of fashion. 
 
 Insensate mortals! is it worth the while 
 
 To chase the marsh-fire if the end be death? 
 Can sordid cares, ambitions, or the vile 
 Pleasures that pall prolong the parting- 
 breath? 
 Drink of the sophist's cup if ye would smother 
 The thought that this life but precedes another. 
 
 Drink if ye will to drown the awful doubt 
 
 That haunts ye like a spectre ; drink and when 
 The toxic fumes inspire ye to flout 
 The creed outworn, demean yourselves like 
 men: 
 Since death ends all, why should we propagate? 
 Teach us by suicide to vanquish fate. 
 Philosophy, what is it but a sieve 
 
 For ever dipped by man in empty wells? 
 A fruitless search, fit only to relieve 
 Such itching ears as those Damascius tells 
 Us once belonged to that wise Syrian ass 
 Placed by Ammonianus in his class. 
 
 The sapient beast, though longing for his hay, 
 
 (Thus Photius tells the story) when his ears 
 
 Caught learned phrases, with responsive neigh 
 
 Evinced his pleasure, and when, full of years 
 
 The donkey died, the riddle of the ages 
 
 Was just as plain to him as to the sages. 
 
 The world is full of evil and our span 
 Of life is mainly sorrowful, and we 
 Are prone to drift upon the current; man, 
 Though purblind, strives to sound Infinity 
 In search of God, and failing to descry Him, 
 By baffled pride is prompted to deny Him. 
 
 Yet now as ever God abides with man, 
 
 We are his children, though in reason's pride 
 We disavow our parentage and scan 
 With purblind eyes the universe, the wide 
 Expanse, th' Eternal Instant, never seeing 
 The One in whom we live and have our being. 
 
 While through the ages bishops, priests and 
 deacons 
 Have circumscribed the formless fount of 
 form, 
 Materializing God, there have been beacons 
 In every age to brighten and to warm 
 Man's higher nature; when he sends a witness 
 God needs no human guarantee of fitness. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 Paul and Spinoza, loftiest of their race, 
 
 Each bore a message all can understand,— 
 That He whose throne eternal fills all space 
 Dwells not in temples made by human hand: 
 All in Himself, yet all in every part, 
 He builds an altar in each loving heart : 
 
 The Eternal Presence, 
 
 God uncreate, 
 Whose being's essence 
 Ts to create 
 New forms from His own Being; 
 Seen and unseen, all-seeing, 
 The absent never : 
 
 God One in Three 
 And Three in One, 
 To whose high majesty 
 The ordered universe shall raise, 
 
 For ever and for ever, 
 Unintermitting, endless praise 
 When time is done. 
 
 There is in every dwelling 
 
 A skeleton they say; 
 A notion most repelling / 
 To honest folks who pay 
 Their rates and taxes and who never 
 Have been accused of being clever. 
 
 But when a healthy spectre, 
 
 A veritable ghost, 
 As bold as an inspector 
 Of nuisances, takes post 
 In one's arm-chair, disposed to chatter, 
 A skeleton's a trifling matter. 
 
 So when this ancient Briton, 
 
 This Segovax of Kent, 
 Took the best chair to sit on, 
 The good Saint Patrick went 
 Some distance off; though willing to be civil, 
 He did not mean to hob-nob with the devil. 
 
 Observing this, the stranger 
 Smiled tranquilly and said; 
 
 "My son, there is no danger 
 
 In converse with the dead ; 
 A time will come when, weary of life's tedium, 
 The wisest men will seek a spirit medium." 
 
 "Know'st thou the times and seasons, 
 
 To whom the one true Light 
 Was unrevealed, for reasons 
 Sufficient in the sight 
 Of Him to whom, 'tis said a thousand years 
 But as one day of earthly time appears?" 
 
 Thus spoke the saint, suspecting 
 
 His guest's ability 
 To speak the truth respecting 
 The things that were to be : 
 For prophets seldom come in so illegal 
 A style of dress as that of Plague-Seer Eagle.* 
 
 At that time though, the priesthood 
 
 In Ireland were less 
 Tasty in garb, the least good 
 Of any modern dress 
 Worn by the clergy or schismatic preachers 
 Would have seemed vain to those old-fashioned 
 teachers. 
 
 That church is better builded, 
 E'en though the cup be clay, 
 
 Than if with chalice gilded 
 
 An earthen priest should pray 
 "Sanguis custodiat Domini!" of old 
 The eucharists were served by priests of gold. 
 
 "O Patrick!" said the other, 
 
 "Thou knowest that the Light 
 Hath shone on every brother 
 That ever lived ; what right 
 Hast thou to limit mercy? what a libel 
 Some priestly notions are upon the Bible! 
 
 "Enough of this however; 
 
 I could perhaps unveil 
 Secrets from which a clever 
 Clairseacht could weave a tale 
 More interesting to an Irish bishop 
 Than all the yarns the bards are won't to dish up. 
 
 "But 'tis not mine to harass 
 
 Thy spirit with the tale 
 Of discord, to embarrass 
 Thy work in Inisfail, 
 For doubtless 'twould in some sort tend to lame 
 
 you 
 To know that rival churches here will claim you. 
 
 "Now to my charge : the message 
 
 I bring to you is brief : 
 My coming is the presage 
 Of future years of grief; 
 In Merlin's glass, revealed to each spectator, 
 I have seen Ireland's bane— the Agitator. 
 
 * Solomon Eagle, a Puritan fanatic who dui'ing 
 the great plague of London, in 16G5, preached re- 
 pentance, clothed only in the raiment he wore at 
 his birth. 
 
 + Clairseach, the harp, per prosopopceiam for 
 the minstrel. Segovax must have learned Irish in 
 Hades. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 "Compose thyself, and hearken 
 
 While I to thee unfold 
 The clouds that serve to darken 
 
 Thy vision. When of old 
 Great Merlin went to Hades 
 
 (Not as men die died he, 
 He simply went, his shade is 
 
 In high authority 
 Among us still) he brought us 
 
 A mystic stone of fate, 
 And in that crystal taught us 
 
 To read man's earthly state. 
 
 "Merlin, the greatest of all British sages, 
 Whose fame with Arthur's* shall be sung in ages 
 To come throughout the world, this stone orbi- 
 cular, 
 Obtained by means a trifle too particular 
 Fof me to tell or you to know, a Mantis 
 However brought it from the lost Atlantis, 
 A distant country, long, as I've a notion, 
 Resting in peace beneath the Western Ocean, 
 And of whose people now the only trace is 
 Found in this island; the Iberionaces, 
 Or ancient Irish, were Atlantides, 
 Whose source and root now lie beneath the seas. 
 "Ten thousand years shall roll, 
 
 And then shall come that throe 
 Once more ; from pole to pole 
 
 The mighty overflow 
 Of Ocean's changing currents shall accrue 
 On continent and isle, destroying to renew." 
 
 "Not by water, but by fire 
 
 Will the final purging be," 
 Answered Patrick, "therefore, sire, 
 Thy portentous prophecy, 
 Though so definitely stated, 
 God of old anticipated." 
 
 "What is to be will be, my son; 
 
 God is Order, his decrees, 
 Fixed by his word, for ever run 
 
 Steadfast and true ; but thoughts like these 
 We will not discuss, the reason 
 Being the lateness of the season, 
 For the night is well-nigh done, 
 
 A.nd my story not begun : 
 Give ear to me while I unveil 
 
 The mystery of Inisfail." t 
 
 *This was, of course, prophetic, the visit of 
 Segovax having occurred before Arthur or Mer- 
 lin died. 
 
 t Inis-fail, Insula-fati, the Isle of Destiny. The 
 IAa-fail (stone of Destiny) is in the coronation 
 chair of the monarchs of Great Britain and 
 Ireland. 
 
 FYTTE V. 
 
 THE PROPHECY OF SEGOVAX. 
 
 "O Patrick, in whose veins there runs the blood 
 Of conqueror and conquered, know that now, 
 E'en while I speak to thee, adown the flood 
 Of royal Thamesis the sculptured prow 
 Of the last Roman galley nears the sea 
 In base desertion, leaving Britain free, 
 
 But helpless; for her sons, unskilled in war, 
 For centuries unmanned, must fall the prey 
 Of Pict and Scot, of strangers from the far 
 And untamed north; let loose by Rome's decay, 
 Horde after horde successively shall sweep, 
 White horse and raven, o'er the startled deep. 
 "Well for the seagirt isle 
 In after time to know 
 That steadfast strength can meet the wile 
 Of him whose treason would beguile. 
 That manly vigilance can smile 
 
 At every foreign foe. 
 To earth's remotest strand 
 Her glory shall increase : 
 So long as British heart and hand 
 Fearless and strong united stand, 
 To do or die for fatherland, 
 In Britain shall be peace. 
 
 "In Merlin's crystal, the Atlantean stone, 
 I saw two islands linked by bands of steel,— 
 Bands forged in blood and hate,— the lesser 
 
 thrown 
 Exhausted, worn beneath the other's heel : 
 I saw the long-drawn strife of centuries cease, 
 I saw two sisters give the kiss of peace. 
 
 Beneath an olive branch they stood, the one 
 
 In queenly majesty, her golden hair, 
 
 With many a braid and torque adroitly done, 
 
 Beneath a diadem, where divers rare 
 
 And priceless jewels shone with shivering ray, 
 
 The tribute of all lands that own her sway. 
 
 The other lissom, coy, and beautiful, 
 In whose fair features every passing thought 
 Of the pure soul within was mirrored full 
 As clouds are on the lake; her kirtle, wrought 
 Of emerald green with golden trefoil pressed, 
 Showed the glad throbbing of her virgin breast. 
 "Thus stood the sisters twain, 
 The strife of years was o'er : 
 From Britain's flag the crimson stain 
 Was gone, and Erin's cry of pain 
 No longer rang across the main, 
 
 Or echoed by the shore. 
 And o'er the Western Sea 
 The sparkling billows hurled 
 
10 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 Tlieir silvern crests in tuneful glee, 
 And in their giant minstrelsy 
 Was heard the chorus of a free, 
 A trans- Atlantic world. 
 
 "And then I saw, the while the nations hailed 
 The sisters reconciled, that Discord came 
 With poisoned Dreath; I saw that Erin quailed 
 Before the monster, saw the wrathful flame 
 In Britain's eye when, with unsparing hand, 
 The witch sowed greed and malice through the 
 land. 
 
 And what a crop was there! suspicion, fraud, 
 
 Envy, deception, dark conspiracy; 
 
 While from the shuddering soil there rose to God 
 
 The odour of the blood-fume; secrecy 
 
 Begat distrust, and from distrust sprang hate, 
 
 In turn incestuously to generate. 
 
 "Yet while the miscreant crew 
 
 Their heil-born rage displayed, 
 In close embrace the sisters two 
 United stood, for Erin knew 
 Her queenly sister's will to do 
 
 Strict justice undismayed. 
 But though Britannia yearned 
 
 To soothe the wild alarm, ^ 
 The rebel crew her bounty spurned, 
 Her proffered amity they turned 
 To sign of fear : erewhile they learned 
 
 The vigour of her arm. 
 
 "Again and yet again the baneful clan 
 
 Were scourged by that strong arm : with horrid 
 
 yell 
 Some sought their dens, while others screeching 
 
 ran 
 Now hither and now thither, fires of hell 
 Inciting them, while in the assassin's hand 
 The gory steel besprinkled all the land. 
 
 Among her counsellors Britannia found 
 
 Dissension, disagreement, wavering: 
 
 In party strife the patriot's voice was drowned , 
 
 With many a pseudo-patriot favouring 
 
 A. strange expedient, saying to release 
 
 Erin from Britain would secure peace. 
 
 Then saw I, while confusion wilder grew 
 And all the welkin rang, two champions rise ; 
 The one, with virgin shield, pledged to subdue 
 The rebel gang; upon his brow emprise 
 And dauntless courage sat, a loyal knight, 
 Acute in counsel, valorous in fight. 
 
 "Balphurius his name, 
 Defender of the laws ; 
 He quelled the strife, expelled the shame 
 From Erin ,and restored her fame, 
 
 While all the world in glad acclaim 
 
 Besounded with applause. 
 Nature herself grew bland 
 In sympathy with peace, 
 And scattered with a lavish hand 
 Her fruits and flowers o'er the land, 
 Bidding the happy valleys stand 
 With the full ear's increase. 
 "Yet faction was not dead, for when it seemed 
 That peace and plenty would ensure content, 
 There came a combatant whose falchion gleamed 
 Above his naked arm, his shield besprent 
 With lions, 'Lamb laider na< htar*! he cried, 
 'The strong hand uppermost!' and thus defied 
 
 Balphurius to the combat, while the horde, 
 Erewhile affrighted, dared the light of day 
 Once more and sought a refuge where the sword 
 Of their new champion, eager for the fray, 
 Flashed o'er that arm embowed, and loud and 
 
 long 
 Bose the wild pledge of triumph to the strong. 
 Kose the wild pledge ; but ere its echo died 
 Steel clashed on steel, on shield and ringing helm , 
 Where' midway on the plain the changeful tide 
 Of battle wavered, threatening to o'erwhelm 
 Now one, now both; I saw the lion shield 
 And him who bore it prostrate on the field. 
 
 But like Antaeus, when he touched the plain 
 New vigour seemed imparted to his arm; 
 Like one refreshed with wine he sprang again 
 To combat, ere Balphurius could disarm 
 Or give the mercy stroke, the while his hand 
 Retained within firm grip the glittering brand. 
 
 "And when again he fell, 
 
 He fell again to rise ; 
 And when she heard the plaudits swell 
 From Discord's host his praise to tell, 
 I saw that Erin loved him well, 
 
 For tears were in her eyes. 
 For he was Erin's son. 
 
 Misled alas ! but true 
 To those he served: no recreant one, 
 To deem the battle lost and won 
 While there remained one deed undone 
 
 That valiant hand might do. 
 "Firm as the primal granite stood the knight. 
 Order's brave champion, conscious of his 
 strength, 
 
 Intrepid in the faith that, born of right, 
 
 Can trust the end to God, who when the length 
 
 * If his heraldr.y was correct, it would seem 
 that Segovax must have had in view a descendant 
 of Blod the son of Cas, the son of Conal. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 11 
 
 Of the wrong-doer's tether has been spread, 
 Sends Atropos to cut the fatal thread. 
 
 And then I saw him of the lion shield 
 Draw back with crest plume-shorn and bat- 
 tered mail, 
 Leaving Balphurius master of the field, 
 While Discord shook to see her champion fail; 
 And on the victor's head the sisters placed 
 A rosy wreath with shamrock interlaced. 
 When lo! there came, with pitying, tender face, 
 And bearing healing balms, a maiden clad 
 In costly raiment, daughter of a race 
 Once chosen for its constancy, the sad 
 Cosmopolites whose noblest sentiment 
 Belongs to discounting and cent per cent. 
 
 She came from fair Lutetia, and the spoil 
 Of Egypt and the Philistines washers; 
 She^ame by pity urged to pour the oil 
 Of sympathy and lov^e: the conqueror's 
 Cause, so men say, is pleasing to the gods,— 
 Some mortals though prefer to take the odds, 
 
 And siding with the vanquished share their fate : 
 E'en so this alien virgin succour brought 
 To the defeated warrior ; while the great 
 Balphurius triumphed, Rafaela wrought 
 A miracle of love, ere long her knight 
 In golden armour stood prepared to fight. 
 
 'Haste thou,' she cried, 'O valiant heart and true, 
 To urge the poor man's cause, to shield th' op- 
 pressed ! 
 
 Bethink thee,'— this w r as whispered,— 'those*who 
 do 
 
 Knight-errantry to-day will do it best 
 
 With gold, not steel; thy indigent position 
 
 Hath traversed and retarded thy ambition.' 
 
 Thus spoke the maid, thus speaking was she 
 wise ; 
 
 For in the years to come, O Patrick, gold 
 
 Shall be the test of merit and the prize 
 
 That all shall seek. When avarice shall hold 
 
 The world in thraldom, shorten Thou the days, 
 
 O Power Supreme, and Thine shall be the praise! 
 
 "There are two souls in man, 
 
 In constant strife within ; 
 The one controlled by Ahriman, 
 The Lord of Evil, through whose ban 
 The universe since time began 
 
 Has been denied by sin. 
 Ormuzcl the other guides, 
 
 Through whom all virtues flow ; 
 And while on earth the man abides 
 The dubious conflict ne'er subsides, 
 His future fate that strife decides, 
 
 Whether for weal or woe. 
 
 '"Not in the glare of day 
 Is seen man's nobler self; 
 
 Patrick, heed not those who say 
 That by our deeds our motives may 
 
 Be judged; where selfishness hath sway 
 
 The mind deceives itself. 
 But in the silent night, 
 
 When only God is near, 
 Beneath the twinkling stars whose bright 
 Effulgence shames our mortal sight, 
 Just as he seems in heaven's light 
 
 The true man doth appear." 
 
 He ceased, and fell to drinking 
 
 With such an eager thirst, 
 That good Saint Patrick, thinking 
 
 The prophecy should first 
 Be finished, ventured the suggestion 
 That Segovax should not forget the question. 
 
 "The question? Oh, you want to know the end," 
 Quoth Segovax, "of the great Irish duel : 
 
 1 wish I could oblige you, but, my friend, 
 In this respect old Merlin has been cruel ; 
 
 For just as this great strife Degan to enlist all 
 My sympathies, he took away the crystal* 
 
 "But lo! the dawn is breaking, 
 
 The cock prepares to crow; 
 And I must soon be taking 
 
 My course to realms below. 
 Five hundred years will pass ere 
 
 I can return to earth, 
 And things may come to pass here 
 
 To make it little worth 
 My while to leave a cosy nook in hell;— 
 Since time is short, suppose we spend it well? 
 
 "I drink to thee, O Patron 
 
 Of Erin, and to her, 
 The not uncomely matron 
 
 Whose skill I can aver 
 In making punch is excellent,— to Nora, 
 The prettiest wencb that ever left Kinkora ! 
 Would she were here ! to please her 
 
 Bacchus ! I fain would sing 
 A song once sung by Caesar 
 
 In honour of a king, 
 A British king, for mirth and wisdom famed 
 From whom the town of Colchester is named. 
 
 'Twas thus we sang in chorus, 
 With flagons raised on high, 
 
 And ere to bed they bore us 
 We left those flagons dry. 
 '■Bex Colens annosus 
 Senex eratjocosus: 
 
12 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST. PATRICK. 
 
 Poposcit tuhum, 
 
 Calicem vitreum, 
 
 Fidicines ires, 
 
 Duas virgines. 
 Vini amavit spiritus, 
 Rex vinipotor Coleus; 
 
 Eja, made esto! 
 Vah, papae! 
 Eja, made esto! 
 
 Vah, papae!'" 
 
 Brekekekex, Koax, Koax, 
 Such was the voice of Segovax ; 
 "We know from Aristophanes 
 The raucous frogs sing notes like these. 
 Thus was he singing when the cock's shrill note 
 Kose loud and clear; the song died in his throat; 
 And then he vanished: Patrick stared to find 
 His visitor had left no trace behind 
 Except an empty tankard: with the morning 
 Came Nora and her spouse to give him warning. 
 
 Vision or dream, the Briton's prophecy 
 Time hath in part established : rest we here 
 Content, nor grieve because we may not see 
 The future of our race. We ne^d no seer 
 To fortify our courage ; come what may 
 Of darkest night, the dawning of the day 
 Shall find Britannia still the nations' pride, 
 The home where Law and Liberty abide. 
 God bless Old England ! though mine eyes 
 
 ne'er 
 "Behold her shores, this is the exile's prayer. 
 
 may 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 1, Col. 2.— Shade of her hosen—Mrs. B. 
 —The "philosophy" here alluded to may be 
 characterized as Sinning-made-easy, whose prin- 
 ciples it would in our age be a work of superero- 
 gation to explain. 
 
 Page 2, Col. l.—A witty Frenchman, etc.— 
 The unfortunate Prevost Paradol. 
 
 Ibid., Col. 2. — One Dumnorix. — To whose 
 manes due apology is made for antedating his 
 decease which took place, by Caesar's order, 
 immediately before the second expedition into 
 Britain. See Be Bell. Gall., V. 7. 
 
 Page 3, Col. 2.— Thunderbolt of war.— An 
 epithet borrowed from Virgil: "autgeminos, di o 
 fulmina belli, Scipiadas" (iEneid. VI. 841,2), but 
 much more appropriate to Napoleon. 
 
 Ibid.— Daughter of Segovax.— "Quattuor reges 
 
 Cingetorix, Carvilius, Taximagulus, 
 
 Segovax," (De Bell, Gall., V. 22). 
 
 Ibid.— Certain primipili. --Chief centurions, or 
 captains, of legions. 
 
 Page 4, Col. l.— - Married her to Cotta.— Marcus 
 Cotta, an historical character. He was Gover- 
 nor of Sardinia, and was driven out by the Cara- 
 litani (people of Cagliari) during the Civil War. 
 (De Bell. Civ., I, 30). 
 
 Page 7, Col. l.—The sophist called, etc.— Hylo- 
 zoism, Hylo-Idealism, Ideal-Hylozoism, Autos- 
 ism, et alia nomina. The materialists, however, 
 have recognized the absurdity of basing their 
 doctrine upon the Spiritism of Bishop Ber- 
 keley. 
 
 Ibid., Col. 2.— Syrian ass.— Suidas, sub voce 
 "Damaskios," calls the animal "an ass very 
 studious of wisdom." The genus is not yet ex- 
 tinct in our schools of metaphysics, to say noth- 
 ing of other schools. 
 
 Page 8, Col. 1.— Paul and Spinoza.— Even 
 such religious men as Gideon and David, among 
 the Hebrews, bowed down before an image 
 (aphod) of Jehovah. In the Tractatus Theol. — 
 polit., Spinoza affirms that "Scripture is called 
 the word of God, nempe quia veram docet reli- 
 gionem, cujus Deus ceternus est auctor." In the 
 juventus mundi, as Giordano Bruno called 
 antiquity, man could hardly avoid anthropomor- 
 phism in theology ; in our day, at least among the 
 cultured, there can be no excuse for idolatry. 
 "God is a spirit," etc. St. John, IV, 24; I Tim., 
 I, 17; VI, 16. 
 
 ^]f^^ 
 

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