Poems (Tynan)/Brother Ronain of the Birds
BROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS
Over the sea-mists and the foam, The birds had built their island steady, With many a trove of leaf and loam, And sprays of coral, ripe and ruddy
They built it strong, they built it fair, Moored to the rocks and time-deriding; Thither flocked citizens of air To make a city on land abiding.
And some there settled for life because Of sea and tempest they were weary. The owl-folk made the equal laws For sparrow and eagle in his eyrie.
And there tom-tit and goshawk went In equal yoke, like brothers loving; The vulture to the robin leant With his old tales of war and roving.
Never was such a simple land, With such a happy buzz of building, And twigs and moss for lime and sand, And beaks for tools the masons wielding.
And each sang blithely at his task, From nightingale to husky starling, At the dear house wherein should bask That pearl of price, his bright-eyed darling.
So all went gaily till each nest Was built and ready for occupation; And one Spring morn all sang their best At morning-song, as was their fashion.
Praising the Lord of sea and sky Who kept them all the night from peril, And gave them love and wings to fly, And worms and grubs when earth was sterile.
When one who was a chief of birds Said: "Brothers, is it meet we marry And die like any Pagan hordes, With never a priest to bless or bury?"
"It is not meet!" the birds replied: "And would some priest of God came fleetly Over the sunset and the tide, And here would bide to bless us sweetly!"
Then spake a blackbird from the west: "In Erin dear that 's over the water, There is a cleric loves birds best, Father and mother, son and daughter.
"When by the sands he walks at morn The flight of birds his meek head covers, His pocket full of crumbs and corn He carries for his feathered lovers.
"How many a morn have I that speak Picked juicy tit-bits from his fingers; And fed, his thanksgiving so meek To join the wildest blackbird lingers.
"He knows the bird-tongue, every word, Knows well our notes of joy and grieving; And Ronain singing to the Lord Would melt the hardest bird-heart living."
Thereat they counsel took, and made A raft for human weight and feathered,And sailed the wild seas undismayed, Till by St. Mel's the raft was tethered.
And Ronain, reading in his book, Was 'ware a cloud fell o'er the letter, And heard the myriad wings that shook And sweet "tweet-tweet" of birdly chatter.
Then all the birds swept down on him, Fluttering in a wild commotion, And prayed him for their island dim, Far away in the middle ocean.
What dream fell over Ronain then? Or did God's guiding whisper rather Bid him go out from haunts of men, Apostle to the folk of feather?
Who knows? The last saw Ronain's face Was Brother Aiden, who beheld him Down by the rocks, a lonely place Where the good brothers walked but seldom.
And Aiden said a cloud of birds Was circling round his head and habit,Singing so sweet. "Perchance the Lord's Good will hath rapt him," said the Abbot.
They searched for him among the rocks, Parted the seaweed o'er the shallows,And dived in water depths where flocks Of cormorants fished the ocean fallows.
But never a relic came to light Of him, so they at last desisted,And prayed that his dear soul so white With Christ the Lord supped joy and rested.
And Ronain, he was with his flock. They built his house of shell and wattle Against the brown lee of a rock, That sheltered him from the wind's battle.
There he abode: but when he died— I know not. You shall ask some other Who hath more learning to decide; And if the birds found a new brother
To be their priest. It well may be, Ronain still lives, young and unfailing, In that sweet island over the sea Whence never a mariner comes sailing.