University of Virginia Library

THE CURSE OF THE BARD

Princess Enna:
Truth is not in thee, Brian the Bard,
Thy tongue is bitter, thy heart is hard!
Because my Father will not strip off
From his breast the brooch of sovereignty,
Wilt thou dare to curse, wilt thou dare to scoff
At the golden gifts he has proffered thee?

Brian:
Let him keep the pledge that he made to me!

Enna:
No pledge he has given thee, thou Tongue of Blight!
Hence with thy Pot of Avarice—hence!
Begone from his threshold; for at his door,
Brian the Bard, thou shalt crouch no more,
Starving for pride, and cursing for spite.
Thy pride and thy wrongs are a vain pretence,
Thy curses fall on thy head this night,
If now thou drink not, for love of me,
The Peace of the Bards, and the end of hate,
In this cup of mead I bear to thee,
Brian the Bard, is my word too late?

Brian:
I drink derision for love of thee!
King's Daughter, for thee I have borne the spite,
While in my heart is a quenchless flame,
As here I starve on ye day and night.
I crave not gifts, I crave not gold,
I crave not the brooch of sovereignty.
I crave that here I may die consoled,
When here I lie dying for love of thee.

Enna:
Brian the Bard, thy pride is great!

Brian:
Kiss then the cup in thy white hand,
And kiss my lips ere it be too late,
And rove with me, as I rove the land,
And I'll pledge in that cup an end of hate.

Enna:
Brian the Bard, thou art mad with pride!
Shall I, a King's Daughter, fly with thee?
Shall I wander the world by a greybeard's side?
A shameful thing thou hast asked of me!

Brian:
I tear this beard from off my chin,
Fling this patched cloak from off my back;
And if thy love I may not win
Laugh in my face, and bid me pack!
Not Brian the Bard in sooth am I,
But Brian, the King of Munster's son,
And as thine own is my dignity.
As children our fathers pledged our hands,
And now thy father his pledge would break,
Would kindle strife between friendly lands;
But here I lie starving for thy sake,
And here I starve till thy heart be won!

Enna:
A starveling at my father's door
Might move my pity, not win my heart;
But never a royal suitor before
Played with such cunning a madman's part.
If thou canst play the prince as well,
Thou might'st scape laughter—I cannot tell.
Stand up, and look me in the face!
In sooth thou seemest in woeful case.

Brian:
In woeful case for love of thee,
And the curse of our fathers' enmity.
I dreamed of thee in my father's land;
Yet what form was on thee I could not tell,
What heart, what mind might in thee dwell,
What fate for me was in that white hand.
But, now I have seen thee, well I know
The Beauty of the World thou art!
I have come through foes for the love of thee,
I would pass through fire to win thy heart,
Rose of the World, wilt thou come with me?

Enna:
A hostage wouldst thou have me be?

Brian:
No hostage; but my chosen bride!
And if thou wilt not come with me,
Here as a hostage will I bide,
Whatever my fate I will bide with thee.
Take me then to thy father's hall,
And let me stand before his face,
Whether he free me or hold me in thrall,
Whether he slay me or grant me grace:
Or kiss the cup in thy white hand,
Let me kiss thy lips ere it be too late,
And pledge we now an end of hate!
Choose now, I bow to thy heart's decree.

Enna:
Brian the Bold, I will go with thee!