Three Irish Bardic Tales Being Metrical Versions of the Three Tales known as The Three Sorrows of Story-telling. By John Todhunter |
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 | Three Irish Bardic Tales |  |
THE FIFTH DUAN. THE SWANS IN ERRIS DOMNANN.
Sorrowful is my song,Of songs most sorrowful
The song of the doom of the Children of Lir!
1
By Erris Domnann's cliffs they dwelt. There first they knewThe ocean without shore; and in their ears all night
Boomed on with solemn sound the thunder of its waves.
And answering to that sound, their minds were changed for awe.
2
There, day on boundless day, wonders were in their eye,Wonders of the great deep. Blue rolled the unresting waves
And white the boiling surge smote the unflinching rocks.
And, answering to that sight, their minds grew great in awe.
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3
But want they felt, and cold; and pity wrung their breastFor the sea-faring tribes. And many a dreadful storm
Smote them, the wrath whereof they had never felt before,
Seeking in land-locked bays what shelter they might win.
4
But once, when glowing noon slept on the murmuring wavesAnd the brown basking rocks, an odorous inland breeze
Wafted them o'er the sea faint pulsings of a harp,
Lamenting tones where lived memories of their own dead songs.
5
Then wondering rose the Swans, and sought on sounding wingThat echo of their woes. And there, upon the rocks,
They found a harper, grey, with wistful eyes. His harp
Fell as he cried: ‘At last! Are these the Swans of Lir?’
6
They questioned of his name. ‘Ævric,’ he said, ‘grown greySeeking the Swans. Your tale saddened my dreaming youth,
Waifs of your song, like pools by some forgotten stream
Left lonely on the hills, haunt still this land of sighs.
7
‘I drank, and thirsted still, and am become a cloudWandering the world to seek the fountains of the dew.
Oh, fill my thirsting soul with music! Swans I have loved,
Slay me not with your sight, unsolaced by your song!’
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8
Wan was his face, o'erflowed by the rivers of his eyes,And pale the pleading hands stretched to them o'er the sea.
Then the four Swans swam near, and Ævric in the brine
Plunged in, breast-deep, to touch the feathers of the four.
9
Sweet was their salutation; and soon between them thereKindled a mighty love, not soon to cease; for there
Ævric abode, and long shared with the Swans his food,
And from his hand once more they knew the taste of bread.
10
Sweet were the songs they taught him, and made him with their loreFirst bard of all his time. Then, feeling death draw near,
He said: ‘My time is come: hence must I, and sing your songs
In youthful ears, to keep the heart of Eri green.’
11
Sorrowing he went; through tears their eyes looked after him:Desolate stood his hut, a spectre on the rocks,
Cold as the tomb wherein their happy days lay dead;
And yet they loved the spot where they had lost a friend.
12
But Ævric made the heart of Eri bud with song,Dying when he had made the story of the Swans;
While for a hundred years the Swans in the great sea
By Erris Domnann bode, in hardships ever new.
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13
Then came a winter night, the like of which for frostThey had never felt before. Breathless above the sea
The frozen air stood still: its billows hushed in awe,
Freezing without a sound, still stood the mighty deep.
14
There, beautiful in heaven, throned in her splendour, Night,An awful presence, dwelt. Awfully on the sea
The moon looked silent down. Cold through the icy air
Awfully flamed the stars, alive with deadly light.
15
Silent, remorseless, swift, blurring the torpid surge,The flag of ice advanced; dense round the moving Swans
The thin sea-water grew; meshed in its creeping net
They moved no more. ‘Death spurs his fated hour,’ said Conn.
16
‘Nay, see,’ Fianoula said, ‘still is the frozen air—That stillness guards our life. Howled Oifa on the blast,
The wind's keen fangs to-night had nipt our hearts indeed.
But stark she crouches, cowed by heaven's frosty eyes.’
FIANOULA'S SONG IN THE FROZEN SEA.
1
Oh! who shall comfort the Swans?The sea, the sea hath betrayed us!
The frost's white wand on thy waters,
We perish by thee, O Sea!
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2
For the freedom of the wavesBrisk, buoyant under our bodies,
Pent here in thy crystal prison,
We pine to be free, O Sea!
3
Great art Thou, God of heaven!In the trance of the wind and the waters
Thy love walks o'er the sea,
This night is Thy shield reveal'd.
4
Dread Framer of earth and heaven,Chastise the strong till they pity,
Give ease to Thy suffering tribes,
Our souls be set free, by Thee!
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‘Brothers,’ she cried, ‘believe in the great God of heaven!’‘We do believe,’ they said; and straightway on their hearts
Fell peace; and fear was quelled by awe; and a new song
Grew on their golden tongues, hymning the God of heaven:
THE SWANS' SONG OF PRAISE.
FIANOULA.Great is the God of heaven!
THE THREE BROTHERS.
And wonderful His works!
FIANOULA.
Great is the God of heaven!
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And greatly to be praised!
FIANOULA AND OODH.
In the glorious lights of heaven
His eyes behold our weakness.
FIACHRA AND CONN.
He hath paven the sea with crystal
For the footsteps of His love.
THE FOUR SWANS.
O God, most mighty,
We praise thee out of the waters!
O King of Consolation,
Thy wings are over all!
18
Even as they sang, the north, far o'er the crystal seaBudded with phantom fire. Pale flames, and rays of gloom,
Streamed to the zenith flickering; and dying, quickening still,
Made, as the low moon dipt, all heaven one throbbing rose.
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Fianoula saw, and cried: ‘Terrible saints advanceTo the purging of the earth: to the conquering of the nations
Terrible kings advance! Ghostlike our banners flee
To the wan fairy fields. Oh! where is Lir to-night?’
20
With morning came the sun and the warm wind of the west,And split the groaning ice. Free swam the Swans once more,
Unharmed, on the brisk tide, and on their clanging wings
Soared o'er the churning ice, to their own sheltering bay.
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21
So from that day they dwelt, free in their ocean home,Knowing both heat and cold; but in hardship or in ease
Over them like a tent was spread the peace of God.
And there they dwelt in peace for still one hundred years.
22
Then said Fianoula: ‘Come, our cruel mother's curseWithers upon the waters and on the fields of air,
And we are free to fly home to the halls of Lir.
How fares it with our father—does he still see the sun?’
23
So the four Swans soared high, and swiftly to the east,Under the eyes of dawn, flew home to the halls of Lir,
And found them but a heap, and desolation there
Dwelt, and a tongueless grief, as of a harp unstrung.
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Sadly his children four by Lir's forgotten hearthIn silence sat them down; and memories in dim troop,
Orphans of days long dead, stole from their weedy lair
To gaze with wistful eyes upon the orphans four.
THE SWANS' LAMENT FOR THE DESOLATION OF LIR.
1
A lost dream to us now is our homeUllagone! Ochone-a-rie!
Gall to our heart! Oh, gall to our heart!
Ullagone! Ochone-a-rie!
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2
A hearthless home, without fire, without joy,Without a harp, without a hound!
No talk, no laughter, no sound of song,
Ullagone for the halls of Lir!
3
Where now are the prosperous kings?Where are the women? Where is the love?
The kiss of welcome warm on our cheeks?
The loving tongue of hounds on our hands?
4
Oh! the greatness of our mishap!Oh! the length of our evil day!
Bitter to toss between sea and sea,
But worse the taste of a loveless home.
5
Children we left it, swans we return.To a strange place, strangers. None lives to say:
‘These are the Children of Lir.’ A dream,
In a dream forgotten are we this night!
6
Is this the place of music we knew,Where howls the wolf through the halls of Lir?
Where mirth in the drinking-horn was born,
Chill falls the rain on the hearth of Lir.
7
Ullagone! Ochone-a-rie!Gall to our hearts is that sight to-night
Ullagone! Ochone-a-rie!
A lost dream to us now is our home!
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So sang they. ‘Let us go,’ Fianoula said, ‘for hereWe have no more a home; back to the breezy west
Our flight must be. Now Lir, wandering in Fairyland,
Beholds a phantom sun.’ So spake she, and back they flew.
Of songs most mournful,
Sorrowful is my song!
| Three Irish Bardic Tales | |