Childless

These verses are from a long poem by one of the thirteenth-century
court poets, known as “the Scotchman.” As O’Rahilly points out, in
spite of the passion of such an intimate poem, he addresses God as
though He were a member of the Irish aristocracy with recognized
social obligations toward him.

Blessed Trinity have pity!
  You can give the blind man sight,
Fill the rocks with waving grasses—
  Give my house a child tonight.

You can bend the woods with blossom,
  What is there you cannot do?
All the branches burst with leafage,
  What’s a little child to you?

Trout out of a spawning bubble,
  Bird from shell and yolk of an egg,
Hazel from a hazel berry—
  Jesus, for a son I beg!

Corn from shoot and oak from acorn
  Miracles of life awake,
Harvest from a fist of seedlings—
  Is a child so hard to make?

Childless men although they prosper
  Are praised only when they are up,
Sterile grace however lovely
  Is a seed that yields no crop.

There is no hell, no lasting torment
  But to be childless at the end,
A naked stone in grassy places,
  A man who leaves no love behind.

God I ask for two things only,
  Heaven when my life is done,
Payment as befits a poet—
  For my poem pay a son.

Plead with Him O Mother Mary,
  Let Him grant the child I crave,
Womb that spun God’s human tissue,
  I no human issue leave.

Brigid after whom they named me,
  Beg a son for my reward,
Let no poet empty-handed
  Leave the dwelling of his lord.


                        Giollabhrighde Mac Conmidhe


Source: O'Connor, Frank (tr); Kings, Lords, & Commons: An Anthology
from the Irish; 1962; London; Macmillan & Co; p.77