University of Virginia Library

THE TWINS OF MACHA:

A LAY OF THE WESTERN GAEL.


2

Whence Emain Macha?
And the pangs intense
That long were wont to plague the Ultonians, whence?
Not hard to tell. Once, ere that pest began,
Crunn of the Herds, the son of Agnoman,
Tending his flocks dwelt lonely in the wild.
Dead was his wife: and many a squalid child,
Ill-cared for, clamoured in the dwelling bare.
Now, on a day, when sitting sadly there,
Crunn was aware a woman stood beside,
Of gracious aspect, sweet and dignified.
She, as familiar there had been her life,
At once assumed the office of the wife:
Unasked, presided; dealt the children bread;
And drew their loves forth, in the mother's stead;
Long while she tarried. Neither wholesome food,
Nor seemly raiment, nor aught else of good
Wherewith the housewife's hand makes glad a home,
Was wanting with them; till the time was come
When Ulaidh all were wont to make repair
With annual pomp to celebrate their Fair.
Thither they flock; man, woman, youth, and maid;
And, with the others, Crunn, his limbs arrayed
In festive garb, to go. Fear seized her soul.
“Ah, go not, rash one! Thou wilt ne'er control

3

“Some word ill-timed, may mar our life's content.”
“Tush! Fear me not,” said Crunn; and, jocund, went.
The fair is filled. The grooms of Conor lead
The royal car and coursers o'er the mead.
The woods and lawns with loud applauses ring;
The flattering courtiers buzz about. “The thing
“Lives not, for swiftness, that can near them come.”
“Swifter,” said Crunn, “my own good wife at home.”
Scarce said,—the wretch, by wrathful Conor caught,
Is captive. Tidings to the wife are brought.
“Woe's me,” she cried, “must aid him now, and I
“So soon to bear my own maternity!”
“Woe thee, indeed!” the savage grooms return.
“Make good his boasting, or prepare his urn.”
“As mothers bore you, spare!” she cries aghast;
“Or yield me respite till my pains are past.”
No respite. “Good, then, if it must be so,
“My pains shall work you, men of Ulster, woe,
“Now and hereafter.” Brought before the King—
“Thy name?” “My name,—our name,—the name shall cling
“To this thy fair-green and thy palace-hall
“Till the just God give judgment upon all;—
Macha, my name; daughter of Sanrad, son
“Of Imbad. Now, release him, and I run.”
She ran; the steeds contended. Long ere they
Attained the goal, already there, she lay,
A mother, dying. Twin the birth. So came
Of Emain Macha, “Macha's Twins,” the name.