THUS the war was finished. Ireland was almost entirely laid waste and destroyed, and terrible want and famine oppressed all, so that many were forced to eat dogs and whelps: many not having even these, died. And not only men but even beasts were hungry. The wolves, coming out of the woods and mountains, attacked and tore to pieces, men weak from want. The dogs rooted from the graves rotten carcases partly decomposed. And so there was nought but abundance of misery and a faithful picture of ruined Troy as given by Virgil, Book II., Aeneid: —
- That night of slaughter and of gloom
What pen can paint or tears atone?
An ancient city meets its doom:
Its rule of ages is undone.
The streets are strewn with silent dead,
E'en homes, aye God's abodes, are graves.
Not only Trojan's blood is shed;
The foeman's gore the streets belaves,
And Trojan valour smites the Greeks.
Around the cruel anguish spreads,
And all with death and terror reeks.
As a result of this almost total destruction of Ireland, many Irishmen scattered themselves amongst foreign nations. A great number passed into France, and a far larger number into Spain. The Exiles were kindly and generously received by Catholics on account of their faith. So great