Beginning SQL Server 2005 Programming 1st Edition

Robert Vieira new release 2025

Sold on ebookfinal.com
( 4.5/5.0 ★ | 417 downloads )

https://ebookfinal.com/download/beginning-sql-
server-2005-programming-1st-edition-robert-vieira/
 Beginning SQL Server 2005 Programming 1st Edition Robert
Vieira Pdf Download

EBOOK

Available Formats

■ PDF eBook Study Guide Ebook

EXCLUSIVE 2025 ACADEMIC EDITION – LIMITED RELEASE

Available Instantly Access Library

 We believe these products will be a great fit for you. Click
the link to download now, or visit ebookfinal
to discover even more!

SQL Server 2005 Bible 1st Edition Paul Nielsen

https://ebookfinal.com/download/sql-server-2005-bible-1st-edition-
paul-nielsen/

Professional SQL Server 2005 CLR Programming with Stored

Procedures Functions Triggers Aggregates and Types Derek
Comingore
https://ebookfinal.com/download/professional-sql-server-2005-clr-
programming-with-stored-procedures-functions-triggers-aggregates-and-
types-derek-comingore/

Microsoft SQL Server 2005 Management and Administration

1st Edition Ross Mistry

https://ebookfinal.com/download/microsoft-sql-server-2005-management-
and-administration-1st-edition-ross-mistry/

Healthy SQL A Comprehensive Guide to Healthy SQL Server

Performance 1st Edition Robert Pearl

https://ebookfinal.com/download/healthy-sql-a-comprehensive-guide-to-
healthy-sql-server-performance-1st-edition-robert-pearl/
Inside Microsoft SQL Server 2005 T SQL Querying Solid
Quality Learning 1st Edition Itzik Ben-Gan Lubor Kollar
Dejan Sarka
https://ebookfinal.com/download/inside-microsoft-sql-
server-2005-t-sql-querying-solid-quality-learning-1st-edition-itzik-
ben-gan-lubor-kollar-dejan-sarka/

MDX solutions with Microsoft SQL Server Analysis Services

2005 and Hyperion Essbase 2nd ed Edition George Spofford

https://ebookfinal.com/download/mdx-solutions-with-microsoft-sql-
server-analysis-services-2005-and-hyperion-essbase-2nd-ed-edition-
george-spofford/

Microsoft SQL Server 2014 Unleashed Ray Rankins

https://ebookfinal.com/download/microsoft-sql-server-2014-unleashed-
ray-rankins/

SQL Server Analysis Services Succinctly 1st Edition Stacia

Misner

https://ebookfinal.com/download/sql-server-analysis-services-
succinctly-1st-edition-stacia-misner/

SQL Server 2008 Administration in Action 1st Edition Rod

Colledge

https://ebookfinal.com/download/sql-server-2008-administration-in-
action-1st-edition-rod-colledge/
Beginning SQL Server 2005 Programming 1st Edition
Robert Vieira Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Robert Vieira
ISBN(s): 9780764584336, 0764584332
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 11.18 MB
Year: 2006
Language: english
 Beginning
SQL Server™ 2005 Programming

Robert Vieira
 Beginning
SQL Server™ 2005 Programming
 Beginning
SQL Server™ 2005 Programming

Robert Vieira
Beginning SQL Server™ 2005 Programming
Published by
Wiley Publishing, Inc.
10475 Crosspoint Boulevard
Indianapolis, IN 46256
www.wiley.com
Copyright © 2006 by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Indianapolis, Indiana
Published simultaneously in Canada
ISBN-13: 978-0-7645-8433-6
ISBN-10: 0-7645-8433-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
1MA/QT/QS/QW/IN
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data: Available from publisher
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise, except as permitted under Sec-
tions 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright Act, without either the prior written permission of the Pub-
lisher, or authorization through payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, 222
Rosewood Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, (978) 750-8400, fax (978) 646-8600. Requests to the Publisher for permis-
sion should be addressed to the Legal Department, Wiley Publishing, Inc., 10475 Crosspoint Blvd., Indianapolis,
IN 46256, (317) 572-3447, fax (317) 572-4355, or online at http://www.wiley.com/go/permissions.

LIMIT OF LIABILITY/DISCLAIMER OF WARRANTY: THE PUBLISHER AND THE AUTHOR MAKE NO

REPRESENTATIONS OR WARRANTIES WITH RESPECT TO THE ACCURACY OR COMPLETENESS OF
THE CONTENTS OF THIS WORK AND SPECIFICALLY DISCLAIM ALL WARRANTIES, INCLUDING
WITHOUT LIMITATION WARRANTIES OF FITNESS FOR A PARTICULAR PURPOSE. NO WARRANTY
MAY BE CREATED OR EXTENDED BY SALES OR PROMOTIONAL MATERIALS. THE ADVICE AND
STRATEGIES CONTAINED HEREIN MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR EVERY SITUATION. THIS WORK IS
SOLD WITH THE UNDERSTANDING THAT THE PUBLISHER IS NOT ENGAGED IN RENDERING
LEGAL, ACCOUNTING, OR OTHER PROFESSIONAL SERVICES. IF PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANCE IS
REQUIRED, THE SERVICES OF A COMPETENT PROFESSIONAL PERSON SHOULD BE SOUGHT.
NEITHER THE PUBLISHER NOR THE AUTHOR SHALL BE LIABLE FOR DAMAGES ARISING HERE-
FROM. THE FACT THAT AN ORGANIZATION OR WEBSITE IS REFERRED TO IN THIS WORK AS A
CITATION AND/OR A POTENTIAL SOURCE OF FURTHER INFORMATION DOES NOT MEAN THAT
THE AUTHOR OR THE PUBLISHER ENDORSES THE INFORMATION THE ORGANIZATION OR
WEBSITE MAY PROVIDE OR RECOMMENDATIONS IT MAY MAKE. FURTHER, READERS SHOULD BE
AWARE THAT INTERNET WEBSITES LISTED IN THIS WORK MAY HAVE CHANGED OR DISAP-
PEARED BETWEEN WHEN THIS WORK WAS WRITTEN AND WHEN IT IS READ.

For general information on our other products and services please contact our Customer Care Department
within the United States at (800) 762-2974, outside the United States at (317) 572-3993 or fax (317) 572-4002.
Trademarks: Wiley, the Wiley logo, Wrox, the Wrox logo, Programmer to Programmer, and related trade dress
are trademarks or registered trademarks of John Wiley & Sons, Inc. and/or its affiliates, in the United States
and other countries, and may not be used without written permission. SQL Server is a trademark of Microsoft
Corporation in the United States and/or other countries. All other trademarks are the property of their respec-
tive owners. Wiley Publishing, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book.
Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in print may not
be available in electronic books.
 Credits
Executive Editor Project Coordinator
Robert Elliott Kristie Rees

Development Editor Quality Control Technician

Adaobi Obi Tulton Laura Albert
Jessica Kramer
Technical Editor
John Mueller Graphics and Production Specialists
Carrie A. Foster
Production Editor Lauren Goddard
Pamela Hanley Denny Hager
Stephanie D. Jumper
Copy Editor Barbara Moore
Nancy Rapoport Alicia South

Editorial Manager Proofreading and Indexing

Mary Beth Wakefield TECHBOOKS Production Services

Production Manager
Tim Tate

Vice President and Executive Group Publisher

Richard Swadley

Vice President and Executive Publisher

Joseph B. Wikert
This book is dedicated with all my heart to my children Ashley and Addy, who put up with me
“disappearing” into my home office during the several months that I worked on this book.
They provide the energy that powers my writing, and I love them to no end. I only wish Wiley
would let me print a picture of the two women in my life on the cover of this book rather than
my ugly mug.
About the Author
Experiencing his first infection with computing fever in 1978, Robert Vieira knew right away that this
was something “really cool.” In 1980 he began immersing himself into the computing world more fully —
splitting time between building and repairing computer kits, and programming in Basic as well as Z80
and 6502 assembly. In 1983, he began studies for a degree in Computer Information Systems, but found
the professional mainframe environment too rigid for his tastes, and dropped out in 1985 to pursue
other interests. Later that year, he caught the “PC bug” and began the long road of programming in
database languages from dBase to SQL Server. Rob completed a degree in Business Administration in
1990, and, since has typically worked in roles that allow him to combine his knowledge of business and
computing. Beyond his Bachelor’s degree, he has been certified as a Certified Management Accountant
as well as Microsoft Certified as a Solutions Developer (MCSD), Trainer (MCT), and Database
Administrator (MCDBA).

Rob is currently a Software Architect for WebTrends Corporation in Portland, Oregon.

He resides with his daughters Ashley and Adrianna in Vancouver, WA.

 Acknowledgments

Five years have gone by, and my how life has changed since the last time I wrote a title on SQL Server. So
many people have affected my life in so many ways, and, as always, there are a ton of people to thank.

I’ll start with my kids, who somehow continue to be just wonderful even in the face of dad stressing out
over this and that. Even as my youngest has asked me several times when I’m “going to be done with
that book” (she is not pleased with how it takes up some of my play time), she has been tremendously
patient with me all during the development of this book. My eldest just continues to amaze me in her
maturity and her sensitivity to what doing a book like this requires (and, of course, what it means to her
college education!). The thank yous definitely need to begin with those two.

You — the readers. You’ve written me mail and told me how I helped you out in some way. That was
and continues to be the number one reason I find to strength to write another book. The continued sup-
port of my Professional series titles has been amazing. We struck a chord — I’m glad. Here’s to hoping
we help make your SQL Server experience a little less frustrating and a lot more successful.

I also want to pay special thanks to several people past and present. Some of these are at the old Wrox
Press and have long since fallen out of contact, but they remain so much of who I am as I writer that I
need to continue to remember them. Others are new players for me, but have added their own stamp to
the mix — sometimes just by showing a little patience:

Kate Hall — Who, although she was probably ready to kill me by the end of each of my first two books,
somehow guided me through the edit process to build a better book each time. I have long since fallen
out of touch with Kate, but she will always be the most special to me as someone who really helped
shape my writing career. I will likely always hold this first “professional” dedication spot for you —
wherever you are Kate, I hope you are doing splendidly.

Adaobi Obi Tulton — Who has had to put up with yet another trialing year in my life and what that has
sometimes meant to delivery schedules. If I ever make it rich, I may hire Adaobi as my spiritual guide.
While she can be high stress about deadlines, she has a way of displaying a kind of “peace” in just about
everything else I’ve seen her do — I need to learn that.

Dominic Shakeshaft — Who got me writing in the first place (then again, given some nights filled with
writing instead of sleep lately, maybe it’s not thanks I owe him...).

Catherine Alexander — who played Kate’s more than able-bodied sidekick for my first title, and was
central to round two. Catherine was much like Kate in the sense she had a significant influence on the
shape and success of my first two titles.

John Mueller — Who had the dubious job of finding my mistakes. I’ve done tech editing myself, and it’s
not the easiest job to notice the little details that were missed or are, in some fashion, wrong. It’s even
harder to read someone else’s writing style and pick the right times to say “You might want to approach
this differently...” and know when to let it be — John did a terrific job on both counts.
Acknowledgments
There are not quite as many other players in this title as there have been in my previous titles, but this
book has been in development for so long and touched enough people that I’m sure I’ll miss one or two —
if you’re among those missed, please accept my humblest apologies and my assurance that your help was
appreciated. That said, people who deserve some additional thanks (some of these go to influences from
WAY back) include Paul Turley, Greg Beamer, Itzik Ben-Gan, Kalen Delaney, Fernando Guerrero, Gert
Drapers and Richard Waymire.

x
 Contents

Acknowledgments ix
Introduction xxi

Chapter 1: RDBMS Basics: What Makes Up a SQL Server Database? 1

An Overview of Database Objects 2
The Database Object 2
The Transaction Log 6
The Most Basic Database Object: Table 6
Filegroups 8
Diagrams 8
Views 9
Stored Procedures 10
User-Defined Functions 10
Users and Roles 11
Rules 11
Defaults 11
User-Defined Data Types 11
Full-Text Catalogs 12
SQL Server Data Types 12
NULL Data 17
SQL Server Identifiers for Objects 17
What Gets Named? 17
Rules for Naming 18
Summary 18

Chapter 2: Tools of the Trade 19

Books Online 20
The SQL Server Configuration Manager 21
Service Management 22
Network Configuration 22
The Protocols 23
On to the Client 26
Contents
The SQL Server Management Studio 28
Getting Started 28
Query Window 33
SQL Server Integration Services (SSIS) 38
Bulk Copy Program (bcp) 39
SQL Server Profiler 40
sqlcmd 40
Summary 40

Chapter 3: The Foundation Statements of T-SQL 41

Getting Started with a Basic SELECT Statement 42
The SELECT Statement and FROM Clause 42
The WHERE Clause 45
ORDER BY 49
Aggregating Data Using the GROUP BY Clause 52
Placing Conditions on Groups with the HAVING Clause 61
Outputting XML Using the FOR XML Clause 63
Making Use of Hints Using the OPTION Clause 63
The DISTINCT and ALL Predicates 64
Adding Data with the INSERT Statement 66
The INSERT INTO . . . SELECT Statement 70
Changing What You’ve Got with the UPDATE Statement 72
The DELETE Statement 75
Summary 77
Exercises 77

Chapter 4: JOINs 79
JOINs 79
INNER JOINs 81
How an INNER JOIN Is Like a WHERE Clause 85
OUTER JOINs 89
The Simple OUTER JOIN 90
Dealing with More Complex OUTER JOINs 95
Seeing Both Sides with FULL JOINs 99
CROSS JOINs 100
Exploring Alternative Syntax for Joins 102
An Alternative INNER JOIN 102
An Alternative OUTER JOIN 103
An Alternative CROSS JOIN 104

xii
 Contents
The UNION 104
Summary 109
Exercises 110

Chapter 5: Creating and Altering Tables 111

Object Names in SQL Server 111
Schema Name (aka Ownership) 112
The Database Name 114
Naming by Server 114
Reviewing the Defaults 114
The CREATE Statement 115
CREATE DATABASE 115
CREATE TABLE 121
The ALTER Statement 133
ALTER DATABASE 133
ALTER TABLE 137
The DROP Statement 140
Using the GUI Tool 142
Creating a Database Using the Management Studio 142
Backing into the Code: The Basics of Creating Scripts with the Management Studio 148
Summary 149
Exercises 149

Chapter 6: Constraints 151

Types of Constraints 152
Domain Constraints 152
Entity Constraints 153
Referential Integrity Constraints 154
Constraint Naming 154
Key Constraints 155
PRIMARY KEY Constraints 155
FOREIGN KEY Constraints 158
UNIQUE Constraints 169
CHECK Constraints 170
DEFAULT Constraints 171
Defining a DEFAULT Constraint in Your CREATE TABLE Statement 172
Adding a DEFAULT Constraint to an Existing Table 173
Disabling Constraints 173
Ignoring Bad Data When You Create the Constraint 174
Temporarily Disabling an Existing Constraint 176

xiii
Contents
Rules and Defaults — Cousins of Constraints 178
Rules 178
Defaults 180
Determining Which Tables and Datatypes Use a Given Rule or Default 181
Triggers for Data Integrity 181
Choosing What to Use 181
Summary 183

Chapter 7: Adding More to Our Queries 185

What Is a Subquery? 186
Building a Nested Subquery 186
Correlated Subqueries 190
How Correlated Subqueries Work 190
Correlated Subqueries in the WHERE Clause 190
Dealing with NULL Data — the ISNULL Function 194
Derived Tables 195
The EXISTS Operator 197
Using EXISTS in Other Ways 199
Mixing Datatypes: CAST and CONVERT 201
Performance Considerations 204
JOINs vs. Subqueries vs. ? 204
Summary 205
Exercises 206

Chapter 8: Being Normal: Normalization and Other Basic Design Issues 207
Tables 208
Keeping Your Data “Normal” 208
Before the Beginning 209
The First Normal Form 211
The Second Normal Form 214
The Third Normal Form 216
Other Normal Forms 218
Relationships 219
One-to-One 219
One-to-One or Many 221
Many-to-Many 223
Diagramming 227
Tables 230
Adding and Deleting Tables 230
Relationships 237

xiv
 Contents
De-Normalization 241
Beyond Normalization 241
Keep It Simple 242
Choosing Datatypes 242
Err on the Side of Storing Things 242
Drawing Up a Quick Example 243
Creating the Database 243
Adding the Diagram and Our Initial Tables 244
Adding the Relationships 248
Adding Some Constraints 251
Summary 252
Exercises 252

Chapter 9: SQL Server Storage and Index Structures 255

SQL Server Storage 255
The Database 255
The Extent 256
The Page 256
Rows 257
Understanding Indexes 257
B-Trees 258
How Data Is Accessed in SQL Server 262
Creating, Altering, and Dropping Indexes 270
The CREATE INDEX Statement 270
Creating XML Indexes 276
Implied Indexes Created with Constraints 277
Choosing Wisely: Deciding What Index Goes Where and When 277
Selectivity 277
Watching Costs: When Less Is More 278
Choosing That Clustered Index 278
Column Order Matters 281
Dropping Indexes 281
Use the Database Engine Tuning Wizard 282
Maintaining Your Indexes 282
Fragmentation 282
Identifying Fragmentation vs. Likelihood of Page Splits 283
Summary 286
Exercises 288

xv
Contents
Chapter 10: Views 289
Simple Views 289
Views as Filters 293
More Complex Views 295
Using a View to Change Data — Before INSTEAD OF Triggers 298
Editing Views with T-SQL 301
Dropping Views 302
Creating and Editing Views in the Management Studio 302
Editing Views in the Management Studio 306
Auditing: Displaying Existing Code 306
Protecting Code: Encrypting Views 308
About Schema Binding 309
Making Your View Look Like a Table with VIEW_METADATA 310
Indexed (Materialized) Views 310
Summary 313
Exercises 314

Chapter 11: Writing Scripts and Batches 315

Script Basics 315
The USE Statement 316
Declaring Variables 317
Using @@IDENTITY 320
Using @@ROWCOUNT 324
Batches 325
Errors in Batches 327
When to Use Batches 327
SQLCMD 330
Dynamic SQL: Generating Your Code On-the-Fly with the EXEC Command 334
The Gotchas of EXEC 335
Summary 339
Exercises 340

Chapter 12: Stored Procedures 341

Creating the Sproc: Basic Syntax 342
An Example of a Basic Sproc 342
Changing Stored Procedures with ALTER 343
Dropping Sprocs 344

xvi
 Contents
Parameterization 344
Declaring Parameters 344
Control-of-Flow Statements 349
The IF . . . ELSE Statement 349
The CASE Statement 360
Looping with the WHILE Statement 366
The WAITFOR Statement 367
TRY/CATCH Blocks 368
Confirming Success or Failure with Return Values 369
How to Use RETURN 369
Dealing with Errors 371
The Way We Were . . . 372
Handling Errors Before They Happen 378
Manually Raising Errors 381
Adding Your Own Custom Error Messages 385
What a Sproc Offers 388
Creating Callable Processes 389
Using Sprocs for Security 390
Sprocs and Performance 391
Extended Stored Procedures (XPs) 393
A Brief Look at Recursion 393
Debugging 396
Setting Up SQL Server for Debugging 396
Starting the Debugger 397
Parts of the Debugger 400
Using the Debugger Once It’s Started 402
.NET Assemblies 406
Summary 407
Exercises 407

Chapter 13: User Defined Functions 409

What a UDF Is 409
UDFs Returning a Scalar Value 410
UDFs That Return a Table 414
Understanding Determinism 421
Debugging User-Defined Functions 423
.NET in a Database World 423
Summary 424
Exercise 424

xvii
Contents
Chapter 14: Transactions and Locks 425
Transactions 425
BEGIN TRAN 426
COMMIT TRAN 427
ROLLBACK TRAN 427
SAVE TRAN 427
How the SQL Server Log Works 428
Failure and Recovery 429
Implicit Transactions 431
Locks and Concurrency 431
What Problems Can Be Prevented by Locks 432
Lockable Resources 435
Lock Escalation and Lock Effects on Performance 435
Lock Modes 436
Lock Compatibility 438
Specifying a Specific Lock Type — Optimizer Hints 439
Setting the Isolation Level 440
Dealing with Deadlocks (aka “A 1205”) 442
How SQL Server Figures Out There’s a Deadlock 443
How Deadlock Victims Are Chosen 443
Avoiding Deadlocks 443
Summary 445

Chapter 15: Triggers 447

What Is a Trigger? 448
ON 449
WITH ENCRYPTION 450
The FOR|AFTER vs. the INSTEAD OF Clause 450
WITH APPEND 452
NOT FOR REPLICATION 453
AS 453
Using Triggers for Data Integrity Rules 453
Dealing with Requirements Sourced from Other Tables 454
Using Triggers to Check the Delta of an Update 455
Using Triggers for Custom Error Messages 457
Other Common Uses for Triggers 457
Other Trigger Issues 458
Triggers Can Be Nested 458
Triggers Can Be Recursive 458

xviii
 Contents
Triggers Don’t Prevent Architecture Changes 458
Triggers Can Be Turned Off Without Being Removed 459
Trigger Firing Order 459
INSTEAD OF Triggers 461
Performance Considerations 462
Triggers Are Reactive Rather Than Proactive 462
Triggers Don’t Have Concurrency Issues with the Process That Fires Them 462
Using IF UPDATE() and COLUMNS_UPDATED 463
Keep It Short and Sweet 465
Don’t Forget Triggers When Choosing Indexes 465
Try Not to Roll Back Within Triggers 465
Dropping Triggers 466
Debugging Triggers 466
Summary 468

Chapter 16: A Brief XML Primer 469

XML Basics 470
Parts of an XML Document 471
Namespaces 479
Element Content 481
Being Valid vs. Being Well Formed — Schemas and DTDs 481
What SQL Server Brings to the Party 482
Retrieving Relational Data in XML Format 483
RAW 484
AUTO 486
EXPLICIT 487
PATH 503
OPENXML 508
A Brief Word on XSLT 514
Summary 516

Chapter 17: Reporting for Duty, Sir!: A Look At Reporting Services 517
Reporting Services 101 518
Building Simple Report Models 518
Data Source Views 523
Report Creation 529
Report Server Projects 532
Deploying the Report 537
Summary 538

xix
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
“Where are all the dead of the world?” he said.
But the woman answered not.
“And what is the end, you that are called Mary?”
Then the woman rose.
“Would you cross the Ford, O Torcall the Harper?”
He made no word upon that. But he listened. He heard a woman
singing faint and low far away in the dark. He drew more near.
“Would you cross the Ford, O Torcall?”
He made no word upon that. But once more he listened. He heard a
little child crying in the night.
“Ah, lonely heart of the white one,” he sighed, and his tears fell.
Mary Magdalene turned and looked upon him.
It was the face of Sorrow she had. She stooped and took up the
tears. “They are bells of joy,” she said. And he heard a wild sweet
ringing in his ears.
A prayer came out of his heart. A blind prayer it was, but God gave it
wings. It flew to Mary, who took and kissed it, and gave it song.
“It is the Song of Peace,” she said. And Torcall had peace.
“What is best, O Torcall?” she asked, rustling-sweet as rain among
the leaves her voice was—“What is best? The sword, or peace?”
“Peace,” he answered: and he was white now, and was old.
“Take your harp,” Mary said, “and go in unto the Ford. But lo, now I
clothe you with a white shroud. And if you fear the drowning flood,
follow the bells that were your tears: and if the dark affright you,
follow the song of the Prayer that came out of your heart.”
So Torcall the Harper moved into the whelming flood, and he played
a wild strange air, like the laughing of a child.
Deep silence there was. The moonshine lay upon the obscure wood,
and the darkling river flowed sighing through the soundless gloom.
The Washer of the Ford stooped once more. Low and sweet, as of
yore and for ever, over the drowning souls, she sang her immemorial
song.
 MUIME CHRIOSD
Note.—This “legendary romance” is based upon the ancient and
still current (though often hopelessly contradictory) legends
concerning Brighid, or Bride, commonly known as “Muime
Chriosd,” that is, the Foster-Mother of Christ. From the universal
honour and reverence in which she was and is held—second
only in this respect to the Virgin herself—she is also called “Mary
of the Gael.” Another name, frequent in the West, is “Brighde-
nam-Brat,” that is, St. Bride of the Mantle, a name explained in
the course of my legendary story. Brighid the Christian saint
should not, however, as is commonly done, be confused with a
much earlier and remoter Brighid, the ancient Celtic muse of
Song.
 ST. BRIDE OF THE ISLES
SLOINNEADH BRIGHDE, MUIME CHRIOSD

Brighde nighean Dùghaill Duinn,

’Ic Aoidth, ’ic Arta, ’ic Cuinn.
Gach la is gach oidhche
Ni mi cuimhneachadh air sloinneadh Brighde.
Cha mharbhar mi,
Cha ghuinear mi,
Cha ghonar mi,
Cha mho dh’ fhagas Criosd an dearmad mi;
Cha loisg teine gniomh Shatain mi;
’S cha bhath uisge no saile mi;
’S mi fo chomraig Naoimh Moire
’S mo chaomh mhuime, Brighde.

THE GENEALOGY OF ST. BRIDGET OR ST. BRIDE, FOSTER-MOTHER

OF CHRIST.

St. Bridget, the daughter of Dùghall Donn,

Son of Hugh, son of Art, son of Conn.
Each day and each night
I will meditate on the genealogy of St. Bridget.
[Whereby] I will not be killed,
I will not be wounded,
I will not be bewitched;
Neither will Christ forsake me;
Satan’s fire will not burn me;
Neither water nor sea shall drown me;
For I am under the protection of the Virgin Mary,
 And my meek and gentle foster-mother, St. Bridget.

B
EFORE ever St. Colum came across the Moyle to the island of
Iona, that was then by strangers called Innis-nan-
Dhruidhneach, the Isle of the Druids, and by the natives Ioua,
there lived upon the southeast slope of Dun-I a poor herdsman,
named Dùvach. Poor he was, for sure, though it was not for this
reason that he could not win back to Ireland, green Banba, as he
called it: but because he was an exile thence, and might never again
smell the heather blowing over Sliabh-Gorm in what of old was the
realm of Aoimag.
He was a prince in his own land, though none on Iona save the
Arch-Druid knew what his name was. The high priest, however,
knew that Dùvach was the royal Dùghall, called Dùghall Donn, the
son of Hugh the King, the son of Art, the son of Conn. In his youth
he had been accused of having done a wrong against a noble
maiden of the blood. When her child was born he was made to
swear across her dead body that he would be true to the daughter
for whom she had given up her life, that he would rear her in a holy
place but away from Eiré, and that he would never set foot within
that land again. This was a bitter thing for Dùghall Donn to do: the
more so as, before the King, and the priests, and the people, he
swore by the Wind, and by the Moon, and by the Sun, that he was
guiltless of the thing of which he was accused. There were many
there who believed him because of that sacred oath: others, too,
forasmuch as that Morna the Princess had herself sworn to the same
effect. Moreover, there was Aodh of the Golden Hair, a poet and seer,
who avowed that Morna had given birth to an immortal, whose
name would one day be as a moon among the stars for glory. But
the King would not be appeased, though he spared the life of his
youngest son. So it was that, by the advice of Aodh of the Druids,
Dùghall Donn went northwards through the realm of Clanadon and
so to the sea-loch that was then called Loch Feobal. There he took
boat with some wayfarers bound for Alba. But in the Moyle a
tempest arose, and the frail galley was driven northward, and at
sunrise was cast like a great fish, spent and dead, upon the south
end of Ioua, that is now Iona. Only two of the mariners survived:
Dùghall Donn and the little child. This was at the place where, on a
day of the days in a year that was not yet come, St. Colum landed in
his coracle, and gave thanks on his bended knees.
When, warmed by the sun, they rose, they found themselves in a
waste place. Ill was Dùghall in his mind because of the portents, and
now to his astonishment and alarm the child Bridget knelt on the
stones, and, with claspt hands, small and pink as the sea-shells
round about her, sang a song of words which were unknown to him.
This was the more marvellous, as she was yet but an infant, and
could say no word even of Erse, the only tongue she had heard.
At this portent, he knew that Aodh had spoken seeingly. Truly this
child was not of human parentage. So he, too, kneeled, and, bowing
before her, asked if she were of the race of the Tuatha de Danann,
or of the older gods, and what her will was, that he might be her
servant. Then it was that the kneeling babe looked at him, and sang
in a low sweet voice in Erse:

I am but a little child,

Dùghall, son of Hugh, son of Art,
But my garment shall be laid
On the lord of the world,
Yea, surely it shall be that He
The King of the Elements Himself
Shall lean against my bosom,
And I will give him peace,
And peace will I give to all who ask
Because of this mighty Prince,
 And because of his Mother that is the Daughter
of Peace.
And while Dùghall Donn was still marvelling at this thing, the Arch-
Druid of Iona approached, with his white-robed priests. A grave
welcome was given to the stranger, but while the youngest of the
servants of God was entrusted with the child, the Arch-Druid took
Dùghall aside, and questioned him. It was not till the third day that
the old man gave his decision. Dùghall Donn was to abide on Iona if
he so willed: the child certainly was to stay. His life would be spared,
nor would he be a bondager of any kind, and a little land to till
would be given him, and all that he might need. But of his past he
was to say no word. His name was to become as naught, and he
was to be known simply as Dùvach. The child, too, was to be named
Bride, for that was the way the name Bridget was called in the Erse
of the Isles.
To the question of Dùghall, that was thenceforth Dùvach, as to why
he laid so great stress on the child, that was a girl, and the reputed
offspring of shame at that, Cathal the Arch-Druid replied thus: “My
kinsman Aodh of the Golden Hair, who sent you here, was wiser than
Hugh the King and all the Druids of Aoimag. Truly, this child is an
Immortal. There is an ancient prophecy concerning her: surely of her
who is now here, and no other. There shall be, it says, a spotless
maid born of a virgin of the ancient immemorial race in Innisfail. And
when for the seventh time the sacred year has come, she will hold
Eternity in her lap as a white flower. Her maiden breasts shall swell
with milk for the Prince of the World. She shall give suck to the King
of the Elements. So I say unto you, Dùvach, go in peace. Take unto
thyself a wife, and live upon the place I will give thee on the east
side of Ioua. Treat Bride as though she were thy spirit, but leave her
much alone, and let her learn of the sun and the wind. In the
fulness of time the prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
So was it, from that day of the days. Dùvach took a wife unto
himself, who weaned the little Bride, who grew in beauty and grace,
so that all men marvelled. Year by year for seven years the wife of
Dùvach bore him a son, and these grew apace in strength, so that
by the beginning of the third year of the seventh cycle of Bride’s life
there were three stalwart youths to brother her, and three comely
and strong lads, and one young boy fair to see. Nor did any one, not
even Bride herself, saving Cathal the Arch-Druid, know that Dùvach
the herdsman was Dùghall Donn, of a princely race in Innisfail.
In the end, too, Dùvach came to think that he had dreamed, or at
the least that Cathal had not interpreted the prophecy aright. For
though Bride was of exceeding beauty, and of a strange piety that
made the young Druids bow before her as though she were a
bàndia, yet the world went on as before, and the days brought no
change. Often, while she was still a child, he had questioned her
about the words she had said as a babe, but she had no memory of
them. Once, in her ninth year, he came upon her on the hillside of
Dun-I singing these selfsame words. Her eyes dreamed afar away.
He bowed his head, and, praying to the Giver of light, hurried to
Cathal. The old man bade him speak no more to the child
concerning the mysteries.
Bride lived the hours of her days upon the slopes of Dun-I, herding
the sheep, or in following the kye upon the green hillocks and grassy
dunes of what then as now was called the Machar. The beauty of the
world was her daily food. The spirit within her was like sunlight
behind a white flower. The birdeens in the green bushes sang for joy
when they saw her blue eyes. The tender prayers that were in her
heart for all the beasts and birds, for helpless children, and tired
women, and for all who were old, were often seen flying above her
head in the form of white doves of sunshine.
But when the middle of the year came that was, though Dùvach had
forgotten it, the year of the prophecy, his eldest son, Conn, who was
now a man, murmured against the virginity of Bride, because of her
beauty and because a chieftain of the mainland was eager to wed
her. “I shall wed Bride or raid Ioua” was the message he had sent.
So one day, before the great fire of the summer festival, Conn and
his brothers reproached Bride.
“Idle are these pure eyes, O Bride, not to be as lamps at thy
marriage-bed.”
“Truly, it is not by the eyes that we live,” replied the maiden gently,
while to their fear and amazement she passed her hand before her
face and let them see that the sockets were empty. Trembling with
awe at this portent, Dùvach intervened.
“By the Sun I swear it, O Bride, that thou shalt marry whomsoever
thou wilt and none other, and when thou willest, or not at all if such
be thy will.”
And when he had spoken, Bride smiled, and passed her hand before
her face again, and all there were abashed because of the blue light
as of morning that was in her shining eyes.

II
The still weather had come, and all the isles lay in beauty. Far south,
beyond vision, ranged the coasts of Eiré: westward, leagues of quiet
ocean dreamed into unsailed wastes whose waves at last laved the
shores of Tirna’n Òg, the Land of Eternal Youth: northward, the
spell-bound waters sparkled in the sunlight, broken here and there
by purple shadows, that were the isles of Staffa and Ulva, Lunga and
the isles of the columns, misty Coll, and Tiree that is the land
beneath the wave; with, pale blue in the heat-haze, the mountains
of Rùm called Haleval, Haskeval, and Oreval, and the sheer Scuir-na-
Gillian and the peaks of the Cuchullins in remote Skye.
All the sweet loveliness of a late spring remained, to give a freshness
to the glory of summer. The birds had song to them still.
It was while the dew was yet wet on the grass that Bride came out
of her father’s house, and went up the steep slope of Dun-I. The
crying of the ewes and lambs at the pastures came plaintively
against the dawn. The lowing of the kye arose from the sandy
hollows by the shore, or from the meadows on the lower slopes.
Through the whole island went a rapid trickling sound, most sweet
to hear: the myriad voices of twittering birds, from the dotterel in
the sea-weed to the larks climbing the blue spirals of heaven.
This was the morning of her birth, and she was clad in white. About
her waist was a girdle of the sacred rowan, the feathery green
leaves of it flickering dusky shadows upon her robe as she moved.
The light upon her yellow hair was as when morning wakes,
laughing low with joy amid the tall corn. As she went she sang, soft
as the crooning of a dove. If any had been there to hear he would
have been abashed, for the words were not in Erse, and the eyes of
the beautiful girl were as those of one in a vision.
When, at last, a brief while before sunrise, she reached the summit
of the Scuir, that is so small a hill and yet seems so big in Iona
where it is the sole peak, she found three young Druids there, ready
to tend the sacred fire the moment the sun-rays should kindle it.
Each was clad in a white robe, with fillets of oak-leaves; and each
had a golden armlet. They made a quiet obeisance as she
approached. One stepped forward, with a flush in his face because
of her beauty, that was as a sea-wave for grace, and a flower for
purity, and sunlight for joy, and moonlight for peace, and the wind
for fragrance.
“Thou mayst draw near if thou wilt, Bride, daughter of Dùvach,” he
said, with something of reverence as well as of grave courtesy in his
voice: “for the holy Cathal hath said that the Breath of the Source of
All is upon thee. It is not lawful for women to be here at this
moment, but thou hast the law shining upon thy face and in thine
eyes. Hast thou come to pray?”
But at that moment a low cry came from one of his companions. He
turned, and rejoined his fellows. Then all three sank upon their
knees, and with outstretched arms hailed the rising of God.
As the sun rose, a solemn chant swelled from their lips, ascending as
incense through the silent air. The glory of the new day came
soundlessly. Peace was in the blue heaven, on the blue-green sea,
on the green land. There was no wind, even where the currents of
the deep moved in shadowy purple. The sea itself was silent, making
no more than a sighing slumber-breath round the white sands of the
isle, or a hushed whisper where the tide lifted the long weed that
clung to the rocks.
In what strange, mysterious way, Bride did not see; but as the three
Druids held their hands before the sacred fire there was a faint
crackling, then three thin spirals of blue smoke rose, and soon dusky
red and wan yellow tongues of flame moved to and fro. The sacrifice
of God was made. Out of the immeasurable heaven He had come, in
His golden chariot. Now, in the wonder and mystery of His love, He
was reborn upon the world, reborn a little fugitive flame upon a low
hill in a remote isle. Great must be His love that He could die thus
daily in a thousand places: so great His love that He could give up
His own body to daily death, and suffer the holy flame that was in
the embers he illumined to be lighted and revered and then
scattered to the four quarters of the world.
Bride could bear no longer the mystery of this great love. It moved
her to an ecstasy. What tenderness of divine love that could thus
redeem the world daily: what long-suffering for all the evil and
cruelty done hourly upon the weeping earth, what patience with the
bitterness of the blind fates! The beauty of the worship of Be’al was
upon her as a golden glory. Her heart leaped to a song that could
not be sung. The inexhaustible love and pity in her soul chanted a
hymn that was heard of no Druid or mortal anywhere, but was
known of the white spirits of Life.
Bowing her head, so that the glad tears fell warm as thunder-rain
upon her hands, she rose and moved away.
Not far from the summit of Dun-I is a hidden pool, to this day called
the Fountain of Youth. Hitherward she went, as was her wont when
upon the hill at the break of day, at noon, or at sundown. Close by
the huge boulder, which hides it from above, she heard a pitiful
bleating, and soon the healing of her eyes was upon a lamb which
had become fixed in a crevice in the rock. On a crag above it stood a
falcon, with savage cries, lusting for warm blood. With swift step
Bride drew near. There was no hurt to the lambkin as she lifted it in
her arms. Soft and warm was it there, as a young babe against the
bosom that mothers it. Then with quiet eyes she looked at the
falcon, who hooded his cruel gaze.
“There is no wrong in thee, Seobhag,” she said gently; “but the law
of blood shall not prevail for ever. Let there be peace this morn.”
And when she had spoken this word, the wild hawk of the hills flew
down upon her shoulder, nor did the heart of the lambkin beat the
quicker, while with drowsy eyes it nestled as against its dam. When
she stood by the pool she laid the little woolly creature among the
fern. Already the bleating of it was sweet against the forlorn heart of
a ewe. The falcon rose, circled above her head, and with swift flight
sped through the blue air. For a time Bride watched its travelling
shadow: when it was itself no more than a speck in the golden haze,
she turned, and stooped above the Fountain of Youth.
Beyond it stood then, though for ages past there has been no sign
of either, two quicken-trees. Now they were gold-green in the
morning light, and the brown-green berries that had not yet
reddened were still small. Fair to see was the flickering of the long
finger-shadows upon the granite rocks and boulders.
Often had Bride dreamed through their foliage; but now she stared
in amaze. She had put her lips to the water, and had started back
because she had seen, beyond her own image, that of a woman so
beautiful that her soul was troubled within her, and had cried its
inaudible cry, worshipping. When, trembling, she had glanced again,
there was none beside herself. Yet what had happened? For, as she
stared at the quicken-trees, she saw that their boughs had
interlaced, and that they now became a green arch. What was
stranger still was that the rowan-clusters hung in blood-red masses,
although the late heats were yet a long way off.
Bride rose, her body quivering because of the cool sweet draught of
the Fountain of Youth, so that almost she imagined the water was
for her that day what it could be once in each year to every person
who came to it, a breath of new life and the strength and joy of
youth. With slow steps she advanced towards the arch of the
quickens. Her heart beat as she saw that the branches at the
summit had formed themselves into the shape of a wreath or crown,
and that the scarlet berries dropped therefrom a steady rain of red
drops as of blood. A sigh of joy breathed from her lips when, deep
among the red and green, she saw the white merle of which the
ancient poets sang, and heard the exceeding wonder of its rapture,
which was now the pain of joy and now the joy of pain.
The song of the mystic bird grew wilder and more sweet as she
drew near. For a brief while she hesitated. Then, as a white dove
drifted slow before her under and through the quicken-boughs, a
dove white as snow but radiant with sunfire, she moved forward to
follow, with a dream-smile upon her face and her eyes full of the
sheen of wonder and mystery, as shadowy waters flooded with
moonshine.
And this was the passing of Bride, who was not seen again of
Dùvach or her foster-brothers for the space of a year and a day.
Only Cathal, the aged Arch-Druid, who died seven days thence, had
a vision of her, and wept for joy.

III
When the strain of the white merle ceased, though it had seemed to
her scarce longer than the vanishing song of the swallow on the
wing, Bride saw that the evening was come. Through the violet
glooms of dusk she moved soundlessly, save for the crispling of her
feet among the hot sands. Far as she could see to right or left there
were hollows and ridges of sand; where, here and there, trees or
shrubs grew out of the parched soil, they were strange to her. She
had heard the Druids speak of the sunlands in a remote, nigh
unreachable East, where there were trees called palms, trees in a
perpetual sunflood yet that perished not, also tall dark cypresses,
black-green as the holy yew. These were the trees she now saw. Did
she dream, she wondered? Far down in her mind was some memory,
some floating vision only, mayhap, of a small green isle far among
the northern seas. Voices, words, faces, familiar yet unfamiliar when
she strove to bring them near, haunted her.
The heat brooded upon the land. The sigh of the parched earth was
“Water, water.”
As she moved onward through the gloaming she descried white
walls beyond her: white walls and square white buildings, looming
ghostly through the dark, yet home-sweet as the bells of the cows
on the sea-pastures, because of the yellow lights every here and
there agleam.
A tall figure moved towards her, clad in white, even as those figures
which haunted her unremembering memory. When he drew near she
gave a low cry of joy. The face of her father was sweet to her.
“Where will be the pitcher, Brighid?” he said, though the words were
not the words that were near her when she was alone. Nevertheless
she knew them, and the same manner of words was upon her lips.
“My pitcher, father?”
“Ah, dreamer, when will you be taking heed! It is leaving your
pitcher you will be, and by the Well of the Camels, no doubt: though
little matter will that be, since there is now no water, and the
drought is heavy upon the land. But ... Brighid ...”
“Yes, my father?”
“Sure now it is not safe for you to be on the desert at night. Wild
beasts come out of the darkness, and there are robbers and wild
men who lurk in the shadow. Brighid ... Brighid ... is it dreaming you
are still?”
“I was dreaming of a cool green isle in northern seas, where ...”
“Where you have never been, foolish lass, and are never like to be.
Sure, if any wayfarer were to come upon us you would scarce be
able to tell him that yonder village is Bethlehem, and that I am
Dùghall Donn the inn-keeper, Dùghall the son of Hugh, son of Art,
son of Conn. Well, well, I am growing old, and they say that the old
see wonders. But I do not wish to see this wonder, that my daughter
Brighid forgets her own town, and the good inn that is there, and
the strong sweet ale that is cool against the thirst of the weary.
Sure, if the day of my days is near it is near. ‘Green be the place of
my rest,’ I cry, even as Oisìn the son of Fionn of the hero-line of
Trenmor cried in his old age; though if Oisìn and the Fiànn were
here not a green place would they find now, for the land is burned
dry as the heather after a hill-fire. But now, Brighid, let us go back
into Bethlehem, for I have that for the saying which must be said at
once.”
In silence the twain walked through the gloaming that was already
the mirk, till they came to the white gate, where the asses and
camels breathed wearily in the sultry darkness, with dry tongues
moving round parched mouths. Thence they fared through narrow
streets, where a few white-robed Hebrews and sons of the desert
moved silently, or sat in niches. Finally, they came to a great yard,
where more than a score of camels lay huddled and growling in their
sleep. Beyond this was the inn, which was known to all the patrons
and friends of Dùghall Donn as the “Rest and Be Thankful,” though
formerly as the Rest of Clan-Ailpean, for was he not himself through
his mother MacAlpine of the Isles, as well as blood-kin to the great
Carmac the Ard-Righ, to whom his father, Hugh, was feudatory
prince?
As Dùghall and Bride walked along the stone flags of a passage
leading to the inner rooms, he stopped and drew her attention to
the water-tanks.
“Look you, my lass,” he said sorrowfully, “of these tanks and barrels
nearly all are empty. Soon there will be no water whatever, which is
an evil thing though I whisper it in peace, to the Stones be it said.
Now, already the folk who come here murmur. No man can drink ale
all day long, and those wayfarers who want to wash the dust of their
journey from their feet and hands complain bitterly. And ... what is
that you will be saying? The kye? Ay, sure, there is the kye, but the
poor beasts are o’ercome with the heat, and there’s not a Cailliach
on the hills who could win a drop more of milk from them than we
squeeze out of their udders now, and that only with rune after rune
till all the throats of the milking lassies are as dry as the salt grass
by the sea.
“Well, what I am saying is this: ’tis months now since any rain will
be falling, and every crock of water has been for the treasuring as
though it had been the honey of Moy-Mell itself. The moon has been
full twice since we had the good water brought from the mountain-
springs; and now they are for drying up too. The seers say that the
drought will last. If that is a true word, and there be no rain till the
winter comes, there will be no inn in Bethlehem called ‘The Rest and
Be Thankful;’ for already there is not enough good water to give
peace even to your little thirst, my birdeen. As for the ale, it is poor
drink now for man or maid, and as for the camels and asses, poor
beasts, they don’t understand the drinking of it.”
“That is true, father; but what is to be done?”
“That’s what I will be telling you, my lintie. Now, I have been told by
an oganach out of Jerusalem, that lives in another place close by the
great town, that there is a quenchless well of pure water, cold as the
sea with a north wind in it, on a hill there called the Mount of Olives.
Now, it is to that hill I will be going. I am for taking all the camels,
and all the horses, and all the asses, and will lade each with a
burthen of water-skins, and come back home again with water
enough to last us till the drought breaks.”
That was all that was said that night. But at the dawn the inn was
busy, and all the folk in Bethlehem were up to see the going abroad
of Dùghall Donn and Ronald M‘Ian, his shepherd, and some
Macleans and Maccallums that were then in that place. It was a fair
sight to see as they went forth through the white gate that is called
the Gate of Nazareth. A piper walked first, playing the Gathering of
the Swords: then came Dùghall Donn on a camel, and M‘Ian on a
horse, and the herdsmen on asses, and then there were the collies
barking for joy.
Before he had gone, Dùghall took Bride out of the hearing of the
others. There was only a little stagnant water, he said; and as for the
ale, there was no more than a flagon left of what was good. This
flagon, and the one jar of pure water, he left with her. On no account
was she to give a drop to any wayfarer, no matter how urgent he
might be; for he, Dùghall, could not say when he would get back,
and he did not want to find a dead daughter to greet him on his
return, let alone there being no maid of the inn to attend to
customers. Over and above that, he made her take an oath that she
would give no one, no, not even a stranger, accommodation at the
inn, during his absence.
Afternoon and night came, and dawn and night again, and yet
again. It was on the afternoon of the third day, when even the
crickets were dying of thirst, that Bride heard a clanging at the door
of the inn.
When she went to the door she saw a weary gray-haired man, dusty
and tired. By his side was an ass with drooping head, and on the ass
was a woman, young, and of a beauty that was as the cool shadow
of green leaves and the cold ripple of running waters. But beautiful
as she was, it was not this that made Bride start: no, nor the heavy
womb that showed the woman was with child. For she remembered
her of a dream—it was a dream, sure—when she had looked into a
pool on a mountain-side, and seen, beyond her own image, just this
fair and beautiful face, the most beautiful that ever man saw since
Nais, of the Sons of Usna, beheld Deirdrê in the forest,—ay, and
lovelier far even than she, the peerless among women.
“Gu’m beannaicheadh Dia an tigh,” said the gray-haired man in a
weary voice, “the blessing of God on this house.”
“Soraidh leat,” replied Bride gently, “and upon you likewise.”
“Can you give us food and drink, and, after that, good rest at this
inn? Sure it is grateful we will be. This is my wife Mary, upon whom
is a mystery: and I am Joseph, a carpenter in Arimathea.”
“Welcome, and to you, too, Mary: and peace. But there is neither
food nor drink here, and my father has bidden me give shelter to
none who comes here against his return.”
The carpenter sighed, but the fair woman on the ass turned her
shadowy eyes upon Bride, so that the maiden trembled with joy and
fear.
“And is it forgetting me you will be, Brighid-Alona,” she murmured, in
the good sweet Gaelic of the Isles, and the voice of her was like the
rustle of leaves when a soft rain is falling in a wood.
“Sure, I remember,” Bride whispered, filled with deep awe. Then
without a word she turned, and beckoned them to follow: which,
having left the ass by the doorway, they did.
“Here is all the ale that I have,” she said, as she gave the flagon to
Joseph: “and here, Mary, is all the water that there is. Little there is,
but it is you that are welcome to it.”
Then, when they had quenched their thirst she brought out oatcakes
and scones and brown bread, and would fain have added milk, but
there was none.
“Go to the byre, Brighid,” said Mary, “and the first of the kye shall
give milk.”
So Bride went, but returned saying that the creature would not give
milk without a sian or song, and that her throat was too dry to sing.
“Say this sian,” said Mary:—

Give up thy milk to her who calls

Across the low green hills of Heaven
And stream-cool meads of Paradise!

And sure enough, when Bride did this, the milk came: and she
soothed her thirst, and went back to her guests rejoicing. It was
sorrow to her not to let them stay where they were, but she could
not, because of her oath.
The man Joseph was weary, and said he was too tired to seek far
that night, and asked if there was no empty byre or stable where he
and Mary could sleep till morning. At that, Bride was glad: for she
knew there was a clean cool stable close to the byre where her kye
were: and thereto she led them, and returned with peace at her
heart.
When she was in the inn again, she was afraid once more: for lo,
though Mary and Joseph had drunken deep of the jar and the
flagon, each was now full as it had been. Of the food, too, none
seemed to have been taken, though she had herself seen them
break the scones and the oatcakes.
It was dusk when her reverie was broken by the sound of the pipes.
Soon thereafter Dùghall Donn and his following rode up to the inn,
and all were glad because of the cool water, and the grapes, and the
green fruits of the earth, that they brought with them.
While her father was eating and drinking, merry because of the ale
that was still in the flagon, Bride told him of the wayfarers. Even as
she spoke, he made a sign of silence, because of a strange,
unwonted sound that he heard.
“What will that be meaning?” he asked, in a low, hushed voice.
“Sure it is the rain at last, father. That is a glad thing. The earth will
be green again. The beasts will not perish. Hark, I hear the noise of
it coming down from the hills as well.” But Dùghall sat brooding.
“Aye,” he said at last, “is it not foretold that the Prince of the World
is to be born in this land, during a heavy falling of rain, after a long
drought? And who is for knowing that Bethlehem is not the place,
and that this is not the night of the day of the days? Brighid, Brighid,
the woman Mary must be the mother of the Prince, who is to save
all mankind out of evil and pain and death!”
And with that he rose and beckoned to her to follow. They took a
lantern, and made their way through the drowsing camels and asses
and horses, and past the byres where the kye lowed gently, and so
to the stable.
“Sure that is a bright light they are having,” Dùghall muttered
uneasily: for, truly, it was as though the shed were a shell filled with
the fires of sunrise.
Lightly they pushed back the door. When they saw what they saw
they fell upon their knees. Mary sat with her heavenly beauty upon
her like sunshine on a dusk land: in her lap, a Babe laughing sweet
and low.
Never had they seen a Child so fair. He was as though wrought of
light.
“Who is it?” murmured Dùghall Donn, of Joseph, who stood near,
with rapt eyes.
“It is the Prince of Peace.”
And with that Mary smiled, and the Child slept.
“Brighid, my sister dear”—and, as she whispered this, Mary held the
little one to Bride.
The fair girl took the Babe in her arms, and covered it with her
mantle. Therefore it is that she is known to this day as Brighde-nam-
Brat, St. Bride of the Mantle.
And all through that night, while the mother slept, Bride nursed the
Child, with tender hands and croodling crooning songs. And this was
one of the songs that she sang:

Ah, Baby Christ, so dear to me,

Sang Bridget Bride:
How sweet thou art,
My baby dear,
Heart of my heart!

Heavy her body was with thee,

Mary, beloved of One in Three,
Sang Bridget Bride—
Mary, who bore thee, little lad:
But light her heart was, light and glad
With God’s love clad.

Sit on my knee,
Sang Bridget Bride:
Sit here
O Baby dear,
Close to my heart, my heart:
For I thy foster-mother am,
My helpless lamb!
 O have no fear,
Sang good St. Bride.

None, none,
No fear have I:
So let me cling
Close to thy side
Whilst thou dost sing,
O Bridget Bride!

My Lord, my Prince I sing:

My baby dear, my King!
Sang Bridget Bride.
It was on this night that, far away in Iona, the Arch-Druid Cathal
died. But before the breath went from him he had his vision of joy,
and his last words were:

Brighde ’dol air a glùn,

Righ nan dùl a shuidh ’na h-uchd!
(Bridget Bride upon her knee,
The King of the Elements asleep on her breast!)

At the coming of dawn Mary awoke, and took the Child. She kissed
Bride upon the brows, and said this thing to her: “Brighid, my sister
dear, thou shalt be known unto all time as Muime Chriosd.”

IV
No sooner had Mary spoken than Bride fell into a deep sleep. So
profound was this slumber that when Dùghall Donn came to see to
the wayfarers, and to tell them that the milk and the porridge were
ready for the breaking of their fast, he could get no word of her at
all. She lay in the clean, yellow straw beneath the manger, where
Mary had laid the Child. Dùghall stared in amaze. There was no sign
of the mother, nor of the Babe that was the Prince of Peace, nor of
the douce, quiet man that was Joseph the carpenter. As for Bride,
she not only slept so sound that no word of his fell against her ears,
but she gave him awe. For as he looked at her he saw that she was
surrounded by a glowing light. Something in his heart shaped itself
into a prayer, and he knelt beside her, sobbing low. When he rose, it
was in peace. Mayhap an angel had comforted his soul in its dark
shadowy haunt of his body.
It was late when Bride awoke, though she did not open her eyes,
but lay dreaming. For long she thought she was in Tir-Tairngire, the
Land of Promise, or wandering on the honey-sweet plain of Magh-
Mell; for the wind of dreamland brought exquisite odours to her, and
in her ears was a most marvellous sweet singing.
All round her there was a music of rejoicing. Voices, lovelier than any
she had ever heard, resounded; glad voices full of praise and joy.
There was a pleasant tumult of harps and trumpets, and as from
across blue hills and over calm water came the sound of the
bagpipes. She listened with tears. Loud and glad were the pipes, at
times full of triumph, as when the heroes of old marched with
Cuculain or went down to battle with Fionn: again, they were low
and sweet, like humming of bees when the heather is heavy with the
honey-ooze. The songs and wild music of the angels lulled her into
peace: for a time no thought of the woman Mary came to her, nor of
the Child that was her foster-child.
Suddenly it was in her mind as though the pipes played the chant
that is called the “Aoibhneas a Shlighe,” “the joy of his way,” a march
played before a bridegroom going to his bride. Out of this glad music
came a solitary voice, like a child singing on the hillside.
“The way of wonder shall be thine, O Brighid-Naomha!”
This was what the child-voice sang. Then it was as though all the
harpers of the west were playing “air clàrsach”: and the song of a
multitude of voices was this:
Welcome to our website – the ideal destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. With a mission to inspire endlessly, we offer a
vast collection of books, ranging from classic literary works to
specialized publications, self-development books, and children's
literature. Each book is a new journey of discovery, expanding
knowledge and enriching the soul of the reade

Our website is not just a platform for buying books, but a bridge
connecting readers to the timeless values of culture and wisdom. With
an elegant, user-friendly interface and an intelligent search system,
we are committed to providing a quick and convenient shopping
experience. Additionally, our special promotions and home delivery
services ensure that you save time and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Let us accompany you on the journey of exploring knowledge and

personal growth!

ebookfinal.com