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 SIXTH DUAN.
THE PLEDGE OF FERGUS. |
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 | Three Irish Bardic Tales |  |
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THE SIXTH DUAN. THE PLEDGE OF FERGUS.
Meanwhile to Erin came tiding of all the deeds
By Usna's exiled Sons in Alba done. Their tale,
Roaming about the land in songs of wandering Bards,
Wrought woe in the Red Branch, and murmurs through the halls
Of Eman darkly crept from mouth to mouth. Men said:
‘Bad is their banishment for a frail woman's fault,
Great our loss, losing them. Better, if die they must
For slight of Conchobar, by us their heads should fall
In their own land, than thus to bring disgrace upon us
Banished and foully slain, haply, by hands unknown.’
By Usna's exiled Sons in Alba done. Their tale,
Roaming about the land in songs of wandering Bards,
Wrought woe in the Red Branch, and murmurs through the halls
Of Eman darkly crept from mouth to mouth. Men said:
‘Bad is their banishment for a frail woman's fault,
Great our loss, losing them. Better, if die they must
For slight of Conchobar, by us their heads should fall
In their own land, than thus to bring disgrace upon us
Banished and foully slain, haply, by hands unknown.’
These murmurs to the ear of Conchobar crept on
By crooked ways; for none, fearing his eye, durst name
The name of Usna's Sons. In his fierce heart fierce love,
Stung by the scorn of a girl, pent like a caverned plague,
Sat brooding, bayed about with evil dreams. And now
Like a thawed snake it stirred. Like wolves whimpering for blood
Cruel desires, dark thoughts, hunted about his brain
The phantoms of his foes, and smarting shame, arrayed
In Kingship's flouted robe, ever hounded them on.
By crooked ways; for none, fearing his eye, durst name
The name of Usna's Sons. In his fierce heart fierce love,
Stung by the scorn of a girl, pent like a caverned plague,
Sat brooding, bayed about with evil dreams. And now
Like a thawed snake it stirred. Like wolves whimpering for blood
Cruel desires, dark thoughts, hunted about his brain
The phantoms of his foes, and smarting shame, arrayed
In Kingship's flouted robe, ever hounded them on.
So the long-dreamed-of hour drew near. There was a feast
Held in the Red Branch House; and bidden to that feast
Came all the Red Branch chiefs; and over their high seats,
Ranged in precedence due, the heralds hung their shields,
Summoning with trumpet-blasts the Orders, rank by rank.
There, with the Kings and Chiefs, came Druids old in fame,
Ollavs and Shanachies, Harpers and Bards, the best
That sang within the ring of the four circling seas;
And well they cheered that feast, chanting the deeds of yore;
And well they sang the growth of Trees of Ancestry,
Branches of Kingship, grafts of high alliance—all
The lore of Houses, Clans and Septs; fair births, brave deaths:
All that sustains the pride and glory of great Kings.
Held in the Red Branch House; and bidden to that feast
Came all the Red Branch chiefs; and over their high seats,
Ranged in precedence due, the heralds hung their shields,
Summoning with trumpet-blasts the Orders, rank by rank.
There, with the Kings and Chiefs, came Druids old in fame,
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That sang within the ring of the four circling seas;
And well they cheered that feast, chanting the deeds of yore;
And well they sang the growth of Trees of Ancestry,
Branches of Kingship, grafts of high alliance—all
The lore of Houses, Clans and Septs; fair births, brave deaths:
All that sustains the pride and glory of great Kings.
But when the royal feast's loud mirth was full in flood
Shancha the Ollav rose, and took his golden Branch
Of Music in his hand; and from its tuneful bells
Shook silence, like soft dew, on the long table's roar,
Stilling the jester's tongue. Then thrice a henchman smote
The silver sounding-dish hung from the canopy
Of the King's chair of state; and like the ocean's voice
Hushing the streams was heard the voice of Conchobar.
Shancha the Ollav rose, and took his golden Branch
Of Music in his hand; and from its tuneful bells
Shook silence, like soft dew, on the long table's roar,
Stilling the jester's tongue. Then thrice a henchman smote
The silver sounding-dish hung from the canopy
Of the King's chair of state; and like the ocean's voice
Hushing the streams was heard the voice of Conchobar.
He sent into the air his kingly voice, and awe
Rode on the sound of it. ‘O warrior Kings!’ he said,
‘Is there in all the world a better house than this
For all good cheer and mirth, and pleasant speech of friends?’
‘Not one!’ they said. ‘Ye know no want then, feel no lack
For any pleasant thing to season this high feast?’
‘None, none!’ they cried again. Then with a sigh the King
Said sadly: ‘'Tis not so with me: one want I know
that ever sours for me the choicest sweets of mirth.
Where are old Usna's Sons this day? Where is the joy
Of any feast without them? Sad are the songs we make,
Wanting their voices; blank the walls we deck with shields,
Wanting their shields. No tune lives in the golden tongue
Of any Bard for me; no music in the strings
Of sweet three-cornered harps. To me the noble voice
Of gallant hounds that snuff the dew of the morn is sad
As the ill-omened howl of watch-dogs in the night;
Sad is the sun himself till next I see his beam
Shine on three heads not here. Usna's three Sons should sit,
Kings among Kings; and now they wander far and wide
In lonely lands, alone. A woman is the cause—
A bad cause; for I think no woman ever born
Were worth so dear a loss. Shall we not have them home?’
Rode on the sound of it. ‘O warrior Kings!’ he said,
‘Is there in all the world a better house than this
For all good cheer and mirth, and pleasant speech of friends?’
‘Not one!’ they said. ‘Ye know no want then, feel no lack
For any pleasant thing to season this high feast?’
‘None, none!’ they cried again. Then with a sigh the King
Said sadly: ‘'Tis not so with me: one want I know
that ever sours for me the choicest sweets of mirth.
Where are old Usna's Sons this day? Where is the joy
Of any feast without them? Sad are the songs we make,
Wanting their voices; blank the walls we deck with shields,
Wanting their shields. No tune lives in the golden tongue
Of any Bard for me; no music in the strings
Of sweet three-cornered harps. To me the noble voice
Of gallant hounds that snuff the dew of the morn is sad
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Sad is the sun himself till next I see his beam
Shine on three heads not here. Usna's three Sons should sit,
Kings among Kings; and now they wander far and wide
In lonely lands, alone. A woman is the cause—
A bad cause; for I think no woman ever born
Were worth so dear a loss. Shall we not have them home?’
Glad was the whole Red Branch to hear him speak this word.
‘O Conchobar,’ they said, ‘the rivers of thy tongue
Have swept our hidden thoughts this hour into the light.
But who shall bring them back, seeing their oath is on them
Ne'er to return, until, in surety for their lives,
Be pledged Cormac, thy son, Cuchullin, Fergus Roy,
Or Conall Carnach?’ ‘Well,’ said Conchobar, ‘be it so;
But have them back we will.’ Then with new joy the feast
Grew loud once more, and song rose in the Red-Branch House.
‘O Conchobar,’ they said, ‘the rivers of thy tongue
Have swept our hidden thoughts this hour into the light.
But who shall bring them back, seeing their oath is on them
Ne'er to return, until, in surety for their lives,
Be pledged Cormac, thy son, Cuchullin, Fergus Roy,
Or Conall Carnach?’ ‘Well,’ said Conchobar, ‘be it so;
But have them back we will.’ Then with new joy the feast
Grew loud once more, and song rose in the Red-Branch House.
Next morning, ere the dew was dried upon the grass,
About his orchard long paced Conchobar alone,
Brooding. ‘Now will I try their hearts,’ he thought, ‘now prove
Who loves me best.’ And soon he found an hour to speak
With Conall secretly. ‘O warrior King!’ he said,
‘Comrade of many deeds, I know thou lov'st me well;
As thou hast cause, for twice my arm has kept thy head.
Tell me: what wouldst thou do if I should send thee now
For Usna's Sons, and death perchance should come to them
Under thy surety?’ ‘This,’ said Conall, ‘and no worse:
Not one man's life alone should pay me for their lives,
But every treacherous heart that should abet their death
Would I tear out.’ Fiercely his two terrible eyes,
The blue eye and the brown, flamed on the King, who turned
His darkened face away, muttering: ‘Henceforth I know
Thou lov'st me not.’ And so dealt Conall with the King.
About his orchard long paced Conchobar alone,
Brooding. ‘Now will I try their hearts,’ he thought, ‘now prove
Who loves me best.’ And soon he found an hour to speak
With Conall secretly. ‘O warrior King!’ he said,
‘Comrade of many deeds, I know thou lov'st me well;
As thou hast cause, for twice my arm has kept thy head.
Tell me: what wouldst thou do if I should send thee now
For Usna's Sons, and death perchance should come to them
Under thy surety?’ ‘This,’ said Conall, ‘and no worse:
Not one man's life alone should pay me for their lives,
But every treacherous heart that should abet their death
Would I tear out.’ Fiercely his two terrible eyes,
The blue eye and the brown, flamed on the King, who turned
His darkened face away, muttering: ‘Henceforth I know
Thou lov'st me not.’ And so dealt Conall with the King.
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Next, in a chosen hour, he drew Cuchullin to him,
And said: ‘O warrior King, I know thou lov'st me well,
Being my sister's son; and I it was, thou knowest,
Who gave thee thy first spears. When thou wast but a boy
I made thee Champion, gave thee my own car and my steeds,
And made with noble arms noble thy untried hand,
And, in the paths of fame planting thy feet, set foes
Before thy beardless face. Tell me, my son, if now
I pledge thee to bring back the Sons of Usna safe,
And by ill-hap some hurt should light upon their heads,
What wouldst thou do?’ ‘But this,’ Cuchullin said, ‘no more,
And by my sword, no less! If wrong should come to them
I would not take from thee the riches of the East—
The bribe of all the world; but thou and all thy clan
Should pay me with your heads for the blackness of your hearts.
Strong are the ties of blood, but stronger for good men
The ties of honour.’ Fierce the flame of his blue eyes
Blazed on the King's dark face. ‘Well said!’ quoth Conchobar,
‘I see thou lov'st me not.’ He turned his back, and strode
Angry away. So dealt Cuchullin with the King.
And said: ‘O warrior King, I know thou lov'st me well,
Being my sister's son; and I it was, thou knowest,
Who gave thee thy first spears. When thou wast but a boy
I made thee Champion, gave thee my own car and my steeds,
And made with noble arms noble thy untried hand,
And, in the paths of fame planting thy feet, set foes
Before thy beardless face. Tell me, my son, if now
I pledge thee to bring back the Sons of Usna safe,
And by ill-hap some hurt should light upon their heads,
What wouldst thou do?’ ‘But this,’ Cuchullin said, ‘no more,
And by my sword, no less! If wrong should come to them
I would not take from thee the riches of the East—
The bribe of all the world; but thou and all thy clan
Should pay me with your heads for the blackness of your hearts.
Strong are the ties of blood, but stronger for good men
The ties of honour.’ Fierce the flame of his blue eyes
Blazed on the King's dark face. ‘Well said!’ quoth Conchobar,
‘I see thou lov'st me not.’ He turned his back, and strode
Angry away. So dealt Cuchullin with the King.
He came to Fergus. ‘Thou,’ he said, ‘O warrior King,
Father of my renown! if I should send thee now
To bring back Usna's Sons in peace, and by ill-chance
Some hurt should come to them under thy surety, tell me,
What wouldst thou do?’ Then laughed Fergus a careless laugh,
‘What evil chance could come to any man brought back
Under my pledge? If aught save good should come to them
Woe to the man whose mind should compass their mishap;
His head should fall by me, save thine alone, my son.’
‘Well hast thou spoken, friend,’ said Conchobar. ‘Go thou
To where in lone Loch Eta, in an isle of the sea
The Sons of Usna dwell. Go, bring them back in peace,
And with their longed-for sight comfort our broken Branch!’
Father of my renown! if I should send thee now
To bring back Usna's Sons in peace, and by ill-chance
Some hurt should come to them under thy surety, tell me,
What wouldst thou do?’ Then laughed Fergus a careless laugh,
‘What evil chance could come to any man brought back
Under my pledge? If aught save good should come to them
Woe to the man whose mind should compass their mishap;
His head should fall by me, save thine alone, my son.’
‘Well hast thou spoken, friend,’ said Conchobar. ‘Go thou
To where in lone Loch Eta, in an isle of the sea
The Sons of Usna dwell. Go, bring them back in peace,
And with their longed-for sight comfort our broken Branch!’
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Then Conchobar was glad, and straightway to the North
To Barach in his dun, hard by the port that looks
Towards Alba, o'er the strait where once the Swans of Lir
Mourned for three hundred years on the chill tides of Moyle,
Sent by sure hands this word: ‘Barach, thou knowest me well,
My favour and my wrath. Now therefore, on thy life,
Do this my bidding: watch for Fergus when he comes
From Alba, bringing safe the Sons of Usna home,
And meet him when he lands, and bid him on his vow
Ne'er to refuse a feast, unto a seven days' feast
Within thy house. Do this, and hold him to his vow,
Or headless thou shalt find thy sons, left in my hand.’
To Barach in his dun, hard by the port that looks
Towards Alba, o'er the strait where once the Swans of Lir
Mourned for three hundred years on the chill tides of Moyle,
Sent by sure hands this word: ‘Barach, thou knowest me well,
My favour and my wrath. Now therefore, on thy life,
Do this my bidding: watch for Fergus when he comes
From Alba, bringing safe the Sons of Usna home,
And meet him when he lands, and bid him on his vow
Ne'er to refuse a feast, unto a seven days' feast
Within thy house. Do this, and hold him to his vow,
Or headless thou shalt find thy sons, left in my hand.’
But in his galley sailed Fergus without a host,
And with him went his sons, two youths, Illàn the Fair,
Buiné the Ruthless Red; and with him went beside
Callan his shield-bearer, bearing his mighty shield;
And swiftly sailed his ship, and came ere many days
To where in Eta Loch the Sons of Usna lay.
And with him went his sons, two youths, Illàn the Fair,
Buiné the Ruthless Red; and with him went beside
Callan his shield-bearer, bearing his mighty shield;
And swiftly sailed his ship, and came ere many days
To where in Eta Loch the Sons of Usna lay.
There in this wise they dwelt: they had built three booths of chase,
In one they cooked, in one they fed, and in the third
They slept. When Fergus marked these booths far-off, his heart
Leaped in him, for the love of Usna's noble Sons.
Gladly he brought them peace. Great was the shout that came
Out of his throat that day; for noble was his voice
In shouting, over all the voices of the men
Of Ulla. Great and glad it sounded in the glens
Of Eta, like the shout of a mighty man of chase
Who sees his quarry; far it rang through Naisi's isle,
A noble shout and loud, no treachery in its tone.
In one they cooked, in one they fed, and in the third
They slept. When Fergus marked these booths far-off, his heart
Leaped in him, for the love of Usna's noble Sons.
Gladly he brought them peace. Great was the shout that came
Out of his throat that day; for noble was his voice
In shouting, over all the voices of the men
Of Ulla. Great and glad it sounded in the glens
Of Eta, like the shout of a mighty man of chase
Who sees his quarry; far it rang through Naisi's isle,
A noble shout and loud, no treachery in its tone.
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Now Naisi in the booth with Deirdrè sat, and there
Between them open lay the board of Conchobar,
‘Fairhead,’ his trothal-gift to Deirdrè, and thereon
They played at chess. And when the voice of Fergus came
To Naisi's ear, he sprang straight to his feet and said:
‘Surely I heard the cry of a man of Eri!’ ‘Nay,’
Said Deirdrè, ‘bad the ear that hears an Irish cry
Come from an Alban throat. Play on!’ But sudden dread
Had clutched her heart, when first she heard the pealing voice
Of Fergus. Nearer then there came a second cry,
And Naisi said: ‘No man of Alba, but a man
Of Eri gave that shout.’ ‘No, no,’ said Deirdrè. ‘Come,
Play! play!’ Then Fergus drew nearer the booths, and gave
A third right hearty cheer. And surely knew the Sons
Of Usna who came there; and Naisi said: ‘Go thou,
Ardàn, and greet Fergus, and bring him in to us.’
Between them open lay the board of Conchobar,
‘Fairhead,’ his trothal-gift to Deirdrè, and thereon
They played at chess. And when the voice of Fergus came
To Naisi's ear, he sprang straight to his feet and said:
‘Surely I heard the cry of a man of Eri!’ ‘Nay,’
Said Deirdrè, ‘bad the ear that hears an Irish cry
Come from an Alban throat. Play on!’ But sudden dread
Had clutched her heart, when first she heard the pealing voice
Of Fergus. Nearer then there came a second cry,
And Naisi said: ‘No man of Alba, but a man
Of Eri gave that shout.’ ‘No, no,’ said Deirdrè. ‘Come,
Play! play!’ Then Fergus drew nearer the booths, and gave
A third right hearty cheer. And surely knew the Sons
Of Usna who came there; and Naisi said: ‘Go thou,
Ardàn, and greet Fergus, and bring him in to us.’
But Deirdrè wrung her hands, sighing deeply, and said:
‘Ochone! too well I guessed whose voice gave that first shout—
Fergus Mac Roy, ochone! Fergus Mac Roy, I knew him
Too well, too well!’ ‘But why,’ said Naisi, ‘girl of my heart,
Didst thou hide this from me?’ ‘Last night,’ said she, ‘I dreamed,
And in my dream there flew three birds into our bed,
In their three beaks three drops of honey, and they left
The honey on my lips, but drank from me instead
Three drops of my heart's blood.’ ‘What means this dream of thine?’
Said he. She answered, ‘Sweet as honey on the lips
Is a false man's false word of peace to us this day;
And those three drops of blood the birds drank from my breast,
What are they but your lives stol'n from me, stol'n this day
By Conchobar's false words? For well I know that naught
Will stay you; ye will go with Fergus to your doom,
Will go to Conchobar, beguiled, beguiled, beguiled!’
‘Ochone! too well I guessed whose voice gave that first shout—
Fergus Mac Roy, ochone! Fergus Mac Roy, I knew him
Too well, too well!’ ‘But why,’ said Naisi, ‘girl of my heart,
Didst thou hide this from me?’ ‘Last night,’ said she, ‘I dreamed,
And in my dream there flew three birds into our bed,
In their three beaks three drops of honey, and they left
The honey on my lips, but drank from me instead
Three drops of my heart's blood.’ ‘What means this dream of thine?’
Said he. She answered, ‘Sweet as honey on the lips
Is a false man's false word of peace to us this day;
And those three drops of blood the birds drank from my breast,
What are they but your lives stol'n from me, stol'n this day
By Conchobar's false words? For well I know that naught
Will stay you; ye will go with Fergus to your doom,
Will go to Conchobar, beguiled, beguiled, beguiled!’
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Her words dismayed them all; but Naisi said: ‘Let come
What will come, Fergus waits upon us. Go to him,
Ardàn, and greet him well, and bring him hither straight,
Were it my death, I long to see an Irish face.’
What will come, Fergus waits upon us. Go to him,
Ardàn, and greet him well, and bring him hither straight,
Were it my death, I long to see an Irish face.’
Then went Ardàn and greeted Fergus and his sons,
And gave them lovingly three kisses on the face,
And brought them to the booth. There Naisi made great cheer
To see them, and he kissed Fergus right fervently
And many times, and kissed his sons; and so likewise
Did Deirdrè, and greeting each in turn welcomed them all.
And gave them lovingly three kisses on the face,
And brought them to the booth. There Naisi made great cheer
To see them, and he kissed Fergus right fervently
And many times, and kissed his sons; and so likewise
Did Deirdrè, and greeting each in turn welcomed them all.
And Naisi asked for tales of Eman, and of all
The doings of the Branch. ‘This is the happiest tale,’
Said Fergus, ‘that we come from Conchobar to you,
To bring you peace; in pledge whereof I stand this day
Your surety, sworn and bound. And ever, as ye know,
I have been dear to you, and loved you, and my vow
Is on me to fulfil my warranty this day.
Under me ye were lost, with me ye shall go home.’
The doings of the Branch. ‘This is the happiest tale,’
Said Fergus, ‘that we come from Conchobar to you,
To bring you peace; in pledge whereof I stand this day
Your surety, sworn and bound. And ever, as ye know,
I have been dear to you, and loved you, and my vow
Is on me to fulfil my warranty this day.
Under me ye were lost, with me ye shall go home.’
Deep Naisi sighed thereat. ‘Ay, that is truth,’ said he.
‘This is a goodly land, but not my land. Not here
Our mother kissed us first; not here our father saw
His boys grow strong; not here our kinsmen's cairns are green;
Though great our having here, 'tis Ireland has my love.
Fair be her fortunes! O, the fields my childhood knew,
The flowers upon her fields, the fair skies over them!
White were the daisies there in springtime in her fields,
Yellow the cowslips there, yellow upon her hills
The scented furze, and blue the bluebells of her woods!
Sweet in the autumn there the apples that we plucked,
I and my brothers, sweet the first-found blackberries
Riping on the hot rocks! O for the thrush's note
In her glad woods first heard, the blackbird's whistle there!
O the red stags of her glens, the eagles of her crags,
That first I climbed; and O, the first brave hounds I followed
Through the sweet Irish dew! I left my life behind
When I left Ireland. O, the comrades that I had
In Ireland! O, the games on Eman's Green, the feasts
In the Red Branch House, the friendly faces in the hall,
Irish and true! My heart, a bird above the waves,
Flies to the glad green fields of Ireland, that I love:
I am a lonely man till I am home in Ulla!’
‘This is a goodly land, but not my land. Not here
Our mother kissed us first; not here our father saw
His boys grow strong; not here our kinsmen's cairns are green;
Though great our having here, 'tis Ireland has my love.
Fair be her fortunes! O, the fields my childhood knew,
The flowers upon her fields, the fair skies over them!
White were the daisies there in springtime in her fields,
Yellow the cowslips there, yellow upon her hills
The scented furze, and blue the bluebells of her woods!
Sweet in the autumn there the apples that we plucked,
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Riping on the hot rocks! O for the thrush's note
In her glad woods first heard, the blackbird's whistle there!
O the red stags of her glens, the eagles of her crags,
That first I climbed; and O, the first brave hounds I followed
Through the sweet Irish dew! I left my life behind
When I left Ireland. O, the comrades that I had
In Ireland! O, the games on Eman's Green, the feasts
In the Red Branch House, the friendly faces in the hall,
Irish and true! My heart, a bird above the waves,
Flies to the glad green fields of Ireland, that I love:
I am a lonely man till I am home in Ulla!’
‘Till then will not be long,’ said Fergus, ‘if ye trust
My word and warranty.’ ‘We trust them, as we trust
The sun to rise by day,’ said Naisi, ‘and with thee
Will we go back, and fear no spleen of Conchobar.’
My word and warranty.’ ‘We trust them, as we trust
The sun to rise by day,’ said Naisi, ‘and with thee
Will we go back, and fear no spleen of Conchobar.’
But Deirdrè had no part in Naisi's words, and hung
Weeping about his neck: ‘Home, home!’ she said, ‘What home
Have I where thou art not? Thou art the nest of love
Where my heart folds its wings in peace. Here is my home;
For here I have thee safe. Ireland lies whelmed below
Grey treacherous seas. No home can I have there; for there
They will take thee from me—O, go not with Fergus there!
For my sake, for thy boy's, go not to Conchobar!’
Weeping about his neck: ‘Home, home!’ she said, ‘What home
Have I where thou art not? Thou art the nest of love
Where my heart folds its wings in peace. Here is my home;
For here I have thee safe. Ireland lies whelmed below
Grey treacherous seas. No home can I have there; for there
They will take thee from me—O, go not with Fergus there!
For my sake, for thy boy's, go not to Conchobar!’
But Fergus answered her gently: ‘Hold not thy lord,
O Deirdrè, from his fame; for what praise shall he have
In this wild isle of the sea? But in the Red Branch House
Like music shall his name sound on the golden tongue
Of noble Bards. Let fear die in thy breast. My shield
Is over you, the shield of Fergus. Let the men
Of Ulla all turn false, and seek your death, Fergus
Will not be false. My sword, and my sons' swords alone
Could hold you harmless, came the quarters of the world
In arms against us three.’ But Deirdrè sighed: ‘Ay, Fergus,
The craft of Conchobar has made thy honesty
A fair mouth to persuade Naisi into his net.’
O Deirdrè, from his fame; for what praise shall he have
In this wild isle of the sea? But in the Red Branch House
Like music shall his name sound on the golden tongue
Of noble Bards. Let fear die in thy breast. My shield
Is over you, the shield of Fergus. Let the men
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Will not be false. My sword, and my sons' swords alone
Could hold you harmless, came the quarters of the world
In arms against us three.’ But Deirdrè sighed: ‘Ay, Fergus,
The craft of Conchobar has made thy honesty
A fair mouth to persuade Naisi into his net.’
‘The lie ne'er stained his tongue,’ said Naisi, ‘and with him
Will I go back. My feet are sore for Eman's Green;
Mine eyes are sore to see the Red Branch House, my friends,
The comrades of my deeds; so let who loves me now
Follow me o'er the seas. With Fergus I will go.’
Will I go back. My feet are sore for Eman's Green;
Mine eyes are sore to see the Red Branch House, my friends,
The comrades of my deeds; so let who loves me now
Follow me o'er the seas. With Fergus I will go.’
They bore away that night, under a moon that made
The sea a silver lake of glory, and the isles
Loom huge as dusky cairns of sea-kings. Naisi sat
With Fergus on the poop, talking of days of yore;
But Deirdrè in her cloak lay still and spoke no word,
Clasping her child to her breast from the cold wind of the sea;
Till the bright moon sank low, and in the east the stars
Last risen paled, feeling the pallid eyes of dawn.
The sea a silver lake of glory, and the isles
Loom huge as dusky cairns of sea-kings. Naisi sat
With Fergus on the poop, talking of days of yore;
But Deirdrè in her cloak lay still and spoke no word,
Clasping her child to her breast from the cold wind of the sea;
Till the bright moon sank low, and in the east the stars
Last risen paled, feeling the pallid eyes of dawn.
There in the dawn they heard from the high fields of air
Music on downy wing come floating—magical
Sweet fairy music, sad as the lone wind of the sea
Makes evermore at dawn, answering the homeless waves.
It was the Swans of Lir, to the wild West away
Flying in sorrow back from the ruined halls of Lir.
Music on downy wing come floating—magical
Sweet fairy music, sad as the lone wind of the sea
Makes evermore at dawn, answering the homeless waves.
It was the Swans of Lir, to the wild West away
Flying in sorrow back from the ruined halls of Lir.
And Deirdrè in the dawn arose, and on the poop
Sat down, pale as the dawn, and gazed back to the coast
Of Alba; and the Swans' wild dirge stirred in her heart
Dirges for her own sorrow; and she sang this lay:
Sat down, pale as the dawn, and gazed back to the coast
Of Alba; and the Swans' wild dirge stirred in her heart
Dirges for her own sorrow; and she sang this lay:
105
DEIRDRÈ'S FAREWELL TO ALBA.
1
O Land, Land of my heart,There sinks my joy in the waters!
O Alba ne'er would I leave thee,
But now I go with my lover!
2
I waft farewell o'er the watersTo you, Dun-finn and Dun-fiagh,
My love to the hills above you,
My love to the Isle of Drayno!
3
O wood of Cone, green woodWhere Ainli roved in the morning,
Too short the days that I sigh for,
No more in Alba with Naisi!
4
Glen of Laith, Glen of Laith,Where warm I slept in thy covert,
On badger's brawn and on venison
You feasted me, Glen of Laith!
5
Glen Masàn, Glen Masàn,Long grow the leaves of thy hart's-tongues;
But never more shall ye rock me,
O grassy creeks of Masàn!
6
But thou, Glen Eta, Glen Eta,Where first I ordered my homestead,
O happy thou madst my rising,
Sweet nook of the sun, Glen Eta!
106
7
Glen of the Roes, Glen-da-Rua,Blest be the man who loves thee!
Sweet shouts over bending branches
The cuckoo in Glen-da-Rua!
8
O Drayno of sounding shore,White gleams the sand through thy water,
Dear Drayno, ne'er would I leave thee,
But now I go with my lover!
Well sailed the swift war-ship, the ‘Courser of the Seas,’
With Deirdrè and the Chiefs; and soon they made a port
Of Ireland; and anon they came to Barach's dun.
There Barach welcomed them, kissing with kisses three
The Sons of Usna; and made fair welcome with his lips
To Fergus and his Sons; but guile hid in his heart.
‘O Fergus, I have here a feast for thee!’ he said,
‘Here bide thou shalt seven days; for in thy vows it is
Ne'er to refuse a feast, nor leave the house of mirth
Till all be ended. Come, seven days thou art my guest,
And never stepped a man more welcome through my door.’
With Deirdrè and the Chiefs; and soon they made a port
Of Ireland; and anon they came to Barach's dun.
There Barach welcomed them, kissing with kisses three
The Sons of Usna; and made fair welcome with his lips
To Fergus and his Sons; but guile hid in his heart.
‘O Fergus, I have here a feast for thee!’ he said,
‘Here bide thou shalt seven days; for in thy vows it is
Ne'er to refuse a feast, nor leave the house of mirth
Till all be ended. Come, seven days thou art my guest,
And never stepped a man more welcome through my door.’
Then Fergus groaned in wrath and anguish, and his face
And all his body burnt, one crimson fire of shame.
‘Evil is this thou hast done, O Barach, laying thus
My vow upon me! Well thou knowest that Conchobar
Has bound me with an oath to bring him, that same day
We touch the Irish coast, the Sons of Usna safe.’
And all his body burnt, one crimson fire of shame.
‘Evil is this thou hast done, O Barach, laying thus
My vow upon me! Well thou knowest that Conchobar
Has bound me with an oath to bring him, that same day
We touch the Irish coast, the Sons of Usna safe.’
But Barach smiling said: ‘What other vows thou hast
I know not. This I know: if thou refuse this feast
My mouth will spit such shame upon thee from this day
Till thy death-day as never champion should endure.’
I know not. This I know: if thou refuse this feast
My mouth will spit such shame upon thee from this day
Till thy death-day as never champion should endure.’
107
And Fergus, with bowed head, to Naisi turned, and sighed:
‘What shall I do?’ Deirdrè in rage and scorn burst out:
‘Go to this feast, hang up our safety with thy shield
In Barach's house, lay by the sword of our defence!
Go, feast upon our flesh, and drink our blood with him!
Black is the tongue that bade thee, black as his beetle heart;
Go thou, fulfil thy vow, forsake us for a feast!’
‘What shall I do?’ Deirdrè in rage and scorn burst out:
‘Go to this feast, hang up our safety with thy shield
In Barach's house, lay by the sword of our defence!
Go, feast upon our flesh, and drink our blood with him!
Black is the tongue that bade thee, black as his beetle heart;
Go thou, fulfil thy vow, forsake us for a feast!’
‘Nay, I forsake you not,’ said Fergus, ‘on my head
Be still your safety. Here I give you my two sons,
To bring you on your way, under my pledge; and came
The five great fifths of all Ireland in arms, to break
That safeguard, have no fear; for it should not be broke.’
Be still your safety. Here I give you my two sons,
To bring you on your way, under my pledge; and came
The five great fifths of all Ireland in arms, to break
That safeguard, have no fear; for it should not be broke.’
‘Enough,’ said Naisi, ‘be our safeguard our own swords,
They never failed us yet.’ In wrath he strode away,
Bade Fergus no farewell, turning for no last look
On his old friend, and so saw him no more. The rest
Followed him. Fergus, left in Barach's dun behind,
Gazed after them, the light of his fresh sunny face
Quenched in a darkening cloud of sorrow. His two sons
Kissed him in haste, and went the way of many feet.
They never failed us yet.’ In wrath he strode away,
Bade Fergus no farewell, turning for no last look
On his old friend, and so saw him no more. The rest
Followed him. Fergus, left in Barach's dun behind,
Gazed after them, the light of his fresh sunny face
Quenched in a darkening cloud of sorrow. His two sons
Kissed him in haste, and went the way of many feet.
But, as in wrath and gloom they took the nearest way
To Eman, ‘Will ye hear my counsel?’ Deirdrè said;
Though, to your loss, I know ye hold me little wise?’
‘What counsel, girl of my heart?’ said Naisi. ‘Speak thy mind.’
‘Then seek awhile,’ she said, ‘the safety of the sea;
Turn back with me to-night, and let your galley steer
To Inish Cullen. There, between the land and the land,
Let us four dwell awhile, till Fergus eat his fill
Of Barach's bloody feast. Let him fulfil his vow,
Yet keep his troth. Turn back—long life and happy days
Call you upon my tongue, will ye but hear me now!’
To Eman, ‘Will ye hear my counsel?’ Deirdrè said;
Though, to your loss, I know ye hold me little wise?’
‘What counsel, girl of my heart?’ said Naisi. ‘Speak thy mind.’
‘Then seek awhile,’ she said, ‘the safety of the sea;
Turn back with me to-night, and let your galley steer
To Inish Cullen. There, between the land and the land,
Let us four dwell awhile, till Fergus eat his fill
Of Barach's bloody feast. Let him fulfil his vow,
Yet keep his troth. Turn back—long life and happy days
Call you upon my tongue, will ye but hear me now!’
108
But Naisi frowned and said: ‘Nay, where my right foot goes
My left foot follows. On! for death met face to face
Smites a fair champion's blow; but shunned skulks like a thief
With skene-wounds for the back. Danger is dangerous most
When men turn back, and find wisdom in woman's fears.’
My left foot follows. On! for death met face to face
Smites a fair champion's blow; but shunned skulks like a thief
With skene-wounds for the back. Danger is dangerous most
When men turn back, and find wisdom in woman's fears.’
The Sons of Fergus too were grieved at Deirdrè's words,
And said: ‘Woman, whose face is fairer on the earth
Than the sun's face in heaven, thine is an evil mind
For us, dishonouring so the keeping of our swords;
For, were there not the might of your own hands with ours,
The word of Fergus holds: ye shall not be betrayed.’
And said: ‘Woman, whose face is fairer on the earth
Than the sun's face in heaven, thine is an evil mind
For us, dishonouring so the keeping of our swords;
For, were there not the might of your own hands with ours,
The word of Fergus holds: ye shall not be betrayed.’
But Deirdrè sighed, and said: ‘Woe met me in that word
In Alba, woe drew near when Fergus, breaking troth,
Forsook us for a feast.’ And on her way she went
Greatly cast down, and made even as she went this lay:
In Alba, woe drew near when Fergus, breaking troth,
Forsook us for a feast.’ And on her way she went
Greatly cast down, and made even as she went this lay:
DEIRDRÈS COMPLAINT OF FERGUS
1
Bitter, bitter is my heartThis day, for the word of Fergus;
I go not back from my saying:
Woe came with the word of Fergus.
2
A clot of woe is my heartThis day for the Sons of Usna,
Chill dawns your death-day upon me
Ye comely Children of Usna!
3
In Alba the red stag roams,But gone are the Sons of Usna;
Ochone! a ship was my sorrow,
Long, long the day of my grieving!
109
So on they fared, and came to the watch-tower of Fincarn;
But Deirdrè in the glen loitered for heaviness;
And sleep fell on her there; and, knowing not her case,
They left her in the glen, till Naisi, missing her,
Turned back and found her there, alone in the wild glen,
Rising from sleep. And pale she stared on him, and wild
Her eyes were, as the eyes of a young doe that hears,
Deep in the dewy fern, at dawn, the hounds' first bay.
But Deirdrè in the glen loitered for heaviness;
And sleep fell on her there; and, knowing not her case,
They left her in the glen, till Naisi, missing her,
Turned back and found her there, alone in the wild glen,
Rising from sleep. And pale she stared on him, and wild
Her eyes were, as the eyes of a young doe that hears,
Deep in the dewy fern, at dawn, the hounds' first bay.
He caught her in his arms: ‘Why tarriest thou, my Queen,
In this lone spot?’ he said. And she: ‘Sleep, sleep upon me,
And in that sleep a dream, and in that dream a sight—
A woeful sight I have seen: Usna's three Sons, you three,
Bloody on the cold grass, without your heads; there too
Illàn the Fair, your help headless in him; and one
That kept his head, well-named “the Ruthless,” and in him
No help, but treachery, treachery in him who kept his head!’
In this lone spot?’ he said. And she: ‘Sleep, sleep upon me,
And in that sleep a dream, and in that dream a sight—
A woeful sight I have seen: Usna's three Sons, you three,
Bloody on the cold grass, without your heads; there too
Illàn the Fair, your help headless in him; and one
That kept his head, well-named “the Ruthless,” and in him
No help, but treachery, treachery in him who kept his head!’
Thereafter on they went, and came at set of sun
To Ard-na-Sallagh. There Deirdrè beheld a cloud
Crimson like blood, and said: ‘O Naisi, mark that cloud!
It is thy cloud. And blood is in that cloud, thy blood,
Ready to fall. O, now take safety from the tongue
Of my last counsel! Hear, hear me, ye noble Sons
Of Usna! Let me speak!’ ‘What wouldst thou have?’ said they.
To Ard-na-Sallagh. There Deirdrè beheld a cloud
Crimson like blood, and said: ‘O Naisi, mark that cloud!
It is thy cloud. And blood is in that cloud, thy blood,
Ready to fall. O, now take safety from the tongue
Of my last counsel! Hear, hear me, ye noble Sons
Of Usna! Let me speak!’ ‘What wouldst thou have?’ said they.
‘Turn ye this night aside,’ she said, ‘and take the way
Unto Dundalgan. There Cuchullin lies, there bide
Till Fergus come; or go, under Cuchullin's pledge,
To Eman Macha.’ ‘Nay,’ said Naisi, ‘Wilt thou quell
Our souls with woman's fear?’ Then Deirdrè sang this lay:
Unto Dundalgan. There Cuchullin lies, there bide
Till Fergus come; or go, under Cuchullin's pledge,
To Eman Macha.’ ‘Nay,’ said Naisi, ‘Wilt thou quell
Our souls with woman's fear?’ Then Deirdrè sang this lay:
110
DEIRDRÈ'S PLEADING.
1
Look on thy cloud, O Naisi!Over the west where it hovers,
Over the Green of Eman,
Is horror of blood, O Naisi!
2
It lifts the hair on my forehead,It crisps the skin of my bosom;
For like the clot of thy heart-vein
Is that thin cloud, O Naisi!
3
Ah! never before, ah! neverCame parting of ways between us,
Our tongues were both in one story,
Thy tongue and mine, O Naisi!
4
Together in joy and sorrowWe roamed the land and the waters;
But never, by land or water,
Wast thou against me, O Naisi!
5
But now, O Lord of my longing!Thy frown chides darkly my pleading:
O never till now in counsel
Wast thou against me, O Naisi!
And after that they went, still by the shortest way,
Till Eman Macha lay before them, nothing changed:
They seemed to have shut their eyes an hour, and dreamed a dream
Of exile, and awaked; and there it stood unchanged
As were the ancient hills. Three warrior shouts they gave
Of greeting to the dun and Eman's pleasant Green.
Till Eman Macha lay before them, nothing changed:
They seemed to have shut their eyes an hour, and dreamed a dream
Of exile, and awaked; and there it stood unchanged
As were the ancient hills. Three warrior shouts they gave
Of greeting to the dun and Eman's pleasant Green.
111
‘A sign,’ said Deirdrè then, ‘I give you, that will show
The mind of Conchobar, whether he means you well,
Or broods on treachery now.’ ‘What is that sign?’ said they.
‘If to the Red-Branch House he sends you with fair words,
Yet sees you not, the mind is false in him this night.’
The mind of Conchobar, whether he means you well,
Or broods on treachery now.’ ‘What is that sign?’ said they.
‘If to the Red-Branch House he sends you with fair words,
Yet sees you not, the mind is false in him this night.’
To Conchobar's High House they came, and on the door
Knocked with the handwood. ‘Ho!’ the door-ward from within
Cried to them: ‘Who are ye?’ ‘The Sons of Usna, come
In peace to Conchobar, with Deirdrè, and the Sons
Of Fergus.’ And that news he brought to Conchobar.
Knocked with the handwood. ‘Ho!’ the door-ward from within
Cried to them: ‘Who are ye?’ ‘The Sons of Usna, come
In peace to Conchobar, with Deirdrè, and the Sons
Of Fergus.’ And that news he brought to Conchobar.
‘How is the Red Branch House,’ said Conchobar, ‘for meat?
For drink, and all good cheer fitting the noblest guests?’
And it was told him: ‘Came all the seven hosts at once
Out of all Ulster, there they might lie down, and taste
The abundance of the realm.’ ‘A good word is that word,’
Said Conchobar. ‘Bring there the Sons of Usna straight,
And feast them well on all the abundance of the realm.’
For drink, and all good cheer fitting the noblest guests?’
And it was told him: ‘Came all the seven hosts at once
Out of all Ulster, there they might lie down, and taste
The abundance of the realm.’ ‘A good word is that word,’
Said Conchobar. ‘Bring there the Sons of Usna straight,
And feast them well on all the abundance of the realm.’
Then came the door-ward back, welcoming them all by name,
And told them. ‘Ah, Naisi!’ said Deirdrè, ‘to thy hurt
Thou hast scorned my counsel—come, depart and keep your lives,
While ye have lives to keep. Bide ye this night at least
With Conall Carnach safe. Dunseverick is not far.’
And told them. ‘Ah, Naisi!’ said Deirdrè, ‘to thy hurt
Thou hast scorned my counsel—come, depart and keep your lives,
While ye have lives to keep. Bide ye this night at least
With Conall Carnach safe. Dunseverick is not far.’
But Buinè said: ‘Not so. There has not yet been found
The coward's face on us, nor the unmanly mind;
These are but woman's fears. On to the Red-Branch House!’
So to the Red-Branch House they came, that night to abide.
The coward's face on us, nor the unmanly mind;
These are but woman's fears. On to the Red-Branch House!’
So to the Red-Branch House they came, that night to abide.
| Three Irish Bardic Tales | |