  PREFACE. In the story which I have just given it is said that St. Patrick met Oisin when he was carrying stones in Elphin, a small village in the County Roscommon, which was once a great ecclesiastical centre founded by St. Patrick. I had often heard other people in Roscommon tell about OisÍn's carrying those stones in Elphin, and of St. Patrick meeting him there, but I always imagined that they had localised the story because they themselves belonged to the place. That this is not so, however, and that the story of the ancient warriors being forced to carry stones in his old age is old and genuine is proved by Magregor in Argyllshire jotting down a verse 400 years ago in which Ossian tells how Finn had prophesied to him that he would yet be carrying stones for the "Tailgin." Bea tou schell a tarraing clooch, Ma in deyt how in weit wronyth. i.e. and the very poem (which I give here, taken from a Belfast MS.) was written in phonetics by Magregor in far-away Argyll. Magregor's first line as read by McLaughlin (Skene's Book of Lismore) runs "is fadda noch ni nelli fiym," but Dr. Cameron later on gave a more correct reading "is fadda not ni nelli finni." It is not to be translated as McLaughlan does, "long are the clouds this night above me," but "long is to-night in Elphin," ni nelli finni being evidently to be transliterated as "i n-Ailfinne." This poem may almost be looked upon as a pendant to the last piece. See my "Religious Songs of Connacht." COLD ELPHIN. Long was last night in cold Elphin, More long is to-night on its weary way, Though yesterday seemed to me long and ill, Yet longer still was this dreary day. And long, for me, is each hour new-born, I fall forlorn to grinding grief For the hunting lands, and the Fenian bands, And the long-haired generous Fenian Chief. I make no music, I find no feast, I slay no beast from a bounding steed, I give no gold, I am poor and old, I am cursed and cold without wine or mead. No more I court, and I hunt no more, These were before my strong delight, I have ceased to slay, and I take no prey, —Weary the day and long the night. No heroes come in their war array, No game I play, and no gold I win; I swim no stream with my men of might, —Long is to-night in cold Elphin. Would I were gone from this evil earth, I am wan with dearth, I am old and thin, Carrying stones in my own despite, —Long is to-night in cold Elphin. Ask, O Patrick, of God, for grace, And tell me what place he will hold me in, And save my soul from the Ill One's might —For long is to-night in cold Elphin. |
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