Lays of the Red Branch :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lays of the Red Branch

By Sir Samuel Ferguson

Ferguson, Samuel (1810-1886)

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THE TWINS OF MACHA:

A LAY OF THE WESTERN GAEL.

Whence Emain Macha?
And the pangs intense
That long were wont to plague the Ultonians, whence?
Not hard to tell. Once, ere that pest began,
Crunn of the Herds, the son of Agnoman,
Tending his flocks dwelt lonely in the wild.
Dead was his wife: and many a squalid child,
Ill-cared for, clamoured in the dwelling bare.
Now, on a day, when sitting sadly there,
Crunn was aware a woman stood beside,
Of gracious aspect, sweet and dignified.
She, as familiar there had been her life,
At once assumed the office of the wife:
Unasked, presided; dealt the children bread;
And drew their loves forth, in the mother's stead;
Long while she tarried. Neither wholesome food,
Nor seemly raiment, nor aught else of good
Wherewith the housewife's hand makes glad a home,
Was wanting with them; till the time was come
When Ulaidh all were wont to make repair
With annual pomp to celebrate their Fair.
Thither they flock; man, woman, youth, and maid;
And, with the others, Crunn, his limbs arrayed
In festive garb, to go. Fear seized her soul.
“Ah, go not, rash one! Thou wilt ne'er control

“Some word ill-timed, may mar our life's content.”
“Tush! Fear me not,” said Crunn; and, jocund, went.

The fair is filled. The grooms of Conor lead
The royal car and coursers o'er the mead.
The woods and lawns with loud applauses ring;
The flattering courtiers buzz about. “The thing
“Lives not, for swiftness, that can near them come.”
“Swifter,” said Crunn, “my own good wife at home.”
Scarce said,—the wretch, by wrathful Conor caught,
Is captive. Tidings to the wife are brought.
“Woe's me,” she cried, “must aid him now, and I
“So soon to bear my own maternity!”
“Woe thee, indeed!” the savage grooms return.
“Make good his boasting, or prepare his urn.”
“As mothers bore you, spare!” she cries aghast;
“Or yield me respite till my pains are past.”
No respite. “Good, then, if it must be so,
“My pains shall work you, men of Ulster, woe,
“Now and hereafter.” Brought before the King—
“Thy name?” “My name,—our name,—the name shall cling
“To this thy fair-green and thy palace-hall
“Till the just God give judgment upon all;—
“Macha, my name; daughter of Sanrad, son
“Of Imbad. Now, release him, and I run.”

She ran; the steeds contended. Long ere they
Attained the goal, already there, she lay,
A mother, dying. Twin the birth. So came
Of Emain Macha, “Macha's Twins,” the name.

THE NAMING OF CUCHULLIN:

A LAY OF THE WESTERN GAEL.

CONOR.
Setanta, if bird-nesting in the woods
And ball-feats on the play-green please thee not
More than discourse of warrior and of sage,
And sight of warrior-weapons in the forge,
I offer an indulgence. For we go,—
Myself, my step-sire Fergus, and my Bard,—
To visit Cullan, the illustrious smith
Of Quelgné. Come thou also if thou wilt.

SETANTA.
Ask me not, good oh Conor, yet to leave
The play-green; for the ball-feats just begun
Are those which most delight my playmate-youths,
And they entreat me to defend the goal:
But let me follow; for, the chariot-tracks
Are easy to discern; and much I long
To hear discourse of warrior and of sage,
And see the nest that hatches deaths of men,
The tongs a-flash, and Cullan's welding blow.

CONOR.
Too late the hour; too difficult the way.
Set forward, drivers: give our steeds the goad.

CULLAN.
Great King of Emain, welcome. Welcome, thou,
Fergus, illustrious step-sire of the King:
And, Seer and Poet, Cathbad, welcome too.
Behold the tables set, the feast prepared.
Sit. But, before I cast my chain-hound loose,
Give me assurance that ye all be in.
For, night descends; and perilous the wild;
And other watchman none of house or herds,
Here, in this solitude remote from men,
Own I, but one hound only. Once his chain
Is loosened, and he makes three bounds at large
Before my door-posts, after fall of night,
There lives not man nor company of men

Less than a cohort, shall, within my close
Set foot of trespass, short of life or limb.

CONOR.
Yea; all are in. Let loose, and sit secure.
Good are thy viands, Smith, and strong thine ale.
Hark, the hound growling.

CULLAN.
Wild dogs are abroad.

FERGUS.
Not ruddier the fire that laps a sword
Steel'd for a king, oh Cullan, than thy wine.
Hark, the hound baying.

CULLAN.
Wolves, belike, are near.

CATHBAD.
Not cheerfuller the ruddy forge's light
To wayfarer benighted, nor the glow
Of wine and viands to a hungry man,
Than look of welcome pass'd from host to guest.
Hark, the hound yelling!

CULLAN.
Friends, arise and arm!
Some enemy intrudes! Tush! 'tis a boy.

SETANTA.
Setanta here, the son of Suäiltam.

CONOR.
Setanta, whom I deemed on Emain green
Engaged at ball-play, on our track, indeed!

SETANTA.
Not difficult the track to find, oh King,
But difficult, indeed, to follow home.
Cullan, 'tis evil welcome for a guest
This unwarn'd onset of a savage beast,
Which, but that 'gainst the stone-posts of thy gate
I three times threw him, leaping at my throat,
And, at the third throw, on the stone-edge, slew,
Had brought on thee the shame indelible
Of bidden guest, at his host's threshold, torn.

CONOR.
Yea, he was bidden: it was I myself
Said, as I passed him with the youths at play,
This morning, Come thou also if thou wilt.
But little thought I,—when he said the youths
Desired his presence still to hold the goal,
Yet asked to follow; for he said he longed
To hear discourse of warrior and of sage,
And see the nest that hatches deaths of men,
The tongs a-flash, and Cullan's welding blow;—
That such a playful, young, untutor'd boy
Would come on this adventure of a man.

CULLAN.
I knew not he was bidden; and I asked,
Ere I cast loose, if all the train were in.
But, since thy word has made the boy my guest,—
Boy, for his sake who bade thee to my board,
I give thee welcome: for thine own sake, no.
For thou hast slain my servant and my friend,
The hound I loved, that, fierce, intractable
To all men else, was ever mild to me.
He knew me; and he knew my uttered words,
All my commandments, as a man might know:
More than a man, he knew my looks and tones
And turns of gesture, and discerned my mind,
Unspoken, if in grief or if in joy.
He was my pride, my strength, my company,
For I am childless; and that hand of thine
Has left an old man lonely in the world.

SETANTA.
Since, Cullan, by mischance, I've slain thy hound,
So much thy grief compassion stirs in me,
Hear me pronounce a sentence on myself.
If of his seed there liveth but a whelp
In Uladh, I will rear him till he grow
To such ability as had his sire
For knowing, honoring, and serving thee.
Meantime, but give a javelin in my hand,
And a good buckler, and there never went
About thy bounds, from daylight-gone till dawn

Hound watchfuller, or of a keener fang
Against intruder, than myself shall be.

CULLAN.
A sentence, a just sentence.

CONOR.
Not myself
Hath made award more righteous. Be it so.
Wherefore what hinders that we give him now
His hero-name, no more Setanta called,
But now Cuchullin, chain-hound of the Smith?

SETANTA.
Setanta I, the son of Suäiltam,
Nor other name assume I, or desire.

CATHBAD.
Take, son of Suäiltam, the offered name.

SETANTA.
Setanta, I. Setanta let me be.

CONOR.
Mark Cathbad.

FERGUS.
'Tis his seer-fit.

CATHBAD.

To my ears
There comes a clamour from the rising years,
The tumult of a torrent passion-swollen,
Rolled hitherward; and, mid its mingling noises,
I hear perpetual voices
Proclaim to laud and fame
The name,
Cuchullin!

Hound of the Smith, thy boyish vow
Devotes thy manhood, even now,
To vigilance, fidelity, and toil:
'Tis not alone the wolf, fang-bare to snatch,
Not the marauder from the lifted latch
Alone, thy coming footfall makes recoil.
The nobler service thine to chase afar
Seditious tumult and intestine war,
Envy, and unfraternal hate,
From all the households of the state:
To hunt, untiring, down
The vices of the lewd-luxurious town,
And all the brood
Of Wrong and Rapine, ruthlessly pursued,
Forth of the kingdom's bounds exterminate.

Thine the out-watch, when, down the darkening skies
The coming thunder of invasion rolls;
When doubts and faint replies
Dissolve in dread the shaken People's souls;

And Panic waits, behind her bolted gate,
The unseen stroke of Fate.

Unbolt! Come forth! I hear
His footsteps drawing near,
Who smites the proud ones, who the poor delivers:
I hear his wheels hurl through the dashing rivers:
They fill the narrowing glen;
They shake the quaking causeways of the fen;
They roll upon the moor;
I hear them at the door:—
Lauds to the helpful Gods, the Hero-Givers,
Here stands he, man of men!

Great are the words he speaks;
They move through hearts of kindreds and of nations.
At each clear sentence, the unseemly pallor
Of fear's precipitate imaginations
Avoids the bearded cheeks,
And to their wonted stations
On every face
Return the generous, manly-mantling colour
And reassuring grace
Of fixed obedience, discipline, and patience,
Heroic courage, and protecting valour.

The old true-blooded race shall not be left
Of captaincy bereft;
No, not although the ire of angry heaven
Grow hot against it, even.

For Gods in heaven there are
Who punish not alone the omitted pray'r,
Who punish not alone the slighted sacrifice:
Humanity itself, at deadly price,
Has gained admission to the juster skies,
And vindicates on man man's inhumanities.
See how the strong ones languish
And groan in woman-anguish,
Who in the ardor of their sports inhuman
Heard not the piteous pleadings of the woman.

CONOR.
Ah me, the fatal foot-race! Macha's pangs
Do yet torment us.

FERGUS.
Evil was the deed.
Happy was I who did not witness it,
And happy you, I absent.

CATHBAD.

On their benches,
Even in the height and glory of the revel,
Struck prone, they writhe:
Who now will man the trenches?
Who, on the country's borders,
Confront the outland sworders,—
King, priest, and lord, a swathe before the scythe
Of plague, laid level?

He,—he,—no looker-on
At heaven-abhorred impieties is he,
The pure, the stainless son
Of Dectiré,
The wise, the warlike, the triumphant one
Who holds your forest-passes and your fords
Against the alien hordes,
Till from beneath heaven's slow-uplifted scourge
The chastened kings emerge,
And, grappling once again to manly swords,
Roll the invader-hosts
For ever from your coasts.

Great is the land and splendid:
The borders of the country are extended:
The extern tribes look up with wondering awe
And own the central law.
Fair show the fields, and fair the friendly faces
Of men in all their places.
With song and chosen story,
With game and dance, with revelries and races,
Life glides on joyous wing—
The tales they tell of love and war and glory,
Tales that the soft-bright daughters of the land
Delight to understand,
The songs they sing
To harps of double string,
To gitterns and new reeds,
Are of the glorious deeds
Of young Cuchullin in the Quelgnian foray.

Take, son of Suäiltam, the offered name.
For at that name the mightest of the men
Of Erin and of Alba shall turn pale:
And, of that name, the mouths of all the men
Of Erin and of Alba shall be full.

SETANTA.
Yea, then; if that be so—Cuchullin here!

THE ABDICATION OF FERGUS MAC ROY.

Once, ere God was crucified,
I was King o'er Uladh wide:
King, by law of choice and birth,
O'er the fairest realm of Earth.

I was head of Rury's race;
Emain was my dwelling place;
Right and Might were mine; nor less
Stature, strength, and comeliness.

Neither lacked I love's delight,
Nor the glorious meeds of fight.
All on earth was mine could bring
Life's enjoyment to a king.

Much I loved the jocund chase,
Much the horse and chariot race:
Much I loved the deep carouse,
Quaffing in the Red Branch House.

But in Council call'd to meet,
Loved I not the judgment seat;
And the suitors' questions hard
Won but scantly my regard.

Rather would I, all alone,
Care and state behind me thrown,
Walk the dew through showery gleams
O'er the meads, or by the streams,

Chanting, as the thoughts might rise,
Unimagined melodies;
While with sweetly-pungent smart
Secret happy tears would start.

Such was I, when in the dance,
Nessa did bestow a glance,
And my soul that moment took
Captive in a single look.

I am but an empty shade,
Far from life and passion laid;
Yet does sweet remembrance thrill
All my shadowy being still.

Nessa had been Fathna's spouse,
Fathna of the Royal house,
And a beauteous boy had borne him
Fourteen summers did adorn him:

Yea; thou deem'st it marvellous,
That a widow's glance should thus
Turn from lure of maidens' eyes
All a young king's fantasies.

Yet if thou hadst known but half
Of the joyance of her laugh,
Of the measures of her walk,
Of the music of her talk,

Of the witch'ry of her wit,
Even when smarting under it,—

Half the sense, the charm, the grace,
Thou hadst worshipp'd in my place.

And, besides, the thoughts I wove
Into songs of war and love,
She alone of all the rest
Felt them with a perfect zest.

“Lady, in thy smiles to live
Tell me but the boon to give,
Yea, I lay in gift complete
Crown and sceptre at thy feet.”

“Not so great the boon I crave:
Hear the wish my soul would have;”
And she glanc'd a loving eye
On the stripling standing by:—

“Conor is of age to learn;
Wisdom is a king's concern;
Conor is of royal race,
Yet may sit in Fathna's place.

“Therefore, king, if thou wouldst prove
That I have indeed thy love,
On the judgment seat permit
Conor by thy side to sit,

“That by use the youth may draw
Needful knowledge of the Law.”
I with answer was not slow,
“Be thou mine, and be it so.”

I am but a shape of air,
Far removed from love's repair;
Yet, were mine a living frame
Once again I'd say the same.

Thus, a prosperous wooing sped,
Took I Nessa to my bed,
While in council and debate
Conor daily by me sate.

Modest was his mien in sooth,
Beautiful the studious youth,
Questioning with earnest gaze
All the reasons and the ways

In the which, and why because,
Kings administer the Laws.
Silent so with looks intent
Sat he till the year was spent.

But the strifes the suitors raised
Bred me daily more distaste,
Every faculty and passion
Sunk in sweet intoxication.

Till upon a day in court
Rose a plea of weightier sort:
Tangled as a briary thicket
Were the rights and wrongs intricate

Which the litigants disputed,
Challenged, mooted, and confuted;

Till, when all the plea was ended,
Naught at all I comprehended.

Scorning an affected show
Of the thing I did not know,
Yet my own defect to hide,
I said “Boy-judge, thou decide.”

Conor, with unalter'd mien,
In a clear sweet voice serene,
Took in hand the tangled skein
And began to make it plain.

As a sheep-dog sorts his cattle,
As a king arrays his battle,
So, the facts on either side
He did marshal and divide.

Every branching side-dispute
Traced he downward to the root
Of the strife's main stem, and there
Laid the ground of difference bare.

Then to scope of either cause
Set the compass of the laws,
This adopting, that rejecting,—
Reasons to a head collecting,—

As a charging cohort goes
Through and over scatter'd foes
So, from point to point, he brought
Onward still the weight of thought

Through all error and confusion,
Till he set the clear conclusion
Standing like a king alone,
All things adverse overthrown,

And gave judgment clear and sound:—
Praises fill'd the hall around;
Yea, the man that lost the cause
Hardly could withhold applause.

By the wondering crowd surrounded
I sat shamefaced and confounded.
Envious ire awhile oppress'd me
Till the nobler thought possess'd me;

And I rose, and on my feet
Standing by the judgment-seat,
Took the circlet from my head,
Laid it on the bench, and said,

“Men of Uladh, I resign
That which is not rightly mine,
That a worthier than I
May your judge's place supply.

“Lo, it is no easy thing
For a man to be a king
Judging well, as should behove
One who claims a people's love.

“Uladh's judgment-seat to fill
I have neither wit nor will.

One is here may justly claim
Both the function and the name.

“Conor is of royal blood;
Fair he is; I trust him good;
Wise he is we all may say
Who have heard his words to-day.

“Take him therefore in my room,
Letting me the place assume—
Office but with life to end—
Of his councillor and friend.”

So young Conor gained the crown;
So I laid the kingship down;
Laying with it as it went
All I knew of discontent.

MESGEDRA:

A LAY OF THE WESTERN GAEL.

When glades were green where Dublin stands to-day,
And limpid Liffey, fresh from wood and wold,
Bridgeless and fordless, in the lonely Bay
Sank to her rest on sands of stainless gold;

Came Bard Atharna with his spoils of song
From rich, reluctant lords of Leinster wrung;
Flocks and fat herds, a far-extending throng,
Bondsmen and handmaids beautiful and young:

And,—for the dusky deeps might ill be pass'd,
And he impatient to secure his store,—
A hurdle-causeway o'er the river cast,
And bore his booty to the further shore:

Which ill-enduring, Leinster's king, the brave
Mesgedra, following in an angry quest,
On Tolka bank of damsel and of slave
Despoiled the spoiler now no more a guest;

Who, being bard and ministering priest
Of those vain demons then esteemed divine,
Invoked a curse on Leinster, man and beast,
With rites of sacrifice and rhymes malign;

And sang so loud his clamorous call to war
That all the chiefs of bard-protecting fame
Throughout Ulidia, arming near and far,
Came, and, to aid him, Conall Carnach came;

And, where the city now sends up her vows
From holy Patrick's renovated fane,
(Small surmise then that one of Conall's house
Should there, thereafter, such a work ordain),

Joined Leinster battle: till the southern lords,
Their bravest slain or into bondage led,
At sunset broke before the Red Branch swords,
And, last, Mesgedra climbed his car and fled.

Alone, in darkness, of one hand forlorn,
Naas-ward all night he held his journey back

Through wood and fen, till ill-befriending morn
Showed him fell Conall following on his track.

So chanced it, as the doleful daylight broke,
That, wandering devious with disordered rein,
His steeds had reached beside the Sacred Oak
On Liffey's bank, above the fords of Clane.

Glad to the Tree-God made he grateful vows
Who deigned that green asylum to bestow;
Kissed the brown earth beneath the moss-green boughs,
And waited, calm, the coming of his foe.

He, as a hawk, that, in a housewife's coop
Spying his quarry, stoops upon the wing,
Came on apace, and, when in middle swoop,
Declining sidelong from the sacred ring,

Wheeled, swerving past the consecrated bounds:—
Then thus, between him and the asylum'd man,
While nearer brush'd he still in narrowing rounds,
The grave, unfriendly parle of death began.

“Come forth, Mesgedra, from the sheltering tree,
And render fight: 'tis northern Conall calls.”
“Not from an equal combat do I flee,
O Conall, to these green, protecting halls;

“But, mutilated, weak from many wounds,
Here take I sanctuary, where none will dare
With impious wheel o'erdrive my measured bounds,
Or cast a weapon through the spell-wall'd air.”

“No impious man am I; I fear the Gods;
My wheels thy sacred precinct do but graze;
Nor, in the strife I challenge, ask I odds,
But lot alike to each of death or praise.”

“See, then, one arm hangs idly by my side:
Let, now, one answering arm put also by
From share of battle, to thy belt be tied;
So shall thy challenge soon have meet reply.”

Then Conall lossed his war-belt's leathern band;
Buckle and belt above his arm he closed;
And, single-handed, to the single hand
Of maimed Mesgedra, stood in fight opposed.

They fought, with clashing intermixture keen
Of rapid sword-strokes, till Mesgedra's blade,
Belt and brass corslet glancing sheer between,
Wide open all the trammelling closure laid.

“Respect my plight: two-handed chief, forbear!”
“Behold, I spare; I yield to thy appeal;
And bind this hand again; but, well beware
Again it owe not freedom to thy steel!”

Again they fought, with close-commingling hail
Of swifter sword-strokes, till the fated brand
Of doom'd Mesgedra, glancing from the mail,
Again cut loose the dread, man-slaughtering hand.

No prayer might now hot Conall's fire assuage;
No prayer was uttered; from his scattered toils

Bounding in headlong homicidal rage,
He flew, he threw, he slew, and took the spoils:

Then up, all glorying, all imbrued in gore,
Sprang to the chariot-seat, and north amain
Chariots and steeds and ghastly trophy bore
Through murmuring Liffey, o'er the fords of Clane.

There, softly glancing down the hawthorn glades,
Like phantom of the dawn and dewy air,
There met him, with a troop of dames and maids,
A lovely woman delicate and fair.

They, at their vision of the man of blood,
Rightward and left fled fluttering in alarm;
She in his pathway innocently stood
As one who thinks not, and who fears not, harm.

“Who thou, and whence, and who the woman-train?”
“Buäna, King Mesgedra's wife, am I,
From vows returning sped at Tclacta's fane:
These dames and maids my serving company.

“And, one moon absent, long the time appears
Till back in Naas's halls I lay at rest
My dreams ill-omening and my woman's fears
That daily haunt me, on my husband's breast.”

“Mount here. Thy husband speaks his will through me.”
“Through thee! Thy token of my husband's will?”
“The royal car, the royal coursers see:
Perchance there rests a surer token still.”

“My king Mesgedra is a bounteous lord,
And many a war-car doth his chariot-pen,
And many a swift steed do his stalls afford
For oft bestowal upon divers men.”

“See then,” he said, “my certain warrant here.”
Ah, what a deed! and showed the severed head.
She paled, she sickened with a mortal fear,
Reached her white arms and sank before him, dead.

No passing swoon was hers: he saw her die;
Saw death's pale signet set on cheek and brow:—
Up through his raging breast there rose a sigh;
And, “Sure,” he said, “a loving wife wast thou!

“And I—my deeds to-day shall live in song:
Bards in the ears of feasting kings shall tell
How keen Mesgedra cut the trammelling thong,
And unbound Conall used his freedom well.

“For, what I've done, by rule of warrior-law
Well was I justified and bound to do;
And poets hence a precedent shall draw
For future champion-compacts just and true.

“Done, not because I love the sight of blood,
Or, uninstructed, rather would destroy
Than cherish; or prefer the whirling mood
Of battle's turbulent and dreadful joy

“To peaceful life's mild temper; but because
Things hideous, which the natural sense would shun,

Are, by the sanction of religious laws,
Made clean, and pure, and righteous to be done.

“Ye, in whose name these awful laws are given,
Forgive the thought this woman's looks have raised;—
Are broken hearts acceptable to Heaven?
Is God by groans of anguish rightly praised?

“I, at your law's commandment, slew her lord,
And, at your law's commandment, would have borne
Herself, a captive, to a land abhorr'd,
To spend her widowhood in pain and scorn.

“But now, since friendlier death has shut her eyes
From sight of bondage in an alien home,
No law forbids to yield her obsequies,
Or o'er her raise the green sepulchral dome.

“Or—for her love was stronger than her life—
To place beside her, in her narrow bed,—
It's lawful tribute rendered to my knife—
The much-loved, life-lamented, kingly head.

“No law forbids—all sanguinary dues
Paid justly—that the heart-wrung human vow
Your sterner rites, dread Deities, refuse,
Some gentler Demon's ritual may allow:

“That yet, ere Time of Mankind make an end,
Some mightier Druid of our race may rise;
Some milder Messenger from Heaven descend;
And Earth, with nearer knowledge of the Skies,

“See, past your sacrificers' grisly bands,
Past all the shapes that servile souls appal,
With fearless vision, from a thousand lands,
One great, good God behind and over all.

“Raise, then, her mound”: the gathering hosts he spake
Tnat, thronging to o'ertake their venturous king,
Poured from the ford through fen and crackling brake,
And hailed their hero in acclaiming ring:—

“Raise, too, her stone, conspicuous far and near;
And let a legend on the long stone tell,
‘Behold, there lies a tender woman here,
Who, surely, loved a valiant husband well.’

“And let the earth-heap'd, grass-renewing tomb
A time-long token eloquent remain
Of Pity and of Love for all who come
By murmuring Liffey and the banks of Clane.”

Delicious Liffey! from thy bosoming hills
What man who sees thee issuing strong and pure,
But with some wistful, fresh emotion fills,
Akin to Nature's own clear temperature?

And, haply, thinks:—on this green bank 'twere sweet
To make one's mansion, sometime of the year;
For Health and Pleasure on these uplands meet,
And all the isle's amenities are here.

Hither the merry music of the chase
Floats up the festive borders of Kildare;
And slim-bright steeds extending in the race
Are yonder seen, and camping legions there.

These coverts hold the wary-gallant fox;
There the park'd stag waits his enlarging day;
And there, triumphant o'er opposing rocks,
The shooting salmon quivers through thy spray.

The heath, the fern, the honey-fragrant furze
Carpet thy cradling steeps: thy middle flow
Laves lawn and oak-wood: o'er thy downward course
Laburnums nod and terraced roses blow.

To ride the race, to hunt, to fowl, to fish,
To do and dare whate'er brave youth would do,
A fair fine country as the heart could wish,
And fair the brown-clear river running through.

Such seemest thou to Dublin's youth to-day,
Oh clear-dark Liffey, mid the pleasant land;
With life's delights abounding, brave and gay,
The song, the dance, the softly yielded hand,

The exulting leap, the backward-flying fence,
The whirling reel, the steady-levelled gun;—
With all attractions for the youthful sense,
All charms to please the manly mind, but one,

For, thou, for them, alas! nor History hast
Nor even Tradition; and the Man aspires
To link his present with his Country's past,
And live anew in knowledge of his sires;

No rootless colonist of alien earth,
Proud but of patient lungs and pliant limb,
A stranger in the land that gave him birth,
The land a stranger to itself and him.

Yet, though in History's page thou may'st not claim
High places set apart for deeds sublime
That hinge the turnings of the gates of Fame
And give to view the avenues of Time;

Not all inglorious in thy elder day
Art thou, Moy-Liffey; and the loving mind
Might round thy borders many a gracious lay
And many a tale not unheroic find.

Sir Almeric's deeds might fire a youthful heart
To brave contention mid illustrious peers;
Tears into eyes as beautiful might start
At tender record of Isolda's tears;

Virtue herself uplift a loftier head,
Linked through the years with Ormond's constancy,
And airs from Runnymede around us spread,—
Yea, all the fragrance of the Charter Tree

Wafted down time, refresh the conscious soul
With Freedom's balms, when, firm in patriot zeal,
Dublin's De Londres, to Pandolfo's scroll
Alone of all refused to set his seal;

Or when her other Henry's happier eyes
Up-glancing from his field of victory won,

eheld, one moment, 'neath adoring skies,
The lifted isle lie nearer to the sun.—

For others, these. I, from the twilight waste
Where pale Tradition sits by Memory's grave,
Gather this wreath, and, ere the nightfall, haste
To fling my votive garland on thy wave.

Wave, waft it softly: and when lovers stray
At summer eve by stream and dimpling pool,
Gather thy murmurs into voice and say,
With liquid utterance passionate and full,

Scorn not, sweet maiden, scorn not, vigorous youth,
The lay, though breathing of an Irish home,
That tells of woman-love and warrior-ruth
And old expectancy of Christ to come.

DEIRDRE.

ACTORS.

Naisi Son of Usnach, a Refugee from the Court of Conor, King of Ulster.
Ainlé, Brother of Naisi, in exile with him.
Ardan, Brother of Naisi, in exile with him.
Fergus Mac Roy, Ex-King of Ulster.
Buino Borb Sons of Fergus.
Illan Finn Sons of Fergus.
Barach, a Brother of the Red Branch.
Cormac, Son of Conor.
Pursuivant.
Deirdre, Wife of Naisi.
Lévarcam, her Nurse.

Time—First century. Scene—Glen Etive in Scotland to Emania in Ulster.
SCENE OPENS AT GLEN ETIVE, IN SCOTLAND.
Deirdre, Naisi.
DEIRDRE.
Thou'rt sad.

NAISI.
Not sad.

DEIRDRE.
Say not thou art not sad,
Else I, more sad, shall say thou lovest me not.

NAISI.
I love thee, Deirdre; ever: only thee.

DEIRDRE.
Whence, then, that naughty knitting of the brow
And turning of the eye away from mine?

NAISI.
Not wholly sadness; but I own at times
My mind is fretted with impatience
Of longer exile in these Alban wilds.

DEIRDRE.
And, wretched me! I am the cause of it.

NAISI.
Think not I would reproach thee. Were't to do
Again, again I'd do it; and defy
Conor's worst malice. Justly he may rage
Losing his destined jewel, which to wear,
I glory; though but few its splendour see.

DEIRDRE.
Enough for me the wearer. Were the world
Peopled by but us two, I were content.

NAISI.
Not so with me. Love makes the woman's life
Within-doors and without; but, out of doors,
Action and glory make the life of man.
Here I have room for neither: here there's room
Only for solitudes interminable,

For desert vastness and vacuity.
I see yon wave that never felt a keel
Since first it rose, break white along the beach
So far beneath my feet, I hear it not.
The winds that whistle by me through the grass
Bring never sound of life but 'tis a beast
Or bird that sends it; save, perchance, at times
My brothers' or my house-knave's hunting-cry
May stir the silence to a moment's life.
I am impatient to consort again
With men, my equals: once again to speak
My thoughts in council, or in public court,
Swaying the judgments of attending throngs,
And charming minds to unanimity
With manly, warm-persuasive argument;
Or in the front ranks of embattled hosts
To interchange the cast of flying spears,
'Mong bloody Mars's high competitors,
With poets to record us standing by.
Nay, at the fair, the games, the feasting board,
To look on friendly faces and to grasp
The trusted hands of other men, were joy
Worth even daring the worst; and back again
Taking my customed place on Eman Green,
Though there he sat, and all his hosts were there.

DEIRDRE.
Alas, infatuate, who would shelter me
When thou, fast bound, shouldst see me dragged away
To death it might be, or to worse than death?

NAISI.
Renowned Cuchullin never would sit by
And see thee wronged. Were Conall Carnach there,
Or his own step sire, Fergus son of Roy,
No man should do my Deirdre injury.

DEIRDRE.
Cuchullin do I trust, and Conall too;
But Fergus gave his kingdom for a toy.

NAISI.
For love of Nessa laid he kingship down.
A lovelier Nessa, for the love of me,
Spurned the same crown when it was offered her.

DEIRDRE.
Nessa now dead, he haunts the drinking-hall,
More than is seemly in a nobleman,

NAISI.
Hall or hill-side, would we were with him now!

DEIRDRE.
Here we are safe; keep to our shelter here.
Here we have both been blest, and yet may be,
Forgetting Conor, and beyond his reach.

NAISI.
My loving, loyal brothers, too; they left

Home, pleasure, and renown, to follow me
In this elopement. I must think of them.
Are they to waste their bloom of manly youth
Here in this desert, without hope to wive?

DEIRDRE.
They ask but to partake their brother's lot;
Happy if he be happy. Me indeed
They love as a true sister. Never yet
Have I beheld on either gentle face
Gloom or reproachful look; though, were it there
'Twere not for me to wonder or complain;
For I, alas! am she that tempted you
To that rash, rapturous, defiant deed
That wraps us all in bonds of banishment.
No, never have they shown themselves to me
Other than sweet, affectionate, and gay.

NAISI.
Thou would'st not have them lose their joy of life
To keep us happy?

DEIRDRE.
Happy in thy love,
I can but think of that estate alone.
Love is all-selfish. Love, but thinks of one.
Its own fulfilment is love's world to love.
But here comes gentle Ainle from the chase.

NAISI.
Good brother, welcome: what is next afoot?

AINLE.
We hunt to-morrow in the corrie, sir.

NAISI.
Ay, I have hunted in the corrie oft,
And there seen buck and doe, but never a man.
And when I've slain my quarry, I have said,
“Beast, thou was't happy as compared with me,
For thou wast of a good town citizen,
And mingledst antlers bravely with thy peers.”

AINLE.
What ails our brother?

DEIRDRE.
'Tis a fond regret,
Bred of the solitary life we lead.

AINLE.
Not solitary. I were well content,
In such good company as still we have,
To spend my days a-hunting; and at eve
Sing to the harp, or listen to old tales
Of love, and lover's perils, hopes and joys;
While Ardan and Lord Naisi seated by,
Beguiled the swift time in their chess-play-wars.

DEIRDRE.
Lo, Ardan comes in haste. He wears the look
Of one who presently has news to tell.

No news were now good news. I pray the Gods
We're not found out!

ARDAN.
A sail, I've seen a sail.
Unless the sea-fog cheats my sight, a sail.

DEIRDRE.
A flight of sea-birds, haply; not a sail.

NAISI.
Nay, wherefore, not a sail? Were't Conor himself
And all his ships, I'd hail the face of man.
Let's forth and see it, whatsoe'er it be.

AINLE.
Hark, heard ye not a cry?

DEIRDRE.
No. Keep within,
'Tis the fox barking, haply; not a cry.

ARDAN.
'Tis a man's cry; a hunter's hallo, hark!

NAISI.
I know the call; an Ulster man is he
Who gives it. If my old and glorious friend
Fergus, the son of Roy, yet walks the earth,
It is his hunting-call. Ho, Fergus, ho!

DEIRDRE.
Vain my contention. Here, alas, he comes.

FERGUS.
Found in good hour. Hail, sons of Usnach, hail

NAISI.
Comest thou, Fergus, enemy or friend?

FERGUS.
Friend as of old; to well loved friends I come,
And welcome may the message be I bring.

NAISI.
From whom and what the message? Sends he peace?

FERGUS.
Conor sends peace and pardon. I myself
Your warrantor and convoy.

NAISI.
Favouring Gods!
What spell has wrought him to forgive my wrong?

DEIRDRE.
We did him not a wrong. The wrong was his.
He kept me as a dainty for his use,
Locked in a prison-garden shamefully;
Beast, who might well have been my grandfather!

Till Naisi gave me freedom, and I gave
Naisi the love was only mine to give.

FERGUS.
What, daughter: thou shalt come as well as he,
And have him for thyself, be it wrong or right.
'Tis fixed and warranted; and here's the hand
Will make it good. Naisi, the case stood thus:
My politic, learned step-son found his Maev
A partner somewhat over-arrogant,
And broke the marriage. Maev, imperial jade,
Has wed with Ailill, Tinne's son, and reigns
With him o'er the Connacians: in his halls
Of battlemented Croghan nursing hate
'Gainst now-detested Conor; and from wilds
Of Irrus drawing Gamanradian braves
And fierce Damnonian sworders, sends them forth
'Gainst the Ultonian borders, host on host,
Pressing the Red Branch with perpetual war.
We've fought them, and we've chased them oft, but still
They issue from their heathy western hives
As thick as summer midges, and our swords
Are dulled with slaughter, and our arms are tired.
We've missed thee, Naisi, and thy brothers here;
There's the plain truth. We missed and needed you.
And we,—Cuchullin, Conall, and myself,—
Avowed it in full council. And, said I,
“Sir, give me liberty to carry them
Thy royal message with assurance firm,

Of pardon and safe-conduct both for her
And him, and them, and all their company,
And, ere this present rounding moon come full,
I'll fetch the troop of truants back again.”
“Ah, ha,” said he, “thou knowest then where they hide?”
“Well do I know,” I answered, “but not tell,
Till first in open court thou'st said me yea.”

NAISI.
What said he then to that?

FERGUS.
He sat a while,
Revolving in his mind I know not what,
And something whispered Barach sitting by.
“Say yea,” said Conall. Said Cuchullin, “king
Say yea, and we will be their sureties.”
“Yea then,” said Conor, and the thing was done;
And here am I; and there my galley rides
Will land us safely this same afternoon
At Bon-a-Margy, upon Irish ground.

NAISI.
Oh noble Fergus, let me kiss thy hand!

AINLE.
Our dear befriender and deliverer!

ARDAN.
In whose safe-conduct we do all confide.

FERGUS.
What say'st thou, daughter Deirdre, shall we go?

DEIRDRE.
Ah me, among you all, what voice have I?
Ye leap like fishes to the baited hook,
And like young salmons will be drawn to land.
I knew 'twas Fergus ere I saw his face,
And knew he came a messenger of ill;
For I am daughter of a seër sire,
And prescience of disaster came on me
With first announcement of his sail on shore.

NAISI.
Say not disaster; Fergus brings a boon;
Even when, unpardoned, I'd have risked return,
Our pardon, on condition of return.

DEIRDRE.
Ay, by a time is now impossible,
Under the very wording of the boon.
The moon, then rounding, rises full to-night:
How then return before the moon be full?

NAISI.
'Tis our return, and placing of ourselves
At Conor's orders, not the hour precise
Of our return, that will entitle us
To that which he has promised in return.

ARDAN.
And, say that time were of the bargain part,
Enough if by to-night we reach his realm,
Returning, so, in jurisdiction.

AINLE.
Lord Fergus here stands as in Conor's place,
And here we yield us freely to his will
To stay or to return as he commands.

DEIRDRE.
After to-night his function's at an end,
And he no longer Conor's deputy.

FERGUS.
Why, Deirdre, thou'rt chief justice of the court!
Had I but had thee by me on the bench,
I ne'er had ceased to rule for lack of law.
But lay these puzzling niceties aside,
You journey back on my protection
And warrant of safe-conduct, all of you.

DEIRDRE.
What warrant did false Conor ever allow
To stand between him and his own desires?
Thou deem'dst his sureties good when in thy place
Thou sett'st him for a year, and thought he'd yield
The loaned dominion when the time was out.
Thou hadst the sighs of Nessa and his oath

For surety then; but when the day was come
To yield thee back the sceptre, robe, and crown,
He king'd it still; and rates thee, ever since,
His valiant subject and good stepfather.

NAISI.
Injurious Deirdre, thou art beautiful,
But hast a bitter and unguarded tongue.
Fergus allowed young Conor to retain
The sovereignty he lent him, not because
Conor demanded, but himself so will'd.
For who would fill a royal judgment-seat
Must study close the law's intricacies,
And leave delights untasted, Fergus loves
Better than balancing litigious scales,
And hearing false oaths bear the jargon out
Of wrangling pleaders. Nature him has framed
For love, for friendship, and for poesy;
Nor rules there king in Erin, not himself,
Th' arch-king of Tara, Conary, glorious son
Of Ederscal, would venture, or have power,
To violate safe-conduct given by him.

FERGUS.
Daughter, thou art the wife of my good friend;
I therefore hear not any word ill-timed,
If such were spoken. But beseech you, come
The tide now serves us, and the wind sits fair
Array ye quick, and let us seek the shore.

NAISI.
Bring forth my chess-board and its furniture,
My battle-tackle, and my hunting-gear,
For glad I am, and full resolved to go.

DEIRDRE.
Call me nurse Levarcam, and bring my harp.
Sirs, I am ready. Yes, I knew thy cry,
Fergus, for, I remember, once you rode
To hunt with Nessa close beneath my bower:
And I could tell you still what robes ye wore,
And what the several names ye called your hounds.
'Twas then I heard it, and I know it still,
But feigned I knew it not; and to no end.
Yes, from that turret on my garden wall
I oft have viewed the Brethren of the Branch,
And learned their cries of combat and of chase;
And there I oft saw him my eyes preferred,
As my heart prizes still above all men.
And where he goes, I go along with him.

FERGUS.
See here our galley. Send us forth a plank.
Hold by my hand. Deirdre, I swear to you,
My heart is lighter now you are on board;
For a good ending shall our journey have,
And I am sure thou'lt thank me for it yet.
Cast off! Up sail! She feels the wind. We fly.

NAISI.
The hills race past us. See, we leave the lake
And breast the sea. There Jura bares her paps
Amid her cloudy sucklings, nurse of storms.
We steer betwixt her and the mainland here,
For outside lies the whirlpool in whose gulf
Brecan of old and all his ships went down.
Dance, sparkling billows, as my spirits dance!
Mine now were perfect joy were thou but gay.

DEIRDRE.
Give me my harp, and let me sing a song;
And, nurse, undo the fastenings of my hair;
For I would mingle tresses with the wind
From Etive side, where happy days were mine.

I

Harp, take my bosom's burthen on thy string,
And, turning it to sad, sweet melody,
Waste and disperse it on the careless air.

II

Air, take the harp-string's burthen on thy breast,
And, softly thrilling soulward through the sense,
Bring my love's heart again in tune with mine.

III

Bless'd were the hours when, heart in tune with heart,
My love and I desired no happier home
Than Etive's airy glades and lonely shore.

IV

Alba, farewell! Farewell, fair Etive bank
Sun kiss thee; moon caress thee; dewy stars
Refresh thee long, dear scene of quiet days!

FERGUS.
'Tis loved companionship makes nature fair;
And scenes as fair as Etive wait thee yet.
Thou soon shalt have that company thou wouldst,
And choice of Ulad to enjoy it in:
For, see, the capes of Erin heave in sight,
Fair Foreland yonder on his eastern watch,
And there Dunseverick. Lo, the warning fire
That gives the signal we are seen from shore.

NAISI.
What concourse this that waits us on the beach?

FERGUS.
Methinks 'tis Barach's ensign I discern,
Our well-loved, valiant Brother of the Branch.
Yea, it is he: and yonder, by my life,
Two not unworthy, hopeful candidates
For brotherly admittance, my own sons,
Dark Buino Borb, and Illan Finn the Fair.

BARACH.
Welcome to Fergus. Push the plank to shore.
Descend, fair daughter. Sons of Usnach, hail!

FERGUS.
My noble brother Barach! Nay, great sir,
'Tis not for thee to be our cup-bearer.

BARACH.
To better use could none commend the cup,
Nor goblet offer from a riper cask.

FERGUS.
Wine, this, the king of the world might drink and die.

BARACH.
Drink, and long live. And, noble Naisi, thou
Drink too.

NAISI.
This cup to health and thanks: no more.

BARACH.
What, Fergus, thou must sup with me to-night?

FERGUS.
I pray thee, Barach, hold me as excused.
We journey hastily, as thou may'st see.
Fetch forth the chariots. Have the posts been warned?

BUINO.
Relays are ready, and the inns prepared.

FERGUS.
Mount, daughter Deirdre. Fill the cup again,
And fair farewells and healths to all of you.

BARACH.
Fergus, thou wilt not pass a brother's door?
We wait thee at Dunseverick. Let thy wards
Take the protection of thy own good sons.
They'll see them safe. To that end Buino Borb
Is this same morning from Emania come,
And here finds Illan by a lucky chance
Journeying thither with his company.
Thy honor shall not suffer in their hands.

DEIRDRE.
Fergus, thou'rt pledged to us. Say nay to him.

BARACH.
He shall not say me nay. My board is spread;
The choicest Brethren of the Branch are there,
And much would marvel should his place be void.
His sons are well-sufficient in his room.
What though ye journeyed to the Branch alone,
None dare molest you, such a sheltering shield
Is the pledged word of Fergus; and they know,
From post to post, 'tis on his guarantee
And pass-word that ye travel; since the king
On his assurances has pardoned you.

DEIRDRE.
Fergus, I put thee under bond and vow,
Pledged but to-day, that thou desert us not.

BARACH.
Fergus, I put thee under bond and vow,
Pledged when we made thee Brother of the Branch,
Thou pass not further till thou sup with me.

FERGUS.
I pray thee, Barach, to forbear thy suit.

BARACH.
No: neither will I that forbear, nor bear
This public scorn that Deirdre puts on me.

FERGUS.
Naisi, what answer wouldst thou I should make?
I cannot halve myself: but these, my sons,
Are part of me and will not shame the rest.
They cannot fill my place at Barach's board,
But, at your side for convoy, well they can.

NAISI.
Where vow conflicts with vow, first-vow'd prevails,
Therefore, though Barach's be a churlish choice,
Made against woman and way-faring men,
I judge him best entitled. Sup with him.
Buino, I have not known thee until now,

But deem thy father's son must needs be true,
Courteous, and valiant. Illan I have known
Since childhood, and in saying that, say all
That commendation vouches in a man.
What then, young nobles, are ye ready, say,
To be our convoy in your father's room,
From hence to Eman gate, and thenceforward
Till Fergus do rejoin us?

BUINO AND ILLAN.
Ready, sir.

NAISI.
I ask no oaths. I read in eyes of both
Bright honor's pledge; and so commit myself
My wife, my brethren, and my serving train
Into your keeping. Mount, and let us ride.

FERGUS.
Sons, play the part of men, and show me well
In your presentment of me at the court,
Thou, Buino, have my spear: and, Illan, thou
Take this good sword of mine. There spreads no shield.
Before the breast of champion of the Branch
But it will pierce it; Conor's own except:
For it was forged by smiths of fairyland,
And all the voices of the floods and seas
When l oudest raised, are welded in its rim.

But in this errand that I send you on
No need will either have of sword or spear.

NAISI.
Mount, Deirdre. Sons of Fergus, ride beside;
Set forward cheerly: son of Roy, adieu!

DEIRDRE.
'Tis hard to fancy fraud behind an eye
So open blue. Ride near me, Illan Finn;
And, as our chariot glides along the mead,
Tell me the mountains and the streams we pass,
The lakes, the woods, and mansions by the way.
What hills be these around us?

ILLAN.
That, Knocklayd
To rightward, girded with his chalky belt;
Lurgeden yonder, smoothly-back'd to us,
But browed like frowning giant toward the sea;
And now to leftward, haunted by the fays,
Glenariff's birchen bowers and clear cascade.

DEIRDRE.
And in the distance, glittering to the west?

ILLAN.
Our silver river, that; the humming Bann.

DEIRDRE.
Why humming?

ILLAN.
'Tis a pretty country tale—
How one who played the pipes to please his love,
Was by a jealous water-sprite drawn in:
And, when the river buzzes through his reeds,
They say 'tis he that still would pipe to her,
But that the fairy has his chanter hid,
And left him but the drone. An idle tale.

DEIRDRE.
Nay, nought is idle that records true love.
From Neägh's lake, methinks, that river runs?

ILLAN.
Yea truly.

DEIRDRE.
And they tell another tale
How that was once dry champaign, do they not?

ILLAN.
Yes; 'twas young Liban's task to watch the well,
And duly close its covering-lid at eve,
Lest something evil there inhabiting
Should issue forth: but, on an afternoon,
Walking with her true lover, with a mind
That thought of nothing evil, she forgot

Well and well-lid; and so the under-sea
Burst through and drowned the valley: but the Gods,
Who favour constant lovers, spared their lives;
And there, beneath a glassy dome they dwell,
Still pleased in one another's company.
The lake lies yonder: we shall see it soon.

DEIRDRE.
Mark how the simple country people deck
Each natural scene with graceful tales of love,
While the strong castles and the towns of men
Are by the poets and historians
Stuck full of tragedies and woes of war.

ILLAN.
Those are but tales to pass away the time,
Invented by the fancies of poor swains
And rustic maidens: but the chroniclers,
Who note the deeds done in the haunts of men,
Have oft but wicked actions to record.

DEIRDRE.
And therefore thou?—

ILLAN.
Would rather if I might,
Frequent the open country, and converse
With shepherds, hunters, and such innocents.

DEIRDRE.
Yet wouldst thou not shun martial deeds of arms?

ILLAN.
I dare not shun them, did they challenge me,
For that were base, unmanly cowardice;
But I would rather win the smiles I love
By mild humanity and gentleness.

DEIRDRE.
Thou lovest, then?

LIIAN.
A peerless maid I love
And, for her sake, methinks, love all the world;
For all the world's perfections are in her.

DEIRDRE.
Long be thou happy in believing so;
Have me in kind regard as I have thee,
And prythee let thy brother take thy place.
Dark though he be, as thou art flaxen fair
I trust I may esteem him equally.
Ride near me Buino: let me talk with thee:
Say, wherefore, do men call thee Buino Borb?

BUINO.
A something haughty that they find in me,
—Or, as I fancy, fancy that they find,—

Not unbeseeming in the eldest born
Of him who once wore crown of all we see,
Led some at first to call me by that name,
Which now, by oft repeating, clings to me.

DEIRDRE.
Conor's young Cormac and thyself, methinks,
Are of an age, and, haply, by and by,
For that same crown may be competitors.

BUINO.
Small were my fear, were there but I and he.

DEIRDRE.
Why hold him, prythee, in that light esteem?

BUINO.
Because, too nice, and over-scrupulous,
He weighs his actions in a tedious scale,
Nor strikes when favouring fortune gives the ball.

DEIRDRE.
And thou?—

BUINO.
I've won already from his sire
Promise half-ratified of rents and lands,
Will make me higher in estate than he.
'Twas not by letting fair occasion slip
I won that promise, let me promise thee.

DEIRDRE.
How called, the promised principality?

BUINO.
Dalwhinny 'twill be, when the land is mine.

DEIRDRE.
But, ere the gift's complete, behoves thee snatch
Some fresh occasion to commend thyself?

BUINO.
Which doubtless yet will come.

DEIRDRE.
Turn here thy eyes,
And tell me, Buino, of thy courtesy.
What do they under yonder aged tree,
Itself a grove, a leafy temple-court?

BUINO.
That is renowned Crevilly's sacred ash,
And they beneath it are its worshippers.
Small the return their worship's like to bring,
Made to dead wood and early-dropping leaves.

DEIRDRE.
Thou deemest, then, there is no God in it?

BUINO.
No more than in the fountain or the carn,

The pillar-circle or the standing stone,
Where other worshippers perform their rounds.

DEIRDRE.
Nor in the sun, or wind, or elements?

BUINO.
No more.

DEIRDRE.
But thou believest in the Gods
Who, whether present under forms of things
Perceptible to sense, or whether lodged
Apart in secret chambers of the air,
Take notice of the impious acts of men
As murders, treasons, lovers' broken vows?

BUINO.
Sunshine and dew fall equal on the fields
Of this man and of that: the thunderbolt
Strikes, indiscriminating, good and bad.

DEIRDRE.
How, then, oblige men to the oaths they swear?

BUINO.
Each nation has its proper swearing-Gods,
Whom invocating, if one speak the lie,
Being found out, he's punishable here.

DEIRDRE.
But there?

BUINO.
I know not: I was never there,
Nor ever yet met anyone who was.
But all these things may be as thou hast said.
I know not: but allow it possible.

DEIRDRE.
Oh! yonder see the lake in prospect fair,
It lies beneath us like a polished shield.
Ah, me! methinks, I could imagine it
Cast down by some despairing deity,
Flying before the unbelief of men.
There, in the vale below, a river clear
Runs by a mounded mansion steep and strong.
Know'st thou the name and story of the place?

BUINO.
'Tis called Rathmore, and nothing more know I.
Illan belike has got some old romance,
Passing with poets for its history.

DEIRDRE.
Illan, what king was he dwelt here of yore?

ILLAN.
Fergus, the son of Leidé Lithe-o'-limb,
Ere yet he reigned at Eman, did dwell here.

DEIRDRE.
What, Fergus Wry-mouth? I have heard of him,
And how he came by his ill-favoured name,
And struck his bond-maid, and should pay for it.
'Tis a fair valley. And 'twas here he lived?
Methinks I see him when he rose again
From combat with the monster, and his face,
That had that blemish till love wiped it off,
Serene and ample-featured like a king.

ILLAN.
Not love, but anger, made him fight the beast.

DEIRDRE.
No, no, I will not have it anger. Love
Prompts every deed heroic. 'Tis the fault
Of him who did compose the tale at first,
Not to have shown 'twas love unblemish'd him.
And so 'tis here we cross Ollarva's fords,
And, with our wheels still dripping, skirt the lake?
No longer shows it like the ample shield
I pictured it, when gazing from above.
'Tis now a burnished falchion half-unsheathed
From cover of the woods and velvet lawns.
Oh! happy fancy, what a friend art thou,
That, with thy unsubstantial imagery,
Effacest solidest and hardest things,
And mak'st the anxious and o'er-burthened mind
Move, for a while forgetful of itself,

Amid its thick surrounding obstacles,
As easy as a maiden young and gay
Moves through the joyous mazes of the dance!
Thanks, gracious Illan, for thy fair discourse
That has beguiled the way so happily,
Till now, when almost nearing to the goal.
Buino, thou'rt from Emania newly come:
Say shall we find renowned Conall there?

BUINO.
A messenger from Leinster late arrived
Reports Athairne, primate of the bards,
Maltreated of Mesgedra, King of Naas;
And Conall has departed to his aid.

DEIRDRE.
And where Cuchullin?

BUINO.
At Dundealga he,
Repressing tumult of his borderers there.

DEIRDRE.
How lies Emania; and Dundealga how?

BUINO.
Straight on, Dundealga: Eman to the right.

DEIRDRE.
My lord, I counsel that we journey on
Straight to Cuchullin's mansion.

BUINO.
Surely no.
Our charge is to conduct you to the king.

DEIRDRE.
We are not prisoners, Buino, in thy hands.
Naisi, beseech thee, let's not trust ourselves
At court of Conor, till our friends be there.

BUINO.
Your friends are here: faith-worthy friends as they.

NAISI.
Let's on to Eman: 'twere a heinous slight
Put on these frank and brave young noblemen
To doubt their will and full ability
For our protection, were protection claimed.
But none will call in question or impugn
The word of Fergus for our safety pledged.
Thy fears are groundless.

DEIRDRE.
Fergus is not here:
Fergus has found occasion not to be
Where our occasions do most call for him:
Fergus consorts with whispering Barach now:
He shifts us on his proxies, young and raw;
And thou hast heard on what support we lean,
Trusting the faithless faith of one of them.

NAISI.
Thou wrong'st him, Deirdre.

BUINO.
Yea, she does me wrong.
But not for that will I be false to you.

DEIRDRE.
Yea, not for that wilt thou be false to us.

ILLAN.
We both will spend our lives to see you safe.

DEIRDRE.
Thou wouldst. I well believe it; but for him
To whom the Gods are possibilities,
May-be's, perchances, I've no trust in him.

NAISI.
Deirdre, forbear. Buino, good cause hast thou
For thy displeasure; but it rests with me
To order our proceeding, not with her.

DEIRDRE.
Oh rash, insensate, weakly-credulous,
That thinkest all men honest as thyself!

NAISI.
One must be master; and that one am I;
And I must judge this case for all of you.

Man lives by mutual trust. The commonwealth
Falls into chaos if man trust not man.
For then all joint endeavours come to nought,
And each pursues his separate intent,
Backed by no other labour than his own.
Which confidence, which bond of social life,
Is bred in some of just experience,
Of oaths and terror of the Gods in some,
But, in the most, of natural honesty
That God has planted in the breast of man,
Thereby distinguishing him from the beasts.
And where I find it, ground it as it may,
In use, religion, or mere manliness,
There do I love, revere, and cherish it.
And since these courteous, brave young gentlemen
Have taken it on their honor and their truth
To hold us harmless, though we near the gates
Of one who bears me great and just ill-will,
I'll trust them wholly; nor affront their faith
With any scrupulous, unhandsome show
Of base suspicion, diffidence, or fear.
Drive on to Eman, therefore. Rightward drive.
It is my will, and I will have it so.

DEIRDRE.
Nurse Levarcam, rememberest thou the time
We sat together on that hill we see
There where the sky-line has a streak of gray,
And snow was on the ground?

LEVARCAM.
Aye, well indeed
Do I remember, darling; it was there
Thou sawest him first, and said the sifted snow
Was hardly fairer.

DEIRDRE.
He has frowned on me
Thrice, now, who never frowned on me before.
Yet am I prouder to be ruled by him,
And, for that noble justice of his mind,
Do love him better, were that possible
Where love was always best, than e'er before.

LEVARCAM.
My pet, my precious one, we know not yet
But that the king may treat us honestly.
If to the Red Branch lodging we be sent,
Mistrust him: but, elsewhere, set face to face,
And other champions of the province by,
He durst not venture such a villany
As thy dark-omening spirit shudders at.
But, see, we near the town. The sun sets red,
And turns the low-hung awning of the clouds
Into a lowering, crimson canopy.

DEIRDRE.
Blood-red it hangs. I know the augury.
But knowledge and forewarning now come late.

NAISI.
We near the palace. See, a steward comes
To lead us to our lodging. Sir, precede:
We follow. 'Tis the Red Branch, as I see,
We are assigned to. Often in this hall
Have I been merry, and will be again.
Here's supper laid. Beseech you sit ye down
And let's refresh ourselves.

DEIRDRE.
I cannot eat.

NAISI.
Nor I, in truth. I have been somewhat chafed
Give me some wine; and set the chess-tables.
Ardan will play with me, to pass the time,
Till haply Conor send us his commands.
And, Ainle, thou be umpire of the game.

AINLE.
Before we sit, sir, shall we set the watch?

NAISI.
No. We are here in charge of trusted friends,
And what is needful to be done they'll do.

DEIRDRE.
Nurse, while in this defiant confidence
He sits, disdaining fortune, steal thou forth,

And, mingling with the concourse in the hall,
Observe what Conor does: and fetch me word.

NAISI.
Who's he who at the window there peeps in?
Begone, base fellow, whosoe'er thou art!
I love not such espial. Play again.
Deirdre, set forth thy harp; and let the air
Be brave and cheerful. We have nought to fear.

DEIRDRE.
I play my best; though that be ill enough.
My heart is heavy at my fingers' ends.

NAISI.
How! What! Our spying overseer again!
Take that, thou villain, for thy impudence!

DEIRDRE.
What has disturbed my lord?

NAISI.
A spying knave
At yonder window, that, with brutal eyes,
Surveyed us as we sat, and took thee in
As he'd appraise thy beauties, charm by charm.
None here shall pry into our privacy.
Lords, think it not in your disparagement,
But I would crave to have that casement closed,
And, if it please you, let my battle-arms

Be placed beside me, ready to my hand.
There, Deirdre, see, thy nurse would speak with thee.

LEVARCAM.
My sweet, my darling, I am here again,
He means us ill. I've seen and spoke with him.
He sat at table with his judges by,
And made this question with them, whether we
Not rendering ourselves before the full o' the moon,
His promise made to Fergus Royson, held?
The judges differed. Half of them affirmed
His promise was, in that, conditional,
And, the condition failing, it held not.
The other half as stiffly did maintain
The point of time was nothing to the point,
And that, though Fergus might be late a day,
The pardon granted us did yet hold good.
With these young Cormac, sitting by, agreed,
And, to confirm his argument, did swear
That, saving still the duty of a son
Defending father, were his sire assailed,
He never would raise weapon 'gainst poor guests
Drawn in to jeopardy of life and limb
By plotted covin and duplicity.
Whereat—what I had never seen before—
Conor, who, ever, was as temperate
As his brave step-sire jovial, swallowed down
Two mighty cups of wine; and, spying me,
He called me up, and, there before them all,
Demanded many things concerning thee,

And did thy beauty live upon thee still?
“No,” said I; “she is wrinkled, lean, and old,
“And nothing like the Deirdre that she was”
—The Gods forgive me for the loving lie!—
But while I spoke, one entering cried, “'Tis false!
“There lives not beauty on the earth's expanse
“Fit to compare with her's. I saw her sit,”
The insolent eaves-dropper did go on,
“A perfect goddess, lovely to behold,
“Upon a silken couch: she flung her arms,
“No ivory fairer, o'er her golden harp,
“And played a merry and delightful air
“So sweet, I stood as in an ecstacy;
“When that strong traitor who consorts with her,
“Spying me, snatched a chessman from the board
“And flung it full at me: see here the wound.”
With that he showed his cheek besmeared with blood,
—I would the just Gods it had been his brains.—
And Conor, rising, cried to fetch his arms,
And vowed he would avenge his messenger;
Then some cried “treason” others that denied.
And Cormac called out, “Never better hap
“Befall a cranny-haunting, mousing spy!”
Whereat I judged it well to come away,
And there I left them wrangling noisily.

DEIRDRE.
It is a crafty pretext for a quarrel;
That quarrel to be pretext for his death,
And my deliverance into hands abhorred.

BUINO.
Who here?

PURSUIVANT.
A messenger from Conor, I

BUINO.
His will?

PURSUIVANT.
He wills that thou deliver up
Naisi the son of Usnach, who stands charged
With wounding to effusion of the blood.

BUINO.
Under safe conduct is lord Naisi here,
And we, as sons and lawful deputies
Of his great surety, Fergus son of Roy,
Are answerable for him.

PURSUIVANT.
Yield him up

BUINO.
We will not yield him. There I plant the spear
Of Fergus. Pass it, and I strike thee dead.

PURSUIVANT.
Buino, a message for thy private ear.

BUINO.
Deliver it without. I follow thee.

DEIRDRE.
It is the confirmation of the grant
That bribes him to betray us.

ILLAN.
Oh, no, no!
If that were possible, I'd die of shame.

NAISI.
Await him: he'll return.

DEIRDRE.
Oh trustful breast,
Incapable of comprehending guile,
As is the goblet of true crystal stone
To hold the poisoned draught that shivers it,
Would I could bear thy heart-break, now at hand!

AINLE.
He comes not back. Sir, shall we take our arms?

NAISI.
What, Illan, wouldst thou that we deem ourselves
Discharged the duty to rely on thee?

ILLAN.
Not while I live, and these, my father's men,
Are here to make the pledge of Fergus good.

NAISI.
The move is with thee, Ardan. Play again
Lord Buino will come back to us anon.

DEIRDRE.
Dalwhinny's lord, he never will come back.

NAISI.
I hear one coming.

DEIRDRE.
Oh my heart! not he.

PURSUIVANT.
In the king's name, yield ye my prisoner up,
Or Conor's self will fetch him. He's at hand.

ILLAN.
We will not yield him up, to thee or him.

PURSUIVANT.
Thy brother Buino spoke as brave as thou,
And he has done his homage gratefully,
And now is lord of lands and seigniories.

NAISI.
We're not betrayed?

ILLAN.
Oh Naisi, what a word!
Thou soon shalt see I am not worthy it.

PURSUIVANT.
Illan, I bear a message for thee too.

ILLAN.
Out with it.

PURSUIVANT.
Let me have thy private ear.

ILLAN.
What, tampering villain, wouldst thou bribe me too?
Up, comrades; thrust the fellow from the door.
They shall not live who offer Illan shame.

PURSUIVANT.
Assistance, ho, without!

DEIRDRE.
They force the door.

ILLAN.
We'll meet and drive them to their barracks back.
Throw the door open! Charge upon the knaves!

LEVARCAM.
Oh ye good heavens, what a man is here
We counted but an hour ago a boy!
He darts upon them fiercer than a hawk
Striking at pigeons. With a swifter whirl
Than arms of windmills and than grinding wheels

He makes the red rout through and over them.
Hah! from his strokes they tumble and rebound
As shocks that jump upon the threshing floor.
There's Fergus's true blood! The other one
Is none of his: there Fergus was played false.
Oh, well done, Illan! Glorious youth, well done!

DEIRDRE.
'Twas tender of dishonor set aflame
His soul's unconscious reservoirs of wrath
That, blazing forth, do so transfigure him,
And of the soft-affection'd, gentle youth
Make the heroic, formidable man.
He fires the very moonlight with his blade,
Flash upon flash.

LEVARCAM.
Oh, hark the dreadful clang

DEIRDRE.
He fights with Conor. It is Conor's shield
Screams, clamours, and resounds beneath his blows.
Speed him, kind Gods! Ah me, who strikes between?

LEVARCAM.
'Tis Cormac to his father's rescue come.
Alack, young Illan cannot combat both.
He falls: he's slain: his broken band return.

DEIRDRE.
Leaderless remnant of brave friends, come in.

NAISI.
Now, noble brothers, we may arm ourselves,
Nor wound protecting pride. Make fast the doors.
Give me my corselet.

DEIRDRE.
Let me brace it on.
The helmet, Levarcam.

LEVARCAM.
We'll dress our lord
Most like a royal champion.

DEIRDRE.
Like a god
We'll send him forth to trample all things base.

NAISI.
Oh dear-loved Deirdre, thy advice was good.
I had been wiser, had I taken it,
And all of us, I dread, had safer been.
Yet thou dost not reproach me.

DEIRDRE.
No reproach
From lips of Deirdre shalt thou ever hear.
All that my noble lord has done was right,
Wise, and magnanimous.

NAISI.
I did my best,
Though that but ill, for honor.

DEIRDRE.
I, my best,
Though that but weak and petulant, for love:
And now for love will do whate'er remains.

NAISI.
Ardan, learn for us what they do without.

ARDAN.
They've summoned fresh battalions. Till these come
They siege us at a distance.

NAISI.
Then, we strike
Before their aids come up. Thou'rt ready, dear,
To share this venture?

DEIRDRE.
Ready, if near thee.

NAISI.
Ardan and Ainle, to your tender care
I give my Deirdre. Fence her, right and left,
With cover of your bodies and your shields.
I take the front. Our cohort will make head
For the King's Stables. There at least we'll find
A shelter we may better hope to hold
Till Fergus's return; or, happily,
Conveyance, and the chance of full escape.

DEIRDRE
Stay, Levarcam. They will not harm thee. Stay.

LEVARCAM.
Alack, I'm hurt, and stay against my will.

NAISI.
Friends, keep together. Deirdre, thou shalt see
What love can do, if honor were unwise.
Cast wide the portal. Be the Gods our aid!

LEVARCAM.
I cannot see their onset. I but hear
The hurrying and the clashing. Oh, ye Gods,
Shield ye my darling one, or send her death
Rather than life with loathing and despair!
I saw her, ere she left, prepare a cup;
What, and for what, I guess indeed too well.
Would I could give it her, were that to do:
'Twere my last service, and would be my best.
How dreadful 'tis to hear men dealing death,
And not to know who falls and who keeps up
The tumult slackens. We are saved or lost.
One side returns victorious. Deirdre comes:
But ah, her sidesmen are not those they were!
'Tis Cormac leads her; these are Conor's men
That bear the burthens in. Oh, heavy sight
Ardan and Ainle and lord Naisi dead!

DEIRDRE.

Ye need not hold me. I am wholly calm.
Thanks, gentle Cormac, who hast won for me
The boon to see these nobles buried.
Give them an honorable sepulture;
And, while ye dig their grave, let me begin
My lamentable death-song over them.

I

O, sons of Usnach, stretched before me, dead,
Ye were, in life, Ulidia's chosen three
For every gift and grace of manly Nature,
For wisdom, valour, courtesy, and song.

II

Naisi, my husband, O my slaughtered lord,
O pierced by cruel swords that pierced not me,
Thou Honor's Sanctuary, thou Tower of Justice,
By sacrilegious treason beaten down!—

III

Thou wast the one, with counsel of a sage,
That kept Ulidia happy-homed in peace,
The one, with onsets of a kingly lion,
That left Ulidia glory-crowned in war.

IV

Thou wast the one, with prudent-generous sway,
That kept thy household and thy festive hall,—
The one, with mildness and with manly patience,
That kept thy wilful helpmate, ordered well.

V

Ainle and Ardan, brothers of my heart,
O shapely as young salmons, where ye lie,
Melodious voices, breaths of youthful ardour
In life's high chorus, cold and silent now!—

VI

Ye were the two, with fleetness of your feet,
That took the bounding creatures of the plain,—
The two, with sweetness of your soft addresses,
That took the daughters of the land, in thrall.

VII

The wolf may now, and now the forest boar,
Roam free: the hunters from the hill are gone:
Invasion proudly now may leap the border
The sons of Usnach stand to guard no more.

VIII

Smiles, rest ye now beneath dejected cheeks,
Sink, maiden blushes, back on burthened hearts;
Delight and dalliance in the dust are lying,
Before the clay-piled margin of the grave.

IX

Oh, greedy grave-dug earth, that swallowest
The strength and loveliness of all that lives,
Thou shalt not always hide from hopes immortal
The coldly-hoarded treasures of thy clay!

X

A day shall come, the May-day of Mankind.
When, through thy quickening clods and teeming pores,
The sunward-mounting, vernal effluences
Shall rise of buried Loves and Joys re-born.

XI

Dig the grave deep, that, undisturbed till then,
They rest, past reach of mortal hate and fear;
Past the knave's malice and the tyrant's anger,
And past the knowledge of what rests for me.

XII

Dig the grave deep. Cast in their arms of war,
Cast in the collars of their hounds of chase,
To deck their chamber of expectant slumber,
And make the mansion wide enough for four.

CORMAC.
Deirdre, 'tis time that I conduct thee hence.

DEIRDRE.
Sir, I am, sudden, faint. That cup of wine
Is still untasted. Pray thee hand it me.
I would but kiss my nurse and say farewell.
Now give me this refreshment.

LEVARCAM.
She'll not thirst
More in this world; now well past reach of harm.

CORMAC.
Ay; so. 'Twas poisoned. She has freed herself.
Oh, wretched king, who now canst only hear.
That all for nothing thou hast been forsworn
Fair corpse, I'll have thee by thy husband laid.
Thou art her nurse, and thou shalt see to it.

LEVARCAM.
Sir, I have heard a shout which I know well.
'Tis Fergus who approaches. Stay not here.

CORMAC.
To save a father vile and fraudulent
I've slain the noblest youth in all the world.
For him I fight no more. I fear to face
The grief of guileless Fergus whom I love,
More even than his wrath. I'll get me hence,
And, in the west, will seek a guardsman's pay
With Maev and Ailill, till this storm be passed.

FERGUS.
Where are my wards, my wards that I have bailed?
Where are my sons who had my wards in charge?
Their danger was revealed me ere I sat,
And hot upon their track I'm here, to find
Confusion, horror, blood, and treachery.
Where are my wards, the wards of Fergus, where?

LEVARCAM.
Too blind with passion to perceive them lie

Here almost at his feet: he hurries past.
Unhappy Fergus, what atrocious pangs
Of rage and self-reproach will sting thee through
When presently thou shalt have learned it all!
Ay, big with bitter knowledge, back he comes.

FERGUS.
Fire, bring me fire! bring ropes and grapple-hooks!
I'll pull his proud aspiring palace-roof
Down to the ground and burn it over him.
I'll take such vengeance on this traitor king
All Erin, shore to shore, shall ring with it,
And poets in the ages yet to come
Make tales of wonder of it for the world.

DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO ALBA.

(From the Irish.)

Farewell to fair Alba, high house of the Sun,
Farewell to the mountain, the cliff, and the Dun;
Dun Sweeny adieu! for my Love cannot stay,
And tarry I may not when love cries away

Glen Vashan! Glen Vashan! where roebucks run free,
Where my Love used to feast on the red deer with me,
Where rock'd on thy waters while stormy winds blew,
My Love used to slumber, Glen Vashan, adieu!

Glendaro! Glendaro! where birchen boughs weep
Honey dew at high noon o'er the nightingale's sleep,
Where my Love used to lead me to hear the cuckoo,
'Mong the high hazel bushes, Glendaro, adieu!

Glen Urchy! Glen Urchy! where loudly and long
My Love used to wake up the woods with his song,
While the Son of the Rock from the depths of his dell
Laugh'd sweetly in answer, Glen Urchy, farewell!

Glen Etive! Glen Etive! where dappled does roam,
Where I leave the green sheeling I first call'd a home;
Where with me and my true Love delighted to dwell,
The Sun made his mansion, Glen Etive, farewell!

Farewell to Inch Draynach, adieu to the roar
Of the blue billow bursting in light on the shore;
Dun Fiagh, farewell! for my Love cannot stay,
And tarry I may not when love cries away.

Mac an Alla, i.e., Echo.

DEIRDRE'S LAMENT FOR THE SONS OF USNACH.

(From the Irish.)

The lions of the hill are gone,
And I am left alone—alone—
Dig the grave both wide and deep,
For I am sick, and fain would sleep!

The falcons of the wood are flown,
And I am left alone—alone—
Dig the grave both deep and wide,
And let us slumber side by side.

The dragons of the rock are sleeping,
Sleep that wakes not for our weeping:
Dig the grave and make it ready;
Lay me on my true Love's body.

Lay their spears and bucklers bright
By the warriors' sides aright;

Many a day the Three before me
On their linkèd bucklers bore me.

Lay upon the low grave floor,
'Neath each head, the blue claymore;
Many a time the noble Three
Redden'd those blue blades for me.

Lay the collars, as is meet,
Of their greyhounds at their feet;
Many a time for me have they
Brought the tall red deer to bay.

Oh! to hear my true Love singing,
Sweet as sound of trumpets ringing:
Like the sway of ocean swelling
Roll'd his deep voice round our dwelling.

Oh! to hear the echoes pealing
Round our green and fairy sheeling,
When the Three, with soaring chorus,
Pass'd the silent skylark o'er us.

Echo now, sleep, morn and even—
Lark alone enchant the heaven!—
Ardan's lips are scant of breath,
Neesa's tongue is cold in death.

Stag, exult on glen and mountain—
Salmon, leap from loch to fountain—
Heron, in the free air warm ye—
Usnach's Sons no more will harm ye!

Erin's stay no more you are,
Rulers of the ridge of war;
Never more 'twill be your fate
To keep the beam of battle straight.

Woe is me! by fraud and wrong,
Traitors false and tyrants strong,
Fell Clan Usnach, bought and sold,
For Barach's feast and Conor's gold!

Woe to Eman, roof and wall!—
Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall!—
Tenfold woe and black dishonour
To the false and foul Clan Conor!

Dig the grave both wide and deep
Sick I am, and fain would sleep!
Dig the grave and make it ready,
Lay me on my true Love's body.

CONARY.

Full peace was Erin's under Conary,
Till—though his brethren by the tender tie
Of fosterage—Don Dessa's lawless sons,
Fer-ger, Fer-gel, and vengeful Fergobar,
For crimes that justly had demanded death,
By judgment mild he sent in banishment;
Yet wrung his own fraternal heart the while,
Whose brothers, Ferragon and Lomna Druth,
Drawn by affection's ties, and thinking scorn
To stay behind while others led the way
To brave adventure, in their exile joined.

Banished the land of Erin, on the sea
They roamed, and, roaming, with the pirate-hordes
Of British Ingcel leagued; and this their pact:
The spoil of Britain's and of Alba's coasts
To fall to them; and Erin's counter-spoil
To fall to Ingcel. Britain's borders first
They ravaged; and in one pernicious raid
Of sack and slaughter indiscriminate,
Ingcel's own father and his brethren seven
By chance sojourning with the victims, slew,
Then, Alba sack'd, said Ingcel, “Steer we now
“For Erin, and the promised counter-spoil.”

“'Tis just; and welcome to our souls as well

“For outrage unavenged,” said Fergobar.
“'Tis just: it is thy right,” said Ferragon.
“'Tis just, and woe it is!” said Lomna Druth.

'Twas then that Conary from strife composed
By kingly counsel, 'twixt contending lords
Of distant Thomond, held his journey home.
But, when in sight of Tara, lo, the sky
On every side reflected rising flame
And gleam of arms. “What this?” cried Conary.

A certain Druid was there in the train
Who answered, “Often did I warn thee, King,
“This journey at this season was ill-timed,
“As made in violation of the gaysh
“That King of Tara shall not judge a cause
“Except in Tara's proper judgment hall
“From Beltane-day to May-day.”

“Yea, in truth,
“I do remember now,” said Conary,
“Amongst my prohibitions that is one,
“Which thoughtlessly I've broken. Strange it is
“That act for speedy justice and for peace
“Accomplished, should, with God, be disesteem'd.
“But, since Religion's awful voice forbids,
“I pray forgiveness of offended Heaven,
“Whose anger at my fault too plain I see,
“And vow atonement at thy own award.
“But, which way now?”

“Ride northward to the track

“Where Street Midluachra and Street Cualann join;
“There, choice of highway waits us, north or south.”

Northward they rode. “What be these moving brakes
“Before us? Nay, tis but a running drove
“Of antler'd stages. Whence come they? and whence come
“These darkening flights of fowl above our heads?”

“These the wild brood of Clane-Milcarna's dens:”
Replied the druid. “It is another gaysh
“For Tara's King to see them leave their lairs
“After mid-day; and ill will come of it.”

“Omens of evil gather round my path,
“Though thought of evil in my breast is none,”
Said Conary, and heaved a heavy sigh;
“Yet, since I reign by law, and holy men
“Charged with the keeping of the law, declare
“Thou shalt not so-and-so, at such a time
“Do or leave undone, it beseems not me
“To question for what end the law is so:
“Though, were it but a human ordinance,
“'Twere, haply, counted childish: but, go to,
“I own another violated Gaysh;
“I pray forgiveness of offended Heaven;
“And, since some fierce invading enemy—
“Misguided brothers, that it be not you!—
“Bars our approach to Tara, let us choose
“Cualann highroad; for Cualann-ward there dwells
“One whom I once befriended; and I know
“His home will give me shelter for to-night,

“Knew I aright the way that leads to it.”

“Name of the man, oh king?” demanded Cecht
(Fly ye, foes all, fly ye before the face
Of Cecht, the battle-sidesman of the King!)
The biggest man yet gentlest-countenanced
Of all that rode in Conary's company.
“Da-Derga he,” said Conary.

“Ride on,”
Said Cecht. “Street Cualann whereon now we are
“Leads straight to Bru'n-Da-Derga, and leads straight
“Through and beyond it. 'Tis a house of rest
“For all that come and go; where ready still
“The traveller finds the wind-dried fuel stack'd
“The cauldron slung, and ale-vat on the floor.
“A strong, fast mansion. Seven good doors it has,
“And seven good benches betwixt door and door
“And seven good couches spread 'twixt bench and bench.
“All that attend thee now, and all that come—
“See where they come along Midluachra track,
“The host of Emain, in good time I judge,
“Journeying south—shall nothing want for room.
“I shall go forward: for my duty it is
“To enter first at nightfall, when my king
“Comes to his lodging; and with flint and steel
“Kindle the fire whose flame shall guide him home.”

Then forth, at gallop of his steeds, went Cecht;
While, slower following, Conary was aware
Of three that rode before them on the way.
Red were their coursers and their mantles red,

Red, too, their caps, blood-red—

“Another gaysh,”
Said Conary. “I also call to mind
“Amid my prohibitions this is one,
“To follow three red riders on the way;
“Injunction idle, were it not divine.
“After them, Ferflath; stay them till we pass.”

Then the light lad young Ferflath, Conary's son
Sprang forth at gallop on the red men's track,
And called his message shrilly from behind,
But failed to overtake them. He who rode
Last of the triad sang him back a lay—

“Water, oh youth, oh slight swift-riding youth,
“On back, on neck, on shoulder lightly borne.
“Water will quench; fire burn; and shocks of hair
“At horrid tidings, upon warriors' heads
“Bristle as reeds in water; water; ho!”

Ferflath returned, and told to Conary
The lay the red man sang; “and sir,” he said,
“I rode, I think, as seemly as himself,
“And know not what he meant: but sure I am
“These are not men of mankind, as we are,
“But fairy men and ministers of ill.”

“Now then,” said Conary, “let every gaysh
“That dread Religion with hard-knotting hand
“Binds on the King of Tara, for to-day
“Be broken! Let them go. They may precede;
“May tie their red steeds at the great hall door,
“And choose their seats within; and I, the King,
“May follow, and accept the traveller's place

“Last to attain the inn. Well, be it so:
“Respect departs with fortune's one-day change.
“But, friends, despond not, you. Though few we be
“In midst of these marauders (oh, my heart
“Forbid the rising thought that these be they!),
“Yet shall we soon be many; for they come,
“They whom on Street Midluachra late we saw,
“Now following on Street Cualann. In good time
“They join us; for, be sure such chariot-throng
“Leaves not the borders of the warlike North,
“But champions good come with it. Let us in.”

While thus fared Conary, the pirates' scouts
Who watched the coast, put off to where the fleet,
Stay'd on the heaving ridges of the main,
Lay off Ben-Edar. Ingcel's galley reached,
High on the prow they found him looking forth,
As from a crag o'er-hanging grassy lands
Where home-bred cattle graze, the lion glares
A-hungered; and, behind, as meaner beasts
That wait the lion's onset for their share,
Outlaw'd and reprobate of many a land,
The ravening crew. Beside him, right and left,
Stood Lomna, Ferragon, and Fergobar;
Which Lomna in the closure of his cloak
Wore a gold brooch embossed with flashing gems
Choicest by far of all their spoils yet won:
And Ingcel thus demanded of the spies—

“What saw ye, say?”

“A chariot-cavalcade

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“Along Street Cualann moving from the north.
“Splendid the show of lofty-pacing steeds
“And glittering war-cars: chariots seventeen
“We counted. In the first were reverend men,
“Poets, belike, or judges. After these
“Heralds, it seem'd, or high apparitors
“That give the world to know a great one comes.
“He in the third car rode; an aged man,
“Full-grey, majestical, of face serene,
“Followed by household numerous and strong,
“Cooks, butlers, door-wards, cup-bearers, and grooms.

“What heard ye?”

“From a vast hall's open doors
“The stroke of steel on flint at kindling fire;
“And every stroke so sounded as the arm
“That gave it were a giant's, and every shower
“Of sparks it shed—as if a summer sky
“Lightened at eve—illumed the dusk around.”

What this, good Ferragon, who best of all
“Knowest Erin hill and valley, things and men?”
Said Ingcel. Ferragon made answer slow,
(For, first, his soul said this within himself,
“Oh, royal brother, that it be not thou!”)—

“I know not what may be this open hall
“With fire at hand unless, belike, it be
“Da-Derga's guest-house, which, for all who come
“By Cualann Street, stands open, wherein still
“Firewood stands stack'd and brazen cauldron hangs

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“Slung ready, and clear water running through;
“Bruidin-Da-Derga.”

“And the man who strikes
“The flint and steel to kindle fire therein?”

“I know not if it be not that he be
“Some king's fore-runner, sent before a king
“To kindle fire ere yet the king himself
“And royal household reach their resting-place.”

“And he who in the thirdmost chariot rode,
“He who is grey, serene, majestical?”

“I know not if it be not that he be
“Some king of Erin's sub-kings who, to-night,
“Rests in Da-Derga's hospitable hall.”

“Up sail! To shore!” cried Ingcel; and the fleet,
As flight of wild-geese startled from a fen,
Displayed their wings of white, and made the land.

'Twas at Troy Furveen, and the sun was down;
But, from Da-Derga's hall so streamed the light,
It shone at distance as a ruddy star;
And thitherward the host o'er moor and fell
Marched straight: but when behind a sheltering knoll
Hard by, but still concealed, the ranks were drawn,
“Make now our Carn,” said Ingcel, and the host
Defiling past him, cast, each man, his stone
All in one heap.

“When this night's work is done,'
Said Ingcel, “he who shall return alive
“Shall take his stone again. Who not returns,
“His stone shall here remain his monument.

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“And now, before we make the trial of who
“Returns, and who stays yonder, let us send
“Scout Milscoth—for he bears the boast of sight
“And far-off hearing far above us all—
“To spy the house and bring us speedy word
“Of all he sees and hears, outside and in:
“So shall we judge how best to win the same.”

Forth went the spy: they waited by their Carn,
Till, gliding as a shadow, he returned:
And round him, as he came, they drew a ring,
Round him and Ingcel and Don Dessa's sons,
And round their destined stones of memory.

“What sawest thou outward?”

“Outward of the house
“I saw, drawn up at every guarded door,
“Full seventeen chariots; and, between the spokes,
“Spying, I saw, to rings of iron tied,
“At end and side wall, thrice a hundred steeds
“Groom'd sleek, ear-active, eating corn and hay.”

“What means this concourse, think'st thou, Ferragon?”

“I know not if it be not that a host
“Resorting, it may be, to games or fair
“At Tara or at Taltin, rest to-night
“In the great guest-house. 'Twill be heavier cost
“Of blows and blood to win it than it seem'd.”

A guest-house, whether many within or few,
“Is as the travellers' temple, and esteemed
“In every civil land a sanctuary.

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“'Twere woe to sack the inn,” said Lomna Druth.

“Lomna,” said Ingcel, “when we swore our oaths
“We made not reservation of the inn:
“And, for their numbers, fear not, Ferragon;
“The more, the more the spoil. Say on, and tell
“What heard'st thou?”

“Through the open doors I heard
“A hum as of a crowd of feasting men.
“Princely the murmur, as when voices strong
“Of far-heard captains on the front of war
“Sink low and sweet in company of queens.”

“What think'st thou, Ferragon?”

“The gentlest speech
“Within doors gives the loudest cheer afield.
“Methinks to spoil this house will try our strength.”

And it shall try it: and our strength shall bear
“That and worse trial. Say, what sawest thou next
“Within the house? Begin from the right hand.”

“To rightward of the great door in the midst
“A bench I saw: ten warriors sat thereon.
“The captain of the ten was thus. His brow
“Thick and high arching o'er a gray clear eye:
“A face long-oval, broader-boned above:
“A man whose look bespoke adventure past
“And days of danger welcome yet to come,
“Though sadden'd somewhat, haply by remorse
“For blood ill-spilt or broken vows or both.
“His mantle green, his brooch and sword-hilt gold.”

“What captain this, conceiv'st thou, Ferragon?”

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“I know him; verily a man of might;
“A man of name renown'd in field and hall;
“Cormac Condlongas, long the banish'd son
“Of Conor son of Nessa. When his sire
“Through love of Deirdre broke his guarantees
“Pledged to his step-sire, Fergus son of Roy,
“For Usnach's sons' safe-conduct, Cormac, he,
“Through love of Fergus and through stronger love
“Of kingly-plighted honour undefiled,
“Abjured his father's councils and his court,
“And in the hostile halls of western Maeve
“Spent many a year of heart-corroding care,
“And many a man of Ulster, many a man
“Of his own kin, in alien service, slew.
“If he be there, methinks to-night's assault
“Will leave the stones of some here unremoved.”

Said Ingcel, “I shall know him, when I see
“That pale remorseful visage by and by,
“And that same brooch and sword-hilt shall be mine.
“What of the nine?”

“The nine he sat among
“Were men of steadfast looks, that at his word,
“So seemed it me, would stay not to enquire
“Whose kindred were they he might bid them slay.”

“Knowest thou, oh friend, the serviceable nine?”

“I know them also,” answered Ferragon.
“Of them 'tis said they never slew a man
“For evil deed, and never spared a man

105

“For good deed; but, as ordered, duteous, slew
“Or slew not. Shun that nine, unless your heads
“Be cased in casquets made of adamant;
“Else shall the corpse of many a valiant man
“Now present, on Da-Derga's threshold lie.”

“Nine for his nine!” said Ingcel. “Think not thou
“By tongue-drawn dangers and deterrent phrase
“Exaggerate, to shake my settled soul
“From that which is my right. Say on: what next?”

“A bench of three: thick-hair'd, and equal-long
“The hair on poll and brow. Black cloaks they wore,
“Black their sword-sheaths, their hafted lances black;
“Fair men, withal, themselves, and ruddy-brown.”

“Who these, oh Ferragon?”

“I know not, I,
“Unless, it may be, these be of the Picts
“Exiled from Alba, who in Conor's house
“Have shelter; and, if these indeed be they,
“Three better out of Alba never came
“Or sturdier to withstand the brunt of blows.”

“Blows they shall have,” said Ingcel; “and their home,
“Rid of their presence well, shall not again
“Have need to doom them to a new exile.
“What further sawest thou?”

“On the bench beside
“I saw three slender, three face-shaven men,
“Robed in red mantles and with caps of red.
“No swords had they, nor bore they spear or shield,

106

“But each man on his knee a bagpipe held
“With jewelled chanter flashing as he moved,
“And mouth-piece ready to supply the wind.”

“What pipers these?”
“These pipers of a truth
“If so it be that I mistake them not,
“Appear not often in men's halls of glee:
“Men of the Sidhs they are; and I have heard
“When strife fell out in Tara Luachra's hall
“Around Cuchullin and the butchering bands
“Of treacherous Maeve and Ailill, they were there.”

“To-night their pipes shall play us to our ships
“With strains of triumph; or their fingers' ends
“Shall never close the stops of music more,”

So Ingcel; but again said Ferragon,

“Men of the Sidhs they are: to strike at them
“Is striking at a shadow. If 'tis they,
“Shun this assault; for I have also heard
“At the first tuning of these elvish pipes
“Nor crow nor cormorant round all the coasts
“But hastens to partake the flesh of men.”

“Flesh ye shall have, of Ingcel's enemies,
“All fowl that hither flap the wing to-night!
“And music too at table, as it seems.
“What further sawest thou?”

“On a broader bench
“Three vast-proportioned warriors, by whose side
“The slender pipers showed as small as wrens.
“In their first greyness they; grey-dark their robes,

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“Grey-dark their swords enormous, of an edge
“To slice the hair on water. He who sits
“The midmost of the three, grasps with both hands
“A spear of fifty rivets, and so sways
“And swings the weapon as a man might think
“The very thing had life, and struggled strong
“To dash itself at breasts of enemies:
“A cauldron at his feet, big as the vat
“Of a king's kitchen; in that vat a pool,
“Hideous to look upon, of liquor black:
“Therein he dips and cools the blade by times.”

“Resolve us who be these three, Ferragon.”

“Not hard to tell; though hard, perchance, to hear
“For those who listen, and who now must know
“What foes their fortune dooms them cope withal,
“If this assault be given while these be here.
“These three are Sencha son of Olioll,
“Called ‘Half-the-battle’ by admiring men;
“Duftach, for fierceness named the Addercop;
“And Govnan son of Luignech; and the spear
“In hands of Duftach is the famous ‘lann’
“Of Keltar son of Utechar, which erst
“A wizard of the Tuath De Danaan brought
“To battle at Moy Tury, and there lost:
“Found after. And these motions of the spear,
“And sudden sallies hard to be restrained,
“Affect it, oft as blood of enemies
“Is ripe for spilling; and a cauldron then

108

“Full of witch-brewage needs must be at hand,
“To quench it, when the homicidal act
“Is by its blade expected; quench it not,
“It blazes up, even in the holder's hand,
“And through the holder, and the door-planks through,
“Flies forth to sate itself in massacre.
“Ours is the massacre it now would make:
“Our blood it maddens for: sirs, have a care
“How ye assault where champions such as these
“Armed with the lann of Keltar, wait within.”

“I have a certain blade,” said Ingcel, “here;
“Steel'd by Smith Wayland in a Lochlann cave
“Whose temper has not failed me; and I mean
“To cut the foul head off this Addercop,
“And snap his gadding spear across my knee.
“Go on, and say what more thou sawest within.”

A single warrior on a separate bench
“I saw. Methinks no man was ever born
“So stately-built, so perfect of his limbs,
“So hero-like as he. Fair-haired he is
“And yellow-bearded, with an eye of blue.
“He sits apart and wears a wistful look,
“As if he missed some friend's companionship.

Then Ferragon, not waiting question, cried,

“Gods! all the foremost, all the valiantest
“Of Erin's champions, gathered in one place
“For our destruction, are assembled here!
“That man is Conall Carnach; and the friend
“He looks for vainly with a wistful eye
“Is great Cuchullin: he no more shall share

109

“The upper bench with Conall; since the tomb
“Holds him, by hand of Conall well avenged.
“The foremost this, the mightiest champion this
“Left of the Red Branch, since Cuchullin's fall.
“Look you, as thick as fragments are of ice
“When one night's frost is crackled underfoot,
“As thick as autumn leaves, as blades of grass,
“Shall the lopp'd members and the cloven half-heads
“Of them that hear me, be, by break of day,
“Before Da-Derga's doors, if this assault
“Be given, while Conall Carnach waits within!”

“Pity to slay that man,” said Lomna Druth.
“That is the man who, matched at fords of Clane,
“With maimed Mesgedra, though no third was near,
“Tied up his own right hand, to fight him fair.
“A man both mild and valiant, frank and wise,
“A friend of men of music and of song,
“Loved of all woman: were there only one
“Such hero in the house, for that one's sake
“Forego this slaughter!”

“Lomna,” Ingcel said,
“Not without reason do men call thee fool;
“And, Ferragon, think not that fear of man
“The bravest ever born on Irish soil
“Shall make its shameful entrance in the breast
“Of one of all who hear us. Spy, say on,
“What further sawest thou?”

“Three brave youths I saw;
“Three brothers, as I judge. Their mantles wide
“Were all of Syrian silk; and needle-work

110

“Of gold on every hem. With ivory combs
“They smoothed the shining ridges of their hair
“That spread and rippled to their shoulder tips,
“And moved with every motion of their brows.
“A slender, tender boy beside them slept,
“His head in one attendant's lap, his feet
“In lap of other one; and, couched beside,
“A hound I saw, and heard him ‘Ossar’ called.”

“Whose be these Syrian silks shall soon be mine,
“Oh Ferragon? and wherefore weep'st thou, say?”

“Alas, too well I know them; and I weep
“To think that where they are, he must be near
“Their father, Conary, himself, the king:
“And woe it is that he whose infant lips
“Suck'd the same breast as ours, should now be there!”

What, Conary, the arch-king of the realm
“Of Erin here? Say, sawest thou there a king?”

“I know not if a king; but one I saw
“Seated apart: before his couch there hung
“A silver broidered curtain; grey he was,
“Of aspect mild, benevolent, composed.
“A cloak he wore of colour like the haze
“Of a May morning when the sun shines warm
“On dewy meads and fresh-ploughed tillage land,
“Variously beautiful, with border broad
“Of golden woof that glittered to his knee
“A stream of light. Before him on the floor
“A juggler played his feats: nine balls he had,
“And flung them upward, eight in air at once,
“And one in hand: like swarm of summer bees

111

“They danced and circled, till his eye met mine;
“Then he could catch no more; but down they fell
“And rolled upon the floor. ‘An evil eye
“‘Has seen me,’ said the juggler; and the child
“Who slept beside, awoke, and cried aloud,
“‘Ossar! good dog, hie forth and chase the thieves!’
“Then judged I longer to remain were ill,
“But, ere I left, discharged a rapid glance
“Around the house, beholding many a band
“Of able guardsmen corsleted and helm'd,
“Of captains, carriers, farriers, charioteers,
“Horseboys and laqueys, all in order set,
“All good men of their hands, and weapon'd well.”

Said Ferragon, “If my advice were given,
“'Twould be to leave this onset unessayed.”

“Pity to slay this king,” said Lomna Druth:
“Since he has reigned there has not fallen a year
“Of dearth, or plague, or murrain on the land:
“The dew has never left the blade of grass
“One day of Conary's time, before the noon;
“Nor harsh wind ruffled hair upon the side
“Of grazing beast. Since he began his reign
“From mid-spring to mid-autumn cloud nor storm
“Has dimm'd the daily-shining, bounteous sun;
“But each good year has seen its harvests three,
“Of blade, of ear, of fruit, apple and nut.
“Peace until now in all his realm has reigned,
“And terror of just laws kept men secure.

112

“What though, by love constrained, in passion's hour,
“I joined my fortunes to the desperate fates
“Of hapless kinsmen, I repent it now,
“And wish that rigorous law had had its course
“Sooner than this good king should now be slain.”

“Not spoken like a brother,” Ingcel said,
“Nor one who feels for brothers by the side
“Of a grey father butchered, as I feel.”

“'Twas blind chance-medley, and we know them not,
“For kin of thine,” said Ferragon; “but he,
“This king, is kin of ours; and that thou knowest
“With seasonable warning: it were woe
“To slay him.”

“Woe it were, perchance, to thee;
“To me, 'twere joy to slay both him and them;
“'Twere blood for blood, and what my soul desires.
“My father was a king: my brethren seven
“Were princely nurtured. Think'st thou I for them
“Feel not compassion? nourish not desire
“Of vengeance? No. I stand upon the oaths
“Ye swore me; I demand my spoil for spoil,
“My blood for blood.”

“'Tis just,” said Fergobar,
“We promised and will make the bargain good.”

“Yet take the spoil we own to be thy right
“Elsewhere,” said Ferragon; “not here nor now.

113

“We gave thee licence, and we grant it still,
“To take a plunder: look around and choose
“What trading port, what dealers' burgh ye will,
“We give it, and will help you to the gain.”

“We gave thee licence,” Lomna said,—“and I
“Grieve that we gave it, yea, or took the like,—
“To take a plunder; but we gave thee not
“Licence to take the life, the soul itself
“Of our whole nation, as you now would do.
“For, slay our reverend sages of the law,
“Slay him who puts the law they teach in act;
“Slay our sweet poets, and our sacred bards,
“Who keep the continuity of time
“By fame perpetual of renowned deeds;
“Slay our experienced captains who prepare
“The youth for martial manhood, and the charge
“Of public freedom, as befits a state
“Self-governed, self-sufficing, self-contained;
“Slay all that minister our loftier life,
“Now by this evil chance assembled here,
“You leave us but the carcass of a state,
“A rabble ripe to rot, and yield the land
“To foreign masters and perpetual shame.”

Said Ingcel, “This night's plunder is my own,
“And paid for. I shall take it here and now.
“I heed not Lomna's airy rhetoric;
“But this I say, and mark it, Ferragon:
“Let him who would turn craven, if he will,
“Take up his stone and go: and take withal

114

“Contempt of valiant men.”

Said Lomna Druth,
“He is no craven, Ingcel; nor am I.
“His heart misgives him, not because he fears
“To match himself in manly feat of arms
“With any champion, but because he fears
“To do an impious act, as I too fear.”

“I own it true,” said Ferragon, “my heart
“Is full of anguish and remorseful love
“Towards him, my sovereign, who did never wrong,
“Save in not meting justice to the full,
“Against these violators of his law,
“Who now repay his clemency with death.”

“Call it not clemency,” said Fergobar:
“He drove us naked from ancestral homes
“To herd with outlaws and with desperate men.”

“Outlaws we are; and so far desperate,”
Said Ingcel, “that we mean to sack this house,
“And for the very reason that he says,
“Because the richest jewels, both of men
“And gold, the land affords, are gathered there.”

Then Lomna from his mantle took the brooch,
And said “Oh Ingcel, this and whatso else
“Of other plunder fallen to my share
“Lies in the ships, I offer. Take it all,
“But leave this house unsack'd.”

115

Said Ferragon,

“Take also all my share; but spare the king.”

But Ingcel roughly pushed the brooch away,
And said “Have done. The onset shall be given.”

“The onset shall be given, unless the earth
“Open and swallow us!” said Fergobar.

“The onset shall be given, unless the heavens
“Fall solid on us!” answered Ger and Gel.

“The onset shall be given!” replied they all.

Then Lomna,—laying his brooch upon the heap,—
“Who first returns—but I shall not return—
“To take his stone again, take also this;
“And, for the rest of what my sword has gained,
“Share it among you, I forgive you all,
“And bid you all farewell; for nothing now
“Remains for me but death:” and with the word
He struck his dagger in his heart, and fell.

“Kings, lords, and men of war,” said Ferragon,
“Comrades till now, the man whose body lies
“Before us, though we used to call him fool
“Because his heart was softer and his speech
“More delicate than ours, I now esteem
“Both wise and brave, and noble in his death.
“He spoke me truly, for he knew my heart
“Unspoken, when he said `twas not through fear

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“Of death I spoke dissuading; but through fear
“Of conscience: but your hearts I better knew
“Leaving unspoken what was in my own;
“For well indeed I knew how vain it were
“To talk of pity, love, or tenderness
“To bloody-minded and to desperate men.
“Therefore I told you, and I told you true
“What loss to reckon of your wretched lives,
“Entering this dragons' den; but did not tell
“The horror and the anguish sharp as death
“In my own bosom entering as I knew
“The pictured presence of each faithful friend,
“And of that sire revered, ye now consign
“To massacre and bloody butchery.
“And that 'twas love that swayed me, and not fear,
“Take this for proof:” and drew and slew himself.

“Comrades and valiant partners,” Ingcel cried,
“Stand not to pause to wonder or lament
“These scrupulous companions; rest them well!
“But set your spirits to achieve the end
“That brought us hither. Now that they are gone
“And nothing hinders, are we all agreed
“To give this onset bravely and at once?”

“I speak for all,” said Fergobar. “Agreed!
“Ready we are and willing, and I myself,
“Having my proper vows of vengeance,
“Will lead you, and be foremost of you all.”

They raised the shout of onset: from his seat

117

Leaped Cecht, leaped Cormac, Conall Carnach leaped,
And Duftach from the cauldron drew his spear;
But Conary with countenance serene
Sat on unmoved. “We are enough,” he said,
“To hold the house, though thrice our number came;
“And little think they, whosoe'er they are,
“(Grant gracious ones of Heaven, it be not they!)
“That such a welcome waits them at the hands
“Of Erin's choicest champions. Door-keepers,
“Stand to your posts, and strike who enters down!”

The shout came louder, and at every door
At once all round the house, the shock began
Of charging hosts and battery of blows;
And through the door that fronted Conary's seat
A man burst headlong, reeling, full of wounds,
But dropped midway, smote by the club of Cecht.

“What, thou? oh Fergobar!” cried Conary;
“Say, ere thou diest, that thou art alone—
“That Ferragon and Lomna whom I love
“Are not among you.”

“King,” said Fergobar,
“I die without the vengeance that I vowed.
“Thou never lovedst me: but the love thou gavest
“My hapless brothers, well have they returned,
“And both lie outside, slain by their own hands
“Rather than join in this just cause with me.”

“The gods between us judge,” said Conary.

118

“Cast not his body forth. I loved him once,
“And burial he shall have, when, by and by,
“These comrades of his desperate attempt
“Are chased away.”

But swiftly answered Cecht,
“King, they bring fire without: and, see, the stream
“Runs dry before our feet, damm'd off above.”

“Then, truly, lords,” said Conary, “we may deign
“To put our swords to much unworthy use.
“Cormac Condlongas, take a troop with thee,
“And chase them from the house; and, strangers, ye
“Who rode before me without licence asked;
“I see ye be musicians; take your pipes
“And sound a royal pibroch, one of you,
“Before the chief.”

“Yea, mighty king,” said one,
“The strain I play ye shall remember long,”
And put the mouthpiece to his lips. At once—
It seemed as earth and sky were sound alone,
And every sound a maddening battle-call,
So spread desire of fight through breast and brain,
And every arm to feat of combat strung.
Forth went the sallying hosts: the hosts within
Heard the enlarging tumult from their doors
Roll outward; and the clash and clamour heard
Of falling foes before; and, over it,
The yelling pibroch; but, anon, the din
Grew distant and more distant; and they heard
Instead, at every door new onset loud,
And cry of “Fire!” “Bring fire!”

119

“Behoves us make
“A champion-circuit of the house at large,”
Said Conary. “Thou, Duftach, who, I see,
“Can'st hardly keep the weapon in thy hand
“From flying on these caitiffs of itself,
“Lead thou, and take two cohorts of the guard,
“And let another piper play you on.”

“I fear them, these red pipers,” said the boy.

“Peace, little Ferflath, thou art but a child,”
Said Duftach. “Come, companions (—patience, spear!—)
“Blow up the pibroch; warriors, follow me!”

And forth they went, and with them rushed amain
Senchad and Govnan and the thick-hair'd three
Of Pictland with a shout; and all who heard
Deemed that the spear of Keltar shouted too
The loudest and the fiercest of them all.
So issued Duftach's band: the hosts within
Heard the commotion and the hurtling rout
Half round the house, and heard the mingling scream
Of pipes and death-cries far into the night;
But distant and more distant grew the din,
And Duftach came not back: but thronging back
Came the assailants, and at every door
Joined simultaneous battle once again.
Then Conall Carnach, who, at door and door,
Swift as a shuttle from a weaver's hand,
Divided help, cried,

“King, our friends are lost
“Unless another sally succour them!”

120

“Take then thy troop,” said Conary; “and thou
“Red-capp'd companion, see thou play a strain
“So loud our comrades straying in the dark
“May hear and join you.”

“Evil pipes are theirs.
“Trust not these pipers. I am but a child,”
Said Ferflath; “but I know they are not men
“Of mankind, and will pipe you all to harm.”

“Peace, little prince,” said Conall. “Trust in me:
“I shall but make one circuit of the house,
“And presently be with thee; come, my men,
“Give me the Brierin Conaill, and my spear,
“And sound Cuchullin's onset for the breach.”
And issuing, as a jet of smoke and flame
Bursts from a fresh-replenished furnace-mouth,
He and his cohort sallied: they within
Heard the concussion and the spreading shock
Through thick opposing legions overthrown,
As, under hatches, men on shipboard hear
The dashing and the tumbling waves without,
Half round the house; no more: clamour and scream
Grew fainter in the distance; and the hosts
Gazed on each other with misgiving eyes,
And reckoned who were left: alack, but few!

“Gods! can it be,” said Conary, “that my chiefs
“Desert me in this peril!”

“King,” said Cecht,
“Escape who will, we here desert thee not.”

“Oh, never will I think that Conall fled,”

121

Said Ferflath. “He is brave and kind and true,
“And promised me he would return again.
“It is these wicked sprites of fairy-land
“Who have beguiled the chiefs away from us.”

“Alack,” the Druid cried; “he speaks the truth:
“He has the seer's insight which the gods
“Vouchsafe to eyes of childhood. We are lost;
“And for thy fault, oh Conary, the gods
“Have given us over to the spirits who dwell
“Beneath the earth.”

“Deserted I may be,
“Not yet disheartened, nor debased in soul,”
Said Conary. “My sons are with me still,
“And thou, my faithful sidesman, and you all
“Companions and partakers of my days
“Of glory, and of power munificent.
“I pray the Gods forgiveness if in aught,
“Weighty or trifling, I have done amiss;
“But here I stand, and will defend my life,
“Let come against me power of earth or hell,
“All but the gods themselves the righteous ones,
“Whom I revere.”

“My king,” said Cecht, “the knaves
“Swarm thick as gnats at every door again,
“Behoves us make a circuit, for ourselves,
“Around the house; for so our fortune stands
“That we have left us nothing else to choose
“But, out of doors, to beat them off, or burn
“Within doors; for they fire the house anew.”

122

Then uprose kingly Conary himself
And put his helmet on his sacred head,
And took his good sharp weapon in his hand,
And braced himself for battle long disused.
Uprose his three good sons, and doff'd their cloaks
Of Syrian purple, and assumed their arms
Courageously and princely, and uprose
Huge Cecht at left-hand of the king, and held
His buckler broad in front. From every side,
Thinn'd though they were, guardsman and charioteer,
Steward and butler, cupbearer and groom,
Thronged into martial file, and forth they went
Right valiantly and royally. The band
They left behind them, drawing freer breath,—
As sheltering shepherds in a cave who hear
The rattle and the crash of circling thunder,—
Heard the king's onset and his hearty cheer,
The tumult, and the sounding strokes of Cecht,
Three times go round the house, and every time
Through overthrow of falling enemies,
And all exulted in the kindling hope
Of victory and rescue, till again
The sallying host returned; all hot they were;
And Conary in the doorway entering last
Exclaimed, “A drink, a drink!” and cast himself
Panting upon his couch.

“Ye cupbearers,”
Cried Cecht, “be nimble: fetch the king a drink:
“Well has he earned this thirst.” The cupbearers
Ran hither, thither; every vat they tried.

123

And every vessel—timber, silver, gold,—
But drink was nowhere found, nor wine nor ale
Nor water. “All has gone to quench the fire.
“There is not left of liquor in the house
“One drop; nor runs there water, since the stream
“Was damm'd and turned aside by Ingcel's men,
“Nearer than Tiprad-Casra; and the way
“Thither is long and rugged, and the foe
“Swarms thick between.”

“Who now among you here
“Will issue forth, and fetch your king a drink?”
Said Cecht. One answered,

“Wherefore not thyself?”

“My place is here,” said Cecht, “by my king's side:
“His sidesman I.”

“Good papa Cecht, a drink,
“A drink, or I am sped!” cried Conary.

“Nay then,” said Cecht, “it never shall be said
“My royal master craved a drink in vain,
“And water in a well, and life in me.
“Swear ye to stand around him while ye live
“And I with but this goblet in one hand,
“And this good weapon in the other, will forth
“And fetch him drink;—alone, or say, with whom?”

None answered but the little Ferflath; he
Cried, “Take me with thee, papa Cecht, take me!”
Then Cecht took up the boy and set him high
On his left shoulder with the golden cup
Of Conary in his hand; he raised his shield

124

High up for the protection of the child,
And, forth the great door, as a loosened rock
(Fly ye, foes all, fly ye before the face
Of Cecht, the battle-sidesman of the king!)
That from a hill side shoots into a brake,
Went through and through them with a hunter's bound;
And with another, and another, reached
The outer rim of darkness, past their ken.
Then down he set the lad, and hand in hand,
They ran together till they reached the well
And filled the cup.

“My little son, stay here,
Said Cecht, “and I will carry, if I may,
“His drink to Conary.”

“Oh, papa Cecht,
“Leave me not here,” said Ferflath; “I shall run
“Beside thee, and shall follow in the lane,
“Thou'lt make me through them.”

“Come then,” answered Cecht,
“Bear thou the cup, and see it spill not: come!”

But ere they ran a spear-throw, Ferflath cried
“Ah me, I've stumbled, and the water's spilt.”

“Alas,” said Cecht, “re-fill, and let me bear.”

But ere they ran another spear-throw, Cecht
Cried, “Woe is me; this ground is all too rough
“For hope that, running, we shall ever effect
“Our errand; and the time is deadly short.”

125

Again they filled the cup, and through the dawn
Slow breaking, with impatient careful steps
Held back their course, Cecht in his troubled mind
Revolving how the child might bear his charge
Behind him, when his turn should come for use
Of both his hands to clear and keep that lane;
When, in the faint light of the growing dawn,
Casting his eyes to seaward, lo, the fleet
Of Ingcel had set sail; and, gazing next
Up the dim slope before him, on the ridge
Between him and Da-Derga's mansion, saw
Rise into view a chariot-cavalcade
And Conall Carnach in the foremost car.
Behind him Cormac son of Conor came
And Duftach bearing now a drooping spear,
At head of all their sallying armament.
Wild, pale, and shame-faced were the looks of all.
As men who doubted did they dream or wake,
Or were they honest, to be judged, or base.

“Cecht, we are late,” said Conall, “we and thou.
“He needs no more of drink who rides within.”

“Is the king here?”

“'Tis here that was the king.
“We found him smothered under heaps of slain
“In middle floor.”

“Thou, Ferflath, take the cup
“And hold it to thy father's lips,” said Cecht.

The child approached the cup; the dying king
Felt the soft touch and smiled, and drew a sigh;

126

And, as they raised him in the chariot, died.

“A gentle and a generous king is gone,”
Said Cecht, and wept. “I take to witness all
“Here present, that I did not leave his side
“But by his own command. But how came ye,
“Choice men and champions of the warlike North,
“Tutors of old and samplars to our youth
“In loyalty and duty, how came ye
“To leave your lawful king alone to die?”

“Cecht,” answered Conall, “and thou, Ferflath, know,—
“For these be things concern both old and young—
“We live not of ourselves. The heavenly Gods
“Who give to every man his share of life
“Here in this sphere of objects visible
“And things prehensible by hands of men,
“Though good and just they are, are not themselves
“The only unseen beings of the world.
“Spirits there are around us in the air
“And elvish creatures of the earth, now seen
“Now vanishing from sight; and we of these
“(But whether with, or whether without the will
“Of the just Gods I know not,) have to-night
“By strong enchantments and prevailing spells,—
“Though mean the agents and contemptible,—
“Been fooled and baffled in a darkling maze
“And kept abroad despite our better selves,
“From succour of our king. We were enough

127

“To have brushed them off as flies; and while we made
“Our sallies through them, bursting from the doors,
“We quelled them flat: but when these wicked sprites,—
“For now I know, men of the Sidhs they were—
“Who played their pipes before us, led us on
“Into the outer margin of the night,
“No man amongst us all could stay himself,
“Or keep from following; and they kept us there,
“As men who walk asleep, in drowsy trance
“Listening a sweet pernicious melody,
“And following after in an idle round
“Till all was finished, and the plunderers gone.
“Haply they hear me, and the words I speak
“May bring their malice also upon me
“As late it fell on Conary. Yet, now
“The spell is off me, and I see the sun,
“By all my nation's swearing-Gods I swear
“I do defy them; and appeal to you
“Beings of goodness perfect, and to Thee
“Great unknown Being who hadst made them all,
“Take ye compassion on the race of men;
“And, for this slavery of gaysh and sidh
“Send down some emanation of yourselves
“To rule and comfort us! And I have heard
“There come the tidings yet may make us glad
“Of such a one new born, or soon to be.
“Now, mount beside me, that with solemn rites
“We give the king, at Tara, burial.”

128

THE HEALING OF CONALL CARNACH.

O'er Slieve Few, with noiseless tramping through the heavydrifted snow,
Beälcu, Connacia's champion in his chariot tracks the foe;
And anon far off discerneth, in the mountain-hollow white,

129

Slinger Keth and Conall Carnach mingling, hand to hand in fight

Swift the charioteer his coursers urged across the wintry glade:
Hoarse the cry of Keth and hoarser seem'd to come demanding aid;
But through wreath and swollen runnel ere the car could reach anigh,
Keth lay dead, and mighty Conall bleeding lay at point to die.

Whom beholding spent and pallid, Beälcu exulting cried,
“Oh thou ravening wolf of Uladh, where is now thy northern pride?
What can now that crest audacious, what that pale defiant brow,
Once the bale-star of Connacia's ravaged fields, avail thee now?”

“Taunts are for reviling woman;” faintly Conall made reply:
“Wouldst thou play the manlier foeman, end my pain and let me die.
Neither deem thy blade dishonour'd that with Keth's a deed it share,
For the foremost two of Connaught feat enough and fame to spare.”

130

“No, I will not! bard shall never in Dunseverick hall make boast
That to quell one northern riever needed two of Croghan's host.
But because that word thou'st spoken, if but life enough remains,
Thou shalt hear the wives of Croghan clap their hands above thy chains.

“Yea, if life enough but linger, that the leech may make thee whole,
Meet to satiate the anger that beseems a warrior's soul,
Best of leech-craft I'll purvey thee; make thee whole as healing can;
And in single combat slay thee, Connaught man to Ulster man.”

Binding him in five-fold fetter, wrists and ankles, wrists and neck,
To his car's uneasy litter Beälcu upheaved the wreck
Of the broken man and harness; but he started with amaze
When he felt the northern war-mace, what a weight it was to raise.

Westward then through Breiffny's borders, with his captive and his dead,
Track'd by bands of fierce applauders, wives and shrieking widows, sped;

131

And the chain'd heroic carcass on the fair-green of Moy Slaught
Casting down, proclaim'd his purpose, and bade Lee the leech be brought.

Lee, the gentle-faced physician from his herb-plot came, and said,
“Healing is with God's permission: health for life's enjoyment made:
And though I mine aid refuse not, yet, to speak my purpose plain,
I the healing art abuse not, making life enure to pain.

“But assure me, with the sanction of the mightiest oath ye know,
That in case, in this contention, Conall overcome his foe,
Straight departing from the tourney by what path the chief shall choose,
He is free to take his journey unmolested to the Fews.

“Swear me further, while at healing in my charge the hero lies,
“None shall through my fences stealing, work him mischief or surprise;
So, if God the undertaking but approve, in six months' span
Once again my art shall make him meet to stand before a man.”

132

Crom their god they then attested, Sun and Wind for guarantees,
Conall Carnach unmolested by what exit he might please,
If the victor should have freedom to depart Connacia's bounds;
Meantime, no man should intrude him entering on the hospice grounds.

Then his burden huge receiving in the hospice-portal, Lee,
Stiffen'd limb by limb relieving with the iron fetter key,
As a crumpled scroll unroll'd him, groaning deep, till laid at length,
Wondering gazers might behold him, what a tower he was of strength.

Spake the sons to one another, day by day, of Beälcu—
“Get thee up and spy, my brother, what the leech and northman do.”
“Lee, at mixing of a potion: Conall, yet in no wise dead,
As on reef of rock the ocean, tosses wildly on his bed.”

“Spy again with cautious peeping: what of Lee and Conall now?”
“Conall lies profoundly sleeping: Lee beside with placid brow.”

133

“And to-day?” “To-day he's risen; pallid as his swathing sheet,
He has left his chamber's prison, and is walking on his feet.”

“And to-day?” “A ghastly figure on his javelin propp'd he goes.”
“And to-day?” “A languid vigour through his larger gesture shows.”
“And to-day?” “The blood renewing mantles all his clear cheek through.”
“Would thy vow had room for rueing, rashly-valiant Beälcu!”

So with herb and healing balsam, ere the second month was past,
Life's additions smooth and wholesome circling through his members vast,
As you've seen a sere oak burgeon under summer showers and dew,
Conall, under his chirurgeon, fill'd and flourish'd, spread and grew.

“I can bear the sight no longer: I have watch'd him moon by moon:
Day by day the chief grows stronger: giant-strong he will be soon.

134

Oh my sire, rash-valiant warrior! but that oaths have built the wall,
Soon these feet should leap the barrier: soon this hand thy fate forestall.”

“Brother, have the wish thou'st utter'd; we have sworn, so let it be;
But although our feet be fetter'd, all the air is left us free.
Dying Keth with vengeful presage did bequeath thee sling and ball,
And the sling may send its message where thy vagrant glances fall.

“Forbaid was a master-slinger: Maev, when in her bath she sank,
Felt the presence of his finger from the further Shannon bank;
For he threw by line and measure, practising a constant cast
Daily in secluded leisure, till he reach'd the mark at last.

“Keth achieved a warrior's honour, though 'twas mid a woman's band,
When he smote the amorous Conor bowing from his distant stand.

135

Fit occasion will not fail ye: in the leech's lawn below,
Conall at the fountain daily drinks within an easy throw.”

“Wherefore cast ye at the apple, sons of mine, with measured aim?”
“He who in the close would grapple, first the distant foe should maim.
And since Keth, his death-balls casting, rides no more the ridge of war,
We, against our summer hosting, train us for his vacant car.”

“Wherefore to the rock repairing, gaze ye forth, my children, tell.”
“'Tis a stag we watch for snaring, that frequents the leech's well.”
“I will see this stag, though, truly, small may be my eye's delight.”
And he climb'd the rock where fully lay the lawn exposed to sight.

Conall to the green well-margin came at dawn and knelt to drink,
Thinking how a noble virgin by a like green fountain's brink

136

Heard his own pure vows one morning, far away and long ago:
All his heart to home was turning; and his tears began to flow.

Clean forgetful of his prison, steep Dunseverick's windy tower
Seem'd to rise in present vision, and his own dear lady's bower.
Round the sheltering knees they gather, little ones of tender years,—
Tell us mother of our father—and she answers but with tears.

Twice the big drops plash'd the fountain. Then he rose, and turning round,
As across a breast of mountain sweeps a whirlwind o'er the ground
Raced in athlete-feats amazing, swung the war-mace, hurl'd the spear;
Beälcu, in wonder gazing, felt the pangs of deadly fear.

Had it been a fabled griffin, suppled in a fasting den,
Flash'd its wheeling coils to heaven o'er a wreck of beasts and men,

137

Hardly had the dreadful prospect bred his soul more dire alarms;
Such the fire of Conall's aspect, such the stridor of his arms!

“This is fear,” he said, “that never shook these limbs of mine till now.
Now I see the mad endeavour; now I mourn the boastful vow.
Yet 'twas righteous wrath impell'd me; and a sense of manly shame
From his naked throat withheld me when 'twas offer'd to my aim.

“Now I see his strength excelling: whence he buys it: what he pays:
Tis a God who has a dwelling in the fount, to whom he prays.
Thither came he weeping, drooping, till the Well-God heard his prayer:
Now behold him, soaring, swooping, as an eagle through the air.

“O thou God, by whatsoever sounds of awe thy name we know,
Grant thy servant equal favour with the stranger and the foe!

138

Equal grace, 'tis all I covet; and if sacrificial blood
Win thy favour, thou shalt have it on thy very well-brink, God!

“What and though I've given pledges not to cross the leech's court?
Not to pass his sheltering hedges, meant I to his patient's hurt.
Thy dishonour meant I never: never meant I to foreswear
Right divine of prayer wherever Power divine invites to prayer.

“Sun that warm'st me, Wind that fann'st me, ye that guarantee the oath,
Make no sign of wrath against me: tenderly ye touch me both.
Yea, then, through his fences stealing ere to-morrow's sun shall rise,
Well-God! on thy margin kneeling, I will offer sacrifice.”

“Brother, rise, the skies grow ruddy: if we yet would save our sire,
Rests a deed courageous, bloody, wondering ages shall admire:

139

Hie thee to the spy-rock's summit: ready there thou'lt find the sling;
Ready there the leaden plummet; and at dawn he seeks the spring.”

Ruddy dawn had changed to amber: radiant as the yellow day,
Conall issuing from his chamber, to the fountain took his way:
There, athwart the welling water, like a fallen pillar, spread,
Smitten by the bolt of slaughter, lay Connacia's champion dead.

Call the hosts! convene the judges! cite the dead man's children both!—
Said the judges, “He gave pledges; Sun and Wind; and broke the oath,
And they slew him: so we've written: let his sons attend our words.”
“Both, by sudden frenzy smitten, fell at sunrise on their swords.”

Then the judges, “Ye who punish man's prevaricating vow,
Needs not further to admonish: contrite to their will we bow,

140

All our points of promise keeping: safely let the chief go forth.”
Conall to his chariot leaping, turned his coursers to the north:

In the Sun that swept the valleys, in the Wind's encircling flight,
Recognizing holy allies, guardians of the Truth and Right;
While, before his face, resplendent with a firm faith's candid ray,
Dazzled troops of foes attendant, bow'd before him on his way.

But the calm physician, viewing where the white neck join'd the ear,
Said, “It is a slinger's doing: Sun nor Wind was actor here.
Yet till God vouchsafe more certain knowledge of his sovereign will,
Better deem the mystic curtain hides their wonted demons still.

“Better so, perchance, than living in a clearer light, like me,
But believing where perceiving, bound in what I hear and see;

141

Force and change in constant sequence, changing atoms, changeless laws;
Only in submissive patience waiting access to the Cause.

“And they say, Centurion Altus, when he to Emania came,
And to Rome's subjection call'd us, urging Caesar's tribute claim,
Told that half the world barbarian thrills already with the faith
Taught them by the godlike Syrian Caesar lately put to death

“And the Sun, through starry stages measuring from the Ram and Bull,
Tells us of renewing Ages, and that Nature's time is full:
So, perchance, these silly breezes even now may swell the sail,
Brings the leavening word of Jesus westward also to the Gael.”

Pronounced Bayal-Kú.

142

THE TAIN-QUEST.

143

Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest; yield the bard his poet's meed;
What we've heard was but a foretaste; lays more lofty now succeed.
Though my stores be emptied well-nigh, twin bright cups there yet remain,—
Win them with the Raid of Cuailgne; chaunt us, Bard, the famous Tain!”

Thus, in hall of Gort, spake Guary; for the king, let truth be told,
Bounteous though he was, was weary giving goblets, giving gold,
Giving aught the bard demanded; but, when for the Tain he call'd,
Sanchan from his seat descended; shame and anger fired the Scald.

“Well,” he said, “'tis known through Erin, known through Alba, main and coast,
Since the Staff-Book's disappearing over sea, the Tain is lost:

144

For the lay was cut in tallies on the corners of the staves
Patrick in his pilgrim galleys carried o'er the Ictian waves.

“Well 'tis known that Erin's Ollaves, met in Tara Luachra's hall,
Fail'd to find the certain knowledge of the Tain amongst them all,
Though there there sat sages hoary, men who in their day had known
All the foremost kings of story; but the lay was lost and gone.

“Wherefore from that fruitless session went I forth myself in quest
Of the Tain; nor intermission, even for hours of needful rest,
Gave I to my sleepless searches, till I Erin, hill and plain,
Courts and castles, cells and churches, roam'd and ransack'd, but in vain.

“Dreading shame on bardship branded, should I e'er be put to own
Any lay of right demanded of me was not rightly known,

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Over sea to Alba sped I, where, amid the hither Gael,
Dalriad bards had fill'd already all Cantyre with song and tale.

“Who the friths and fords shall reckon; who the steeps I cross'd shall count,
From the cauldron-pool of Brecan eastward o'er the Alban mount;
From the stone fort of Dun Britan, set o'er circling Clyde on high,
Northward to the thunder-smitten, jagg'd Cuchullin peaks of Skye?

“Great Cuchullin's name and glory fill'd the land from north to south;
Deirdré's and Clan Usnach's story rife I found in every mouth;
Yea, and where the whitening surges spread below the Herdsman Hill,
Echoes of the shout of Fergus haunted all Glen Etive still.

“Echoes of the shout of warning heard by Usnach's exiled youths,
When, between the night and morning, sleeping in their hunting booths,

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Deirdré dreamt the death-bird hooted; Naisi, waking wild with joy,
Cried, ‘A man of Erin shouted! welcome Fergus son of Roy!’

“Wondrous shout, from whence repeated, even as up the answering hills
Echo's widening wave proceeded, spreads the sound of song that fills
All the echoing waste of ages, tale and lay and choral strain,
But the chief delight of sages and of kings was still the Tain,

“Made when mighty Maev invaded Cuailgnia for her brown-bright bull;
Fergus was the man that made it, for he saw the war in full,
And in Maev's own chariot mounted, sang what pass'd before his eyes,
As you'd hear it now recounted, knew I but where Fergus lies.

“Bear me witness, Giant Bouchaill, herdsman of the mountain drove,
How with spell and spirit-struggle many a midnight hour I strove

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Back to life to call the author! for before I'd hear it said,
Neither Sanchan knew it,’ rather would I learn it from the dead;

“Ay, and pay the dead their teaching with the one price spirits crave,
When the hand of magic, reaching past the barriers of the grave,
Drags the struggling phantom lifeward:—but the Ogham on his stone
Still must mock us undecipher'd; grave and lay alike unknown.

“So that put to shame the direst, here I stand and own, O King,
Thou a lawful lay requirest Sanchan Torpest cannot sing.
Take again the gawds you gave me,—cup nor crown no more will I;—
Son, from further insult save me: lead me hence, and let me die.”

Leaning on young Murgen's shoulder—Murgen was his youngest son—
Jeer'd of many a lewd beholder, Sanchan from the hall has gone:

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But, when now beyond Loch Lurgan, three days thence he reach'd his home,
“Give thy blessing, Sire,” said Murgen.—“Whither wouldst thou, son?”—“To Rome;

“Rome, or, haply, Tours of Martin; wheresoever over ground
Hope can deem that tidings certain of the lay may yet be found.”
Answered Eimena his brother, “Not alone thou leav'st the west,
Though thou ne'er shouldst find another, I'll be comrade of the quest.”

Eastward, breadthwise, over Erin straightway travell'd forth the twain,
Till with many days' wayfaring Murgen fainted by Loch Ein:
“Dear my brother, thou art weary: I for present aid am flown:
Thou for my returning tarry here beside this Standing Stone.”

Shone the sunset red and solemn: Murgen, where he leant, observed
Down the corners of the column letter-strokes of Ogham carved

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“'Tis, belike, a burial pillar,” said he, “and these shallow lines
Hold some warrior's name of valour, could I rightly spell the signs.”

Letter then by letter tracing, soft he breathed the sound of each;
Sound and sound then interlacing, lo, the signs took form of speech;
And with joy and wonder mainly thrilling, part a-thrill with fear,
Murgen read the legend plainly, “Fergus, son of Roy is here.”

“Lo,” said he “my quest is ended, knew I but the spell to say;
Underneath my feet extended, lies the man that made the lay:
Yet, though spell nor incantation know I, were the words but said
That could speak my soul's elation, I, methinks, could raise the dead.

“Be an arch-bard's name my warrant. Murgen, son of Sanchan, here,
Vow'd upon a venturous errand to the door-sills of Saint Pierre,

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Where, beyond Slieve Alpa's barrier, sits the Coärb of the keys,
I conjure thee, buried warrior, rise and give my wanderings ease.

“'Tis not death whose forms appalling strew the steep with pilgrim's graves,
'Tis not fear of snow-slips falling, nor of ice-clefts' azure caves
Daunts me; but I dread if Romeward I must travel till the Tain
Crowns my quest, these footsteps homeward I shall never turn again.

“I at parting left behind me aged sire and mother dear;
Who a parent's love shall find me ere again I ask it here?
Dearer too than sire or mother, ah, how dear these tears may tell,
I, at parting, left another; left a maid who loves me well.

“Ruthful clay, thy rigours soften! Fergus, hear, thy deaf heaps through,
Thou, thyself a lover often, aid a lover young and true!

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Thou, the favourite of maidens, for a fair young maiden's sake,
I conjure thee by the radiance of thy Nessa's eyes, awake!

“Needs there adjuration stronger? Fergus, thou hadst once a son:
Even than I was Illan younger when the glorious feat was done,—
When in hall of Red Branch biding Deirdré and Clan Usnach sate,
In thy guarantee confiding, though the foe was at their gate.

“Though their guards were bribed and flying, and their door-posts wrapp'd in
flame,
Calmly on thy word relying bent they o'er the chessman game,
Till with keen words sharp and grievous Deirdré cried through smoke and fire,
‘See the sons of Fergus leave us: traitor sons of traitor sire!’

“Mild the eyes that did upbraid her, when young Illan rose and spake,
‘If my father be a traitor; if my brother for the sake

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Of a bribe bewray his virtue, yet while lives the sword I hold,
Illan Finn will not desert you, not for fire and not for gold!’

“And as hawk that strikes on pigeons, sped on wrath's unswerving wing
Through the tyrant's leaguering legions, smiting chief and smiting king,
Smote he full on Conor's gorget, till the waves of welded steel
Round the monarch's magic target rang their loudest larum peal.

“Rang the disc where wizard hammers, mingling in the wavy field,
Tempest-wail and breaker-clamours, forged the wondrous Ocean shield,
Answering to whose stormy noises, oft as clang'd by deadly blows,
All the echoing kindred voices of the seas of Erin rose.

“Moan'd each sea-chafed promontory; soar'd and wail'd white Cleena's wave;
Rose the Tonn of Inver Rory, and through column'd chasm and cave

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Reaching deep with roll of anger, till Dunseverick's dungeons reel'd,
Roar'd responsive to the clangour struck from Conor's magic shield.

“Ye, remember, red wine quaffing in Dunseverick's halls of glee,
Heard the moaning, heard the chafing, heard the thundering from the sea;
Knew that peril compass'd Conor, came, and on Emania's plain
Found his fraud and thy dishonour; Deirdré ravish'd Illan slain.

“Now by love of son for father,—son, who ere he'd hear it said—
‘Neither Sanchan knew it,’ rather seeks to learn it from the dead;
Rise, and give me back the story that the twin gold cups shall win;
Rise, recount the great Cow-Foray! rise for love of Illan Finn!

“Still he stirs not. Love of woman thou regard'st not Fergus, now:
Love of children, instincts human, care for these no more hast thou:

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Wider comprehensions, deeper insights to the dead belong:—
Since for Love thou wakest not, sleeper, yet awake for sake of Song!

“Thou, the first in rhythmic cadence dressing life's discordant tale,
Wars of chiefs and loves of maidens, gavest the Poem to the Gael;
Now they've lost their noblest measure, and in dark days hard at hand,
Song shall be the only treasure left them in their native land.

“Not for selfish gawds or baubles dares my soul disturb the graves:
Love consoles, but song ennobles; songless men are meet for slaves:
Fergus, for the Gael's sake, waken! never let the scornful Gauls
'Mongst our land's reproaches reckon lack of Song within our halls!”

Fergus rose. A mist ascended with him, and a flash was seen
As of brazen sandals blended with a mantle's wafture green;

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But so thick the cloud closed o'er him, Eimena, return'd at last,
Found not on the field before him but a mist-heap grey and vast.

Thrice to pierce the hoar recesses faithful Eimena essay'd;
Thrice through foggy wildernesses back to open air he stray'd;
Till a deep voice through the vapours fill'd the twilight far and near,
And the Night her starry tapers kindling, stoop'd from heaven to hear.

Seem'd as though the skiey Shepherd back to earth had cast the fleece
Envying gods of old caught upward from the darkening shrines of Greece;
So the white mists curl'd and glisten'd, so from heaven's expanses bare,
Stars enlarging lean'd and listen'd down the emptied depths of air.

All night long by mists surrounded Murgen lay in vapoury bars;
All night long the deep voice sounded 'neath the keen, enlarging stars:

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But when, on the orient verges, stars grew dim and mists retired,
Rising by the stone of Fergus, Murgen stood a man inspired.

“Back to Sanchan!—Father, hasten, ere the hour of power be past,
Ask not how obtain'd but listen to the lost lay found at last!”
“Yea, these words have tramp of heroes in them; and the marching rhyme
Rolls the voices of the Era's down the echoing steeps of Time.”

Not till all was thrice related, thrice recital full essay'd,
Sad and shame-faced, worn and faded, Murgen sought the faithful maid.
“Ah, so haggard; ah, so altered; thou in life and love so strong!”
“Dearly purchased,” Murgen falter'd, “life and love I've sold for song!”

“Woe is me, the losing bargain! what can song the dead avail?”
“Fame immortal,” murmur'd Murgen, “long as lay delights the Gael.”

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“Fame, alas! the price thou chargest not repays one virgin tear.”
“Yet the proud revenge I've purchased for my sire, I deem not dear.”

So, again to Gort the splendid, when the drinking boards were spread,
Sanchan, as of old attended, came and sat at tablehead.
“Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest: twin gold goblets, Bard, are thine,
If with voice and string thou harpest, Tain-Bo-Cuailgne, line for line.”

“Yea, with voice and string I'll chant it.” Murgen to his father's knee
Set the harp: no prelude wanted, Sanchan struck the master key,
And, as bursts the brimful river all at once from caves of Cong,
Forth at once, and once for ever, leap'd the torrent of the song.

Floating on a brimful torrent, men go down and banks go by:
Caught adown the lyric current, Guary, captured, ear and eye,

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Heard no more the courtiers jeering, saw no more the walls of Gort,
Creeve Roe's meeds instead appearing, and Emania's royal fort.

Vision chasing splendid vision, Sanchan roll'd the rhythmic scene;
They that mock'd in lewd derision now, at gaze, with wondering mien.
Sate, and, as the glorying master sway'd the tightening reins of song,
Felt emotion's pulses faster—fancies faster bound along.

Pity dawn'd on savage faces, when for love of captive Crunn,
Macha, in the ransom-races, girt her gravid loins, to run
'Gainst the fleet Ultonian horses; and, when Deirdra on the road
Headlong dash'd her 'mid the corses, brimming eyelids overflow'd.

Light of manhood's generous ardour, under brows relaxing shone;
When, mid-ford, on Uladh's border, young Cuchullin stood alone,

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Maev and all her hosts withstanding:—“Now, for love of knightly play,
Yield the youth his soul's demanding; let the hosts their marchings stay,

“Till the death he craves be given; and, upon his burial stone
Champion-praises duly graven, make his name and glory known;
For, in speech containing token, age to ages never gave
Salutation better spoken, than, ‘Behold a hero's grave.’”

What, another and another, and he still for combat calls?
Ah, the lot on thee, his brother sworn in arms, Ferdia, falls;
And the hall with wild applauses sobb'd like woman ere they wist,
When the champions in the pauses of the deadly combat kiss'd.

Now, for love of land and cattle, while Cuchullin in the fords
Stays the march of Connaught's battle, ride and rouse the Northern Lords;

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Swift as angry eagles wing them toward the plunder'd eyrie's call,
Thronging from Dun Dealga bring them, bring them from the Red Branch hall!

Heard ye not the tramp of armies? Hark! amid the sudden gloom,
'Twas the stroke of Conall's war-mace sounded through the startled room;
And, while still the hall grew darker, king and courtier chill'd with dread,
Heard the rattling of the war-car of Cuchullin over head.

Half in wonder, half in terror, loth to stay and loth to fly,
Seem'd to each beglamour'd hearer shades of kings went thronging by:
But the troubled joy of wonder merged at last in mastering fear,
As they heard through pealing thunder, “Fergus, son of Roy is here!”

Brazen-sandall'd vapour-shrouded, moving in an icy blast,
Through the doorway terror-crowded, up the tables Fergus pass'd:—
“Stay thy hand, oh harper, pardon! cease the wild unearthly lay!

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Murgen, bear thy sire his guerdon.” Murgen sat, a shape of clay.

“Bear him on his bier beside me: never more in halls of Gort
Shall a niggard king deride me: slaves, of Sanchan make their sport!
But because the maiden's yearnings needs must also be condoled,
Hers shall be the dear-bought earnings, hers the twinbright cups of gold.”

“Cups,” she cried “of bitter drinking, fling them far as arm can throw!
Let them in the ocean sinking, out of sight and memory go!
Let the joinings of the rhythm, let the links of sense and sound
Of the Tain-Bo perish with them, lost as though they'd ne'er been found!”

So it comes, the lay, recover'd once at such a deadly cost,
Ere one full recital suffer'd, once again is all but lost:
For, the maiden's malediction still with many a blemish-stain
Clings in coarser garb of fiction round the fragments that remain.