Three Irish Bardic Tales :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now Fergus, when the feast was done, sped from the North,
In a vague fear, and found the Sons of Usna dead,
And Illàn dead, and Buiné perjured and sold—a thing
Of common scorn. And rage came on him as a storm

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Blowing a fire in the furze: and gathering all his clan,
With many a chief of name, he wasted the fair fields
Of Eman, and burnt down the House of the Red-Branch
And the great Hall of Arms, and laid on Conchobar
Slaughters and shames, and burnt, with fire kindled in dung,
The House of Eman's Kings, over his head. Then laid
Cathvah his druid curse on the King's homeless head,
And banned out of his line the Kingdom evermore:
So lordship passed away from Eman of the Kings.

But Fergus with his band, when in his fierce revenge
He had left Eman waste: folkless its peopled plains,
Ashes for splendour, brands for rafters, shame for pride,
Passed o'er the northern fords of Shannon, and was great
With Meave and Aillil, made the captain of their hosts
In Olnemacta. There he dwelt, and year by year
Pressed with implacable war on Conchobar, and rent
The Province in his hand, and took from him the plains
Of Cuilny of the Herds, and ten years long the wars
Between the great Red-Branch led on by Conchobar,
And the wild clans of the West who followed after Meave
And Fergus, with no truce raged on from sea to sea.
And many a noble champion fell, and in those wars
Conchobar took the wound that brought him to his death.

But over the three graves of Usna's Sons they heaped
One mighty mound, and long the Men of Ulla mourned
The day that saw their death. ‘That was the day,’ men said
‘Of the rending of the Branch, the sundering of old friends,
When from the home of Kings the splendour passed away!’

And from that day the mind of Conchobar was changed.
Wild were his moods, and dark the passion that belied
The staidness of his youth. Strange laughter and strange tears
Would shake the gravity and sternness of his mien,

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And with a joyless rage, that seemed but as the lash
Of inward torturers, would he, as ne'er before,
Rage after women. Yet still in council or in war
His manhood shewed no taint, and never seemed he less
Than a great King, with power to bind the wills of men.

But now his majesty shone with a fiful face,
As when, her zenith nigh, haughtily the full moon
Rides on a night of storm, fighting the rack, and clouds
Drive on her in black hosts, and she with splendour tames
Their crests, clothing their gloom in liveries of her light.

A year was Deirdrè held a captive in the house
Of Conchobar; but small the joy he had of her,
For like a wedded corpse lay she beside the King,
Making his bed a tomb. Never a smile she gave him
Never a word, but dumb, with the sad eyes of the dead,
She stared his raving dumb, and like an eagle caged
Would crouch the livelong day, yet died not; for the food
They brought her she would eat. But sometimes, when the sun
Shone on her hair, too soon grown lustre-sick, her eyes
Would suddenly kindle. Then from her lorn harp she drew
Soft wailing tones, and oft her Banshee's voice would raise
In broken strains wild songs, bodings of coming war,
Or dirges for the dead. And so she lived a year.
And in this wise at last her death-day came to her.

It chanced that to the Court of Conchobar was come
Eoghan of Fern-moy, son of Durthach, he who stood
By Maini when he slew Usna's three Sons; and now
He came to make new pact of friendship with the King.

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Then Conchobar began in bitterness of heart
To jest with him, and said: ‘I have taken from thy hands
A wanton wife; but now, for all the pains I have
To make her mirth and glee, I cannot win so much
As one fair smile from her; nor can with any sport
Or toy that women love, bring to her greensick face
The courage of her youth. Yet hath she sport enough
For any amorous boy she dotes on. Take her thou,
I am sick of her pale face! Take her, and watch her tame
Or what thou wilt, so I look on her face no more.’

When Eoghan saw Deirdrè, her wonderful wild face
Wrought witchery on him. Still the fading of her prime
Left her the fairest thing for beauty in the world.
And so it was agreed between them she should go
With Eoghan when he went. And thus they went: the car
Of Eoghan first, and he stood in it, like a King;
The car of Deirdrè next, and she, robed like a Queen,
Sat in it; and the last the car of Conchobar,
Who brought them on their way, guarding them with his guard.

So rode they by the way to the great fair they held
Upon Murthemny plain, and as they went, they came
To the borders of the realm. There suddenly in her car
Deirdrè rose up, and cast before her a wild look
On Eoghan, then she cast behind her a wild look
On Conchobar. And he jeeringly cried to her:
‘Ah, Deirdrè, the shy glance of a ewe between two rams
Thine eyes have cast this day on Eoghan and on me!’

This taunt, stabbing her brain, stirred in her a swift sense
Of insult and of shame. With a mad laugh she sprang
Sheer from her car, head first, and on the mearing-stones
Dashed out her life. So swift went Deirdrè to her death:
And two-and-twenty years were all the years of her life.

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Upon the car they laid the fair load of her corse,
The death-blood in her hair scarce cold, her breast still warm,
Palled like a Queen, over her the royal cloak
Of Conchobar, the cloak of Eoghan under her,
Her youth vexed now no more with weariness of days.

To Eman was she brought. There on the bleak hill-side,
Where first she saw the graves of Usna's Sons, they made
Her grave, and all alone they laid her like a Queen;
And over her they raised the mighty cairn that looks
Upon the royal cairn of Usna's Sons, and all
The mounds of slaughter heapt on Eman's plain. And there,
On that bleak hill, the tomb of Deirdrè to this day
Sits desolate, in the desolation that she made.