University of Virginia Library

Calm Autumn died, and in that garden fair
The last flowers withered in the treacherous air.
The little stream with mournful murmurs rolled,
And the trees doffed their robes of bronze and gold,
And fading blue and green, and glowing red;
And all the outside lands lay damp and dead,
Wrapped in a cheerless shroud of foggy haze,
Voiceless for lengths of dreary days on days,
Save now and then through the dull gloom was heard
The wierd-like warning of the drummer-bird,
The bittern, from the flat isles of the mere,
Or curlew's calling, now remote, now near,
Or the wild plover from the upland springs,
Or mighty whirr of multitudinous wings
Of rooks and noisy starlings spreading o'er
The cattle pastures by the river-shore.
And sometimes, too, the ruffian winds would come
To chase the dying leaves from their last home
In the forlorn grove, or with dread sound
The Thunder God would rise from underground
And roar amid the gaps of distant hills,
And the thick rain would pour and swell the rills
To rivers, and the rivers into seas,
Till all at once would rise a southern breeze,
Born 'mid the bowers of some more genial clime,
And make a mimic summer for a time.

But soon all soft airs died, and from between
The east and north a strong wind blew full keen
For many a day, and from the steely sky
The sun deceptive let his arrows fly
On bank and brake, and without heat to fall
Ev'n 'gainst the garden's gleaming southern wall;
And colder still it blew, till one bright morn
It lulled awhile. Upon the spreading thorn
The field-fares bickered at the ruddy haw,
The last fruit of the year; the thievish daw
Fought on the palace gable with his wife;
And the fierce magpie, born to ceaseless strife,
Swung on the larch and told his household woes,
Or plumed his tail and threatened all his foes
With vicious screams and angry rhapsodies;
And loud the finches chirruped in the trees;
While, high o'er all, in blue, thin columns broke
From the tall chimney-tops the palace smoke.
All things shone crisp and cold, till from the sea,
Between the east and north, rose gradually
A great gray woolly cloud, that grew and grew
Voluminous, till from the ether blue
It blotted out the sun ere evening's hour,
And wrapt the ghostly garden, tree and bower,
In its thick folds obscure. Then from on high,
To earth slow spiralling adown the sky,
The first great feathery snow-flakes made their way,
Till all the garden changed from black to gray,
From gray to white. Then rose the wind again
From the fell North and growled against the pane
And round the house, and each successive blast
As the night fell grew stronger than the last,
Till, as the great whales, gathered in a shoal,
In some far bay anear the shining pole,
Gambol in thunder, while the waters boil
Around them like the Maelstrom's whirling coil,
And high to heaven the sheeted foam-wreaths toss,
So that strong wind amidst the feathery floss
Of falling snow wallowed the livelong night,
Tumultuous, till at length the morning light
Rose calm and clear, and upward sprang the sun,
And with his level beams serenely shone
On the soft snow robe that lay white and pure
O'er glade and splendid hill and dazzling moor.
On this first virgin day of wintry sheen,
When round the glittering garden nought was green,
Save where the snow slipt from the lofty pine,
Or where the gelid leaves half-black would shine
Through the white wreaths upon the laurel shade,
At her bower window musing sat the maid,
With Lavarcam beside her. On her knee
With listless hand she held her broidery
Of golden woof.

“O thou, my bosom's friend,”
At length she said, “when comes the weary end
Of this most weary life? Alas, in vain
To change this dull existence I am fain.
See yonder, by the warm side of the brake,
How the sleek hares their morning revels make,
And toss the snow around them in their play.
Ev'n these poor things,—these have their merry day,
And live and die in freedom. And must I
In ceaseless durance live, in prison die?
Ah! rather,—but behold how from afar
The king-bird comes these creatures' sport to mar!—
Look! look! O Lavarcam!”

They looked, and saw
The eagle of the golden beak and claw
And bronze-bright feathers shadowy overhead,
And silent on the elastic ether spread
A space, or with alternate flutterings
Beating the light air with his winnowing wings;
While, underneath, the quick hares 'gan to flee
Into the brake, save one that tremblingly
Crouched blind with fear. Then, as when 'cross the heaven
On a wild March day the dark wrack is driven,
And a small cloud-rent sails athwart the sun,
Sudden a bright gleam smites the marshland wan,
Arrowy and swift, so like that flash of light
The mighty king-bird from the heavenly height
Shot down upon the shuddering prey below
With a great whirr that raised the powdery snow
In a pale cloud around, and from that cloud
His piercing mort-scream echoed shrill and loud
Upon the listeners' ears; then with his prey
Up through the blue bright heaven he sailed away,
Leaving upon the snow a broad red streak
Of blood behind him.

With a tremulous shriek
Then Deirdrè clapped her hands and cried, “Ah me!
Alas! alas! what marvels do I see
Of woe and death within this fated place!”
And then she wept awhile, till with a face
All smiles and courtliness the old dame spoke:—

“O maid! why weepest thou? The eagle's stroke
Fell on its natural prey, no more. But look
How from the great oak-tree beside the brook
Yon raven lights, and round the blood doth dance,
And stops, and eyes it eagerly askance,
And drinks it!—Ha! thou shudderest at the sight
And weepest still. But see these colors bright,
The blood's fresh scarlet in the morning beam,
The raven's plumage with its inky gleam,
Blending together, and how gay they show
Upon the sunlit sheet of pearly snow.
Child of my heart's best love! ah, rather think,
Not of the bloody draught the bird will drink,
But of these glorious colors when they grace
All beautiful some brave young prince's face,—
The raven's black on eyebrows, beard, and hair,
On teeth and skin the snow's white brilliance fair,
The red blood's splendor on bright lips and cheeks,
And thou the lady his fond bosom seeks!”

Then Deirdrè grew full pale, and in her eyes
There came a look half terror, half surprise,
Till from her beating heart the blood returned,
And o'er her face the brightening blushes burned
Up to the roots of her soft yellow hair,
Then low she sighed and said,—

“Why mock my care,
O Lavarcam! with thoughts that thou wilt find
But as weak visions of thy sanguine mind?
I, but the King's poor chattel,—I to think
Of such great happiness!”

“From the sweet brink
Of the King's cup of joy unto his lip,”
Said Lavarcam, “there may be many a slip,
As the old saw doth say. A King's control
In slavish chains can bind no freeborn soul.
‘Like unto like’ is still a maxim sage;
Youth unto blooming youth, and age to age.
As well might this old withered heart of mine
For some gay noble of the palace pine,
As the King seek thy love. But I have vowed
No heart-break sad thy life's young morn shall cloud.
And I have chosen for thee a noble knight,
Young, beautiful, and brave; in all things bright
As those fair-shining colors that we see.
And thou must love him well, for he loves thee!”

“I cannot love but one,” replied the maid,
“And he—I know him not!” and sore afraid,
And blushing still, she led the aged crone
Into another room more still and lone,
And sat her down, and there with guileless art
Poured forth the confidence of her young heart;
And told her of the well-remembered day
She heard the drums and saw the pageant gay
March down the palace road, and of the knight
Of the black locks and loving glances bright,
And regal bearing, and lithe, graceful limb;
And how within her heart she thought of him
Through all that long time; while with twinkling eyes
The wily beldame feigned a new surprise
At every word, and when the maid was done,—
“Oh! wonderful!” she cried: “the very one—
The very self-same knight I've chosen for thee!
Naisi, the flower of Eman's chivalry,
Great Usna's son and cousin of the King;
And him and you together I will bring,
If fortune smiles, in garden, grove, or vale,
Where you may utter forth your mutual tale
And open your young hearts; and may the Gods
Look smiling on you from their blest abodes,
And watch and ward you from all sore distress,
And give you long, sweet days of happiness!”

Straightway to Naisi the young Red Branch Knight
Went Lavarcam, and filled him with delight,
As well she told, with voluble display
Of her well-practised tongue, how night and day
Young Deirdrè thought of him, and him alone!
And to and fro she went as time rolled on
Full secretly, till long ere spring's return
Their hearts with love's hot fires began to burn.
And now within the gilded palace room
Was not one look or word or sigh of gloom
From Deirdrè, as the happy, heavenly time
Of love's first dawning brightened towards its prime,
The hour that by the old dame's subtle art
Would bring them face to face and heart to heart.

And all things now she looked upon before
With thoughts full sad, a different aspect wore,
Transformed and brightened by love's genial ray;
And when the King came on a certain day,
So boundless was her joy, she smiled on him
With radiant face, and eyes no longer dim.
Whereat the glad King rubbed his jewelled hands,
And swore by all the gods of seas and lands
To marry her that moment he was fain.
And, as he went, be sure that ne'er again
So light his golden-sandalled feet would pass
As on that morning through the gate of brass.
Now Winter died the windy hills among,
And Spring came singing her delightful song,
And scattering flowers around her as she came,
And flooding all the skies with azure flame.
One balmy day when brightly shone the sun,
And when the King was to his hunting gone
With Conal Carna, where Dunseverick stood,
Perched on its gray rock o'er the ocean flood;
And while they listened to the harp's sweet sound,
And while the gem-bright cups of mead went round,
While the King laughed, while oft his secret mind
Went back to his fair flower of womankind,—
On this calm day, beneath the wildwood tree
Stood Naisi in a glade where murmuringly
The stream sped out with silver-gleaming fall
From underneath fair Deirdrè's garden wall.
Around him shone the sights of early May,
The golden broom, the hawthorn's blossomed spray,
The daffodils high nodding o'er the grass
Beside the pool that spread like azure glass,
The brakes of green where birds began to sing
And each to each make love with twittering wing,
The blue-bell drooping o'er its slender stem,
The daisy shining like a silver gem
Amidst the fragrant grass. And bright as they
Looked Naisi in his princely garments gay:
On his proud head a birrèd green he bare,
Rimmed round with pearls, whence flowed his raven hair,
A lustrous flood of love-locks smooth and long
Over his brawny shoulders broad and strong.
Unto his tall knee fell his loric's fold
Of crimson woof and fringe of woven gold;
And o'er his swelling breast a belt was flung,
And from its clasp a mighty falchion hung
In its long sheath that, like a serpent's scale,
Glittered with emerald and the silver pale.
At his strong hip an ancient dirk he wore,
That on its scabbard the brave semblance bore
Of his great race,—an Osprey fierce and proud,
Resistless swooping from a stormy cloud.
And at each motion that the hero made
The sun smiled on him, lightening all the glade
With golden flashes and blue glimmerings
From cloak and arms and baldric's studs and rings.

Graceful he leant upon his javelin shaft,
And often to himself full low he laughed
With joy, as love's deep fountain bubbled up
From his great heart, like sweet wine o'er its cup
Poured by a generous hand. Oft-times he eyed
With eager look the green glade's bosky side;
For on that day old Lavarcam had said
Young Deirdrè should walk down the woodland glade,
Freed for the moment by her subtle tongue
From the sharp nurse's watching. And not long
Looked Naisi, till amid these bowers of spring
He saw his loved one's garments glittering
In the soft sunny light that seemed to throw
Around her face divine a triple glow
Of glory to his eyes, as she drew near.
And not with throbbing heart of doubtful fear,
Nor yet with trembling limbs and sidelong eye,
She stepped into the glade, but proud and high,
And bold in her white innocence she came
Before him, wondering at his mighty frame,
And the fair fashion of his martial dress,
And gleaming arms, and his great comeliness.
A space she beamed on him her glorious eyes
In happiness of heart and mute surprise,
Then cried,—

“Ah! well I know that thou art he
I saw long syne from out the beechen tree,
Mine own belov'd that I have kept enshrined
Within my constant heart and lonely mind!”

Said Naisi: “O thou maid, stretch forth thine hand
That I may feel thy presence warm and bland,
That I may think thee not a vision sweet,
A phantom that mad knights in wildwoods meet!”

Then hand met hand; and, as they touched, great fears
Disturbed her heart, and rose the shining tears
Into her violet eyes, as well she thought
How near destruction's sharp brink they were brought
By keeping of their tryst.

“Alas! alas!”
She cried, “must Caffa's dread words come to pass,
And must we two, in our fair youthful bloom,
For loving of each other meet our doom?
Speak to me, love! Am I not all to thee?”

Then Naisi's dark eyes lightened lovingly
Upon her, as he answered,—

“Thou art mine
For evermore, belov'd! And I am thine
For evermore; and whether we may shun
Our doom or not, our hearts, O love, are one
In life or death!”

Then from her forehead fair
She brushed a silken ripple of bright hair
That from the flood of her rich tresses stole,
And looked with wordless love into his soul,
And said,—

“Now, Naisi, I can bear the worst,—
Death in its many shapes, the desert's thirst,
The dungeon's hunger, or the burning stake,
Unfearing and unflinching for thy sake!”

Then Naisi straightened high his martial form,
And with love's ardor grew his heart full warm
And sanguine that all things were fair and good.
And there, as in that sunny glade they stood,
All-beautiful they seemed as glorious Nied,
The War-God, and his ever-blooming bride,
Bava, within the heaven beyond the hills!
And now forgetting all the pains and ills
That threatened them, they talked of love alone,
Heart unto heart, till night their hour had flown,
And from their fond dream they awoke. Again
She thought of all the peril and the pain
And woe and desolation that should fall
Upon herself, on Naisi, and on all,
Because she could not love the King, and how,
Some dreadful day of days, with truthful brow
To tell the King that she did love him not,
That with young Naisi she had cast her lot,
For ever and for ever, hap what might!
And Naisi saw the quenching of the light
Within her eyes at the recurring thought,
And said,—

“From this sweet hour our fate is wrought,
And we are linked in one, and have achieved
The end we wished for, that our souls believed
Would never come,—O love, we two have met!
Then cast all fear aside and black regret
Unto these wandering winds that whisper by.
For what care you, O maid, and what care I,
For danger in our all-absorbing love?”

Then with her fears young Deirdrè's bosom strove
A moment, and away the dark thoughts fled;
And he looked in her trusting eyes, and said,—

“O love, beyond King Connor's boundaries
There stretch broad kingdoms, and great billowy seas
Murmur in many winds, and we can fly,
And refuge take beneath some foreign sky,
If the worst comes; and Ainli, Ardan, brave,
My brothers, with us too will cross the wave
In our strong-masted galleys, whose white sails
Spread their broad sheets to Moyle's tempestuous gales,
Far, far away unto some gallant shore
Where Danger lurks and Valor stalks before,
Where we will cross wild mountains, moors, and fords,
And conquer some great kingdom with our swords!
And there, O Deirdrè! we shall wear the crown
And drink our fill of love and earth's renown,
And tread our own glad halls by wrath unbanned,
Far from the vengeance of King Connor's hand!”

They parted, and she sought her palace home;
While Naisi lingered, with glad heart to roam
The glades awhile, and thought no eyes could see
Their trysting 'neath the bloomy wildwood tree.

Yet on that trysting glared a savage look
From out the tangled brake beside the brook,
Where like a wounded wolf whose rage is strong
Close lurked in silence all the mid-day long
Maini, a King's son of far Norroway,
Who dwelt in Eman 'neath King Connor's sway,
Whose sire and two strong brothers in the fight
Had fallen 'neath Naisi's sword of matchless might,
Beyond the surge on Bora's field of gore.
And now he watched brave Naisi evermore
Full treacherously, as is the caitiff's wont
Who fears to meet a brave man at the front,
But comes behind, and stabs ere he can see.
Hid in his lies, he watched full warily,
Nursing his wrath: as in the woody glen
The wild-cat walks around its darksome den
Within some hollow trunk with velvet feet,
And the great bear, to taste the morning sweet,
Comes forth beside the lonely-sounding stream;—
The wild-cat's voice is mute, his green eyes gleam
With fury, while the royal bear goes by,
Unconscious of the small foe lurking nigh!—
So watched he Naisi, and so Naisi went
His ways, unmindful of his discontent
And deadly hate, and now this noontide fair
He looked from out the copse with vengeful glare
Upon the lovers; and, when all was done,
Through the gay wildwood 'gan to skulk and run
From copse to leafy copse, until unseen
He reached the hero-peopled palace green.
There with vague hints and nods and looks of bale
Around bright Eman's green he spread the tale
Full secret, as when, 'mid the forest, gleams
A quiet crystal pool, unfed by streams;
Silent it lies with all its images
Of painted blossoms and sky-piercing trees
And reeds and rocks, till from its oozy bed
The otter sudden rears his murderous head,
Looks round a moment on the glassy plain,
Then turns, and dives and disappears again;
Around the spot disturbing wavelets flow
And to the banks in widening circles go.
Like the fell otter Maini crept amid
The palace folk, and in his wiles was hid;
Like the wave circles widening as they sprung,
Spread the black venom of his bitter tongue!

Now, when the King returned, his heart was glad,
For in the North a merry time he had
With Conal Carna and his joyous cheer,
Sweet harp and feast and hunting of the deer.
And now his thoughts came back unto the maid,
And in gay garments royally arrayed
He sought her bower and found no brightening eyes,
But looks of dread, and tears, and sad replies,
And knew not what to think, and called apart
The Seer, and told him of his rankling smart;
Whereat the old man shook his hoary head
And spoke,—

“O mighty King, when love is dead,
No art of man can make it bloom again!”

And when the King, 'mong all his glittering train,
Walked moody 'cross the palace green, he saw
Two varlets quarrelling their weapons draw,
One for Clan Usna, one for Eman's King;
And when he sought the cause of this strange thing
The glooming brows around a tale could tell
Whose meaning in his heart he guessed too well.

Then waxed he full of wrath and threatening gloom,
And with the nobles sought the banquet room
To drown the rage and rancor of his soul
With the harp's music and the brightening bowl.
But vain his wish; for, as the wine rose high
And flushed his cheeks, full oft a baleful eye
He cast on Usna's sons adown the board,
That told more eloquent than brandished sword
Of savage vengeance and immortal hate.
And from that day contention and debate,
And secret whispers and loud bickerings,
And hostile glances, and the word that stings
The bosom and estranges friend from friend,
Arose in Eman, till the bloody end
Seemed nigh of Maini's plot to slay his foe.
And as the wild winds o'er the ocean blow
And fan the rolling surges, so this thing
Uplashed the rising passions of the King
Into a threatening storm of fury strong;
And gage met gage, and wrong succeeded wrong,
Till in the middle of a windy night
From the King's palace Usna took its flight,
The high-souled, noble, loud-war-thundering clan,
Banner and tent, horse, chariot, maid, and man!
And with them Deirdrè went. Howe'er 'twas done,
Within the palace none could tell save one,
Old Lavarcam, and she with eyes upturned
Clapped loud her withered hands, and wildly mourned,
With seeming grief and artful-feigned distress,
The lovers' wicked flight, yet none the less
From hall and banquet-room she kept away,
And shunned the moody King for many a day!