The Destruction of Tiernmas and His People

But Tiernmas with all his worldly wisdom and glory was a slave to the grossest superstition. During the early and more turbulent part of his reign, he seldom had either leisure or inclination to attend to the religious affairs of his kingdom; but he openly expressed his contempt for the established religion, and his determination to modify it to suit his own conceptions, or replace it by a totally new species of worship. Connla the Sage beheld this with silent sorrow and apprehension, and his prayers continually ascended that the curse of idolatry might be averted from the nation. But his prayers avail not for the king has issued a proclamation; and all his subjects must henceforth bend the knee to the great idol Cromm Cru. Many of his courtiers were willing to abandon a religion that repressed too severely the licentiousness of their lives; others more scrupulous were yet afraid to avow their convictions; and every vestige of the old worship was soon banished from the precincts of the royal residence.

The priests were forbidden to approach the palace unless they consented to sacrifice to the idol:—those whose attachment to their faith was sincere secretly retired with their beloved master to seek shelter and sympathy from those who were too virtuous to yield to the debasing influence of idolatry. The greater number however, tempted by the prospect of reward, threw themselves under the royal patronage, and consented to officiate at the altars of the idol. Many of them were impatient of the restraint which the watchful eye of Connla imposed on their conduct, and remembered with renewed irritation his unsparing censures of their vices; some envied his virtue and profound learning; and all, with the exception of those faithful few who followed him into exile, seized the opportunity of secretly indulging their malice against him, and openly testifying their loyalty to the sovereign.

At length the great festival of Samain approached and a royal proclamation went forth commanding the people to assemble on the eve of the day, and celebrate the festival in honour of the idol. It was to be a day of universal rejoicing, and the preparations were vast and magnificent. Nothing was neglected by the king that could gratify the pride of his courtiers, stimulate the zeal and avarice of the priests, or fascinate the gaze of the multitude. The expectations of all were raised to the highest degree, and every one looked forward with impatience for the auspicious morning.

On the evening preceding the festival, the sounds of revelry rang loud and joyous through the palace; for the king was surrounded by his courtiers, and they abandoned themselves to unrestrained festivity. At the upper end of the hall sat the monarch on a magnificent throne, and extending far down on either side were placed the nobles according to the order of rank. Beside the throne sat the royal bard, who proceeded—by the king's command—to recount the actions of his great ancestor Milesius. And now every voice was hushed, and every ear fixed in eager attention. The fire of enthusiasm lighted the eye of the son of song; his countenance glowed with a wild unearthly expression; and in that language whose tones are music he poured forth a flood of eloquence that intoxicated his listeners like the spell of a wizard. He sang of the hero's travels to the land of his fathers, Scythia, and how his courtly manners and gallant actions won for him the favour of the great king; he dwelt on his arrival in Egypt, where the might of his arms enabled the proud Pharaoh to subdue the Ethiopic nations from the South, and how the monarch's beautiful daughter Scota became his wife—the guerdon of his valour. He glanced from scene to scene of the hero's life, and enumerated and applauded his wanderings, his conquests, and his virtues; and when he ceased, the breathless silence continued for a space unbroken, and his entranced audience yet listened as though his voice still sounded in their ears.

A faint murmur now broke through the stillness, the listeners started as if from a dream, the murmur rapidly rose, and the first wild burst of uncontrolled admiration had partially rung through the hall, when it was suddenly hushed; for every eye was fixed on a tall venerable figure that advanced towards the throne with slow and stately tread. The name of Connla the Sage involuntarily burst from the monarch's lips as the stranger confronted him. He bestowed not a single glance at the rich panoply that surrounded him; the magnificently attired courtiers were unnoticed; he stood unmoved and fearless before the king, and bent on him an indignant glance, before which the royal culprit for a moment quailed, as if those eyes pierced to the inmost depths of his soul. The stranger's voice at length broke the death-like silence. "Thou hast heard, O king, a tale that well suits thy royal ear. Nobly hast thou emulated the valour of thy great ancestor; why not also imitate his virtue? The mind of the noble Milesius spurned the debasing trammels of idolatry: a deformed idol is the object of thy senseless adoration. Thy wickedness has ascended to the throne of the Eternal, and prosperity hardens thee yet more in thy iniquity. But provoke not too far the wrath of the Almighty One. It is not yet too late. Revoke, O Tiernmas, thy impious purpose, and fill not the measure of thy iniquity by persevering in to-morrow's sacrifice."