W. Stokes (ed.), 1907 — translated into modern British English.

Chapter One #

¹ There was a hospitaller, wonderful, famous, prosperous, in the plains of the wealthy Luachra, possessed of many cloaks and cows and cattle, named Fáelán the Fair, son of Feradach, son of Odrán, son of Dega, son of Findloga — his tribe being Uí Dega of Leinster and Ossory. Fifty-three herdsmen it was that watched his herd, his flocks and his cattle for him. And though the herdsmen were many, they could not drive them before them two days nor herd them for their multitude. And this is what they would do then — put their garments on their staves, and they would run in the swift courses of the province’s plains towards their resting-place and their full milking-yard.

² He had not many good things of the world left to him, nor had he a wife. On one night then, as they were at the fastness of his fort and his walled town, his wife said to him — for she had asked: “have you, husband, desire or craving for your own land? For if you had,” said she, “it were fitting for us to go to it, and enjoy our great wealth there, and make a common guesting-house of ourselves, so that everyone should find sufficiency with us in our lawful place — that we might have food after, and that our friends and counsellors might visit us.”

³ “Good, daughter,” said Fáelán; “you have spoken well and it is a blessing. And better than what you say — had we known you worthy, we would have gone. It is a child from us to our land and our dwelling.”

⁴ Whereupon he arose with strength of prosperity and riches — with many cloaks and cows and cattle, flocks, herds and cattle — until he filled the two cantreds of his patrimony and his own land, Uí Dega of Leinster and Uí Dega of Ossory, so that there was neither district nor land which was not filled by him, nor fort nor fastness nor fine stead which was not wholly full of his substance; and there was no one in contention with him who could stand against him for wealth.

Chapter Two #

⁵ There was a wonderful sister of his wife with her at that time — a woman was her name. Fáelán’s mind chanced upon her, so that she was with child by him. Fear and dread seized her before her sister and for shame at the deed that had befallen her. Therefore she went away in flight on the path; and she journeyed not by day but by night, and lay hid by day. In such wise she travelled until she came to her own father’s country — to Cenél Seitne in the west.

⁶ When she had come to the middle of Luachra westward in that manner, night fell there, and an exceeding great snow fell there so that it reached men’s shoulders. Pains took hold of her through the extremity of cold and the greatness of the snow and through the fear and dread upon her — and she then brought forth the child that was in her womb: a comely, shining son.

⁷ A ministry of angels was in the place where she was. The snow melted round about her on every side through the ministry of the angels. She turned her back upon the little child, and the Lord allowed it between them and the snow; and she stayed watching it to see how death would come upon it — for it was shame to her to look upon it after what had been done contrary to her father.

⁸ The sun’s light rose over the face of the green-walled, chosen earth, and she was marking the infant. Then her two breasts flowed over it with the sport of death and extinction. Therefore the Lord sent a dove from heaven to shelter that little child, and the dove put its down and its wings about the infant’s skin so that it was warmed and heated by it. The girl stretched her hands to where the dove was not, to put death upon it. But the dove came from every side about it and set its wings and its claws over the girl’s face and visage; and it stayed sheltering the infant in that wise until the hour of evening and of the day came.

Chapter Three #

⁹ Then came Brendan son of Findloga with his clerks of the church to them, and he saw the radiance of the angels’ ministry from heaven to earth above the infant. Then the cleric said to one of his household — to Collánach the priest: “Go,” said he, “to see the place there, for there is a ministry of angels from heaven to earth there.” Collánach went then to see the place, and perceived the dove and the infant, and the woman about to slay the infant while the dove sheltered it. The priest went to Brendan and told him all the deed. “Arise,” said Brendan, “and baptise the infant and give him a famous name, for the angels of heaven honour and reverence him. And take the infant and his mother with you to rear him until he be fit for study.”

¹⁰ Collánach the priest went and baptised the infant and gave him a name — Taircell (Foresighted) — for the foresight which the dove showed in sheltering him from his mother.

Chapter Four #

¹¹ Collánach took the boy and his mother to Brendan’s cave, and he was reared until the end of seven years. Now Collánach was noble in virginity and in modesty, and a wonderful sage. And when the sons of nobles and freemen would not be given to Brendan for study, Brendan would give them to Collánach — so that thirty sons of kings and over-lords were with Collánach; and there was none of them better in form and figure and aspect than Taircell.

¹² Then Collánach taught Taircell letters. And thus Taircell was — an angel, Victor by name, teaching him, so that there was nothing unknown to him. And it was he who used to teach the other boys, so that they all reverenced him.

Chapter Five #

¹³ Then he said to his fosterer: “I desire a boon of you.” “What boon?” said the fosterer. “The thirty sons of kings that are with you at study — that I should go in submission to them and journey through the territories to seek alms for them and for the church.” “Do so, then,” said the fosterer, “and take my blessing.”

Chapter Six #

¹⁴ He went forth then on the road and took two sacks with him — a sack on his back and a sack on his breast. He took his fosterer’s staff in his hand and went on his circuit in that wise. He would put grain and bread into one of the sacks, malt and butter and salt into the other sack, and a vessel of butter in his left hand. He remained in that wise until sixteen years were complete for him in submission to his fosterer and his foster-brothers.

¹⁵ One day he went on the circuit of Luachra and traversed it all that day. As he was chanting his prayers he saw the monstrous, hideous, horrible spectre approaching on the path before him — a Phantom, evil and unearthly, with its black, horrible, ill-formed company: men in the forms of sprites. And they showed no mercy to any man on the face of the earth — the evil Phantom himself, his wife, his gillie, his hound, and his nine householders.

¹⁶ As they were there upon the way, they saw the scholar before them on his road, with his load upon him, coming to the church. The Phantom said to his household: “Wait there while I go to speak to there solitary man. And I declare my word: since I took up raiding and brigandage, I have desired to slay none but him alone.”

¹⁷ Then he took his weapons and came forward to accost the scholar. Then the Phantom said to Taircell:

From where have you come, my little cleric — you that make mention of dainties?
From where have you come, black-browed one — of the countenance of heroes, heroic?

Your sacks shall be torn by me — they are heavy enough.
By my father’s hand, would that I had leave to rend them!

I will put this spear through your side after I tell it.
By my fosterer’s hand, I will take the staff in your head.

Easier to me is your wrestling-flesh than cooked food.
Through the host of piercings it shall go — from the back of your heart.

O Taircell the brown, you shall be plundered by us of your burden of bread —
a saying that I will not conceal, though it be for you to sing it.

¹⁸ “Ill shall it befall you, scholar,” said he; “I will put this spear through your heart until you meet death and destruction and extinction.” “I declare my word,” said Taircell, “that I will take this staff that is in my hand into your head — my fosterer’s staff; and I had promised peace that I would not leave it in single combat.” Then said Taircell:

A staff is this — heavy its descent — against the side of a great thief’s cheek:
thick its shaft, broad its neck — a hand-clasp of a man’s hand could not compass it.

¹⁹ And then the cleric said: “Give me a boon.” “What boon do you ask?” said they. “Not hard: my three steps of pilgrimage to be loosed for me towards the King of heaven and earth, and my three leaps of death besides, that the church may be the farther from me.” “Do it,” said the hag, “for it shall not go from the world — for we ourselves are as swift as the wild deer, and our hound is as swift as the wind.”

²⁰ Then he bound her by the Phantom’s hand. He leapt then his three steps of pilgrimage and his three leaps of death. The first leap he leapt was no greater to them than a raven on a hill’s top. The second leap he leapt — they did not see him, nor knew they whether he went into heaven or into earth. The third leap he leapt — it was then he landed on the chancel-wall of the church.

²¹ “Off with you, hag of the Phantom!” — and they ran, both hound and man, until their baying and their bellowing and their roaring were heard a mile’s journey in the air above. The hounds and the folk of the town came out, each to rescue the man from them — for they knew it was at their roaring the phantoms were. Then he leapt from the chancel-wall of the church and entered the church and sat in his place of prayer and remained singing psalms in the presence of his fosterer. Collánach looked not at him until he had finished his order and his mass. Then he looked at the lad after that; and thus he was — the fury of wrath and of the journey in him, and the radiance of the Godhead in his face.

²² “Well, son,” said the priest, “what fury of anger is on your face?” “Not hard to say: the evil phantoms came to me to hunt me and pursue me.” And he told him all the tale — how he leapt Luachra in the three leaps. “That is true,” said the priest. “you are the prophesied one whom Victor the angel foretold: you shall be Moling (the Leaper) of Luachra, from the leaps you have leapt.”

Chapter Seven #

²³ Thirty years from today Brendan son of Findloga came from the sea and took land and harbourage upon the streams of the Barrow. Then Brendan said to his household: “Cast your net into this pool,” said he; “it is likely a place for taking fish.” They cast the net out, and a salmon fell into every third mesh of the net. “Cast again,” said Brendan. They cast the second time and a salmon fell into every second mesh. The net was cast the third time, and a salmon fell into every mesh. “Let us make a dwelling here,” said Brendan, “for this is a place for sons of the church.”

²⁴ Brendan built the hearth of his house in that place and ordained the site of the monastery there. A very great hill was above the house; Brendan and his monks used to level it every day, that it might be a place of service to the Lord and that the noble hill on which the angels prophesied to him might remain. An angel came to Brendan then and said to him: “Make not a dwelling here this time,” said he, “for it is not for you that the making of a dwelling here is prophesied — but a son who shall be born at the end of thirty years hence; it is he who shall make a dwelling there: Moling of the great Pool. And it is he who shall settle at Rinn Ros Broic on the brink of the Barrow. And a multitude shall he bring to heaven. And he shall work his miracles and his marvels there, and his Lord shall come in the form of a leper to speak with him.” Whereupon the angel said:

Thirty years…

“You then are that Moling — for it is you who have leapt the greatest leap that man has leapt and shall leap till Doom. And it is you whom Victor the angel foretold; and your famous name henceforth shall be Moling of Luachra.”

²⁶ “What then — is there no other account of me save this?” said Moling. “And is it my kin that it concerns, that I should go to their dwelling and their presence?” “There is, indeed,” said the priest; “and your mother is in the town and she will tell you.” The mother was brought to him then, and she told him his birthright and his kindred and how he was made. “Son,” said the mother, “leave me your blessing, and grant me pardon for the deed I wrought.” Whereupon she said:

The wretch of Cenél Seitne —
it is I that reared him in my first sin;
may God grant the wretch forgiveness
for the outrage she committed.

²⁷ “Great is the shame you have brought me,” said she. “I have been shamed until you were a child of sin and corruption.” “Heaven be yours, woman,” said he.

²⁸ “What leave you me then?” said the priest; “for I have been greatly shamed through you — for multitudes used to say that you were a son of carnal union to myself.” “Heaven and life to yourself and to the man of the place — the priest of this town. Victory to you over hounds and women and horses from it — for it is you who did protect me from the phantoms.”

Chapter Eight #

²⁹ Then Collánach the priest cut his hair and gave him a monk’s tonsure, and said the pater over him, and bade him go to Maedóc of Ferns to be his fosterling. A beautiful, comely cleric was he. His body was whiter than snow. His cheek was redder than purple plants. There was none equal to him who could stand to look upon his face — for the radiance of the Godhead was in his countenance.

³⁰ He set out then and came to Cluain Cáin Maedóc. Maedóc was then in his church performing his ecclesiastical order around tierce. It was revealed to Maedóc that a noble, distinguished face was coming to him. “Let us leave the order now,” said Maedóc, “for one is on the way to us with whom it is not fitting to delay.” Moling entered the church, and Maedóc rose before him; and Moling sat not down in his place. The order was finished then. The clerics ate together afterwards. “Leave us your blessing,” said Maedóc. “I shall leave it,” said Moling: “victory of rising up and of honour in this town; victory of the cause of every assembly into which the chief of this town shall go. And however great the contention that is in the town, let them but come into the church and they shall go forth in peace — the town’s strife being borne past the great cross of the green.”

Chapter Nine #

³¹ He set out then to Cashel of the Kings. Fingen son of Áed was in Cashel before him. Moling reached him and the king bade him welcome. Moling asked Fingen for a site for a réclés. “It shall be given,” said the king. He slept there that night. The angel came to speak with Moling and said to him: “What need have you to be seeking a site here, when your appointed place is on the streams of the Barrow? — and a living fire for thirty years there in your prayer. And build you a church and a chapel there, and serve your Lord there.”

³² Now the king heard the converse of Moling and the angel; and the king said to Moling the next day: “Go,” said he, “towards the place which the angel promised you, and we will give you every help you shall need.”

Chapter Ten #

³³ Moling there left the goodly leavings of the king of Cashel and bade the king farewell, and went to Sliabh Mairge and looked southward from it; and he saw the ministry of angels at Rinn Ros Broic above the streams of the Barrow. And Moling reached that place and found Brendan’s hearth-site there. A house and a church were made there by Moling; and everyone wondered that a dwelling should be made there, for the place in which it was founded was a place of robbery and plunder and violation.

Chapter Eleven #

³⁴ At that time the Eó Rosa (the great yew) fell, and Molaisse divided it among the saints of Ireland. Moling went then to ask a share of the Eó Rosa. Molaisse gave him the timber for his oak-house (dairtech). And Moling brought Gobán the wright to him to build his oak-house — eight wrights, eight women, and eight lads. They were a year at it and accomplished nothing of it, nor was their labour thought of. Gobán used to go every morning commanding a going into the wood, and this is what he would say each time: “Let us go in the name of the heavenly Father today.” On the second year he said: “Let us go in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” And Moling and Gobán went into the wood and found there the timber and cut its fell.

³⁵ The first splinter that was struck from it fell upon Moling’s eye so that it broke in his head. He put his hood over his face and told not his mishap. And he said to them: “Do your work well till I go to make my hour.” He went away. As he was going, a scholar met him. “What is on your eye, cleric?” said he. “A splinter struck across it.” “Come till a salve be put on it and a spell over it,” said the scholar. Moling came, and then the scholar said:

The mill’s beam on your eye — the holly branch on your eye;
every trouble on your cheek — the clawed grip on your eye.

³⁶ The glance Moling cast past him — he knew not whether into heaven or into earth the scholar went. And ever after, the worse eye was the one that had been better. It was a demon that had come there.

³⁷ As he was on his way there he perceived the steadfast, white-grey cleric beside him. “What is on your eye, cleric?” said he. “A splinter struck across it,” said Moling. “Come here till a prayer be put over it.” Moling came to him, and then he said to him:

Mary’s veil, God’s veil — whole be he who wears it, whole be he who goes;
O Mary, from whom the remedy was brought — whole be every eye it passes.

A well that bathes an eye — whole shall it be;
he who healed your eye — he healed Tobit’s eyes.

Luke… of the household of the King of the city —
he who healed your eye healed the eyes of Nathrach.

I have seen the serpent with eyes of flame —
through my word, O Healer, Luke’s face healed.

Heal me of your eyes — I have no fault of leechcraft;
as God healed Mary the Queen, without fault in her veil.

Mary’s veil.

His eyes were healed at once, and his sight was never better before; and the cleric asked him not from where. “Truly,” said Moling, “it was my Lord who sent that messenger to me to help me.”

Chapter Twelve #

³⁸ As Moling was journeying on his way afterwards, he saw the hideous, horrible, ill-formed leper before him. “From where come you, cleric?” said the leper. “I come from the wood,” said the cleric. “Carry me with you to the church, for God’s sake.” “I am willing,” said Moling: “come here then,” said he. “How?” said the leper. “As you cam to me,” said Moling. “I cannot walk until I be carried easily,” said he. “Come on my back,” said Moling. “I will not go lest something of your clothing come between me and you — for I will not leave the cloth upon my flesh.” “I shall,” said Moling — and Moling put off his garment and took the leper on his back. “My nose itches,” said he. “Put your hand to it to scratch it.” “No,” said the leper, “lest your fingers draw my flesh from me: put your mouth to it.” The cleric put his mouth to his nose and sucked it, and put it into his left fist in that wise.

³⁹ The glance he cast past him — he knew not whether into heaven or into earth the leper went. “Right between us,” said Moling; “if it was to deceive me my Lord came. I shall not sleep nor eat food till my Lord come manifestly to me.” He remained in that place until midnight. The angel came to him and said: “How would you have your Lord come and speak with you?” “In the form of a boy of seven years,” said he, “that I might make love’s play about him.” He perceived not then for a space until Christ sat in his bosom in the form of a boy of seven years, and he stayed caressing him till the hour of rising the next day. “If it is enough for you,” said the angel, “go to your minster.” [And Moling went to the church then, and that line was written with him, etc. — F.]

Chapter Thirteen #

⁴⁰ He went to his house then. The fishermen found a very great salmon that night and gave it to Moling. The salmon was cut open before the cleric and a ring of gold found in its middle. Moling divided the ring in three: a third for the poor, a third for covering his relics, and a third for making his book.

Chapter Fourteen #

⁴¹ Then came Ruadsech the Red, wife of Gobán the wright, to speak with the cleric. She began to praise the form and colour and figure and aspect of the cleric. “Why that, woman?” said the cleric. “To speak with you and to make a request we have come,” said they; “we think ill to be without milch-cows.” “Two cows shall go to you and a cow to each of the other women,” said the cleric. “you are very good, cleric,” said Táitsum, “for you are in our own judgement.”

⁴² They went home then. There was a wicked fellow on plunder and brigandage there at that time — Grác was his name — and he came to the cows and stole one of Ruadsech the Red’s cows. That was told to Ruadsech. “It is true,” said she; “the wicked, denying cleric — it is he who gave that mean gift. A trifle with him — he gave us not what would keep us from wrong.” “My household shall go in pursuit,” said he, “and they shall slay Grác.” “I wish him a long life,” said she. “If it please you, then, let him be burned.” “I wish him to find a great fire while he is cold upon it.” “Or were it better he be drowned?” “I wish him to get a drink while he is in thirst.”

⁴³ Then the cleric said:

A blessing on the eight wrights
for whom the crooked cross is made;
if madness slay her soon,
O great God, she had no good.

Ruadsech the red —
O Son of my God, may love run;
on everyone that gives his fortune —
may my cattle’s bellowing be heard.

Eight wrights
and eight women beside them,
and eight lads with great beauty —
Gobán the wright brought to me.

Ruadsech…
not lucky…
a place in heaven…
to the man whose wife she is.

A blessing.

“Go in pursuit of the cattle,” said Moling. “Grác the brigand is he who did that deed — and he is on the streams of the Barrow, and his wife and his child. And he has killed the cow and is eating it; and go to him and slay him — but slay not the woman nor the child.”

⁴⁴ Moling’s household then reached the place where Grác was eating the cow. Grác fled from the party’s pursuit and went into a tree’s top. He was wounded up in the tree so that he fell into the fire. He fell from there into the Barrow and was drowned in it. And Moling’s household brought his cow with them then in the middle of its hide, and the cleric revived her so that she was whole.

⁴⁵ And thus was the cow then — the half that had been cooked of her was grey, and the other half was white. The cow was with Moling then, and he gave her not to Ruadsech; and a sufficiency of milk for twelve men used to be milked from her. Then came Grác’s wife and her child on her back to Moling, and she was in great grief asking help of the cleric. Whereupon Moling said:

O wife of Grác, it is wretched this — have you not heard that Grác is slain?
have you not heard his burning by fire and his drowning in sea?

O wife of Grác, it is wretched this — have you not heard that Grác is slain?
He shall be in hell for ever — that shall be his portion and his due.

O wife of Grác, it is wretched this — have you not heard that Grác is slain?
Not gentle the death that found him — the calf that is on your back.

O wife of Grác, it is wretched this — have you not heard that Grác is slain?
Your man is in hell — it is time we think — in the town where he was his wife will be.

O wife of Grác.

⁴⁶ Then anger and turmoil came upon Gobán’s wife, since the cow had not been given to her. She said that night to Gobán that she would not lie with him for ever unless Gobán took from Moling the price of her labour. “It shall be done,” said Gobán. “The oak-house is finished,” said she; “take no other wage for it but the oak-house full of rye-grain.” “It shall be done,” said Gobán.

⁴⁷ “Give your award,” said the cleric, “for it is you that promised it — your own award.” “I will give,” said he, “its fill of rye-grain to be given to me.” “Turn it upside-down,” said Moling, “and set its mouth upward, and fill it.” Gobán set tackle and gear upon it and turned the oak-house over; and no plank left its place, nor could one plank be moved from another.

⁴⁸ But Moling went and sent messengers from him to Uí Dega east and west for help concerning the difficulty that was put upon him. Whereupon he said:

The knowing one seizes me — between the two mountains —
Dega from the east, Dega from the west.

He asked of me the full of the brown oak-house —
a hard boon to me — of rye-grain unhusked.

If he had taken that from me, I should have no victory;
neither malt nor food would there be, nor seed nor hard grain.

Uí Dega, for my need, come to help me as is fitting —
for this is what I desire here, to be in wisdom.

⁴⁹ Then the Uí Dega came east and west to him, until the hill was full of them. He told them the award that had been put upon him. “If it were ours,” said they, “that would be given you — and there is not more than the fill of that oak-house of grain in all Uí Dega.” “That is true,” said he; “and go to your houses tonight, and come at the hour of rising tomorrow, and touch nothing between grain and nuts, and apples and fresh rushes, until it be full.”

⁵⁰ They came the next day and filled the oak-house. The Lord wrought a miracle there for Moling — for nothing else was found in it but bare rye-grain. Therefore Moling is entitled to that tribute from Uí Dega for ever, every year. Gobán carried his grain with him then, and it was found in heaps the next day. Fame and splendour and renown grew to Moling after these miracles, so that the Leinstermen gave him headship and princedom and counsel — and he was their high head over them all.

Chapter Fifteen #

⁵¹ There was a contest between the Leinstermen and the sons of Áed Sláine — Diarmait and Blathmac — for the division of the border between the Leinstermen and the Uí Néill besides. The Leinstermen said they would not make the division of their land without Moling. “Do it,” said the sons of Áed Sláine, “and let us meet the cleric at Sénór.” Messengers were sent then for the cleric, and the reason was told him; and he perceived that there was deceit in the messengers of Áed Sláine’s sons — for they had sent messengers before him. “Go you before us,” said the cleric to the messengers, “and let the meeting be made tomorrow; and let not the kings rise early — for it is far from me; and in the place where we shall meet, let the border be made there.”

⁵² The messengers went northward to where the sons of Áed Sláine were and told them the cleric’s answer. The kings sent nine men of every gap from Conlon of Slieve Bladma to the Uí Fintáin on the mountain-top as far as Áth Cliath of Dublin; and it was told them not to let the cleric pass, whichever of them should take him. Now that was revealed to Moling, and he put an unlovely aspect upon himself and his gillie. And he went that day until he had crossed the whole province — from Tigh Moling to the Muthael. They reached the Muthael and found no welcome in a house there. They went to another house that was at the town’s edge, and one woman was in it, and she made them welcome. “We need it,” said the cleric, “for we found no welcome in another house in the town.” “You shall have it here,” said the woman.

⁵³ The woman gave him the milking of a cow she had on the common — for there was no other food in the house save what she had left on the common. Moling drank a drink from the cup then and gave it to his two gillies and they drank their fill — and what was there was no less. The man of the house came and made them welcome. No food was found for them but a horse’s carcase that was in the house to be put in the cauldron for them. The cleric blessed the house and the cauldron — for he knew it was horse-flesh that was in it. But when the load that was in the cauldron was turned out, what was there was a quarter of mutton. It was set before the cleric and he divided it to them till they were satisfied. Moling blessed the household then — therefore from them are the nobles of Leinster ever since.

Chapter Sixteen #

⁵⁴ The cleric rose the next day to go to the meeting, and great fear seized him of the kings; and he went into Brigit’s protection and said:

O Brigit, ask of Christ for help —
O Brigit of Cuirreach, O Brigit of Códhal.

O Brigit of Códhal, O Brigit of Carmun —
O Brigit, help for my body and my soul.

O Brigit of Munster — from you are my cleansings —
O Brigit of Ulster, O Brigit of Leinster.

For ever may it be thus — our meadow in Bregmag,
our tribes in earth, our union in heaven.

Blessings, special love, welcome about the King’s law —
though Rome of Latium were mine — my life, O Brigit.

O Brigit.

Chapter Seventeen #

⁵⁵ He fared then over hedges and over hillocks, and no hindrance befell him till he crossed Fid Cúanach and out into Mag Muagnige till he crossed the Ríghe northward. He sat down in that place — and Moling’s Seat is there. The sons of Áed Sláine and their clerics came to the place where Moling was. “It is long from there, cleric,” said they, “you have kept the meeting.” “Ríg Mna Nuadat its name is till today,” said he, “and Ríghe of Leinster shall its name be henceforth — and you shall be the border of the two lands from here out.”

⁵⁶ He went home then after fixing the boundary between the Leinstermen and the Uí Néill. And the Leinstermen gave him a great tribute for securing the border for them.

Chapter Eighteen #

⁵⁷ Fínnachta son of Dúnchad, son of Áed Sláine, took the kingship of Ireland some time after. There was a common tribute for Leth Cuinn upon the Leinstermen at that time — the Bóroma (“cow-tribute”) of Leinster. Great was the trouble of the land’s folk in levying that tribute upon them.

⁵⁸ That was told to Moling, and he was troubled about the Leinstermen. He asked the elders and the chroniclers of Leinster whether there was in prophecy or in prediction among them the lifting of that tribute from them. “There is, indeed,” said they; “it shall be lifted through a cleric.” “Who knows that it is not through me that is,” said Moling; “and what harm to me to go ask its remission?”

Chapter Nineteen #

⁵⁹ Moling went north then and told the Uí Néill kings that his errand was to ask the remission of the Bóroma. Now that was not pleasing to the Uí Néill, and they all said they would not rise together in the house before him. Then the cleric came into the house, and none rose before him until Murchad son of Airmedach — Domnall’s father — rose before him. Whereupon Moling said: “Be it with you and your seed the lordship for ever.” And Moling sat down then and stayed asking the truce of them.

⁶⁰ “How long the truce?” said they. “A year,” said he. “No,” said they. “Its half,” said he. “No,” said they. “Give a quarter then,” said he. “No,” said they. “A truce to Monday,” said he. “It shall be given,” said Fínnachta.

⁶¹ Then he bound his gillie upon himself and upon one of the kings of Brega — Braen his name — for he was alone in hardship. And Moling went to him and made prayer with him, and he slept at once.

⁶² Then he went to Tara, and the doorkeeper would not let him in — for he was told not to admit him. “Let me in,” said Moling. “I may not,” said he, “for the king is in grief after the death of his son.” “He has leave to be dead if he has God’s leave,” said Moling. The son died at once.

⁶³ Moling sat upon a flagstone outside — from where “Moling’s Flag” it is called. “It is certain,” said everyone, “it is Moling who killed the son — let him be given his own will for raising him.”

⁶⁴ Then Moling was brought to them, and they promised him his own will if he would heal the son. The cleric made prayer and the son rose at once. He said: “Did you give a truce till Monday to me?” “We gave,” said they. “To the Monday of Doomsday I bound it,” said he. “It is not I who shall go over it,” said Fínnachta. Whereupon Moling said:

A wonder: the covenant of the Uí Néill, etc.

Moling went from there to his own house.

Chapter Twenty #

⁶⁵ Then came Adamnán grandson of Tinne after him to the assembly, and he greatly blamed the Uí Néill and reproached Fínnachta, and said:

Today when you bind shackles — the king, grey, toothless —
the cattle that were well remitted to Moling — fitting for the step that was not refused, etc.

⁶⁶ Then rose the stern chosen household of Tara, and Alusán son of Aengus their strong man and leader, to pursue Moling to kill him. They went swiftly and eagerly in pursuit of the cleric to kill him. Great fear and dread seized the cleric before the many unfamiliar host; and he went into the saints’ protection to shelter him — therefore he chanted these words:

O Brigit, bless the way, etc.

⁶⁷ While the hosts were overtaking Moling, the saints cast a dark grey mist between them and the host; and they went past where he was hidden from them. The hosts waited, and met in one place — and he had gone far from them; and then they saw him going towards the ford, and then they loosed their horses.

⁶⁸ He said to his gillie, while they were overtaking him: “What manner of horse is nearest us now?” “A white horse,” said the gillie. “Not he,” said Moling; “a white horse — Braen’s heap.” “What horse is nearest now?” “A black horse,” said the gillie. “A black tearful horse,” said Moling; “not him.” “And what horse do you see now?” “A dun horse,” said the gillie. “A dun comely horse — not he either.” “And what horse do you see now?” “A brown horse,” said the gillie. “That is true,” said Moling; “a brown horse with the flush on his face — that is he.” “How does he ride?” said Moling. “A youth’s switch — the greatest of the world’s men,” said the gillie. “That is Alusán son of Aengus,” said the cleric.

⁶⁹ The cleric then crossed the ford. The gillie asked him for the great burden of drink, saying he could not go without drink. The cleric struck the staff into the flagstone and a stream of water came out of it, and the gillie drank his fill of it. And that water still remains as a token of the miracle. Then the cleric turned upon the hosts and made prayer — for he had no means to avoid them. Whereupon he said:

Pater noster — my help against all the wicked;
mine be my pater noster — theirs be their ill-fortune.

Qui es in caelis — O God, protect me from ruin;
from demons with many a turn — may He guard me: sanctificetur.

Nomen tuum — with me for ever — and adveniat my lasting being;
regnum tuum — with me at last — panem nostrum before my going.

Cotidianum every day — and da nobis, O God;
leave me not behind Him — let us ask: dimitte nobis.

Debita nostra — that it may be great — and sicut
dimittimus — with me for ever — debitoribus nostris.

For my own head — hard is death — I see: ne nos inducas;
that demons destroy not my… — I see: in temptationem.

Sed libera nos a malo — deliver me still, my Friend;
when death is certain to me — my deliverance — that I may remember: Amen.

For Your supplication, O God of heaven — for Your prayer, for Your petition —
that I may reach the good pure bright life — through the prayer of the pater.

Lord of the world, though there be of them — though they do every ill deed,
may the pure Creed save them through purity — and the pater.

Intercession of Mary upon her Son — upon His Godhead, upon His Manhood —
that the seven parts of the pater may be a protection clear to me.

Lord of the world, though there be of them — though they do every ill deed —
may they all come to heaven — if it be they who pray the pater.

Not as the evening dims — not as the morning shines —
not as he is baptised before death — with whom is not the memory of the
Pater noster.

⁷⁰ Then Alusán son of Aengus reached the cleric and cast a stone at him so that it struck him — and he threw the stone back, and the hero’s finger-marks remain in it still. Then Alusán fell from his horse and found death and extinction. And a number of the host with him died through the miracles of God and Moling — each of them killing the other in the cleric’s likeness.

⁷¹ But Moling went on his way to his house. A great thirst seized him, and he said: “I would gladly drink the water of the Barrow, were it not the blood of the kin-slaying wrought at Ros Glaise”; saying:

I would drink the water of the Barrow — it is the desire of my heart —
were it not the blood of the kin-slaying wrought at Ros Glaise.

I would drink the water of the Barrow — my drink, for it would be certain —
were it not that Ossory is too small for the Leinstermen to put therein.

I would drink the water of the Barrow — from which the deer drink —
were it not that dun pools shelter its mountain stream.

I would drink the water of the Barrow — my drink, and it were without error —
were it not that Leithglenn is filthy, and Uisen’s waterfall.

A little goblet of Jordan’s stream I have been given over seven seas —
beside my oak-house in the north — it is good to all.

Whoever goes to my house — for every sickness that touches him —
it will be good, it will be sacramental — for every man who drinks it.

“I would gladly drink my fill of the Barrow’s water,” said he; “and though good, may my Lord come to hallow and consecrate my drink — that it may be cleansing, and that it may be a consecration and a good and a sacrament to everyone who drinks it and who goes round it.”

⁷² Then he told his tales and his journeys to his lector, and he stayed asking his fosterer.

⁷³ A madman and a fox, a wren, and a little fly used to make music for him when he rose from his sleep — until the wren leapt upon the fly and killed it; and it grieved him that it was slain by the wren, and he cursed the wren, whereupon he said:

My fly… etc.

⁷⁴ “What is it then,” said Moling, “but that he who destroyed the poor little creature that used to make music for me — that in waste places shall be his dwelling for ever, and that wet milk shall be there ever. And may lads and rustics be slaying him.”

⁷⁵ “Who then killed the wren and the fly?” — “The fox killed the wren.” — “The hounds of the town killed the fox.” — “The cowherd of the cows killed the madman” — Suibne son of Colmán.

⁷⁶ Now Moling was serving the Lord there. He used to work his miracles and his marvels. He used to raise the dead; he used to heal the blind and lepers and the lame and the sufferers of every sickness. He used to preach God’s word to all. The angel of God used to converse with him and visit him — to loosen every good and to forbid every evil. He was a poet, he was a prophet, he was a sage, he was a learned man; he was a sage, a psalmist, a priest, a soul-friend.

⁷⁷ He went with honour and worship to the angelic rest, with the prayer of the household of heaven and the intercession of the household of earth — after fasting, after almsgiving, after prayer, after the fulfilment of every good — in the eighty-second year of his age.

FINIS.

Written at Áth Cliath from the Book of Tigh Moling. And I commit the miracles of Moling that are in Latin to the protection of the brothers of the clergy — though a cleric myself — 15 July 1628.

[The Life is followed in the manuscript by a piece in Latin beginning “De australi Laginiensium plaga quae dicitur Cinsealach” — not captured here.]