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THE FATE OF KING FEARGUS.
There was a King in Eire where the silver rivers flow,
Two thousand years ago;
Oh, young was he, and tall was he, right comely to see,
And strong as giants be!
With grey eyes like the eagle, cheeks mellowed like the South,
And the love-locks on his shoulders, the frank smile on his mouth;
All clad in rose and saffron, most like the sun shone he,
This King in golden Eire long ago.
Two thousand years ago;
Oh, young was he, and tall was he, right comely to see,
And strong as giants be!
With grey eyes like the eagle, cheeks mellowed like the South,
And the love-locks on his shoulders, the frank smile on his mouth;
All clad in rose and saffron, most like the sun shone he,
This King in golden Eire long ago.
And the Queen who sat beside him at the council and the board,
Meet lady for her lord,
With her gold hair falling free from her shoulder to her knee,
And her brown eyes velvety,
Where love-fancies lay a-dream in the shadow of her hair:
Oh, mystic, lovely were those eyes like starry waters fair;
Her cheeks were warm June roses, her red lips, curved tenderly,
Uttered never a cruel word.
Meet lady for her lord,
With her gold hair falling free from her shoulder to her knee,
And her brown eyes velvety,
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Oh, mystic, lovely were those eyes like starry waters fair;
Her cheeks were warm June roses, her red lips, curved tenderly,
Uttered never a cruel word.
She was like a swaying lily, tall and slender on a mere;
Her voice was low and clear;
She stood up among her ladies like the moon that stands alone,
With no rival near her throne:
In her robes of paly-green, where the white-flamed gems did meet,
And her mantle's shimmering silver floating softly to her feet,
She was like the Queen of Fairyland, who many a year agone
Stole the King's son to be her lover dear.
Her voice was low and clear;
She stood up among her ladies like the moon that stands alone,
With no rival near her throne:
In her robes of paly-green, where the white-flamed gems did meet,
And her mantle's shimmering silver floating softly to her feet,
She was like the Queen of Fairyland, who many a year agone
Stole the King's son to be her lover dear.
But my fair King went to battle—Oh, bitter woe and pain!—
And with many a knight was slain;
And my Queen, when told the tidings, her face was like the dead,
But never a tear she shed.
She rose up like a Queen, and shook her golden hair adown,
And donned her royal robes of state, and wore her royal crown;
She must hold the land together for the baby prince, she said,
Who would come when the year was on the wane.
And with many a knight was slain;
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But never a tear she shed.
She rose up like a Queen, and shook her golden hair adown,
And donned her royal robes of state, and wore her royal crown;
She must hold the land together for the baby prince, she said,
Who would come when the year was on the wane.
Now, none might wear the high King's crown who was not strong and tall,
And shapely fair withal;
For this people worshipped beauty, and had willed its royal race
To be lovely in the face:
So all that glowing summer-tide, amid the gold-brown corn,
The reapers hailed the beauty of the young Prince, still unborn,
The warriors at their jousts, and the damsels in the hall,
And the hunters riding down the forest ways.
And shapely fair withal;
For this people worshipped beauty, and had willed its royal race
To be lovely in the face:
So all that glowing summer-tide, amid the gold-brown corn,
The reapers hailed the beauty of the young Prince, still unborn,
The warriors at their jousts, and the damsels in the hall,
And the hunters riding down the forest ways.
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Were the evil powers offended—some lean witch cowled with grey?
Mavrone! and who shall say?
When the land's hope came with winter, a strange, disfigured face
Marred the shapely body's grace.
A hideous elf-faced babe he was, with grey mouth scarred and drawn,
And the furrowed skin as loathly as red brands had been thereon;
But the eyes, beneath the blanched lids, beamed with mild and gentle ray,
As though a sweet soul from their depths did gaze.
Mavrone! and who shall say?
When the land's hope came with winter, a strange, disfigured face
Marred the shapely body's grace.
A hideous elf-faced babe he was, with grey mouth scarred and drawn,
And the furrowed skin as loathly as red brands had been thereon;
But the eyes, beneath the blanched lids, beamed with mild and gentle ray,
As though a sweet soul from their depths did gaze.
The Queen, grown blind with dying, to her white breast gatherèd
The small, misshapen head;
And so drifting to Death's harbour, she was smiling wearily
For the babe she might not see:
But he was warm upon her arm, and safe in heart and limb:
Now, mother, take your babe with you, for life will torture him—
Will break him on her fiery wheel; you look so glad being dead.
Alone the Queen went drifting out to sea.
The small, misshapen head;
And so drifting to Death's harbour, she was smiling wearily
For the babe she might not see:
But he was warm upon her arm, and safe in heart and limb:
Now, mother, take your babe with you, for life will torture him—
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Alone the Queen went drifting out to sea.
Then spake the Druid high priest, and he raised his withered hand
With a gesture of command,
“In the watches of the midnight, as I mused all wakefully,
A strange voice spake to me.
What it said brooks no revealing; this only may I tell—
The boy is dowered with wisdom great, and grace unspeakable—
The gift he is of the high Gods to this most favoured land,
Which, he being King, will smile from sea to sea.”
With a gesture of command,
“In the watches of the midnight, as I mused all wakefully,
A strange voice spake to me.
What it said brooks no revealing; this only may I tell—
The boy is dowered with wisdom great, and grace unspeakable—
The gift he is of the high Gods to this most favoured land,
Which, he being King, will smile from sea to sea.”
As he ceased his face grew shadowed; for some pain he groaned aloud,
Unheard of all the crowd;
And thrice he touched the piteous babe, and shook his hoary head,
To his own heart whisperèd—
“Alas, the mystic warning voice, it brake off with a wail,
And the pictures on the dark that made my spirit faint and quail,
What did they mean, the wailing cries, the shadow, and the shroud?
I cannot read the signs aright,” he said.
Unheard of all the crowd;
And thrice he touched the piteous babe, and shook his hoary head,
To his own heart whisperèd—
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And the pictures on the dark that made my spirit faint and quail,
What did they mean, the wailing cries, the shadow, and the shroud?
I cannot read the signs aright,” he said.
Then he turned him from his musing. In the great courtyard without,
The beggars' rabble rout
Took the cry for the new King, and the people cried again,
Beacon-fires sprang up amain;
And he sent the royal heralds through the country, riding hard,
Proclaiming of the kingly babe, and how his grace was marred,
Of the vision and its message. “Amen!” the people shout;
“May the Gods be praised, and long their gift may reign!”
The beggars' rabble rout
Took the cry for the new King, and the people cried again,
Beacon-fires sprang up amain;
And he sent the royal heralds through the country, riding hard,
Proclaiming of the kingly babe, and how his grace was marred,
Of the vision and its message. “Amen!” the people shout;
“May the Gods be praised, and long their gift may reign!”
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Twenty years and more had waned and waxen since the day was here
When the Queen lay on her bier,
And my Prince was King of all the land, in lusty manhood's prime,
Glad in youth's most golden time;
The bravest King, the gentlest King the land had ever known,
His rule built up on blessings, love guarding safe his throne,
A brother to his knights-in-arms, his people's father dear—
The bards sang out his praise in many a rhyme.
When the Queen lay on her bier,
And my Prince was King of all the land, in lusty manhood's prime,
Glad in youth's most golden time;
The bravest King, the gentlest King the land had ever known,
His rule built up on blessings, love guarding safe his throne,
A brother to his knights-in-arms, his people's father dear—
The bards sang out his praise in many a rhyme.
They praised him with gold harpings, they praised him with love-words,
Singing clearly like the birds;
And they crowded thickly to his Court—he loved all minstrelsy,
And all learned men loved he.
The land, beneath his kindly sway, grew prosperous and great;
Did a beggar seek for justice?—my King sat in the gate;
Till oppression ceased, and strife was dead, and none drew out their swords,
Save in battle with the whole land's enemy.
Singing clearly like the birds;
And they crowded thickly to his Court—he loved all minstrelsy,
And all learned men loved he.
The land, beneath his kindly sway, grew prosperous and great;
Did a beggar seek for justice?—my King sat in the gate;
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Save in battle with the whole land's enemy.
And well the people loved him—on the sea-shore or the street
Would fall to kiss his feet;
And the women sang his praises to the children at their knees,
For their babies' lullabies.
His heart was like a lion's heart for deeds of chivalry,
And steadfast as his own great hound that loved so loyally;
Ah, woe, and as a woman's might, was sensitive and sweet,
And strong to dare as any man's heart is.
Would fall to kiss his feet;
And the women sang his praises to the children at their knees,
For their babies' lullabies.
His heart was like a lion's heart for deeds of chivalry,
And steadfast as his own great hound that loved so loyally;
Ah, woe, and as a woman's might, was sensitive and sweet,
And strong to dare as any man's heart is.
Ah, woe, the tenderest heart alive, my King he never knew
The thing I tell to you,
Of how his face was loathly; so long the secret slept,
No lightest whisper crept
Anear him in his boyhood; of the high priest 'twas ordained,
Who loved the boy, and taught him all wherein a King is trained:
If he knew it, he had ne'er been King—the generoussouled and true,—
And so many a year his life its gladness kept.
The thing I tell to you,
Of how his face was loathly; so long the secret slept,
No lightest whisper crept
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Who loved the boy, and taught him all wherein a King is trained:
If he knew it, he had ne'er been King—the generoussouled and true,—
And so many a year his life its gladness kept.
Would a damsel busk her bravely then, for feasting in the hall,
For the dearest knight of all,
She might out unto the lakeside, and where no ripples are,
See her own face, like a star.
These were no days of mirrors, and the King was guarded well
From the knowledge of the secret no mortal tongue dare tell;
So he took his youth's day brightly, chased the deer, and cast the ball,
And all pain, and woe, and trouble seemèd far.
For the dearest knight of all,
She might out unto the lakeside, and where no ripples are,
See her own face, like a star.
These were no days of mirrors, and the King was guarded well
From the knowledge of the secret no mortal tongue dare tell;
So he took his youth's day brightly, chased the deer, and cast the ball,
And all pain, and woe, and trouble seemèd far.
But sometimes he saddened vaguely, when a bright brown babe in arms
Shrank with weeping and alarms,
As he rode a-down the woodland path, with words of kindly cheer
To a peasant mother near:
And on such a day his sad heart heard the birds sing mournfully,
A chant of pain and boding the wind's voice seemed to be;
Where others saw but wind-flecked skies, he watched black clouds in swarms,
And the crying of the storm-fiend came all drear.
Shrank with weeping and alarms,
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To a peasant mother near:
And on such a day his sad heart heard the birds sing mournfully,
A chant of pain and boding the wind's voice seemed to be;
Where others saw but wind-flecked skies, he watched black clouds in swarms,
And the crying of the storm-fiend came all drear.
Ah, wirrasthrue! Love wounded him; he languished for a maid,
But she shrank as sore afraid
When he would urge his wooing, and she fled him with a cry
Whenever he came nigh.
My true heart marvelled sadly—till, one dark day of fate,
He saw within his dear love's eyes a look of shrinking hate.
The fierce shock shook his heart like death; he turned away his head,
And went out from the place all silently.
But she shrank as sore afraid
When he would urge his wooing, and she fled him with a cry
Whenever he came nigh.
My true heart marvelled sadly—till, one dark day of fate,
He saw within his dear love's eyes a look of shrinking hate.
The fierce shock shook his heart like death; he turned away his head,
And went out from the place all silently.
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(Hark! the moaning of the wind draws near, the weeping of the rain),
Now I think his heart was slain.
He took his gallant steed from stall, and rode most furiously,
Where was never an eye to see—
By dead forest-paths unknown to men, by many a tangled brake,
And haunted mound, and fairy rath, and eerie pool and lake,
Where the water-spirit called to him, and the wood-sprite cried again,
Till in the west the sun sank luridly.
Now I think his heart was slain.
He took his gallant steed from stall, and rode most furiously,
Where was never an eye to see—
By dead forest-paths unknown to men, by many a tangled brake,
And haunted mound, and fairy rath, and eerie pool and lake,
Where the water-spirit called to him, and the wood-sprite cried again,
Till in the west the sun sank luridly.
And he was fevered with his pain—no friendly aid might come
To save him from his doom.
While yet the west was red, he saw a little mere, all lone,
And lucently it shone;
He would slake his thirst, and by its side rest weary brain and limb.
He bent him o'er the accursèd pool—the still depths mirrored him;
With a stricken cry he looked but once to the dreary skies a-gloom,
And fell down to meet the face that was his own.
To save him from his doom.
While yet the west was red, he saw a little mere, all lone,
And lucently it shone;
He would slake his thirst, and by its side rest weary brain and limb.
He bent him o'er the accursèd pool—the still depths mirrored him;
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And fell down to meet the face that was his own.
His steed came home at daybreak, and they sought him far and near,
Through many a hopeless year:
Though the birds sang out the story, and the wood-sprite cried in vain,
And the spirit of the rain;
And the maids of mist and mountain knew the grey pool where he lay,
And sometimes was his wild cry heard at dawn or close of day;
But they never knew, his people, who in war and famine drear
Prayed the Gods to give them back their King again.
Through many a hopeless year:
Though the birds sang out the story, and the wood-sprite cried in vain,
And the spirit of the rain;
And the maids of mist and mountain knew the grey pool where he lay,
And sometimes was his wild cry heard at dawn or close of day;
But they never knew, his people, who in war and famine drear
Prayed the Gods to give them back their King again.
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