The Isles of Loch Awe and Other Poems of my Youth ::

Near to Ardhonnel Inish Erreth lies,
Close to the shore. A little ruined church,
And a few tombstones on a barren mound,
All its attractions; but a Celtic tale,
Antique as any legend of Loch Awe,
Has for its scene that common heap of earth.

Chambers attaches the story of Erreth to this island, but I do not know on what authority.

Armar and Daura had exchanged the vows
Of lovers when the snow was on the ground;
And she was waiting in her father's house
For him she loved to come and claim his bride.
But Erreth hated Armar, who had slain
His brother in the freshness of his youth.
So Erreth came to Daura in disguise,
Dressed as a vassal of her future spouse,
And said, “My boat is ready on the beach,
For Armar sent me hither. I have come

To take you to an island on the lake,
Where he lies wounded by an antlered stag.
I slew the stag, and wrapped him in the skin;
And there he lies upon the frozen snow.”

The sun was low before they reached the isle;
And in the frosty air the distant peaks
Of Cruachan rose sharp, and white, and clear
Against a clear white sky. The sun went down,
And Inish Erreth and its neighbour isle
Lay on the water—barren solitudes,
Ages before the castle and the church
Were built by feudal power and piety.

Poor Daura sat alone in that canoe
With the stern man whose brother Armar killed—
Revengeful Erreth. She was in his power.
But love had banished all her maiden fear;
She only thought of Armar. All she asked
Was of his wound, and whether the warm skin,
Flayed from the reeking body of the stag,
Would keep him from the biting of the frost.
But when they neared the isle she raised her voice,
And called aloud for Armar; her lorn cries,
Anxious as those of some forsaken plover,
That calls in vain across the darkling moor,
Returning after every fruitless search
In dreary echoes. “He has gone to sleep,”

Said Erreth; but poor Daura shook her head:
And Erreth turned the stern towards the isle,
And ran it up, and Daura went ashore.
But Erreth did not follow. His canoe
Rounded the isle, and in a little bay
(Which now, when calm, reflects the whitewashed front
Of a neat inn, but in those early times
Was bordered by a forest of wild oaks)
The traitor landed.

Then his victim found
To what a cruel snare she was betrayed;
For though she rambled over all the isle
Like one distracted, calling for her love,
None answered—there was none to answer there.
Alone upon a bare and barren isle,
Treading the crisp turf on its highest ridge,
Or the hard frozen snow that lay in drifts
Along its southern side, she looked above
For help, but there the cold stars heeded not.
Yet Erreth's boat lay on the opposite shore,
So near that she could watch it as it rocked,
And hear the water rippling on its bows.
And still there was no help. If she could reach
That boat—that shore—her life might yet be saved.
But though the channel in the summer drought
Was but breast high, the autumn had been wet;
And the long rains that fell for many weeks
Before the frost set in had filled the loch.

Besides, there rushed a current through the strait;
And, tearing past the jagged belt of ice
That fringed the island, breakers dashed in spray.
It was a cheerless isle. The rock and turf
Were hard and bleak, the wind had blown them bare,
And on the sheltered side the frozen drifts,
With all their beautiful lines and sculptured forms,
Looked cold and cheerless as a winding sheet
Upon the perished limbs of loveliness.

Meanwhile stern Erreth wandered through the wood,
Cracking the withered boughs beneath his feet,
And pleased with his successful stratagem;
When strong Arindal in his very path
Stood like a mighty shadow in the gloom
Of the dark forest. Erreth turned aside;
But Daura's brother fronted him again,
Laden with sylvan spoil, a royal stag.
He had five hounds behind him; and the two
Were mortal foes, and there was no escape.
Then Erreth quailed, because his conscience smote
His traitor heart. Arindal bound him there
To a strong oak, with thongs of red deer's hide;
And the five dogs stood by and angrily
Growled when poor Erreth struggled with his foe.

Now Armar went to visit his betrothed,
And her old father met him at the door,

And asked him of his wound, and how he came
Without his daughter. Armar answered him:
“Good sir, I am not wounded,” and passed on
Into the hall to seek for his betrothed,
For the old man was doting, as he thought.
But there the vassals soon explained it all,
Saying, “There came a man three hours ago,
Dressed like your vassals, and he came in haste,
And said that you had charged a stag at bay,
And from its horn received a frightful wound;
And that he slew the stag and flayed it there,
And having swathed you in the reeking hide,
Left you upon an island in the loch
Safe from all harm; and that you wished to see
Our gentle lady, sir, before you died.
So hearing this, she went away with him
Distracted, and we have not seen her since.”

Then Armar answered with a hollow voice,
Full of emotion, “She has been betrayed.
Tell me the aspect of the man who came—”
“His face was small, and on his upper lip
The hair was pale and scanty; but his chin
Had a stiff beard about six inches long,
That wagged about before him as he spoke;
His eye was grey and small, but very keen;
His motions quick—” “No more, I know him now;
It was the brother of a chief I slew,—

Erreth, the brother of a chief in Lorn,
Whom I cut down in fair and open fight:
But this revenge is cowardly and base.”
He checked himself; and whilst her father raved,
Daura's betrothed took his authority,
And said, “There is an island by the shore,
Close to the land; so I will hasten thither,
And swim across the channel to the isle;
But you must bring a boat to our relief.
Quick—quick! the frost is killing even now
Your gentle mistress—'tis a frightful death!”
Then from the hall he ran along the shore,
Swiftly as any deer before the hounds,
Leaping the frozen brooks; and after him
The strong old chief ran lightly as a youth.
The north wind met them, and they saw the loch
Spotted with foam, for it was blowing hard.

At last they neared the island. When they came
Down to the shore they saw a light canoe
Crossing the channel, and the chieftain said
To Armar, “That must be the very boat
That Erreth brought; that figure must be his,
Halfway across.” And Armar strung his bow;
And ere the figure which they dimly saw
Could reach the island, to his naked breast
The arrow flew. The oars dropped instantly.
Backward the rower fell into the boat.

The prow made no resistance to the waves;
It turned, and down the current passively
Floated, and bore its burden far away,
Past the low island out into the loch;
And five great deerhounds howled along the shore.

Daura was standing on the icy beach,
For all her hope was in Arindal's boat;
And when she saw the oars drop from his grasp,
And him struck down, and the expected prow
Turn from the island suddenly, and yield
To the fierce current, she sank hopelessly
On the cold snow, for all her strength was gone.
Then swiftly past her glided that canoe
With its dead burden out into the loch;
And Armar, thinking he had slain his foe,
Called joyously to her, and she replied
With a low groan, for all her strength was gone.
Then Armar, glad to find her still alive,
Threw down his bow and leapt into the waves;
And her old father's voice came cheerfully,
Telling his daughter “not to yield to sleep,
But keep herself awake till she was saved,”
For he had often been upon the hills
And felt, but shaken off, that drowsiness
Which ends in sleep from which no sleeper wakes.

Then Armar shrieked, for though his limbs were strong,

And he a mighty swimmer, he was seized
By that fierce foe, the dreaded, cruel Cramp,
Which dwells in chilly waters down below,
And when the upper waves are icy cold,
Rises above like some ferocious shark
To seize the limbs of men, and drag them down,
And feed on their drowned bodies in the deep.

The current rushed as swiftly as before,
And bore the corse of Armar far away
After Arindal, out into the loch.

When the old chief could see his head no more
Above the waves, he felt that he was lost;
But talked to Daura incoherently
To keep her wakeful, and the current boiled
Between the dying lady and her sire.

The boat came up at last. The long delay
Was caused by ceaseless struggles with the wind—
The cold north wind that came from Cruachan,
Whose peaks were dark against the crimson glow
Of streamers in the sky. Arindal's boat
Had met them, and they stopped it on its way;
But when they found his body lying there,
Pierced with an arrow, they had taken it
Into their own, and let the other drift.
And by Arindal's side they shortly laid

His sister's body, blue and stiff with cold,
Frozen to death; and, chafing both her hands,
The poor old chief sat silently and wept.

A fortnight after, coming through the woods,
A hunter saw a figure white with snow
Leaning against the trunk of a young oak,
And clasping it behind him with his hands.
On going nearer—lo, it was a corpse!
A stiff, cold corpse; and from its naked limbs
Below the kilt the flesh was gnawn away
By foxes; and its eyes were eaten out
By a black raven, which the hunter scared.
The wrists were bound with thongs of red deer's hide
Behind the tree—the thongs had cut the flesh.
The face was small, and on the upper lip
The hair was pale and scanty; but the chin
Had a stiff beard about six inches long,
Matted and frozen. It was Erreth's beard.

University of Virginia Library

VI. INISH ERRETH.