divine or fairy mistresses—they are the wooers, and mortals tire of them and their divine land sooner than they weary of their lovers. Mortals were apt to find that land tedious, for, as one of them said, "I had rather lead the life of the Féinn than that which I lead in the síd"—it is the plaint of Achilles, who would liefer serve for hire on earth than rule the dead in Hades, or of the African proverb, "One day in this world is worth a year in Srahmandazi."
The meeting of the saint with the survivors of the Féinn is an interesting if impossible situation, and it is freely developed both in the Colloquy with the Ancients and in many poems. While a kindly relationship between clerics and Feinn is found in the Colloquy, even there Caoilte and Oisin regret the past. Both here and in the poems St. Patrick shows much curiosity regarding the old days, but in some of the latter he is not too tender to Oisin's obstinate heathendom. Oisin, it is true, is "almost persuaded" at times to accept the faith, but his paganism constantly breaks forth, and he utters daring blasphemies and curses the new order and its annoyances—shaven priests instead of warriors, bell-ringing and psalm-singing instead of the music and merriment of the past. Yet in these poems there is tragic pathos and wild regret for the Féinn and their valorous deeds, for the joys never now to be recalled, for shrunken muscles and dimmed eyes and tired feet and shaking hands, for Oisin's long silent harp, above all for his noble son Oscar.
"Fionn wept not for his own son,
Nor did he even weep for his brother;
But he wept on seeing my son lie dead,
While all the rest wept for Oscar.
From that day of the battle of Gabhra
We did not speak boldly;
And we passed not either night or day
That we did not breathe heavy sighs."80
One fine ballad tells how Oisin fought hopelessly against the new order, scorning Christian rites and beliefs, but at last
