tring, and was skilled in all the modes of
minstrelsy. Thereto he knew by heart numberless hymns and songs and
poems, and God had given him the gift to make songs and hymns, and
beautiful airs for the singing of them. And for these things, so sweet
and gentle was the nature of the man, he was greatly beloved
whithersoever he fared.

A happy and holy life had he lived, but now he was growing old; and as
he looked from the convent on the cliffs far over the western waters,
he thought daily more and more of Erinn, and a great longing grew upon
him to see once more that green isle in which he had been born. And
when he saw, far below, the ships of the sea-farers dragging slowly
away into the north in the breezy sunshine or in the blue twilight, his
eyes became dim with the thought that perchance these wind-reddened
mariners might be steering for the shores of his longing.

The Prior of the convent noticed his sadness and questioned him of the
cause, and when Bresal told him, "Why should you go?" he asked. "Do
you not love us any longer?"

"Dearly do I love you, father," replied Bresal, "and dearly this house,
and every rock and tree and flower; but no son of the Isle of the Gael
forgets the little mother-lap of earth whereon he was nursed, or the
smell of the burning peat, or the song of the robin, or the drone of
the big mottled wild bee, or the cry of the wild geese when the winter
is nigh. Even Columba the holy pined for the lack of these things.
This is what he says in one of the songs which he has left us:

_There's an eye of grey_
_Looks back to Erinn far away;_
_Big tears wet that eye of grey_
_Seeking Erinn far away."_

Now the Prior loved Bresal as Jonathan loved David; and though it
grieved him to part with him, he resolved that if it could be compassed
Bresal should go back to his own country. "But you must never forget
us, and when you are happy, far away from us, you must think of us and
give us your heart in prayer."

"Never shall I forget you, father," the Singer replied. "Indeed, it
will not be a strange thing if I shall long for you then even as I am
longing for my home now; for in truth, next to my home, most do I love
the brethren of this house, and the very house itself, and the hills
and the sea and the dying lights of the evening. But I know that it
will not be permitted me ever to return. The place of my birth will be
the place of my resurrection."

The Prior smiled, and lai