... The anecdote varies, but substantially it is
always the same story: The interests of Ireland sacrificed to the
interests of Rome.
There came a whirring sound, and high overhead he saw three great
birds flying through the still air, and he knew them to be wild
geese flying south....
War had broken out in South Africa, Irishmen were going out to
fight once again; they were going to fight the stranger abroad
when they could fight him at home no longer. The birds died down
on the horizon, and there was the sea before him, bright and
beautiful, with ships passing into the glimmering dusk, and among
the hills a little mist was gathering. He remembered the great
pagans who had wandered over these hills before scapulars and
rosaries were invented. His thoughts came in flashes, and his
happiness grew intense. He had wanted to go and the birds had
shown him where he might go. His instinct was to go, he was
stifling in Ireland. He might never find the country he desired,
but he must get out of Ireland, "a mean ineffectual atmosphere,"
he said, "of nuns and rosaries."
A mist was rising, the lovely outlines of Howth reminded him of
pagan Ireland. "They're like music," he said, and he thought of
Usheen and his harp. "Will Usheen ever come again?" he said.
"Better to die than to live here." And the mist thickened--he
could see Howth no longer. "The land is dolorous," he said, and as
if in answer to his words the most dolorous melody he had ever
heard came out of the mist.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333