Three Irish Bardic Tales Being Metrical Versions of the Three Tales known as The Three Sorrows of Story-telling. By John Todhunter |
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THE SECOND DUAN.
THE FOSTERING OF DEIRDRÈ. |
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 | Three Irish Bardic Tales |  |
THE SECOND DUAN. THE FOSTERING OF DEIRDRÈ.
So Deirdrè kept her life, and in her childhood's years
Throve like a slender plant of willow by a stream.
And for his chosen bride's close keeping, Conchobar
Built on a heathery isle, set in a lonely mere
Deep in the woods, a house: a Queen's fair sunny house
Of odorous pine; the walls with osier wattled round,
The roof over them thatched with silvery reeds, the doors
Plated and hinged with bronze, the door-posts and the beams
Carven, and painted bright with woad and cinnabar.
Throve like a slender plant of willow by a stream.
And for his chosen bride's close keeping, Conchobar
Built on a heathery isle, set in a lonely mere
Deep in the woods, a house: a Queen's fair sunny house
Of odorous pine; the walls with osier wattled round,
The roof over them thatched with silvery reeds, the doors
Plated and hinged with bronze, the door-posts and the beams
Carven, and painted bright with woad and cinnabar.
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The rooms were lined within with scales of bronze, low seats
Ran benchwise round the walls. The bed shone like a Queen's,
With broidered coverlets; and silver posts upheld
A silken canopy, over the pillows' down
Where the small golden head might sink in hollows warm
Of happy sleep. The floors were strown with rushes green
From bending river-banks, and skins of mighty beasts
Slain in the dew of the morn in many a noble chase.
Ran benchwise round the walls. The bed shone like a Queen's,
With broidered coverlets; and silver posts upheld
A silken canopy, over the pillows' down
Where the small golden head might sink in hollows warm
Of happy sleep. The floors were strown with rushes green
From bending river-banks, and skins of mighty beasts
Slain in the dew of the morn in many a noble chase.
A southward-looking porch the house had, for the joy
Of the sweet air, the roof thatched all with sea-birds' wings
Dyed yellow and ruddy brown, and ranged to please the eye
In patterns quaint, as fits the dwelling of a Queen.
And when the summer winds played in that porch, no wind
But brought upon his wings the smell of summer days,
Smell of sweet clover, thyme, hot furze, or heather-bells.
Of the sweet air, the roof thatched all with sea-birds' wings
Dyed yellow and ruddy brown, and ranged to please the eye
In patterns quaint, as fits the dwelling of a Queen.
And when the summer winds played in that porch, no wind
But brought upon his wings the smell of summer days,
Smell of sweet clover, thyme, hot furze, or heather-bells.
Before the porch they made a lawn of pleasant grass
On a sunned slope, wherein seven rowans waved their boughs,
To keep the house from harm; beyond it, by the mere,
Planting an orchard-plot with goodly apple-trees.
On a sunned slope, wherein seven rowans waved their boughs,
To keep the house from harm; beyond it, by the mere,
Planting an orchard-plot with goodly apple-trees.
East of the house they made within a sheltered nook
A garden of sweet herbs and druid plants; thereby
A bee-yard, rich in hives, where many a buzzing swarm,
That made the island loud all day with summer sound,
Stored the sweet honey; and near, a mead-house with its vats.
A garden of sweet herbs and druid plants; thereby
A bee-yard, rich in hives, where many a buzzing swarm,
That made the island loud all day with summer sound,
Stored the sweet honey; and near, a mead-house with its vats.
West of the house they built a well-thatched byre of cows,
And milking-shed, and set house-leek upon the roof,
To bring good luck and fend the sheds from plague and fire,
And all about the walls sovarchy, with green leaves
And golden stars, to keep from elfin-blasts the cows.
And milking-shed, and set house-leek upon the roof,
To bring good luck and fend the sheds from plague and fire,
And all about the walls sovarchy, with green leaves
And golden stars, to keep from elfin-blasts the cows.
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And tall above the house upon the north-side stood
A noble ash, the tree of queens; and on the north,
A dairy, fresh and cool, with many pans for milk
And white well-scalded churns; and vervain by the door
They set, lest fairy-spells might fall upon the churns;
For vainly toil the maids when butter is bewitched.
A noble ash, the tree of queens; and on the north,
A dairy, fresh and cool, with many pans for milk
And white well-scalded churns; and vervain by the door
They set, lest fairy-spells might fall upon the churns;
For vainly toil the maids when butter is bewitched.
And all about the mere that circled Deirdrè's isle
Wide was the woodland space fenced in on every side.
And there dwelt at their will all innocent wild things;
There roamed the great red-deer; there in close covert played
Blithe hares; there in the stream, its rooty banks the home
Of burrowing water-rats, the sleek shy otter plunged;
There frisked the squirrel; there the blackbird and the thrush
With music filled the woods. For there might no man come
With noise of baying hound, or wind the blustering horn;
No sling might hurl, no spear thrust, or swift falcon fly.
Wide was the woodland space fenced in on every side.
And there dwelt at their will all innocent wild things;
There roamed the great red-deer; there in close covert played
Blithe hares; there in the stream, its rooty banks the home
Of burrowing water-rats, the sleek shy otter plunged;
There frisked the squirrel; there the blackbird and the thrush
With music filled the woods. For there might no man come
With noise of baying hound, or wind the blustering horn;
No sling might hurl, no spear thrust, or swift falcon fly.
So, first of Irish Kings, did royal Conchobar
This royal park ordain; and on his chiefs he laid
A Champion's Vow: that none, roaming the wood, might come
Within three sling-shots near the fortress of his Love.
This royal park ordain; and on his chiefs he laid
A Champion's Vow: that none, roaming the wood, might come
Within three sling-shots near the fortress of his Love.
There Deirdrè's rathe beauty, like some bright fatal flower,
Earth and the gendering sun conspire with hoary Time
To bring at destined hour to birth, ripened unseen,
Her father dead; unseen, save of her foster-sire
And Cathvah and the King. Alone of men these three
In the wood's heart beheld the Child of Doom. These three
Alone of men, long years, the child saw; and with these
Two women only, her whose breast had fostered her,
And crafty Lavarcam, the Conversation-Dame,
The ear of Conchobar, who gleaned him day by day
The tattle of all tongues, whence all men's minds he knew.
So grew the child unseen, the realm's forgotten dread.
Earth and the gendering sun conspire with hoary Time
To bring at destined hour to birth, ripened unseen,
Her father dead; unseen, save of her foster-sire
And Cathvah and the King. Alone of men these three
In the wood's heart beheld the Child of Doom. These three
Alone of men, long years, the child saw; and with these
Two women only, her whose breast had fostered her,
And crafty Lavarcam, the Conversation-Dame,
The ear of Conchobar, who gleaned him day by day
The tattle of all tongues, whence all men's minds he knew.
So grew the child unseen, the realm's forgotten dread.
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These few, and the wild tribes of her familiar woods,
Were Deirdrè's world; and free, sequestered in those woods
Since first her step grew firm, she roamed; fearless and free
As the wild things she loved. There happily her young life,
Fresh as the ranging air she breathed, under all skies,
Throve in the seasons four, knowing the season's change.
No sorcery of the moon she feared, no blazing stroke
Of sun, cold kiss of rain, or tingling pinch of frost.
The whispering Spring she knew, great Summer's golden joy,
Autumn's rich hoarded sweets, stern Winter's cupboards bare,
And gentler than the hunter's was her woodcraft's lore.
Were Deirdrè's world; and free, sequestered in those woods
Since first her step grew firm, she roamed; fearless and free
As the wild things she loved. There happily her young life,
Fresh as the ranging air she breathed, under all skies,
Throve in the seasons four, knowing the season's change.
No sorcery of the moon she feared, no blazing stroke
Of sun, cold kiss of rain, or tingling pinch of frost.
The whispering Spring she knew, great Summer's golden joy,
Autumn's rich hoarded sweets, stern Winter's cupboards bare,
And gentler than the hunter's was her woodcraft's lore.
Cathvah she loved, and him, in her dead father's place,
She honoured most; but when the King, in whose grave soul
Her beauty's bright increase wrought like a Druid's charm,
Dreaming her his, would come in his rare hours of ease
To gaze on her and feel the billows of his blood,
Warmed in her splendour, heave with mightier youth, would she
Frown like a captive Queen, donning her haughtiest look,
And, dauntless, with cold eyes outstare the gazing King.
She honoured most; but when the King, in whose grave soul
Her beauty's bright increase wrought like a Druid's charm,
Dreaming her his, would come in his rare hours of ease
To gaze on her and feel the billows of his blood,
Warmed in her splendour, heave with mightier youth, would she
Frown like a captive Queen, donning her haughtiest look,
And, dauntless, with cold eyes outstare the gazing King.
Then, like a bird set free, when Conchobar at last
Left her, the mutinous blood hot in her angry cheek,
She would run to Lavarcam, crying in childish rage:
‘Bad is this King of yours, Fergus shall be my King!
There is an evil-eye in Conchobar, I hate him!
Poison is on his tongue, bale in his eyes' blue flame;
His passing makes the flowers droop in the woods; the birds
Fear him, and in the leaves cower when he comes, as when
The kestrel's shadow falls upon them. Comes he here
Me with his sorcerer's eyes to blight? Let him beware!
I am a Druid's child—let him beware of me!’
Left her, the mutinous blood hot in her angry cheek,
She would run to Lavarcam, crying in childish rage:
‘Bad is this King of yours, Fergus shall be my King!
There is an evil-eye in Conchobar, I hate him!
Poison is on his tongue, bale in his eyes' blue flame;
His passing makes the flowers droop in the woods; the birds
Fear him, and in the leaves cower when he comes, as when
The kestrel's shadow falls upon them. Comes he here
Me with his sorcerer's eyes to blight? Let him beware!
I am a Druid's child—let him beware of me!’
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And Lavarcam would soothe her moods with honeyed words.
She loved the passionate child, still flattering Conchobar
With hopes answering his dreams. But Deirdrè read her guile,
And early learnt to charm the secrets from her tongue.
She loved the passionate child, still flattering Conchobar
With hopes answering his dreams. But Deirdrè read her guile,
And early learnt to charm the secrets from her tongue.
From her she had heard the tale of Fergus: how he reigned
O'er Ulster in his right; but, being of jovial mind,
Hunting, of all things else, after the glorious game
Of war, and those great songs that won him high renown
As King among the Bards, and Bard among the Kings,
He dearly loved; and next the splendour of great feasts,
Where mighty ale abounds, and keen three-cornered harps,
Harps with a woman's soul of sadness or wild mirth,
Cry sweetly in the hands of skilled harpers, and Bards
Chant the great deeds of old, or the long line of Kings:
And for his vow he had: Ne'er to refuse a feast.
O'er Ulster in his right; but, being of jovial mind,
Hunting, of all things else, after the glorious game
Of war, and those great songs that won him high renown
As King among the Bards, and Bard among the Kings,
He dearly loved; and next the splendour of great feasts,
Where mighty ale abounds, and keen three-cornered harps,
Harps with a woman's soul of sadness or wild mirth,
Cry sweetly in the hands of skilled harpers, and Bards
Chant the great deeds of old, or the long line of Kings:
And for his vow he had: Ne'er to refuse a feast.
And how his heart was set madly in love on one,
Fachtna's young widowed Queen, Nessa the Fair, forlorn
In Tara, where her lord, Fachtna the Wise, High-King
Over all Erin, fell by the prevailing sword
Of Eocha of the Sighs; and how he took her thence
With blue-eyed Conchobar, her only child, and brought her
For love to his own court. And there, on days of law
When the King sat and heard causes, beside his chair
The boy with keen blue eyes would mark the litigants,
And sit listening, and hear the pleadings, and the King's
Judgment on all. And once when Fergus heard a suit
With tangled points of law, ollav 'gainst ollav matched
Wrangling with tongues more sharp than women's at a fair,
The King in sudden chafe burst out: ‘Where hides this day
The hare of truth in all this prickly field of furze?
She sits too close for me. But when the old hound's at fault,
The whelp may find: come, boy, track her for us, my son!’
Fachtna's young widowed Queen, Nessa the Fair, forlorn
In Tara, where her lord, Fachtna the Wise, High-King
Over all Erin, fell by the prevailing sword
Of Eocha of the Sighs; and how he took her thence
With blue-eyed Conchobar, her only child, and brought her
For love to his own court. And there, on days of law
When the King sat and heard causes, beside his chair
The boy with keen blue eyes would mark the litigants,
And sit listening, and hear the pleadings, and the King's
Judgment on all. And once when Fergus heard a suit
With tangled points of law, ollav 'gainst ollav matched
Wrangling with tongues more sharp than women's at a fair,
The King in sudden chafe burst out: ‘Where hides this day
The hare of truth in all this prickly field of furze?
She sits too close for me. But when the old hound's at fault,
The whelp may find: come, boy, track her for us, my son!’
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Then Conchobar stood forth, and gravely, without haste,
Untwined the tangled skein, all doubtful points of law
Set clear, and, handling all, said modestly at last:
‘With favour of the King, and this High Court, had I
The voice of judgment here, thus my award should fall.’
Untwined the tangled skein, all doubtful points of law
Set clear, and, handling all, said modestly at last:
‘With favour of the King, and this High Court, had I
The voice of judgment here, thus my award should fall.’
Then rang the court with shouts: ‘Long life to Conchobar,
True is your tongue, my son!’ And Fergus, who had stared
Amazed upon the boy, clapped on his shoulder now
His sunburnt sword-hand, laughed his laugh that all men loved,
And cried: ‘Now, by my hand of valour! here's a boy
That ousts me from my seat, the judge's judge, the King
Of the High-King! My arm can wield the spears of war;
But here's a head of gold, born with an ollav's gown
For caul upon its brows, a brain to drive my brain
As I my war-horse.’ So spake Fergus truth in jest.
True is your tongue, my son!’ And Fergus, who had stared
Amazed upon the boy, clapped on his shoulder now
His sunburnt sword-hand, laughed his laugh that all men loved,
And cried: ‘Now, by my hand of valour! here's a boy
That ousts me from my seat, the judge's judge, the King
Of the High-King! My arm can wield the spears of war;
But here's a head of gold, born with an ollav's gown
For caul upon its brows, a brain to drive my brain
As I my war-horse.’ So spake Fergus truth in jest.
For ever from that day with all her woman's might,
And all her woman's craft, strove Nessa to make true
These words of Fergus. First, Conchobar at the court
Was ever at his side prompting his ruling; then
He sat his deputy; at last in his high place
Alone he sat, High-King. Fergus, for Nessa's love,
Gave him, from his own breast, the brooch of royalty
The great Ard-Roth; and took the belt of royal power
From his own loins; and gave the cathbarr from his head,
To flame on his young brow in golden majesty.
So laughed away his realm the man of glorious heart.
And all her woman's craft, strove Nessa to make true
These words of Fergus. First, Conchobar at the court
Was ever at his side prompting his ruling; then
He sat his deputy; at last in his high place
Alone he sat, High-King. Fergus, for Nessa's love,
Gave him, from his own breast, the brooch of royalty
The great Ard-Roth; and took the belt of royal power
From his own loins; and gave the cathbarr from his head,
To flame on his young brow in golden majesty.
So laughed away his realm the man of glorious heart.
Then Lavarcam crooned on to Deirdrè of the wives
Of Conchobar: how first spear-bearing Meave he took,
With a rich dower of all that Kings delight in: arms,
Chariots, horses and hounds, cloaks, brooches, cups of gold,
And gold that buys the world. From her great father's hand,
Dark Eocha of the Sighs, spear-bearing Meave he took,
With all her dowry, given in eric for the death
Of his own father, slain by Eocha. But red Meave,
Haughty of soul, desired to plant her warrior feet
Upon the necks of Kings, and Conchobar she deemed
An Ollav of the courts: men he could rule, but her,
His wife, he could not rule. Great was the spleen that stirred
Between them, till she fled, in hate of Conchobar,
Back to her father's house; and Eocha gave her then
Lands by the Shannon, south of Easroe, to the sea,
To hold in her own right, even all the Firbolg's land
In Olnemachta. There she reigned in her own right,
Red Meave, the warrior Queen, in scorn of Conchobar.
Of Conchobar: how first spear-bearing Meave he took,
With a rich dower of all that Kings delight in: arms,
Chariots, horses and hounds, cloaks, brooches, cups of gold,
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Dark Eocha of the Sighs, spear-bearing Meave he took,
With all her dowry, given in eric for the death
Of his own father, slain by Eocha. But red Meave,
Haughty of soul, desired to plant her warrior feet
Upon the necks of Kings, and Conchobar she deemed
An Ollav of the courts: men he could rule, but her,
His wife, he could not rule. Great was the spleen that stirred
Between them, till she fled, in hate of Conchobar,
Back to her father's house; and Eocha gave her then
Lands by the Shannon, south of Easroe, to the sea,
To hold in her own right, even all the Firbolg's land
In Olnemachta. There she reigned in her own right,
Red Meave, the warrior Queen, in scorn of Conchobar.
But her war-wearied sire in Meave's forsaken bed,
With a new dowry claimed by Conchobar, put now
Enna, her sister—mild her mind, and short her life;
Two sons she bore the King, then, with a widowed heart
She left him in his prime. So Deirdrè day by day
Heard at her will, well pleased, the tales of Lavarcam.
With a new dowry claimed by Conchobar, put now
Enna, her sister—mild her mind, and short her life;
Two sons she bore the King, then, with a widowed heart
She left him in his prime. So Deirdrè day by day
Heard at her will, well pleased, the tales of Lavarcam.
Cathvah too loved the child, and of his hoary craft
Taught her the lore of the woods, and the lore of sun and moon,
And the lore of the druid stars, seasons and lucky days,
Omens, and charms, and spells, and secret cures. And oft
He would take his harp, and sing of old-world names and deeds:
Of Ireland's seven great names, a flower of glory each one,
For each, deep in her breast, a sorrow and a sword.
Taught her the lore of the woods, and the lore of sun and moon,
And the lore of the druid stars, seasons and lucky days,
Omens, and charms, and spells, and secret cures. And oft
He would take his harp, and sing of old-world names and deeds:
Of Ireland's seven great names, a flower of glory each one,
For each, deep in her breast, a sorrow and a sword.
So Deirdrè heard the song of Cathvah, the grey seer;
And at his bardic song of Ireland's olden fame,
Great names, and sounding deeds of yore, her virgin heart,
Exulting in high thoughts, leaped high, daring her doom.
And at his bardic song of Ireland's olden fame,
Great names, and sounding deeds of yore, her virgin heart,
Exulting in high thoughts, leaped high, daring her doom.
| Three Irish Bardic Tales | |