¹ This poet, who wishes to describe the life of Brendan,
seems to brand the man of God with a grave crime.
O how foolish and mad it is to believe of the Saint
that the care of three thousand brothers, whom he undertook to rule,
and for whom he must render an awesome account to God,
because of a certain rumour reported to him in the evening
he would at once abandon with unheard-of fickleness,
and roam wandering over the sea for seven years;
to keep the holy Easter upon a fish for seven years,
running ever westward by sail, by wind, by oar;
to seek upon the sea what is promised in the heavens —
which every prudent man plainly reckons madness.
O wondrous thing, worthy of laughter, and full of folly!
The brothers at home are stripped of pastoral rule;
in the deep sea a huge fish pauses for their comfort.
The thrice-thousand brothers keep a mournful feast at home;
abbot and brothers keep a famous feast upon a fish.
This fish is so great that it takes the form of an island;
like Britain, it knows not how to turn upon its side,
and since the founding of the world it has never ceased to chase its tail.
It is pleasing here to insert a true and ancient saying:
it is fabulous, not true, nor even like the truth;
whatever you see written there is an old wives’ tale.
To these he adds more fables, never ceasing to invent —
that demons are to be saved and pay praises to God,
which is far too hostile to the Catholic faith.
For the right faith holds that, when the prince fell,
no one could fall with him who was not doomed to perish;
but this man grants place for pardon to a great part.
Origen, who saves all, is condemned for madness —
Origen, who after death, we read, was struck by anathema
because his books are stained with manifold schism.
Then Brendan, wishing to disclose the site of paradise,
strains to force upon us bare earth and little stones;
that this is to be given to the saints as a gift after the world’s end,
as though once promised, he strives to assert.
O how lean and wretched is the hope of the Irish,
whose whole reward for their works after this life
is bare earth and little stones and the flowers of trees!
Not so did loving Jesus will to promise us —
He who is Himself one day to be given to us as a gift;
and He pledged that we should shine like the sun in the Father’s kingdom,
and ever be companions of the Angels,
and that the pure in heart should see the Father’s holy face.
Therefore whoever believes these trifles is marked with folly;
he who writes them and he who reads them have time to waste.
It would better befit the brother to write the psalms of David,
or to sing psalms to God for his own and his brothers’ faults,
than to deceive the unlearned with writings so impure.
Therefore, brother, it is fitting to commit these little fables to the fire,
that so at least you may escape the savage fires —
which may the King of the heavenly country grant to us all. Amen.