From the Land of Dreams :: :: University of Virginia Library

Among the pines of Alba was the birth
Of Conlaoch; when the salt, sad winds of the sea,
On a wild night of storm, o'er Scatha's dun
Moaned in the branches; and around the house
The gulls and curlews cried, ere his first wail
Was answered by the bleak roar of the surf.

There, by her daughter's couch, with murmured spells
To stay his coming till the lucky hour
Of birth should look on Aifé and her babe,
Sat red-maned Scatha; while, without a groan,
The mother lay, hating her child unborn.
With loathing and contemptuous bitterness
She smelt the balmy fume of magic herbs
Cast by the old sorceress on the glowing turf,
And heard the birth-rune wrathfully; and thus
Storm on the sea, storm in his mother's heart,
He passed the gates of birth.

But magic herbs
And chanted spells are weak to stay the loom
Of those grey weavers, in whose gleaming web
Dark powers with fateful dyes the threads imbue;
And his good hour looked on the boy too late.

That Scatha knew; yet cried: “A child is born,

Beautiful in his form, and in his heart
The seed of valour. Conlaoch be his name—
A Hound of War!”

So Conlaoch came, the flower
Of a noble tree; for when in Scatha's School
Cuchullain learnt the mystery of arms:
The seven feats of dexterity and strength,
The nine great feats of valour, of all there
He had the mastery, save of one alone,
Aifé, and her he strove with day by day,
A year's four seasons, and vanquished her at last;
For love had tamed her fierceness, and her proud heart
Turned to her conqueror. Short was the delight
She had with him. Soon the untarrying morn
She hid from in her lover's arms, yet knew
With every pulse's beat stole ever nearer,
A sorrow on the track of her glad hours
Not to be stayed, came swooping from the East
On silent wings. It chilled her bodeful heart,
And passing looked on her with its bleak eyes,
And left joy slain. Cuchullain must go forth
To take his champion's arms from Conchobar.

Sad was their parting; and there upon the strand
Cuchullain took from Aifé's hand a spear

Armed with an eastern dragon's venemous teeth
By Bolg, the Son of Buan. “Take it,” she said.
“I give thee here no spindle of a girl,
Wherewith she spins man's comfort in soft wool.
Round the red Queen of Carnage, when she weaves
The web of death, and spears, her shuttles, fly,
No spear so deadly sings above the slain.”

The ghastliest love-gift ever woman gave
She gave him then. Five were the battle-horns,
Stronger than steel and sharp in point and blade,
Arming its head, and in its raging breast
Lurked the slain dragon's malice.

With wistful eyes
She looked upon him, saying, “Remember me
By this, my gift—my last gift; for I know
That, parting now, we part for evermore.
No more may thou and I in happy days
Meet in these woods, or walk on this white strand.
Farewell! That spear will be thy last defence,
And keep thy life in many a dreadful hour.”

Cuchullain lightly wielded it, and smiled,
“The voice of all the rivers of my veins
Sings in my heart for this great gift my thanks!
A warrior's life, my love, is not his own;
But count me fooled by some forgetful spell,
Or some rash vow, if I come back no more;

Since here I hold death to my enemies
Life to myself.”

To her he gave a ring,
Saying: “Out of the mingling of our blood
A proud hope, Aifé, smiles upon us now,
A child of joy, in whom our love shall flower
In such a flame of valour as never yet
Shone where keen blades reap the red sheaves of war.
Thou hast taught me how to woo thee as men woo
Strong warrior queens; teach him all sleights of arms
We used against each other, when we played
The glorious game of war, the battle-glee
In our fierce hearts. And when the boy is grown,
If I live still, send him to me, this ring
Upon his hand, that we may meet in joy.”
“That will I do,” she said, “though false or true
His father prove himself.” She took the ring
And fiercely clasped her lover, with a kiss
That might have kindled love in a dead heart.

So parted they, and Aifé from the shore
Waved her sad last farewell, while the swift bark
Fled like a gull, vanishing o'er the sea.