University of Virginia Library

THE BROKEN WORD.

A LEGEND OF AN IRISH LAKE.

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Among the most curious of the Irish legends are those which account for the formation of the loughs, or lakes, with which Ireland is picturesquely dotted. Loch Owl had its waters borrowed from one witch by another, and never returned. In other cases they were excavated by Fion MacCumhail, vulgarly known as Finn MacCool. But the more common and more poetical origin is in consequence of the sudden overflow of a magic spring, through the neglect or fault of a mortal. To this class Lake Inchiquin belongs.

The following poem tells the legendary story of the origin of the lake, one of the most romantic sheets of water to be seen in the whole picturesque and storied island. It also contains a moral that all who run may read.

A thousand years ago there stood a castle proud and tall,
With buttress and with barbacan, with moat and lofty wall;
A thousand vassals dwelt without, a hundred served within,
And o'er them reigned the proud O'Ruarc, the Lord of Inchiquin.
A stone-throw from the castle gate a cavern's mouth was seen;
A bubbling fountain near it rose amid a patch of green,
O'erflowing to a placid pool that in the sunbeams' light
Which smote at times its crystals depths, shone like a mirror bright.

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'Twas told throughout the household there, how at the noon of night,
Three ladies from the cavern came arrayed in robes of white;
And doffing those they freely bathed, as though they nothing feared,
Then, robing them again, within the cavern disappeared.
O'Ruarc resolved that sight to see; so at the midnight hour,
When troubled ghosts re-visit earth, and imps of ill have power,
He made his way to see what fate to glad his eye would bring,
And cautious lay, in silent wait, beside the haunted spring.
And soon came forth the damsels fair, in samite mantles clad,
And two of them were wreathed in smiles, and one of them was sad;
And all of them were beautiful, but fairest of the three,
The lady of the pensive look—the youngest, too, was she.
But as they stood upon the brink, their robes to lay aside,
The eldest cast a look around, and there O'Ruarc she spied.
Startled to see a mortal there, shrank back the sisters three,
And, with alarm upon each face, they turned themselves to flee.
The eldest and another fled; but ere the third could go,
She felt O'Ruarc around her form his arms detaining throw.
“In vain the struggle, lady fair!” the prince in rapture cried:
“Be you a mortal maid or not, none else shall be my bride!”

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He bore her to his castle gate; in vain her piteous plea;
The more her plaint, the more her tears, the more enamored he;
And ere a week her smiles returned, and blushes followed smiles;
For well the handsome prince was versed in wooers' winning wiles.
But, ere they wedded, these her words: “One promise you must give,
If you would keep me by your side contented wife to live:
Swear you, so long as both survive, and you be mate to me,
No guest within our castle home shall e'er invited be.”
He pledged to that his princely word, and then the two were wed;
And happy lives for year on year the happy couple led;
And children twain, a boy and girl, to bless their union came;
And fairer grew, as seasons rolled, the prince's stately dame.
But men are changeable and weak; they even tire of joy;
O'Ruarc of fondness wearied much, the sweets began to cloy;
And straying, with excuses fair, in wistful looks despite,
In chase he spent the day abroad, in revelry the night.
And at the chase he overheard: “O'Ruarc has prudent grown;
A guest he is, but never host.” Cried he, in angry tone:
“I pray you, gallant gentlemen, this day be guests of mine.
And when the sun to-morrow comes he'll find us o'er our wine.”

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With ready shout they answered him, and turned their steeds in haste;
Then galloped fast and eagerly across the furzy waste,
Past the Donn Thir and up the hill, and through the thick green wood,
Then down into the pleasant vale where lone the castle stood.
Stood at the gate to await her lord, the lady of the land;
She gazed at them with troubled face, her children at her hand;
And ere O'Ruarc, dismounting fast, could reach the place before,
She and her children gained the pool, and sank, and rose no more.
Up surged the waters from the spring, as though in pangs and throes;
Upward and on remorselessly the angry torrent flows;
Where once the calm and fertile vale and castle proud had been,
Spread deep and green the waters of the placid Inchiquin.
But he who looks within its depths on one day of the year,
Will see that castle's ivied walls and turrets grey appear,
Will hear the horse-hoofs clinking loud, a smothered cry, and then
The surging roar of waters fierce; and silence reigns again.