 | Lays of the Western Gael, and Other Poems |  |
111
VERSIONS AND ADAPTATIONS.
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113
THE ORIGIN OF THE SCYTHIANS.
When, o'er Riphæan wastes the son of Jove
Slain Geryon's beeves from Erytheia drove,
Sharp nipp'd the frost, and feathery whirls of snow
Fill'd upper air and hid the earth below.
The hero on the ground, his steeds beside,
Spread, shaggy-huge, the dun Nemean hide,
And, warmly folded, while the tempest swept
The dreary Hyperborean desert, slept.
Slain Geryon's beeves from Erytheia drove,
Sharp nipp'd the frost, and feathery whirls of snow
Fill'd upper air and hid the earth below.
The hero on the ground, his steeds beside,
Spread, shaggy-huge, the dun Nemean hide,
And, warmly folded, while the tempest swept
The dreary Hyperborean desert, slept.
When Hercules awoke and look'd around,
The milk-white mares were nowhere to be found.
Long search'd the hero all the neighbouring plain,
The brakes and thickets; but he search'd in vain.
At length he reach'd a gloomy cave, and there
He found a woman as a goddess fair;
A perfect woman downward to the knee,
But all below, a snake, in coil'd deformity.
The milk-white mares were nowhere to be found.
Long search'd the hero all the neighbouring plain,
The brakes and thickets; but he search'd in vain.
At length he reach'd a gloomy cave, and there
He found a woman as a goddess fair;
A perfect woman downward to the knee,
But all below, a snake, in coil'd deformity.
With mutual wonder each the other eyed:
He question'd of his steeds, and she replied:—
“Hero, thy steeds within my secret halls
Are safely stabled in enchanted stalls;
But if thou thence my captives wouldst remove,
Thou, captive too, must yield me love for love.”
Won by the price, perchance by passion sway'd,
Alcides yielded to the monster maid.
He question'd of his steeds, and she replied:—
“Hero, thy steeds within my secret halls
Are safely stabled in enchanted stalls;
But if thou thence my captives wouldst remove,
Thou, captive too, must yield me love for love.”
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Alcides yielded to the monster maid.
The steeds recover'd, and the burnish'd car
Prepared, she said,—“Remember, when afar,
That, sprung from thee, three mighty sons shall prove
Me not unworthy of a hero's love.
But when my babes are grown to manhood, where
Would'st thou thy sons should seek a father's care?”
Prepared, she said,—“Remember, when afar,
That, sprung from thee, three mighty sons shall prove
Me not unworthy of a hero's love.
But when my babes are grown to manhood, where
Would'st thou thy sons should seek a father's care?”
The soft appeal e'en stern Alcides felt:—
And, “Take,” he said, “this bow and glittering belt:”—
From his broad breast the baldrick he unslung,
(A golden phial from its buckle hung;)
“And, when my sons are grown to man's estate,
Him whom thou first shalt see decline the weight
Of the great belt or fail the bow to bend,
To Theban Hercules, his father, send
For tutelage; but him whom thou shalt see
Thus bear the belt, thus bend the bow, like me,
Nought further needing by thy side retain,
The destined monarch of the northern plain.”
And, “Take,” he said, “this bow and glittering belt:”—
From his broad breast the baldrick he unslung,
(A golden phial from its buckle hung;)
“And, when my sons are grown to man's estate,
Him whom thou first shalt see decline the weight
Of the great belt or fail the bow to bend,
To Theban Hercules, his father, send
For tutelage; but him whom thou shalt see
Thus bear the belt, thus bend the bow, like me,
Nought further needing by thy side retain,
The destined monarch of the northern plain.”
He went: the mighty mother, at a birth,
Gave Gelon, Agathyrs and Scyth to earth.
To early manhood grown, the former twain
Essay'd to bear the belt and bow in vain;
And, southward banish'd from their mother's face,
Sought lighter labours in the fields of Thrace:
While, far refulgent over plain and wood,
Herculean Scyth the glittering belt indued,
And, striding dreadful on his fields of snow,
With aim unerring twang'd his father's bow.
From him derived the illustrious Scythian name,
And all the race of Scythian monarchs came.
Gave Gelon, Agathyrs and Scyth to earth.
To early manhood grown, the former twain
Essay'd to bear the belt and bow in vain;
And, southward banish'd from their mother's face,
Sought lighter labours in the fields of Thrace:
While, far refulgent over plain and wood,
Herculean Scyth the glittering belt indued,
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With aim unerring twang'd his father's bow.
From him derived the illustrious Scythian name,
And all the race of Scythian monarchs came.
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THE DEATH OF DERMID.
IRISH ROMANCE.
[_]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
King cormac had affianced his daughter Grania
to Finn, son of Comhal, the Finn Mac Coole of
Irish, and Fingal of Scottish tradition. In
addition to his war-like accomplishments, Finn
was reported to have obtained the gifts of poetry,
second-sight, and healing in the manner referred to below.
On his personal introduction, his age and aspect proved
displeasing to Grania, who threw herself on the gallantry
of Dermid, the handsomest of Finn's attendant warriors,
and induced him reluctantly to fly with her. Their
pursuit by Finn forms the subject of one of the most popular
native Irish romances. In the course of their wanderings,
Dermid, having pursued a wild boar, met the fate of
Adonis, who appears to have been his prototype in Celtic
imagination. Finn, arriving on the scene just before his
rival's death, gives occasion to the most pathetic passage
of the tale, which, at this point, is comparatively free
from the characteristics of vulgarity and extravagance
attaching to the rest of the composition. The incidents
of the original are followed in the piece below, which,
however, does not profess to be a translation. The
original may be perused in the spirited version of Mr.
O'Grady,—“Publications of the Irish Ossianic Society,”
vol. iii. p. 185. It is from this Dermid that Highland
tradition draws the genealogy of the clan Campbell,—
“The race of brown Dermid who slew the wild boar.”
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Finn on the mountain found the mangled man,
The slain boar by him. “Dermid,” said the king,
“It likes me well at last to see thee thus.
This only grieves me, that the womankind
Of Erin are not also looking on:
Such sight were wholesome for the wanton eyes
So oft enamour'd of that specious form:
Beauty to foulness, strength to weakness turn'd.”
The slain boar by him. “Dermid,” said the king,
“It likes me well at last to see thee thus.
This only grieves me, that the womankind
Of Erin are not also looking on:
Such sight were wholesome for the wanton eyes
So oft enamour'd of that specious form:
Beauty to foulness, strength to weakness turn'd.”
“Yet in thy power, if only in thy will,
Lies it, oh Finn, even yet to heal me.”
Lies it, oh Finn, even yet to heal me.”
“How?”
“Feign not the show of ignorance, nor deem
I know not of the virtues which thy hand
Drew from that fairy's half-discover'd hall,
Who bore her silver tankard from the fount,
So closely follow'd, that ere yet the door
Could close upon her steps, one arm was in;
Wherewith, though seeing nought, yet touching all,
Thou grasped'st half the spiritual world;
With drawing a heap'd handful of its gifts,—
Healing, and sight prophetic, and the power
Divine of poesy: but healing most
Abides within its hollow:—virtue such
That but so much of water as might wet
These lips, in that hand brought, would make me whole.
Finn, from the fountain fetch me in thy palms
A draught of water and I yet shall live.”
“How at these hands canst thou demand thy life,
Who took'st my joy of life?”
I know not of the virtues which thy hand
Drew from that fairy's half-discover'd hall,
Who bore her silver tankard from the fount,
So closely follow'd, that ere yet the door
Could close upon her steps, one arm was in;
Wherewith, though seeing nought, yet touching all,
Thou grasped'st half the spiritual world;
With drawing a heap'd handful of its gifts,—
Healing, and sight prophetic, and the power
Divine of poesy: but healing most
Abides within its hollow:—virtue such
That but so much of water as might wet
These lips, in that hand brought, would make me whole.
Finn, from the fountain fetch me in thy palms
A draught of water and I yet shall live.”
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Who took'st my joy of life?”
“She loved thee not:
Me she did love and doth; and were she here
She would so plead with thee that, for her sake,
Thou wouldst forgive us both and bid me live.”
Me she did love and doth; and were she here
She would so plead with thee that, for her sake,
Thou wouldst forgive us both and bid me live.”
“I was a man had spent my prime of years
In war and council, little bless'd with love;
Though poesy was mine, and, in my hour,
The seer's burthen not desirable;
And now at last had thought to have man's share
Of marriage blessings; and the King supreme,
Cormac, had pledged his only daughter mine;
When thou, with those pernicious beauty-gifts,
The flashing white tusk there hath somewhat spoil'd,
Didst win her to desert her father's house,
And roam the wilds with thee.”
In war and council, little bless'd with love;
Though poesy was mine, and, in my hour,
The seer's burthen not desirable;
And now at last had thought to have man's share
Of marriage blessings; and the King supreme,
Cormac, had pledged his only daughter mine;
When thou, with those pernicious beauty-gifts,
The flashing white tusk there hath somewhat spoil'd,
Didst win her to desert her father's house,
And roam the wilds with thee.”
“It was herself,
Grania, the Princess, put me in the bonds
Of holy chivalry to share her flight.
‘Behold,’ she said, ‘he is an aged man,
(And so thou art, for years will come to all;)
And I, so young; and, at the Beltane games,
When Carbry Liffacher did play the men
Of Brea, I, unseen, saw thee snatch a hurl,
And thrice on Tara's champions win the goal;
And gave thee love that day, and still will give.’
So she herself avow'd. Resolve me, Finn,
For thou art just, could youthful warrior, sworn
To maiden's service have done else than I?
No: hate me not—restore me—give me drink.”
Grania, the Princess, put me in the bonds
Of holy chivalry to share her flight.
‘Behold,’ she said, ‘he is an aged man,
(And so thou art, for years will come to all;)
And I, so young; and, at the Beltane games,
When Carbry Liffacher did play the men
Of Brea, I, unseen, saw thee snatch a hurl,
And thrice on Tara's champions win the goal;
And gave thee love that day, and still will give.’
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For thou art just, could youthful warrior, sworn
To maiden's service have done else than I?
No: hate me not—restore me—give me drink.”
“I will not.”
“Nay, but, Finn, thou hadst not said
‘I will not,’, though I'd ask'd a greater boon,
That night we supp'd in Breendacoga's lodge.
Remember: we were faint and hunger-starved
From three day's flight; and even as on the board
They placed the viands, and my hand went forth
To raise the wine-cup, thou; more quick of ear,
O erheard'st the stealthy leaguer set without;
And yet should'st eat or perish. Then 'twas I,
Fasting, that made the sally; and 'twas I,
Fasting, that made the circuit of the court;
Three times I cours'd it, darkling, round and round;
From whence returning, when I brought thee in
The three lopp'd heads of them that lurk'd without—
Thou hadst not then, refresh'd and grateful, said
‘I will not,’ had I ask'd thee, ‘Give me drink.’”
‘I will not,’, though I'd ask'd a greater boon,
That night we supp'd in Breendacoga's lodge.
Remember: we were faint and hunger-starved
From three day's flight; and even as on the board
They placed the viands, and my hand went forth
To raise the wine-cup, thou; more quick of ear,
O erheard'st the stealthy leaguer set without;
And yet should'st eat or perish. Then 'twas I,
Fasting, that made the sally; and 'twas I,
Fasting, that made the circuit of the court;
Three times I cours'd it, darkling, round and round;
From whence returning, when I brought thee in
The three lopp'd heads of them that lurk'd without—
Thou hadst not then, refresh'd and grateful, said
‘I will not,’ had I ask'd thee, ‘Give me drink.’”
“There springs no water on this summit bald.”
“Nine paces from the spot thou standest on,
The well-eye—well thou knowest it—bubbles clear.”
The well-eye—well thou knowest it—bubbles clear.”
Abash'd, reluctant, to the bubbling well
Went Finn, and scoop'd the water in his palms;
Where with returning, half-way, came the thought
Of Grania, and he let the water spill.
“Ah me,” said Dermid, “hast thou then forgot
Thy warrior-art that oft, when helms were split,
And buckler-bosses shatter'd by the spear,
Has satisfied the thirst of wounded men?
Ah, Finn, these hands of thine were not so slack
That night, when, captured by the king of Thule,
Thou layest in bonds within the temple gate
Waiting for morning, till the observant king
Should to his sun-god make thee sacrifice.
Close-pack'd thy fingers then, thong-drawn and squeezed,
The blood-drops oozing under every nail,
When, like a shadow, through the sleeping priests
Came I, and loos'd thee: and the hierophant
At day-dawn coming, on the altar-step,
Instead of victim straighten'd to his knife,
Two warriors found, erect, for battle arm'd.”
Went Finn, and scoop'd the water in his palms;
Where with returning, half-way, came the thought
Of Grania, and he let the water spill.
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Thy warrior-art that oft, when helms were split,
And buckler-bosses shatter'd by the spear,
Has satisfied the thirst of wounded men?
Ah, Finn, these hands of thine were not so slack
That night, when, captured by the king of Thule,
Thou layest in bonds within the temple gate
Waiting for morning, till the observant king
Should to his sun-god make thee sacrifice.
Close-pack'd thy fingers then, thong-drawn and squeezed,
The blood-drops oozing under every nail,
When, like a shadow, through the sleeping priests
Came I, and loos'd thee: and the hierophant
At day-dawn coming, on the altar-step,
Instead of victim straighten'd to his knife,
Two warriors found, erect, for battle arm'd.”
Again abash'd, reluctant to the well
Went Finn, and scoop'd the water in his palms,
Where with returning, half-way, came the thought
That wrench'd him; and the shaken water spill'd.
Went Finn, and scoop'd the water in his palms,
Where with returning, half-way, came the thought
That wrench'd him; and the shaken water spill'd.
“False one, thou didst it purposely! I swear
I saw thee, though mine eyes do fast grow dim.
Ah me, how much imperfect still is man!
Yet such were not the act of Him, whom once
On this same mountain, as we sat at eve—
Thou yet mayst see the knoll that was our couch,
A stone's throw from the spot where now I lie—
Thou showedst me, shuddering, when the seer's fit,
Sadden and cold as hail, assail'd thy soul
In vision of that Just One crucified
For all men's pardoning, which, once again,
Thou sawest, with Cormac, struck in Rossnaree.”
Finn trembled: and a third time to the well
Went straight, and scoop'd the water in his palms;
Where with in haste half-way return'd, he saw
A smile on Dermid's face relax'd in death.
I saw thee, though mine eyes do fast grow dim.
Ah me, how much imperfect still is man!
Yet such were not the act of Him, whom once
On this same mountain, as we sat at eve—
Thou yet mayst see the knoll that was our couch,
A stone's throw from the spot where now I lie—
Thou showedst me, shuddering, when the seer's fit,
Sadden and cold as hail, assail'd thy soul
In vision of that Just One crucified
For all men's pardoning, which, once again,
Thou sawest, with Cormac, struck in Rossnaree.”
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Went straight, and scoop'd the water in his palms;
Where with in haste half-way return'd, he saw
A smile on Dermid's face relax'd in death.
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THE INVOCATION.
Joy of the world, divine delight of Love,Who with life-sowing footsteps soft dost move
Through all the still stars from their sliding stands
See, fishy seas, and fruit-abounding lands;
Bringing to presence of the gracious sun
All living things: thee blights and vapours shun,
And thine advent: for thee the various earth
Glows with the rose; for thee the murmurous minth
Of ocean sparkles; and, at thy repair,
Diffusive bliss pervades the placid air.
For, see, forthwith the blandness of the Spring
Begins, and Zephyr's seasonable wing
Wantons abroad in primal lustihood,
Smit with sweet pangs the wing'd aerial brood
Of pairing birds proclaim thy reign begun;
Thence through the fields where pasturing cattle run,
Runs the soft frenzy, all the savage kind,
Touch'd with thy tremors in the wanton wind,
Prancing the plains, or through the rushing floods
Cleaving swift ways; thou, who through waving woods,
Tall mountains, fishful seas, and leafy bowers
Of nestling birds, keep'st up the joyous hours,
Making from age to age, bird, beast, and man
Perpetuate life and time;—aid thou my plan.
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ARCHYTAS AND THE MARINER.
MARINER.Thee, of the sea and land and unsumm'd sand
The Mensurator,
The dearth of some poor earth from a friend's hand
Detains, a waiter
For sepulture, here on the Matine strand;
Nor aught the better
Art thou, Archytas, now, in thought to have spann'd
Pole and equator!
ARCHYTAS,
The sire of Pelops, too, though guest and host
Of Gods, gave up the ghost:
Beloved Tithonus into air withdrew:
And Minos, at the council-board of Jove
Once intimate above,
Hell holds; and hell with strict embrace anew
Constrains Panthoïdes, for all his lore,
Though by the shield he bore
In Trojan jousts, snatch'd from the trophied fane
He testified that death slays nought within
The man, but nerve and skin;
But bore his witness and his shield in vain.
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Must by all feet be trod:
All heads at last to Proserpine must come:
The furious Fates to Mars' bloody shows
Cast these: the seas whelm those:
Commix'd and close the young and old troop home.
Me also, prone Orion's comrade swift,
The South-wind, in the drift.
Of white Illyrian waves, caught from the day:
But, shipmate, thou refuse not to my dead
Bones and unburied head,
The cheap poor tribute of the funeral clay!
So, whatsoe'er the East may foam or roar
Against the Hesperian shore,
Let crack Venusia's woods, thou safe and free;
While great God Neptune, the Tarentine's trust,
And Jupiter the just,
With confluent wealth reward thy piety.
Ah! wouldst thou leave me? wouldst thou leave, indeed,
Thy unoffending seed
Under the dead man's curse? Beware! the day
May come when thou shalt suffer equal wrong:
Give—'twill not keep thee long—
Three handfuls of sea-sand, and go thy way.
| Lays of the Western Gael, and Other Poems | |