Books and other items printed in Gaelic from 1871 to 1900 > Sar-obair nam bard Gaelach, or, The beauties of Gaelic poetry, and lives of the Highland bards

INTRODUCTION.
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of the joys awaiting the righteous, the reality of which “it hath not entered the heart of
man to conceive.” With the Gael, all the amusements in which they took delight, whilst
dwetiers in the lower world, were pursued without alloy in their aerial abode. All descrip¬
tions of the Celtic paradise, must fall short of their own conception of its glories, but the
following effort of an ancient bard to impart some notion of its imaginary excellence, is
highly interesting, abounding as it does in that hyperbolic style, which is impressed on
all similar compositions. It gives also a curious picture of one of the Celtic sages. “ In
former days, there lived in Skerr, a Druid of high renown. The blast of wind waited
for his commands at the gate; he rode the tempest, and the troubled wave offered itself as
a pillow for his repose. His eye follow’ed the sun by day; his thoughts travelled from
star to star in the season of night. He thirsted after things unseen—he sighed over the
narrow circle which surrounded his days. He often sat in silence beneath the sound of
his groves ; and he blamed the careless billows that rolled between him and the green
Isle of the west.” One day as he sat thoughtful upon a rock, a storm arose on the sea: a
cloud, under wdtose squally skirts the foaming w'aters complained, rushed suddenly into
the bay ; and from its dark womb at once issued forth a boat, with its white sails bent to
the wind, and around were a hundred moving oars: but it was void of mariners ; itself
seeming to live and move. An unusual terror seized the aged Druid: he heard a voice,
though he saw no human form. “ Arise ! behold the boat of the heroes—arise, and see
the green Isle of those who have passed away 1” He felt a strange force on his limbs ; he
saw no person ; but he moved to the boat. The wind immediately changed—in the bosom
of the cloud he sailed away. Seven days gleamed faintly round him; seven nights added
their gloom to his darkness. His ears were stunned with shrill voices. The dull mur¬
mur of winds passed him on either side. He slept not, but his eyes were not heavy : he
ate not, but he was not hungry. On the eighth day, the waves swelled into mountains ;
the boat rolled violently from side to side—the darkness thickened around him, when a
thousand voices at once cried aloud,—“ The Isle, the Isle!” “The billows opened wide
before him ; the calm land of the departed rushed in light on his eyes. It was not a light
that dazzled, but a pure, distinguishing, and placid light, which called forth every object
to view in its most perfect form. The Isle spread large before him, like a pleasing
dream of the soul; where distance fades not on the sight—where nearness fatigues not
the eye. It had its gently sloping hills of green; nor did they wholly want their clouds r
but the clouds were bright and transparent, and each involved in its bosom, the source
of a stream; a beauteous stream, which wandering down the steep, was like the faint
notes of the half-touched harp to the distant ear. The valleys were open and free to the
ocean; trees loaded with leaves, which scarcely waved to the light breeze, were scattered
on the green declivities and rising grounds. The rude winds walked not on the moun¬
tain ; no storm took its course through the sky. All was calm and bright; the pure
sun of autumn shone from his blue sky on the fields. He hastened not to the west for
repose ; nor was he seen to rise from the east. He sits in his mid-day height, and looks
obliquely on the Noble Isle. In each valley is its slow-moving stream. The pure waters
swell over its banks, yet abstain from the fields. The showers disturb them not; nor are