 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
KING CON MAC LIR.
The enchanted island, Tir-na-n-oge, of Irish folk-lore, like Flath Innis, of the Scottish, and Gwerddonau Llion of the Welsh romances, is an isolated land of untold delights, lying far off in the Western Atlantic, and only found by mortals whom those who people it desire as guests. It is ruled by the fairy-queen, Meabdh [Maev], whom some Irish writers think to be identical with Queen Mab. The latter, however, is evidently from the Welsh [mab—a little child]. Either Shakespeare himself or the writers of some of the many plays which he revised for the stage, and which are mixed with his own, were well acquainted with Welsh fairy mythology, as numerous allusions testify. The isle of Prospero bears more resemblance to Gwerddonau Llion than to Tir-na-n-oge. One legend tells of a visit to the place by Oisin [Ossian?], the son of Fionn [Fingal?], the son of Cumhail, but I prefer a variant of the story. Something should be said, for the general reader, about the Fianna of Connaught, who, like the Fianna of Leinster and the Claun-Degaid of Munster, are supposed to be an order of chivalry. Neither they nor the Red Branch Knights of Ulster could be said to be knights at all. Though pledged to be loyal to the king, kind to the poor and profoundly respectful to woman, and only becoming a Curaih, or companion, of the order, after prescribed ceremonies, the Fian was merely a laoch [hero], and the order bore no relation to knighthood, which was a Christian institution. Nor, beyond a helmet and shield, did the Fian wear defensive armor. The Fianna appear to have formed a superior part of the standing army of the native princes of which the galloglasses and kernes made up the bulk.
Was King of Conacht, known of men, as potent Con Mac Lir,
Who, from the Shannon to the sea, o'er all the land held sway,
Beyond Lough Gill upon the north, and southward to Lough Rea.
But in his rath at Brugh-na-ard, upon the Ceann-na-Slyne;
And there, within the banquet-hall, where mead and wine were poured,
White-bearded counsellors and bards sat at the well-filled board.
'Neath where the yellow lion blazed upon its field of green;
And there fair dames and damsels sat, with locks of ebon hue,
And arms and hands of creamy white, and eyes of heavenly blue.
And seated him to gaze upon the heaving ocean there,
When slumber overcame his sense; but, waking soon, he found
Two things enwrought with cunning hand beside him on the ground.
With golden leaves and jewelled fruit, a fair and wondrous sight;
And near it, golden-hilted, lay a finely-tempered glaive,
And on the branch and on the sword was cut the name of Maev.
Her guest within that happy isle, from care and sorrow free—
The country of perpetual bliss, perpetual summer there,
Where men are ever stout and brave, and women ever fair!”
When suddenly beside him there he saw a lady stand,
The monarch's spirit knew her well, the mighty fairy-queen.
“Who bears that token of my love himself belongs to me;
My barque awaits your coming, moored impatient on the shore;
Your eyes shall soon behold my realm, but these at hand no more.”
There lay a barque of oak and pearl, with oars on either side;
He followed her as in she stept, and hands unseen began
To bend the sails, and move the oars, and shape the course they ran.
Set like a gem within the wave, an isle of emerald green,
A lovely land of birds and flowers, of sweetly singing streams,
Of tree-clad hills and bosky dells—a land of daylight dreams.
Down came a troop of tiny elves the royal pair to meet,
And led them to a palace tall, its gates with gems aglow,
Its massive towers and slender spires as white as driven snow.
Whose rosy satin hangings fell in many a sheeny fold,
“Behold my realm,” the Bean Sighe said: “and you are lord of all!”
A wish required no words of his the object sought to bring;
His word was law, his frown was fate, and though a mortal, he
Was served by all the Daoine Maith upon the bended knee.
But who of mortal mold is yet with what he hath content?
Excess of bliss became a pain; his soul began to pine
For Druids, bards and Fianna brave within his rath at Slyne.
“To-day a longing fills your heart the home you left to see.
Go, then; but take this flask, and should you tire of Conacht, then
Shatter the glass, 'twill bring you back to Tir-na-n-oge again.”
Where rose the rocks of Ceann-na-Slyne, he leapt upon the land;
He climbed the crags; he reached the Brugh—the land around was bare;
No garden fine, no stately rath, no sign of life was there.
He looked around; no trace was found of dwelling far or near.
Until at length, in wandering 'round, some wretched huts he saw,
Whose inmates on the stranger looked with wonder mixed with awe.
Of one old man who nearest stood: “Where are the younger men?”
“They're at the war,” the man replied, “but most of them were slain
In battle at Clontarf, what time King Brian beat the Dane.”
And now the princes Malachy have made Ard Righ once more.”
“The princes, they have made him?” spake the monarch, frowning. “Nay!
In such a making, Con, your king, has yet a word to say.”
They say he lived within the land, six hundred years ago.
I heard a bard the tale recite, how Con in Conacht reigned,
In days ere good St. Patrick came, and Druids yet remained.”
“Such wicked oath as that might bring a curse upon your head.
Crom was a heathen god of old. We bow to the Most High,
And heathen gods and Satan's works all Christian men defy.”
My rath a heap of moss-grown stones! My faith in Crom a crime!
Another king usurps my throne! The land around a grave!
Conacht, farewell! Come, Tir-na-n-oge! Greet me once more, sweet Maev!”
The wretched cottars vainly strove to keep their pace with him;
They saw him leap from crag to crag, and on the sea-beach stand—
What did he then? A crystal flask he crushed upon the sand.
Till it became a cloud of mist, and hid King Con from view;
It seaward moved, huge, white and dense, and on the wave they saw
A barque of oak inlaid with pearl, nearer and nearer draw.
And deepest terror filled their hearts, as silently they gazed;
The mist dispersed, and o'er the waves, leaping from crest to crest,
The barque, with silken sails outspread, went sailing to the west.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |