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KING O'TOOLE AND ST. KEVIN,
A Legend of Glendalough.
(From the Dublin Penny Journal)
"By that lake, whose gloomy shore
Sky-lark never warbles o'er,
Where the cliff hangs high and steep
Young St. Keven stole to sleep."--Moore.
Who has not read of St. Kevin, celebrated
as he has been by Moore in the melodies of
his native land, with whose wild and impas-
sioned music he has so intimately entwined
his name? Through him, in the beautiful
ballad whence the epigraph of this story is
quoted, the world already knows that the
sky-lark through the intervention the saint
never startles the morning with its joyous
note in the lonely valley of Glendalough. In
the same ballad, the unhappy passion which,
the saint inspired, and the 'unholy blue'
eyes of Kathleen, and the melancholy fate of
the heroine, by the saint's being 'unused
to the melting mood,' are also celebrated;
as well as the superstitious finale of the legend,
in the spectral appearance of the love-lorn
maiden.
'And her ghost was seen to glide
Gently o'er the fatal tide.'
Thus has Moore given, within the limits
of a ballad, the spirit of two legends of Glen-
dalough, which otherwise the reader might
have been put to the trouble of reaching after
a more round-about fashion. But luckily
for those coming after him, one legend he
has left to be
'---------- touched by a hand more unworthy'--
and instead of a lyrical essence, the raw
material in prose is offered, nearly verbatim
as it was furnished to me by that celebrated
guide and bore, Joe Irwin, who traces his
decent in a direct line from the old Irish
kings, and warns the public in general that
'there's power of them spalpeens sthravai-
gin' about, 'sthrivin' to put their comether
upon the quol'ty, [quality--the Irish gen-
try generally call the higher orders 'quality,']
and callin' themselves Irwin, (knowin,' the
thieves of the world, how his name had
gone far and near, as the rale guide,) for to
deceive dacent people; but never to be'lieve
the likes--for it was only mulvatherin
people they wor.' For my part, I promised
never to put faith in any but himself; and
the old rogue's self-love being satisfied, we
set out to explore the wonders of Glenda-
lough. On arriving at a small ruin, situated
on the south-eastern side of the lake, my
guide assumed an air of importance, and led
me into the ivy-covered remains, through a
small square door-way, whose simple struc-
ture gave evidence of its early date; a lin-
tel of stone lay across two upright supporters,
after the fashion of such religious remains in
Ireland.
'This Sir,' said my guide, putting him
self into an attitude, is the chapel of King
O'Toole--av corse y'ive often heard o' King
O'Toole your honor?'
'Never,' said I.
'Musha, then, do you tell me so? said he
'I thought all the world far and near, heerd o'
king O'Toole well, well! but the darkness of
mankind is otenllible! Well, Sir you
must know, as you didn't hear it afore, that
there was wonst a king called King O'Toole,
who was a fine ould king in the ould ancient
times, long ago; and it was him that ownded
the churches in early days.'
'Surely,' said I, 'the churches were not
in King O'Toole's time.'
'Oh, by no means, yer honor--troth it's
yourself that's right enough there; but you
know the place is called 'The Churches,'
bekase they were built afther by St. Kavin,
and wint by that name o' the churches iver
more; and therefore av coorse the place bein
so called, I say that the king ownded the
churches--and why not Sir, sein, 'twas his
birth-right, time out o' mind beyant the
flood? Well the king you see was the right
sort--he was the rale boy, and loved sport
as he loved his life, and untin' in partic'lar;
and from the risin' o' the sun, up he got,
and away he wint over the mountains beyant
afther the deer: and fine times them wor;
for the deer was as plinty thin, aye troth,
far plintyer than the sheep is now; and
that's the way it was with the king, from
the crow of the cock to the song o' the red-
breast.'
'In this country, Sir,' added he, speak-
ing paranthetically in an under tone, 'we
think it unlooky to kill the redbreast, for the
robin is God's own bird.'
Then, elevating his voice to its former
pitch he proceeded.--
'Well it was all mighty good, as long as
the king had his health; but you see, in
coorse o' time, the king grew owld, by raison
he was stiff in his limbs, and when he got
stricken in years his heart failed him, and
he was lost entirely for want o' divarshin,
bekase he couldn't go a huntin no longer;
and by dad, the poor king was obleeged at
last for to get a goose is divart him.
Here an involuntary smile was produced
by this regal mode of recreation, 'the royal
game of goose.'
'Oh you may laugh, if you like,' said he
half afronted 'but it's truth I'm tellin' you;
and the way the goose divarted him was
this-a-way: you see, the goose used for to
swim acrass the lake, and go down divin'
for throut, (and not finer throut in all Ireland,
than the same throut,) and catch fish an a
Friday for the king, and flew every other
day round about the lake, divartin the poor
king, that you'd think he'd break his sides
laughin' at the frolicsome tricks av his
goose; so in coorse o' time the goose was
the greatest pet in the country, and the
biggest rogue, and devarted the king to no
end, and the poor king was as happy as the
day was long. So that's the way it was; and
all went on mighty well, antil by dad, the
goose got stricken in years, as well as the
king, and grew stiff in his limbs, like her
masther, and could divert him no longer;
and then it was that the poor king was lost
complate, and did'nt know what in the wide
world to do, seein' he was done out of all
divarshin, by reason that the goose was no
moore in the flower of her blume.
'Well the king was nigh hand broken
hearted, and melancholy intirely, and was
walkin' one mornin' by the edge of the lake,
lamentin' his cruel fate, an' thinin' o'
drownin' himself, and could'nt get no di-
varshin in life, when all of a suddint, turnin'
round the corner beyant, who should he
meet but a mighty dacent young man comin'
up to him.
'God save you,' says the king, (for the
king was a civil spoken gintleman, by all
accounts) 'God save you,' says he to the
young man.
'God save you kindly,' says the young
man, back again, 'God save you,' says he,
'King OToole.'
'True for you, says' the king, 'I am
king O'Toole,' says he, prince and plenny-
pennytichery o' these parts,' says he; 'but
how kem you to know that?' says he.
'O never mind,' says Saint Kavin.
'For you see,' said old Joe, in his under
tone again, and looking very knowingly, 'it
was Saint Kavin, sure enough--the saint
himself in disguise, and no body else.'
'Oh never mind,' says he, 'I know more
than that,' says he 'nor twice that.'
'And who are you? says the king, 'that
makes so bowld--who are you at all at all?'
'Oh never you mind,' says Saint Kavin
'who I am; you'll know more of me before
we part, King O'Toole,' says he.
'I'll be proud o' the knowledge o' your
acquaintance, sir,' says the king, mighty
polite.
'Troth you may say that', says Saint
Kavin. And now may I make bowld to ax,
how is your goose, King O'Toole?' says he
'Blur-an-agers, how kem you to know
about my goose?' says the king.
'O, no mather; I was given to under-
stand it,' says Saint Kavin.
'Oh, that's a folly to talk,' says the king;
'bekase, myself and my goose is private
friends,' says he; and no one could tell you,'
says he 'barrin the fairies.'
'Oh thin it wasn't the fairies,' says Saint
Kavin; 'for I'd have you to know,' says he
'that I don't keep the likes of such
company.'
'You might do worse then my gay fellow,
says the king; 'for they could show you a
crock o' money, as aisy as kiss hand; and
that's not to be sneezed at,' says the king,
'by a poor man,' says he.
'Maybe I've a better way of making
money myself,' says the saint.
'By gor, says the king, 'barrin' you're
a coiner,' say he, that's impossible!'
'I'd scorn to be the like, my lord?' says
Saint Kavin, mighty high, 'and scorn to be
the like' says he.
'Then what are you?' says the king,
'that makes money so aisy, by your own
account.'
'I'm an honest man,' says Saint Kavin.
'Well honest man,' says the king, 'and
how is it you make your money so aisy?'
'By makin' ould things as good as new,'
says Saint Kavin.
'Blur-an-ouns, is it a tinker you are?'
says the king.
'No,' says the saint. 'I'm no tinker
King O'Toole; I've a better trade than a
tinker,' says he--what would you say,' says
he, 'if I made your old goose as good as
new.'
'My dear, at the word o' makin his goose
as good as new, you'd think the poor ould
king's eyes was ready to jump out iv his
head, and,' says he--'troth then I'd give
you more money than you could count,' says
he 'if you did the like and I'd be behoul-
den to you into the bargain.'
'I scorn your dirty money,' says Saint
Kavin.
'Faith then, I'm thinkin' a trifle o'
change would do you no harm,' says the
king, looking up sly at the ould caubeen
that Saint Kavin had on him
'I have a vow again it', says the saint;
'and I am book sworn' says he, never to
have gold, silver, or brass, in my company.'
'Barrin' the thrifle you can't help says
the king, mighty cute, and looking him
straight in the face,
'You just hot it, says Saint Kavin; but
though I can't take money, says he, 'I
could take a few acres of land, if you'd give
them to me.'
'With all the veins of my heart, says the
king, if ye can do what you say.'
'Thry me!' says Saint Kavin. 'Call
down your goose here,' says he and I'll see
what I can do for her.
With that, the king whistled, and down
came the poor goose all as one as a hound,
waddlin' up to the poor ould cripple, the
masther and as like him as two pays. The
minute the saint clapped his eyes on the goose
'I'll do the job for you,' says he, 'King
O'Toole!'
'By Jaminee' says King O'Toole, If you
do, but I'll say you're the cleverest fellow
in the sivin parishes.'
'Oh, by dad, says Saint Kavin, 'you
must say more nor that--my horn's not so
soft all out', says he, 'as to repair your
ould goose for nothin'; what'll you give me,
if I do the job for you? that's the chat says
Saint Kavin.
'I'll give you whatever you ax', says the
king: 'isn't that fair?'
'Divil a fairer,' says the saint; that's the
way to do business. Now,' says he, this is
the bargan I'll make with you, King
O'Toole, will you gi' me all the ground the
goose flies over, the first offer afther I make
her as good as new?
'I will,' says the king.
You won't go back of your word,' says
Saint Kavin.
'Honor bright!' says King O'Toole,
howldin' out his fist.
'Honor bright, says Saint Kavin back
again, 'its a bargain, says he. 'Come here!
says he to the poor ould goose--'come here
you unfortunate ould cripple, says he 'and
its I that will make you a sporting bird.'
With that, my dear, he took up the goose
by the two wings--'criss o' my crass an you
say's he markin' her to grace with a blessed
sign at the same minute; and throwin' her
up in the air, whew!' says he, jist givin'
her a blast to help her: and with that, my
jewel, she took to her heels, flyin' like one
of the aigles themselves, and cuttin' as
many capers as a swallow before a shower
of rain. Away she wint down there, right
forninst you, along the side o' the clift, and
flew over St. Kavin's bed, (that is where
St Kavin's bed is now, but was not thin,
by raison it wasn't made, but was contrived
after by St. Kavin himself, that the women
must lave him alone,) and on with her under
Lugduff, and round the end of the lake
there, far beyant where you see the wather-
fall (though indeed it's no watherfall at all
now, but only a poor dhribble iv a thing; but
if you see it in the winter, it id do your heart
good, and it roaring like mad, and as white as
the dhriven snow, and rowlin down the big
rocks before it, all as one as the children
playing marbles,) and on with her thin right
over the lead mines of Luganure, (that is
where the lead mines is now, but was not
thin, by raisin they were discovered, but
was all goold in Saint Kavin's time.) Well
over the ind o' Luganure she flew, stout and
sturdy, and round the other ind av the little
lake, by the churches, that is av course
where the churches is now, but was not thin,
by reison they were not built but afterwards
by Saint Kavin, and over the big hill here
over your head, where you see the beg clift:
(and that clift in the mountain was made by
Fin Ma Cool, where he cut it agrass with a
big sword, that he got made a burpose by a
blacksmith out o' Rathdrum, with a cousin
av his own, for to fight a joyant [giant]
that darred him at the Curragh o' Kildare;
and he thried the sword an the mountain,
and cut it down into a gap as is plain to this
day; and faith, sure enough, it's the same
sauce he sarved the joyant soon and suddent,
and chopped him in two like a pratie, for the
glory of his sowl and owld Ireland;) well
down she flew over the clift, and fluttherin'
over the wood there at Poulanass, where I
showed you the purty watherfall; and by the
same token, last Thursday, was a twelve-
month sence, a young lady, Miss Rafferty
by name, fell into the same watherfall, and
was nigh hand drownded; and indeed would
be to this day, but for a young man that
jumped in after her; indeed a smart slip of
young man he was; he was out of Francis
Street, I hear, and courted her sence, and
they wor married I'm given to understand;
and indeed a party couple they wor. Well,
as I said, afther flutterin' over the wood a
little bit, to plaze herself, the goose flew
down and lit at the fut o' the king, as fresh
as a daisy, afther flying round his dominions
just as if she hadn't flew three perch. Well
my dear it was a beautiful sight to see the
king standing with his mouth open, looking
at his poor ould goose flying as light as a lark
and betther than ever she was; and when she
lit at his feet, he patted her an' the head, and
'ma vourneen,' says he, you are the darlint
o' the world.'
'And what do you say to me', says Saint
Kavin, for making her the like? I say,
says the king, that nothing bates the art o'
man barrin the bees. And do you say no more
nor that? says St. Kavin. And that I am
beholden to you says the king. But will
you give me all the ground the goose flewn
over? says St. Kavin. I will, says King
O'Toole, and you're welkim to it, says he,
though its the last acre I have to give. It's
well for you, says St. Kavin, mighty sharp,
for if you did'nt say that word, the devil
receive the bit o' your goose id ever fly again,
says St. Kavin.
'Well, whin the king was as good as his
word, St. Kavin was plaized with him,
and says he, 'King O'Toole, you're a
dacent man, I only came here to thry you.
You don't know me, says he, I'm deceivn'
you all out, I'm not myself at all! Blur-
an-agers thin says the king, if you are not
yourself, who are you? I'm Saint Kavin,
said the saint blessin' himself. Oh, queen
iv heaven, says the king, makin' the crass
betune his eyes, and falling down on his
knees before the saint, is it the great Saint
Kavin, says he, that I I've been discoorsin,'
all this time, without knowing it, says he
all as one as if he was a lump iv a gossoon,
and so you'll a saint says the king. I am,
says Saint Kavin, the greatest of all the
saints! For Saint Kavin you must know Sir,
said Joe, is counted the greatest of all the
saints, bekase he went to school with the
prophet Jeremiah.
'Well, my dear, that's the way that the
place came all at wanst into the hands of
Saint Kavin; for the goose flew round
every individual acre o' King O'Toole's pro-
perty, bein' let into the saycret by St. Kavin
who was mighty cute; and the king had
his goose as good as new, and the saint
supported him, after he came into his pro-
perty until the day av his death; and when
he was gone, Saint Kavin gave him an
illigant wake and a beautiful berrin; and
more betoken he said mass for his sowl, an'
tuk care av his goose.
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