"The Hymn in Praise of Saint Brigid of Brogan-Cloen"

THE IRISH HYMNS IN THE LIBER HYMNORUM. 

 

Locus hujus hymni, — Slieve Bloom or Cluain Mor Maedoc. The author, Broccan the squinting. Tempus of Lugaid, son of Loegaire, king of Ireland and of Ailill son of Dunking, king of Leinster. Causa, Ultan of Ardbrecain his tutor asked him to relate Brigit's miracles in short discourse with poetic consonance, for it is this Ultan that collected all Brigit's miracles. 

 

Victorious Brigit loved not (the) world ; she sat (the) seat of a bird on a cliff : 

The holy-one slept a captive's sleep because of her Son's absence. 

Not much of carping used to be found with (the) noble faith of (the) Trinity, 

Brigit mother of my Lord,— of heaven's kingdom best was she born. 

5 She was not a carper, she was not malevolent, she loved not vehement woman's-war : 

She was not a serpent wounding, speckled : she sold not God's Son for gain. 

She was not greedy for treasures, she gave without gall, without abatement : 

She was not hard (or) penurious : she loved not the world's pastime. 

She was not harsh to sojourners, gentle was she to wretched lepers. 

10 On a plain she built a town: to (God's) kingdom she convoyed hosts. 

She was not a herdswoman on a mountain-side : she wrought amid a plain, 

A marvellous ladder for pagans to visit (the) kingdom of Mary's Son. 

Marvellous (was) St. Brigit's congregation : marvellous the flame that went (from it) : 

It was only about Christ sang (the) assembly that was frequent with multitudes. 

15 In a good hour MacCaille set the veil on Saint Brigit's head : 

Clear was she in her goings : in heaven was heard her prayer. 

" God, I pray Him in every struggle, in every way that my mouth may speak, 

Deeper than seas, greater than can be told, Three-Persons, One-Person, marvel of a story!" 

She prophesied to the sage, famous Coemgen, that wind would hurl him through a storm of snow : 

20 In Glendalough a cross was suffered so that he possessed peace after trouble. 

Saint Brigit was not sleepy, she was not changeful about God's love: 

The holy-one neither bought nor gained profit of this world. 

What the King wrought of miracles for St. Brigte 

Hath not been wrought for man where car of anyone living hath heard. 

25 The first calling to which she was sent in spring in a chariot, 

She took not from her guests' food, she diminished not their substance. 

Her (caldron's) charge of bacon after this — one evening — high was the marvel ! 

Although the dog was satisfied thereout, the guest was not 

mournful. 

On her day of reaping well reaped she — fault was not found there with my pious one : 

30 There was fine weather always in her field — though on the world fell a storm. 

Bishops who visited her, not trifling was the danger to her 

If it had not been that the King increased the cows' milk three-fold. 

She herded on a day of storm sheep amid a plain : 

She spread afterwards her hood in (the) house on a sunbeam.

35 The hard youth besought her, Brigit, for love of her King : 

She gave seven wethers from her, her flock's number she lessened not. 

It is according to my lore if I should relate what she did of good : 

Marvellous for her the bath which she blessed : about her it was red ale.

She blessed the pregnant nun, she was whole without poison, without illness : 

40 There was a greater marvel another (time) — of the stone she made salt (for the poor). 

I have not told, I tell not, what the holy creature wrought. 

She blessed the table-faced man, so that his two eyes were clear. 

A dumb girl was brought to Brigit — it was one of her miracles — 

Her hand went not from her hand until her speech was clear. 

45 A marvel of (the) bacon she blessed — it was God's power that secured it :

It was a full mouth with the dog: the dog marred it not. 

There was a greater marvel at another time ! a bit she asked from the (caldron's) charge

Spoiled not her scapular's colour, (though) it was flung hot into her bosom. 

The leper begged a boon of her : it was good for him that she granted it : 

50 The choice of the calves she blessed : (the) choice of the cows it loved. 

She afterwards sent her chariot north ward to the hill of Cobthach Coil,

The calf with (the) leper in (the) chariot, the cow behind the calf. 

The oxen that had gone away from her — well for them had anyone turned them — 

Against them rose the river, at morning they came home. 

55 Her horse separated head from bridle when they were running down hill: 

The yoke was not uneven — God's Son helped the royal hand. 

A wild boar frequented her herd — northwards the beast drove it: 

Brigit sained (him) with her staff, with her swine he took his stay. 

A hog, a fat pig which was given her, over Magh Fea — it was a marvel ! — 

60 Wolves hunted it for her until it was in Uachtar-gabra. 

She gave the wild fox for grace of her vassal the wretched :

To a wood it went although the hosts pursued. 

She was clear in her goings : she was one mother of (the) great King's Son.

She sained the swift bird so that it played in her hand. 

65 Nine outlaws she sained, who reddened their weapons in a pool of gore: 

The man on whom they inflicted wounds, his body was not found. 

What she wrought of miracles there is not (one) who has rightly counted : 

A marvel, she took Lugaid's dinner, (the) champion, his strength did not lessen. 

An oak which the host lifted not at the other time — excellent, famous ! 

70 Her son brought to her for Brigte to (the) place in which her house was founded.

The pin of silver — not to be concealed— for evil against the Nia's woman

Was flung into (the) sea a cast's full length so that it was in a salmon's belly. 

A marvel for her, the (poor) widow, who dwelt (?) in Magh Coil, 

Burnt the new weaver's beam on (the) fire cooking the calf. 

75 Greater was (the) marvel than the other ! the saint wrought (?) it : 

In (the) morning whole was the beam, at (its) mother the calf suckled.

The treasure of silver which the artisan broke not, it was a marvel for her ! 

Brigit struck it against her palm so that afterwards it brake into three.

It was put into a scale by the artizan, a marvel was found after this, 

80 It was not found that even one scruple (one third) was greater than another third. 

What she wrought of miracles, there is not a human being who may recount them : 

She blessed raiment for Condla when he was taken to Latium. 

When there was danger to her, her Son before her did not fail her : 

He brought (like) raiment in a coffer of sealskin in a chariot of two wheels. 

85 The vat of mead that was brought to her, there was no hardship to every one who brought : 

(The vessel) was found beside (his) house : it was not observed there with her. 

She gave (mead) for her vassal's benefit when he needed it : 

There was not found increase there, nor was a drop wanting from it. 

On us let Brigit's prayers be, long against dangers may she aid us ! 

90 May they be on her weaklings' side before going into (the) Holy Spirit's presence ! 

May she come to us with a sword of fire at the fight against dark flights (of demons) ! 

May her holy prayers convoy us into heaven's kingdom beyond pains ! 

Before going with angels to the battle, let us visit the church running : 

Commemoration of God is better than any poem — victorious Brigit loved not (the) world. 

95 I beseech (the) patronage of Saint Brigit, with (the) Saints of Kildare : 

May they be between me and pain, (that) my soul come not to ruin. 

The Nun that used to run over (the) Curragh, may she be a shield against sharp weapons :

She found not her like save Mary : we put trust in my Brige ! 

We put trust in my Brige — may she be a protection to our host ! 

 

100 May her patronage work with me ! may we all deserve escape ! 

Christ's praise, a glorious utterance, adoration of God's Son, a gift of victory, 

Of God's kingdom without denial be every one who has sung it, who has heard it. 

Whoever hath heard, whoever hath sung, let Brigit's blessing be on him : 

Brigit's blessing and God's be upon us together. 

 

105 There are two nuns in heaven, whom I rely on (?) for my protection, 

Mary and Saint Brigit : under (the) protection of them both be we ! 

 

Sancta Brigitta etc.

 

[In the MS. Trinity College, Dublin, is added the Latin strophe: 

 

Sancta Brigitta virgo Sacratissima 

In Christo Domino fuit fidelissima. Amen .]

 

Source: Whitley Stokes, Goidelica: Old and Early-middle-Irish Glosses, Prose and Verse (1872), 142-6. 

Note: This text can be read with the full introduction at Trias Thaumaturga.

Image: "Saint Brigid of Kildare Church (Dublin, Ohio) - statue of Saint Brigid” by Nheyob on Wikimedia.

---

Additional Notes

Broccán (Brogan) Clóen

Contributed by

Breen, Aidan

Broccán (Brogan) Clóen (‘squint[-eyed]’) (d. 650), abbot of Ros Tuirc in Ossory, was credited with the poem, ‘Ní car Brigit búadach bíth’, on the miracles of St Brigit (qv). According to its preface, Broccán's mentor, Ultán (qv) (d. 655/7) of Ardbraccan, had collected accounts of the miracles of Brigit and asked Broccán ‘to relate [them] compendiously [and] with poetic harmony’. It was composed, so the preface also goes, either at Slieve Bloom or at the foundation of St Máedóc (qv) at Cluain Mór (Clonmore, Co. Carlow), and (quite impossibly) in the reign of Lugaid (d. c.507) son of Lóegaire (qv), king of Ireland. There is considerable agreement in both the substance and the order of the miracles narrated between Broccán's ‘hymn’ and the Cogitosus (qv) Life of Brigit (c.650), so that it has been conjectured that the former was based on the latter. The poem itself has no thematic order, and is simply a concatenation of miracles or allusions to miracles. In its extant form it has many late linguistic features that point to a date of composition in the ninth century, but enough archaisms survive to sustain the possibility of original composition in the seventh century, and therefore of Broccán's authorship. His feast-day is 17 September; he is referred to in all of the early martyrologies.

Sources

Liber Hymn., i, 112–28; ii, pp l–lvi, 40–46, 189–205 (text, trans., and notes); W. Stokes and J. Strachan, Thesaurus Palaeohibernicus, ii (1903), pp xxxviii–xxxix, 327–49

PUBLISHING INFORMATION

DOI: https://doi.org/10.3318/dib.000973.v1 

Originally published October 2009 as part of the Dictionary of Irish Biography

Last revised October 2009

This content is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial 4.0 International license.

 

“Brighid of Keening” by Jenne Micale

 

Brighid of Keening

 

You didn’t blame Ruadhan as you bowed your head
low, the willow branches of your hair swinging,
rocking with the gale of your sobs, every
flower dropping its bloom, every egg webbed with cracks
for the ending of what should have spun forward
into time and light

 

Sometimes sons are swept up in waves of words
and choose the wrong side, enraptured by spears,
the graceful pass of a blade, that wonderment
when a star winks out. Every child has this
rage hatching in their core. We raise it up
into time and light

 

or train it like a vine to more useful ends.
The knowledge of this racks you too, how you,
the poetess, spoke the truth to him clearly
and still he laughed and picked up the spear. Even
the smith could see through the ruse as he threw it
into time and light

 

and how that chosen victim wouldn’t consent
and instead plucked a barbed insult from the air
and flung it back. You howl, your white neck showing,
as you replay the act: a brother slaying
a son, a salt well pulling tears from the deep
into time and light

 

because in the end, there are no sides but this:
We who are bound by time and those beyond
it, we who yet walk in day and those who dip
over the rim and out of sight. Those we can reach
and those beyond the touch of even tears
into time and light

 

 

 

 Image: "The Lamentation, the central panel from a large altarpiece from the Benedictine monastery at Sopetrán, northeast of Madrid, Spanish, Castile-La Mancha, ca. 1480 CE, walnut with gilding.” Circa 1480 CE. Photo by Mary Harrsch on Wikimedia. Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.

“Devotion” by Megan Black

 

  

 

Devotion

 

A simple word;

Three syllables of

...complicated

.......baggage

Leftover from

the time before.

Daily devotion,

a life lived by core tenets

I never knew I needed...

Until You.

Hammer to anvil,

shadows and slime

squeezed from the chest

of a girl broken

one

too

many

times...

Devotion

picked up the pieces

the wind tried

to whip away.

Honoring You

In life,

In love,

In my child,

In my day,

In my work,

In my breath,

In my heart...

Until my last breath

whisks me away

to that liminal space;

Land and Sea and Sky

come together

where You wait.

 

 

 

 

Image: "woman wearing hijab” by Jyotirmoy Gupta (@jyotirmoy) on Unsplash.

"Prayer to Brigid for the Queer Community" by Ever Conwell

 

Brigid

please lend your voice to us 

the queer ones

whom those in power would make

Cowless

for daring to exist.

Ignite our brows with poetry

that we might speak of justness

of rightness

in ways that can’t be brushed aside

or ignored.

Protect us as we fight for ourselves

for our families

for any and all whom those in power would harm.

Please temper us as gently as you can

and heal us in the ways we need it most.

Grant us strength for the battles ahead

that we may live

and thrive

and see true justice done

in your name.

 

Image: "family, lgbtq, and queer couple" by courtney coles on Unsplash.

"Hail Brigit - Slán seiss a Brigit co mbúaid” - Book of Leinster

 

TRANSLATION (ORIGINAL BELOW):

Sit thou safely enthroned, triumphant Brigit, upon the side of Liffey far as the strand of the ebbing sea!

Thou art the sovereign lady with banded hosts that presides over the Children of Catháir the Great.

God's counsel at every time concerning Virgin Erin is greater than can be told: though glittering Liffey is thine today, it has been the land of others in their turn.

When from its side I gaze upon the fair Curragh....The lot that has fallen to every king causes awe at each wreck.

Logaire was king as far as the sea,--Ailill Áne, a mighty fate: the Curragh with its glitter remains--none of the kings remains that lived thereon.

Perfect Labraid Longsech lives no more, having trodden under foot his fair thirty years: since in Dinn Rig--`twas a wonted abode--he dealt doom to Cobthach the Slender.

Lore's grandson, Oengus of Róiriu, seized the rule of Erin,....sway; Maistiu of the freckled neck, son of Mug Airt, through princes across their graves.

Fair-famed Alenn! Delightful knowledge! Many a prince is under its girth: it is greater than can be fathomed when Crimthan the Victorious was seen in its bosom.

The shout of triumph heard there after each victory around a shock of swords, a mettlesome mass; the strength of its warrior-bands against the dark blue battle-array; the sound of its horns above hundreds of heads.

The tuneful ring of its even-colored bent anvils, the sound of songs heard there from the tongues of bards; the ardour of its men at the glorious contest; the beauty of its women at the stately gathering.

Drinking of mead there in every home-stead; its noble steeds, many tribes; the jingle of chains unto kings of men under blades of five-edged bloody spears.

The sweet strains heard there at every hour, its wine-barque upon the purple flood; its shower of silver of great splendor; its torques of gold from the lands of the Gaul.

Far as the sea of Britain the high renown of each king has sped like a meteor: delightful Alenn with its might has made sport of every law.

Bresal Bree was king over Elg, Fiachra Fobree with a fierce band of warriors; Ferus of the Sea, Finn son of Roth they loved to dwell in lofty Alenn.

Worship of auguries is not worth listening to, nor of spells and auspices that betoken death; all is vain when it is probed, since Alenn is a deserted doom.

Brigit is the smile that smiles on you from the plain...of Core's land; of each generation which it reared in turn Liffey of Lore has made ashes.

The Currah of Liffey to the brink of the main, the Curragh of Sétna, a land of peace as far as the sea,--many is the king whom the Curragh of Carbre Nia-fer has overthrown.

Catháir the Great-- he was the choicest of shapes --ruled Erin of many hues: though you cry upon him at his rath, his prowess of many weapons has vanished.

Fiachna of Fomuin, glorious Bresal ruled the sea with showers of spears: thirty great kings to the edge of the sea seized land around Tara of Bregia.

The Peaks of Iuchna, delightful place, around which many graves have settled behold in lofty Allen the abode of Tadg, son of Nuada Necht!

The apparel of Feradach--a goodly diadem--around whom crested bands would move; his blue-speckled helmet, his shining mantle,--many a king he overthrew.

Dunlang of Fornochta, he was generous, a prince who routed battles against the sons of Niall: though one were to tell the tale to all, this is not the world that was once.

Illann with his tribe launched thirty battles against every king, Enna's grandson, a rock against terror, it was not a host without a king's rule.

Ailill was a king that would bestow favour, against whom a fierce blood-dark battle-host would rise: Cormac, Carbre, Colman the Great, Brandub, a barque in which were hosts.

Faelan the Fair was a track of princeship, Fianamail with....; Braiin, son of Conall with many deeds, he was the wave over every cliff.

Oh Brigit whose land I behold, on which each one in turn has moved about, thy fame has outshone the fame of the king--thou art over them all.

Thou hast everlasting rule with the king apart from the land wherein is thy cemetery. Grand-child of Bresal son of Dian, sit thou safely enthroned, triumphant Brigit!

SOURCES:
The Book of Leinster. l.7148-25.

"Hail Brigit": an Old-Irish poem on the Hill of Alenn. ed. and trans. Kuno Meyer. Halle a.S., M. Niemeyer, 1912.

Captured from Celtic Literature Collective.

ORIGINAL:

Slán seiss, a Brigit co mbúaid, for grúaid Lifi lir co tráig; is tú banfhlaith buidnib slúaig fil for clannaib Cathaír Máir.

Ba móu epirt i cach ré airle Dé fri hÉrinn úaig; in-diu cid latt Life líg ropo thír cáich ala n-úair...

Ba rí Loegaire co ler, Ailill Áne, adbol cor; mairid Currech cona lí ní mair nach rí ro boí for....

Ailend aurdairc, álaind fiss, ill mór flaithe fo a cniuss; ba móu foscnad tan ad-chess Crimthan Cosrach ina criuss.

Gáir a ilaig iar cach mbúaid im chúail claideb, comtaig drend; bríg a fían fri indna gorm, gloim a corn for cétaib cend.

Glés a hindéon cotad cúar, clúas a dúan di thengthaib bard, bruth a fer fri comlann nglan, cruth a ban fri hoenach n-ard.

A ól meda for cach mbruig, a graig ailmar, ilar túath, a seinm rond di rigaib fer fo duilnib sleg cóicrind crúach.

A céoil binni i cach thráth, a fínbarc for tonngur flann, a fross argait ordain móir, a tuirc óir a tírib Gall.

Adrad lítha ní flu clúas, solud ná sén síabras bás; is bréc uile iarna thúr indid Alend is dún fás.

Foglas a ngen tibes duitt a maig réid túaith Críchaib Cuirc, di cach lín ron alt a úair do-rigni lúaith Life Luirc.

Currech Lifi lir co hor, Currech Sétnai, síth co ler, is mór rig fris—rala cor Currech Corpri Niód Fer....

A Brigit 'sa tír ad-chíu, is cách a úair immud—rá, ro gab do chlú for a chlú ind ríg, is tú forda-tá.

Táthut bithfhlaith lasin Ríg cen a tír i fil do rúaim; a ué Bresail maic Déin, slán seiss, a Brigit co mbúaid.

Image: "Ballyward Brook confluence with the Liffey” by jwd. Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.

"Imbolc Eve” by Gail Nyoka

 

Imbolc Eve

 

It is not by chance

She comes,

leaving the imprint of her foot

in the ashes of your hearth,

reminding you that

the fire is not truly dead.

 

When you are ready

it will burst into 

visionary flame.

 

Therefore, leave milk

and cheese

at your doorstep – 

a taste of your devotion

to belief in the birth

following glistening frost

waiting for the sun.

 

Therefore, hang out

your strips of linen.

 

She will come

sprinkling her blessings

with the morning dew.

 

 Image: “Ashes; Your Turn!” by Taifur Azam, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons