That keep lay hidden. Hands to forehead raised,
Wondering they watched it. One to other spake:
"The huge Dalriad forest is afire
Ere melted are the winter's snows!" Another,
"In vengeance o'er the ocean Creithe or Pict,
Favoured by magic, or by mist, have crossed,
And fired old Milcho's ships." But Patrick leaned
Upon his crosier, pale as the ashes wan
Left by a burned out city. Long he stood
Silent, till, sudden, fiercelier soared the flame
Reddening the edges of a cloud low hung;
And, after pause, vibration slow and stern
Troubling the burthened bosom of the air,
Upon a long surge of the northern wind
Came up--a murmur as of wintry seas
Far borne at night. All heard that sound; all felt it;
One only know its import. Patrick turned;
"The deed is done: the man I would have saved
Is dead, because he willed to disbelieve."

Yet Patrick grieved for Milcho, nor that hour
Passed further north. Three days on Sleemish hill
He dwelt in prayer. To Tara's royal halls
Then turned he, and subdued the royal house
And host to Christ, save Erin's king, Laeghaire.
But Milcho's daughters twain to Christ were born
In baptism, and each Emeria named:
Like rose-trees in the garden of the Lord
Grew they and flourished. Dying young, one grave
Received them at Cluanbrain. Healing thence