 | Lays of the Red Branch |  |
4
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.
5
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
6
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.
7
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.
8
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
9
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.
10
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!
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.
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.
The coming thunder of invasion rolls;
When doubts and faint replies
Dissolve in dread the shaken People's souls;
11
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!
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.
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.
Of captaincy bereft;
No, not although the ire of angry heaven
Grow hot against it, even.
12
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?
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?
13
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.
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.
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.
14
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!
| Lays of the Red Branch | |