The Irish Princess and Her Ship of Sod

The story-teller has travelled many times in the land of the Belgians.

There he saw hotels named “The Seven Churches,” in one of which he

slept. He asked how it was, that a hotel should be named after

churches, and why there should be seven of them?

This was the answer, and here is the story.

After the holy Saint Patrick had left Ireland free from snakes, it was

a pleasanter country to dwell in, and people were kinder to each other

than ever before. There were still, however, many rough fellows still

in the island, and fights between the clans were common.

Yet such was the beauty of the colleens, or young maidens, that

oftentimes these warlike chiefs fell in love with the daughters of men

who were their enemies. Then there was trouble in the families, for the

Irish are very proud of their blood and ancestors. In those days, every

tribe was jealous of the other. It was the rule, that all maidens must

marry only the men, of whom their fathers approved. This was for fear

they might get a spalpeen in the family.

Now there was a lovely daughter of a famous chief, who lived in a

castle, with plenty of green vines growing on the walls. Her name was

Eileen, and her favorite plant was the shamrock. For Saint Patrick had

taught that its three parts, growing on one stem, made a true symbol of

the triune Deity, whom all good people ought to worship. The life was

one, the leaves were three. Eileen was a Christian maid, and the

shamrock was like the voice of a friend, that spoke to her every day,

saying “be faithful and pure.”

Hearing of the fame and beauty of this loveliest maid in Erin, a

handsome and noble chief, in a neighboring county, sought her hand in

marriage. How proud and happy he would feel, if she, as his wife,

should grace his castle! Besides, an alliance, with her powerful

father, would greatly add to the glory of his own name and prowess.

So, according to the ancient custom of the country, he told the wish of

his heart to her father, before asking the maiden herself.

Her parents were pleased to have the chief thus propose the match, for

they had already thought to marry their daughter to him, for he was

also a brave warrior.

But there was one drawback. The ardent lover and would-be husband was a

pagan, still under the spell of bad fairies, and the wrong kind of

people, who told him not to believe in the true God. The men in whom he

trusted, and whose advice he followed, would not go to church, or keep

the Sabbath day. The good rulers of the church had passed a law, which

they named “the truce of God”; that, at certain seasons of the year,

during three days, there should be no fighting. But this pagan chief

cared nothing for this law, and was very cruel in many ways. Nearly all

the good people in Ireland called him a spalpeen.

Nevertheless, this chief was so rich and powerful, that Eileen’s

parents insisted upon her marrying him. They hoped, too, that she, with

her gentle ways, would change the brutish fellow’s disposition.

But Eileen thought that this would be like trying to tame a tiger, or a

lion; for bad passions raged in him as in the wild beasts. Tigers and

lions look very grand, but they are not pleasant to live with.

Seeing that her father was determined to marry her off to this cruel

man, and had even named the day of the marriage, and that her mother

was sewing upon her wedding dress, Eileen resolved to leave home and

escape to Belgic Land, across the sea.

But how could she get away, and out of the country? She knew no ship

captains or sailors. Then, as everybody knows, the coast of Ireland was

studded with high, round towers, from which the sentinels could see all

who came and went.

One night, weary of thinking over her troubles, she fell asleep and

dreamed. And this was her dream.

A great company of fairies flew over the sea, from Belgic Land, and

greeted her with welcoming hands, smiles and curtsies. They all seemed

to be standing on a sod, cut from the ground, like a large garden. She

recognized some of the flowers,—the marguerite daisy, with its round

golden heart and white petals, like rays, or strips, around the centre;

the lily, that grew along the river Lys, called the fleur-de-lys; the

blue wax flower, and some Oriental plants, such as the tulip and orange

blossom. Besides these, there were the hazel tree buds, the blossoms of

the apple tree, and several other pretty things that grow in the

lowlands of Flanders, or high up among the highlands of the Ardennes.

Some had come from the East, and some from the South, but together they

gave Eileen the idea that Belgic Land would make for her a charming

home, because she loved flowers so dearly. They were to her, as the

very thoughts of God.

In her dream also, she seemed to be out of doors, and on a high hill,

overlooking the beautiful lakes of Killarney, when the fairy band, on

the cloud-like garden, settled on the ground near her. The queen, or

leader of the fairies, with a radiant star on her forehead, and a

silvery wand in her right hand, stepped off the green sward and,

dropping a curtsey, said:

“We have heard of your troubles, pretty maid, and have come to invite

you to our country. You can travel on this magic sod, which will float

on the water; and, in the fair weather of this coming day, you can

reach our soil. Now, you must come with us.”

“Oh, thank you,” said Eileen, “but I cannot leave my shamrocks, and my

chickens.”

“No, nor need you. Take them along with you. We’ll promise that you can

keep them with you; or, we’ll change them into whatever form of life

you may desire.”

Eileen quickly ran to the hen house, in her father’s croft, and

gathered up her seven tiny chicks in her apron. This she held with one

hand, while with the other, she grasped two shamrock plants, for she

could not leave either of her favorites behind. She had to hurry,

because the fairies can work only at night, and they all disappear at

sunrise.

Returning from her father’s croft and barn, she stepped on the magic

sod, and in a moment, was floating off and down towards the sea. By the

time they had got well out upon the salt water, the eastern sky began

to get, first gray, and then faintly red. Thereupon, the chief fairy

spoke to her and said:

“We must disappear now, but we shall meet you in our Belgic land, and

shall always help you. Don’t for one moment, be afraid. The sod will

float you, and tomorrow night, we shall be there, on the strand, to

greet you. Command us, for we love you, and will do your will. We are

sure you will be happy in our country, where you are needed. Good-bye.”

The chief fairy waved her wand, and at once the whole company

disappeared.

Eileen looked around, over the floating garden, but every one of the

fairies had vanished. There was nothing to be seen, but the flowers,

the grass, and the little chicks, that were running about, as if they

thought it great fun. Indeed, they were having the time of their lives;

for, being so small, they thought the whole world was bounded by that

sod.

Meanwhile, soft breezes were blowing, and the sun shone out, keeping

her warm. She needed this, for she had come away with only the thin

clothes, which she wore in the house.

Towards evening, she began to feel lonely, and cried for her mother.

For the first time in her life, she was afraid. The little chicks had

found some low branches of a bush; and, roosting there, comfortably had

closed their eyes. They stuck their little heads under their tiny

wings, and were soon fast asleep. Eileen envied them, for she was in

terror, as the awful sense of loneliness, and of being so far away from

home, and father and mother, came upon her. She kept wondering what

they might be thinking about her. Would the fairies keep their promise?

Or, would they forget? Might not the wind arise, and in the storm,

would she not be drowned?

One by one, the bright planets came out, and the stars followed. Yet

the larger lights seemed only to blink, and say, “what a foolish girl,

to leave her home and go afar!”

Then Eileen looked at her shamrock and thought of what good Saint

Patrick had taught her ancestors. After that, a sense of peace folded

her like a garment. Surely, God was near.

Looking up, in the dark night, toward the south and the west, where the

last faint glow of light seemed to linger, she felt happier. Next, she

saw lights moving on the distant shore. She rubbed her eyes. The

sparkles and gleams seemed to be gaining in brightness. Yes, it was

really so. The fairies were all there and waltzing about, until, as she

came nearer, they looked like a shower of tiny stars, or a swarm of

fireflies.

Pretty soon, the big sod slipped up against the shore, with a little

bump. In a moment more, it seemed to be a part of the country itself,

and the little chicks hopped ashore. Then the fairies led Eileen into a

very pretty building, which looked something like a palace, but more

like a church. There, a feast was spread, and she sat down to eat

heartily, and drink plentifully, while the fairies waited upon her.

Then they led her into a nicely furnished sleeping chamber. Upon a

silken couch, with fine dresses near at hand, she was soon fast asleep.

The fairies brought up the shamrock plants and placed them on a table

of Flemish oak, very dark and fine. The little chicks were kept in a

coop, with plenty of food and water, and sticks to perch on.

In the morning, she cast her eyes, upon the home-plant, that told her

of her Heavenly Father’s love. Then, after praying for her father and

mother, she looked out upon a lovely landscape, rich in flowers; for

she was now in Flanders, where the poppies and daisies grow.

Yet when she looked inquiringly for church spires, or round towers, or

grand castles, they were not there. The people, going to work, or

ploughing in the soft fields, seemed poor folks. Indeed, no men or

women that she saw, had any gold on their persons. This, indeed, was

the Belgic Land of long, long ago.

Eileen soon found that the inhabitants needed to be told of the good

news of God, which the blessed Saint Patrick had taught the Irish.

While she had enough to eat and drink, and plenty of pretty clothes to

wear, she thought of the many people, who were not only poor, but who

did not know of the Father in heaven. Why should she dwell in a rich

castle, and dress in costly garments, when others were not only without

these, but were also very ignorant.

So Eileen travelled through the country, and told the Belgian people

the same good news from Heaven, which Saint Patrick had brought to her

Irish ancestors. Wherever she went, she took one of her shamrocks with

her, and taught the same lesson.

One of her plants, which she put into the ground, became the parent of

others, in many varieties, so that the fields of Flanders were green,

where once was only sterile sand. Cows and sheep found food, where, of

old, was nothing but waste land. In time, the city of Ghent became a

floral capital, with as wonderful a market for bulbs and blossoms, as

Haarlem was for tulips and hyacinths, in Holland. These were rich in

all the colors, with which the Father in Heaven had tinted the blooms

of the field, and the opening buds of the fruit trees.

The most astonishing change took place, wherever Eileen stayed long

enough to gather a congregation of people. She patiently taught them

the lesson, of which the shamrock was the symbol; and, in each of seven

places, she left one of her chickens. Somehow, from the love that was

left behind, by this good woman, and around each living creature, there

grew up a church, and every one of these churches was given a name

after the Irish princess, Saint Eileen, though often pronounced

differently in Flemish. To this day, the people in seven cities of

Belgium, cherish the memory of the sweet lady, who spent her life in

blessing their fathers.

Yet the dream story and the fairy tale are scarce more wonderful than

the historic reality of ancient Christian Ireland’s gifts to Belgium.

The story-teller adds, for the benefit of older folk, that the dream

story and the fairy tale are scarcely more wonderful than the historic

reality of ancient Erin’s missionary gifts to Belgic Land.