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12
The Passion of King Conor
An Old Irish Legend
In the Red-Branch House, in Emania, they kept the Ball of Dread,
The lime-bound brain of Mesgedra, whom Conall had sent to the dead;
Till the fools of Conor stole it, the creature of wreak and death,
And played therewith in their folly, till it came to the sight of Keth:
And Keth, the son of Magach, he stole the fate-ball then,
And carried the death in his girdle, for the king of the Ulstermen.
The lime-bound brain of Mesgedra, whom Conall had sent to the dead;
Till the fools of Conor stole it, the creature of wreak and death,
And played therewith in their folly, till it came to the sight of Keth:
And Keth, the son of Magach, he stole the fate-ball then,
And carried the death in his girdle, for the king of the Ulstermen.
There was none upon earth like Conor who sat on the Ulster throne;
So great and comely and mighty, the peer of him ne'er was known:
So fair of the face and the body, and prudent, well-speeched and wise;
In race, in arms, and in raiment, full glorious in all men's eyes.
So great and comely and mighty, the peer of him ne'er was known:
So fair of the face and the body, and prudent, well-speeched and wise;
In race, in arms, and in raiment, full glorious in all men's eyes.
'Twas Keth of the sons of Connaught was fain to slay the king;
And he watched till his time was come, and he cast the ball from a sling;
And it sank in the forehead of Conor, and low and quiet he lay;
And Fingen the leech was with him, and tended him night and day.
And he watched till his time was come, and he cast the ball from a sling;
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And Fingen the leech was with him, and tended him night and day.
He rose from his bed of healing with life gone grey and dim;
No more of the combat's glory or the lustre of love for him;
Nor anger nor joy must he cherish, but sit, a broken thing,
With the light gone out of his life, great Conor MacNessa, the king;
And seven were the years that went from the time of his quieting.
No more of the combat's glory or the lustre of love for him;
Nor anger nor joy must he cherish, but sit, a broken thing,
With the light gone out of his life, great Conor MacNessa, the king;
And seven were the years that went from the time of his quieting.
Then, lo! on a fair spring day, there came a darkness and fear,
And the strong earth moaned and shook, and Barach the Druid came near,
When the king was fain to know why the earth was wrapt in shade,
With never a gleam of light but the levin that maketh afraid.
And the strong earth moaned and shook, and Barach the Druid came near,
When the king was fain to know why the earth was wrapt in shade,
With never a gleam of light but the levin that maketh afraid.
Said Barach, Jesus the Christ, the Son of God most High,
Is hanging nailed on a cross, between the earth and the sky.
And Conor the king said, Why? What evil thing hath He done?
What ill is laid to His charge? And Barach made answer, None.
Then Him, the Guiltless and Pure, said Conor the king, they slay?
And Barach, he bowed the head, and answered him only Yea.
Is hanging nailed on a cross, between the earth and the sky.
And Conor the king said, Why? What evil thing hath He done?
What ill is laid to His charge? And Barach made answer, None.
Then Him, the Guiltless and Pure, said Conor the king, they slay?
And Barach, he bowed the head, and answered him only Yea.
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Then Conor MacNessa, mad with sorrow and anger, leapt
From the seat where, seven slow years, his body its calm had kept;
He rushed to the woods amain, and wild in his passion drew
His sword, and hacked at the trees, as if each were the form of a Jew:
And the wrath of his soul foamed out at his lips all white and dry;
And the great veins swelled on his brow, and the fierce blood streaked his eye.
From the seat where, seven slow years, his body its calm had kept;
He rushed to the woods amain, and wild in his passion drew
His sword, and hacked at the trees, as if each were the form of a Jew:
And the wrath of his soul foamed out at his lips all white and dry;
And the great veins swelled on his brow, and the fierce blood streaked his eye.
Oh, why did He leave me untold? For I would have championed Him;
Yea, I would have sprung to His side; and a combat fierce and grim
Have waged for His sake, for His, Who is dying unhelpt, alone;
And a high king's valour and might those evil hearts should have known.
Yea, I would have sprung to His side; and a combat fierce and grim
Have waged for His sake, for His, Who is dying unhelpt, alone;
And a high king's valour and might those evil hearts should have known.
'Tis I would have helpt Thee, O Christ, 'tis I would have sided with Thee!
'Tis I would have conquered Thy foes, and set the innocent free;
O Christ! O Christ! they defile Thee! They slay that Body of Thine!
And I in my strength would have saved Thee, with even this body of mine.
'Tis I would have conquered Thy foes, and set the innocent free;
O Christ! O Christ! they defile Thee! They slay that Body of Thine!
And I in my strength would have saved Thee, with even this body of mine.
It's oh! for the fight I would wage there! Would stand by Thy side; nor rest
Nor stay, though they pierced me and hewed me; and Thee, O Thou Fairest and Best,
Yea, Thee, for Whom earth is a-wailing, Thee, Lord, would I shield with my brcast.
Nor stay, though they pierced me and hewed me; and Thee, O Thou Fairest and Best,
Yea, Thee, for Whom earth is a-wailing, Thee, Lord, would I shield with my brcast.
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Jesus! O Jesus! I hear it! the wailing for Thee Who must die!
Oh, but it slays me to listen; full grievous and bitter the cry!
And I hear, and mine arms cannot reach Thee, the sorrow of dying to stay;
And mine heart is crushed with the anguish; and yet they slay Thee and slay.
Oh, but it slays me to listen; full grievous and bitter the cry!
And I hear, and mine arms cannot reach Thee, the sorrow of dying to stay;
And mine heart is crushed with the anguish; and yet they slay Thee and slay.
And lo! with the might of his passion, the fate-ball leapt from his head!
And even as the Saviour was speaking the great It is finished,
The anguish and torment were ended, and Conor MacNessa lay dead.
And even as the Saviour was speaking the great It is finished,
The anguish and torment were ended, and Conor MacNessa lay dead.
—It was the custom amongst the Ancient Irish to mix the brains of their slain foemen with lime, and knead them into a ball. Several of these balls have lately been found at Old Connaught, the estate of Lord Plunket, Archbishop of Dublin.
This story is to be found in O'Curry's Manuscript Materials of Irish History.
I may add that, had I known of Mr. T. D. Sullivan's fine treatment of this legend before I versified it, I should probably have left it untouched.
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