St. None forgot that she was the daughter of the 

 Bridget ancient God of the Earth, but greater than 

 Shores ne ' because m n there was but earth and 

 water, whereas in her veins ran the elements 

 of air and fire. Was she not born at sunrise ? 

 On the day she reached womanhood did not 

 the house wherein she dwelled become wrapped 

 in a flame which consumed it not, though the 

 crown of that flame licked the high unburning 

 roof of Heaven ? In that hour when, her 

 ancient divinity relinquished and she reborn 

 a Christian saint, she took the white veil, did 

 not a column of golden light rise from her 

 head till no eyes could follow it ? In that 

 moment when she died from earth, having 

 taken mortality upon her so as to know a 

 divine resurrection to a new and still more 

 enduring Country of the Immortal, were there 

 not wings of fire seen flashing along all the 

 shores of the west and upon the summits of 

 all Gaelic hills ? And how could one forget 

 that at any time she had but to bend above 

 the dead, and her breath would quicken, and 

 a pulse would come back into the still heart, 

 and what was dust would arise and be once 

 more glad. 



The Fair Woman of February is still loved, 

 still revered. Few remember the last fading 

 traditions of her ancient greatness : few, even, 



80 



