 | Blanid |  |
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THE MEETING OF THE LOVERS.
Nigh the great, craggy mountains that each eve,
High towering through the calm Momonian sky,
In golden cones and pinnacles receive
The last red glories from Day's closing eye,
From where the silver streams blithe singing leave
Their birthplaces amid the summits high,
A wilderness slopes downward to the sea
That murmurs on its gray beach joyously.
High towering through the calm Momonian sky,
In golden cones and pinnacles receive
The last red glories from Day's closing eye,
From where the silver streams blithe singing leave
Their birthplaces amid the summits high,
A wilderness slopes downward to the sea
That murmurs on its gray beach joyously.
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High towering o'er the tallest pines that wave
Their green heads in that blooming summer wold,
With towers and battlements and fosses brave,
In gray, grim state stands Curoi's castle old,
Upon whose front did hoary Time engrave,
Through many a summer's heat and winter's cold,
His battle marks, his scars of wasting frost,
And rainy storms from the wild sea waves tost.
Their green heads in that blooming summer wold,
With towers and battlements and fosses brave,
In gray, grim state stands Curoi's castle old,
Upon whose front did hoary Time engrave,
Through many a summer's heat and winter's cold,
His battle marks, his scars of wasting frost,
And rainy storms from the wild sea waves tost.
There is a high and lordly chamber there,
A broad brown hall hung with quaint draperies
That picture ancient Gods of sea and air,
Heroes of might, and ships before the breeze,
And sylvan feasts, and merry greenwoods fair
Where wild things gambol 'neath the rustling trees
And hunters range, and o'er its massive doors
Hang wolf-brows and the curvèd teeth of boars.
A broad brown hall hung with quaint draperies
That picture ancient Gods of sea and air,
Heroes of might, and ships before the breeze,
And sylvan feasts, and merry greenwoods fair
Where wild things gambol 'neath the rustling trees
And hunters range, and o'er its massive doors
Hang wolf-brows and the curvèd teeth of boars.
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And round about its great cyclopean walls
Are ranged in dusty state with antlers spread
Skulls of the primal elk, and brazen mauls
And shields for centuries unburnishèd,
Jackets of mail, and banners black as palls
That bright in ages gone to victory led,
And glaives and spears rusted with ancient gore,
Crossed now, but not in conflict as of yore.
Are ranged in dusty state with antlers spread
Skulls of the primal elk, and brazen mauls
And shields for centuries unburnishèd,
Jackets of mail, and banners black as palls
That bright in ages gone to victory led,
And glaives and spears rusted with ancient gore,
Crossed now, but not in conflict as of yore.
Now on them steals the yellow morning light,
These trophies of great heroes dead and gone,
And the huge chamber gradually grows bright
And a grim swarthy smile of joy puts on;
As some old forest nook with moss bedight
Seems all ablaze with splendor when the sun
Looks through its guardian tree-boles, blithe, and fills
Its depths with ruddy light from orient hills.
These trophies of great heroes dead and gone,
And the huge chamber gradually grows bright
And a grim swarthy smile of joy puts on;
As some old forest nook with moss bedight
Seems all ablaze with splendor when the sun
Looks through its guardian tree-boles, blithe, and fills
Its depths with ruddy light from orient hills.
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A window openeth to the sunny bay
And the faint breezes of the day new born
Lightly with its barbaric draperies play,
And from their sleep the twittering eve-birds warn;
And there, like two sweet bunches of the May
That bloom in light on Doona's fairy thorn,
Stand Blanid and young Mora motionless
Gazing o'er bay and beach and wilderness.
And the faint breezes of the day new born
Lightly with its barbaric draperies play,
And from their sleep the twittering eve-birds warn;
And there, like two sweet bunches of the May
That bloom in light on Doona's fairy thorn,
Stand Blanid and young Mora motionless
Gazing o'er bay and beach and wilderness.
No living thing she sees where'er she looks,
Save the white gull its wheeling course that steers,
Or o'er the wood the morn-awakened rooks,
Or sea-hawk's wing that through the haze appears,
Or hermit heron from far inland brooks
On one long leg amid the shallow meres
Watching the scaly sea tribes, as he stands
Like a lone spirit of the silent sands.
Save the white gull its wheeling course that steers,
Or o'er the wood the morn-awakened rooks,
Or sea-hawk's wing that through the haze appears,
Or hermit heron from far inland brooks
On one long leg amid the shallow meres
Watching the scaly sea tribes, as he stands
Like a lone spirit of the silent sands.
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Then wept she to herself awhile, and said
Verses from love-lorn poets to relieve
Her burning, doubting heart with hope unfed,—
The more she said, the more to sigh and grieve,—
And took her lute, with music sad to wed
The verses that some ancient bard did weave
To soothe his own heart, or some lover's pain,
And thus with dove-like voice she sang her strain:—
Verses from love-lorn poets to relieve
Her burning, doubting heart with hope unfed,—
The more she said, the more to sigh and grieve,—
And took her lute, with music sad to wed
The verses that some ancient bard did weave
To soothe his own heart, or some lover's pain,
And thus with dove-like voice she sang her strain:—
SONG.
“Deep in the dell where ferns are growing
A fountain springs,
And o'er its gentle wavelets flowing
And blossoms in the sunshine blowing
The sky-lark sings:—
Oh! how he sings unto his mate
Down from the ether blue,
While I sit here all desolate
And think, beloved, of you!
A fountain springs,
And o'er its gentle wavelets flowing
And blossoms in the sunshine blowing
The sky-lark sings:—
Oh! how he sings unto his mate
Down from the ether blue,
While I sit here all desolate
And think, beloved, of you!
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“O happy bird, each hour returning
Unto its nest
Love's rapture in its bosom burning!
O heart of mine, forever mourning
In sore unrest!
How dear the sky-lark's happy state
Beside its lover true,
While I, alone, all desolate,
Sit here and weep for you!”
Unto its nest
Love's rapture in its bosom burning!
O heart of mine, forever mourning
In sore unrest!
How dear the sky-lark's happy state
Beside its lover true,
While I, alone, all desolate,
Sit here and weep for you!”
Now looked she on the ancient tapestry
Whereon the wood was pictured, and therein
She saw a little bright-winged bird in glee
Singing its voiceless carol sweet and thin
On Monad's Mount, upon the sacred Tree
Of Life, and then she thought how near akin
Her life was to that happy bird's one time,
And sang, grief-filled again, the poet's rhyme:—
Whereon the wood was pictured, and therein
She saw a little bright-winged bird in glee
Singing its voiceless carol sweet and thin
On Monad's Mount, upon the sacred Tree
Of Life, and then she thought how near akin
Her life was to that happy bird's one time,
And sang, grief-filled again, the poet's rhyme:—
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SONG.
“The linnet on his leafy bough
Sang O so clear and sweet!
When Love my comrade was, but now
That Love is gone on wingèd feet,
No more to give my heart good-morrow,
What can I with the linnet's song
But sadly sit and listen long,
And think it full of sorrow?
Sang O so clear and sweet!
When Love my comrade was, but now
That Love is gone on wingèd feet,
No more to give my heart good-morrow,
What can I with the linnet's song
But sadly sit and listen long,
And think it full of sorrow?
“The throstle at the opening day
Sang O so sweet and clear!
In Love's delightful month of May;
But now that Love lies cold and drear,
What can my heart but sadness borrow?
What can I with the warbling note
The throstle pipes from his sweet throat
But think it full of sorrow?
Sang O so sweet and clear!
In Love's delightful month of May;
But now that Love lies cold and drear,
What can my heart but sadness borrow?
What can I with the warbling note
The throstle pipes from his sweet throat
But think it full of sorrow?
“For Love in life was all I had,
Love O so fresh and sweet!
To make my lonely bosom glad,
But now, ah! never more to meet
His sunny smile and dear good-morrow,
What can I with this life of mine
But muse upon its woes and pine,
And think it naught but sorrow?”
Love O so fresh and sweet!
To make my lonely bosom glad,
But now, ah! never more to meet
His sunny smile and dear good-morrow,
What can I with this life of mine
But muse upon its woes and pine,
And think it naught but sorrow?”
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And still she weeps and still cries mournfully,—
“He comes not to console my wasting pain!
Alas that I have loved! Ah, woe is me
For the heart's loneliness and longings vain,
And promised bliss and wordless misery!
I've seen brown Autumn end his lingering reign,
And hoary Winter his white mantle spread
O'er the sad earth, with yearning still unfed.
“He comes not to console my wasting pain!
Alas that I have loved! Ah, woe is me
For the heart's loneliness and longings vain,
And promised bliss and wordless misery!
I've seen brown Autumn end his lingering reign,
And hoary Winter his white mantle spread
O'er the sad earth, with yearning still unfed.
“I've seen blithe Springtide change with genial ray
The hills' frore pyramids to golden green,
But watching in my misery day by day,
No sight of my beloved one have I seen;
I've ta'en my silken broidery to allay,
Weaving its shining threads, my sorrows keen,
My unavailing hopes and bitter fears,
But only wet its woof with ceaseless tears!
The hills' frore pyramids to golden green,
But watching in my misery day by day,
No sight of my beloved one have I seen;
I've ta'en my silken broidery to allay,
Weaving its shining threads, my sorrows keen,
My unavailing hopes and bitter fears,
But only wet its woof with ceaseless tears!
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“And now gay Summer with her sunny gleams
In royal robes moves through her perfumed bowers,
Her heralds wild-birds' music, songs of streams,
And the bees' tiny trumpets 'mid the flowers:
Alas, alas, that I have dreamed these dreams!
And woe is me for love's lost honeyed hours!
For while joy reigns around and all is glad
In earth and heaven, I—I alone am sad!”
In royal robes moves through her perfumed bowers,
Her heralds wild-birds' music, songs of streams,
And the bees' tiny trumpets 'mid the flowers:
Alas, alas, that I have dreamed these dreams!
And woe is me for love's lost honeyed hours!
For while joy reigns around and all is glad
In earth and heaven, I—I alone am sad!”
Then Mora said, “The hour is drawing nigh,
O mistress, for the ending of our gloom,
The blissful, happy hour when you and I
Shall walk through fair Dun Dalgan's groves of bloom
As once we walked in Mana, where our sky
Was bright with joys that never now illume
Our lives, or fill with gladness and delight
Our morning and our noontide and our night!
O mistress, for the ending of our gloom,
The blissful, happy hour when you and I
Shall walk through fair Dun Dalgan's groves of bloom
As once we walked in Mana, where our sky
Was bright with joys that never now illume
Our lives, or fill with gladness and delight
Our morning and our noontide and our night!
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“There never was a princess yet in story,
Captive to some sea rover or some king,
Some giant or some miser old and hoary,
That did not win at last, when, sweetening
Her life with hope of love and all the glory
And gladness that her hero's deeds would bring,
She saw her star rise from the clouds malign
Of black despair, as thou wilt now see thine!
Captive to some sea rover or some king,
Some giant or some miser old and hoary,
That did not win at last, when, sweetening
Her life with hope of love and all the glory
And gladness that her hero's deeds would bring,
She saw her star rise from the clouds malign
Of black despair, as thou wilt now see thine!
“For, as I walked beside the stream that sees
At the hill's foot the wild things at their play
Round its green banks, and all the mysteries
Of the blue heavens, the eve of yesterday,
I saw an old man sitting where the trees
Bend o'er the tumbling water's diamond spray,
With a small harp, a long begrizzled beard,
And a great sword that made me half afeard!
At the hill's foot the wild things at their play
Round its green banks, and all the mysteries
Of the blue heavens, the eve of yesterday,
I saw an old man sitting where the trees
Bend o'er the tumbling water's diamond spray,
With a small harp, a long begrizzled beard,
And a great sword that made me half afeard!
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“And as I stood irresolute, he cast
A kindly look on me and said, ‘Sit here,
O brown-eyed little beauty, for thou hast
No cause to shun me and no cause to fear!
Sit by this tree that yet will be the mast
Of some great ship! I am the poet-seer
Of him thy mistress loveth,—Aranie
Of strong Dun Dalgan by the eastern sea!
A kindly look on me and said, ‘Sit here,
O brown-eyed little beauty, for thou hast
No cause to shun me and no cause to fear!
Sit by this tree that yet will be the mast
Of some great ship! I am the poet-seer
Of him thy mistress loveth,—Aranie
Of strong Dun Dalgan by the eastern sea!
“‘Sit by me here and learn this song I sing,
And sing it to thy mistress!’—and he took
His harp and with deft fingers touched its string,
And in strange accents like the voiceful brook
Three times he sang this song, and made me bring
My voice in tune with his, till every nook
Of rock and wild-wood with the echoes rang!”
And then she took the golden lute and sang:—
And sing it to thy mistress!’—and he took
His harp and with deft fingers touched its string,
And in strange accents like the voiceful brook
Three times he sang this song, and made me bring
My voice in tune with his, till every nook
Of rock and wild-wood with the echoes rang!”
And then she took the golden lute and sang:—
214
THE MESSAGE.
“Is the spirit of gladness dead?
Are there naught but regrets and fears?
Hath hope from thy bosom fled
That thou drownest thine eyes with tears?
Wilt thou never, O loved one! never
Grief and thy heart dissever,
And gather the roses red
Of joy for the after years?
Are there naught but regrets and fears?
Hath hope from thy bosom fled
That thou drownest thine eyes with tears?
Wilt thou never, O loved one! never
Grief and thy heart dissever,
And gather the roses red
Of joy for the after years?
“From the troubles that waste and mar
Joy and delight are born,
Reward stands oft afar,
Near are defeat and scorn;
But the steadfast soul hath in it
Power that can work and win it,
The comfort of hope's bright star
In the glow between mirk and morn!
Joy and delight are born,
Reward stands oft afar,
Near are defeat and scorn;
But the steadfast soul hath in it
Power that can work and win it,
The comfort of hope's bright star
In the glow between mirk and morn!
“True love hath a charmèd life,
It wakes in the morning air,
It walks in the noonday strife,
It lives through the midnight's care;
And better in hope receive it,
In trusting faith believe it,
Than die by Grief's dread knife
Or the arrow of black Despair!
It wakes in the morning air,
It walks in the noonday strife,
It lives through the midnight's care;
And better in hope receive it,
In trusting faith believe it,
Than die by Grief's dread knife
Or the arrow of black Despair!
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“Then up he stood, and went, and like a dream
The whole thing was to me; but now I'll seek
The King's bright garden where the fiery beam
Of morn doth kiss the rose-bud's ruddy cheek;—
Watch from the window, downward by the stream,
O'er the blithe forest and the hillside bleak,
The strand, the moorland and the glittering mere,
For in my heart I know thy love is near!”
The whole thing was to me; but now I'll seek
The King's bright garden where the fiery beam
Of morn doth kiss the rose-bud's ruddy cheek;—
Watch from the window, downward by the stream,
O'er the blithe forest and the hillside bleak,
The strand, the moorland and the glittering mere,
For in my heart I know thy love is near!”
And Blanid looks. From round a looming cape
On whose high-towering front the sea-birds sit
Guarding their windy homes, a boat doth shape
Its course and cross the sunny harbor flit
And round a point with sea-caves all agape,
Till from its prow, his burnished harness lit
By the glad morning sun, with spear in hand
And waving plume, a knight springs to the strand.
On whose high-towering front the sea-birds sit
Guarding their windy homes, a boat doth shape
Its course and cross the sunny harbor flit
And round a point with sea-caves all agape,
Till from its prow, his burnished harness lit
By the glad morning sun, with spear in hand
And waving plume, a knight springs to the strand.
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Where'er Love's flame with light immortal burns
What wondrous instinct in the bosom lies!
Ah! thus with her, the Bloom-bright One,—by turns
Her cheeks grow pale, then red as morning skies,
For well her heart foreknows whose footstep spurns
The white sands far beneath her, and her eyes
Shine with unwonted brightness as she sees
Cuhullin's long plume waving in the breeze!
What wondrous instinct in the bosom lies!
Ah! thus with her, the Bloom-bright One,—by turns
Her cheeks grow pale, then red as morning skies,
For well her heart foreknows whose footstep spurns
The white sands far beneath her, and her eyes
Shine with unwonted brightness as she sees
Cuhullin's long plume waving in the breeze!
With red lips parted in a smile more sweet
Than roses smile in their first virgin bloom,
She turns, her golden-sandalled winsome feet
Tread with light step across the lordly room
As though they trod on air, her pulses beat
With a strange rapture, and her year of gloom,
Like a black vision nigh the morning seen,
Seems all forgot, as though it ne'er had been!
Than roses smile in their first virgin bloom,
She turns, her golden-sandalled winsome feet
Tread with light step across the lordly room
As though they trod on air, her pulses beat
With a strange rapture, and her year of gloom,
Like a black vision nigh the morning seen,
Seems all forgot, as though it ne'er had been!
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Fast through a secret postern to the wood
Out glided she, and down a pathway sped
That wound by knolls of heather red as blood,
And decked with fresh flowers, to the harbor led,
Till by a spreading oak she sudden stood
Irresolute, with a strange fear adread,
And sat her down in a faint musing fit,
And plucked a little flower and gazed on it.
Out glided she, and down a pathway sped
That wound by knolls of heather red as blood,
And decked with fresh flowers, to the harbor led,
Till by a spreading oak she sudden stood
Irresolute, with a strange fear adread,
And sat her down in a faint musing fit,
And plucked a little flower and gazed on it.
And as she looked upon its petals bright
She thought of her lost home, her golden bower
In Mana, and her days of young delight
When she was fresh and pure as that sweet flower;
Then sprang she up, and like a dove aflight
From the quick forester's keen shaft of power,
Adown the path half blind with tears she ran,
Till where it reached the beach's sunny span,
She thought of her lost home, her golden bower
In Mana, and her days of young delight
When she was fresh and pure as that sweet flower;
Then sprang she up, and like a dove aflight
From the quick forester's keen shaft of power,
Adown the path half blind with tears she ran,
Till where it reached the beach's sunny span,
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Beyond the wood shade, in the open ray
She saw a godlike form all glittering
With loving arms outstretched athwart her way;
Then felt them closely round her press and cling
In fond embrace, and heard a kind voice say,
“O love! O love! be this thy welcoming
To my true heart!” then faded wood and shore
And for a space she saw and heard no more!
She saw a godlike form all glittering
With loving arms outstretched athwart her way;
Then felt them closely round her press and cling
In fond embrace, and heard a kind voice say,
“O love! O love! be this thy welcoming
To my true heart!” then faded wood and shore
And for a space she saw and heard no more!
She woke; 't was on a bank where o'er them spread
A young tree 'tween them and the joyous skies,
Upon his mail-clad arm her shining head
Was pillowed, and his large gray kingly eyes
Looked into hers with love unshadowèd
By absence or the burning doubt that tries
The lover's heart with sevenfold fire: then she,
Forgetting for a time her misery,
A young tree 'tween them and the joyous skies,
Upon his mail-clad arm her shining head
Was pillowed, and his large gray kingly eyes
Looked into hers with love unshadowèd
By absence or the burning doubt that tries
The lover's heart with sevenfold fire: then she,
Forgetting for a time her misery,
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Slowly uprising, round his strong neck flung
Her arms, and hid 'gainst his her burning face,
And as a wild vine the green woods among
Shivers wind-blown against its tree, a space
Around him, her strong refuge now, she clung
Trembling, then sudden sprang from his embrace
And stood before him half afeard, half shy,
With drooping form and sad deploring eye.
Her arms, and hid 'gainst his her burning face,
And as a wild vine the green woods among
Shivers wind-blown against its tree, a space
Around him, her strong refuge now, she clung
Trembling, then sudden sprang from his embrace
And stood before him half afeard, half shy,
With drooping form and sad deploring eye.
And “O beloved!” she cried, “think not of me
As once, when in the heyday of my fame
I won thy heart in virgin purity,—
When princes from earth's farthest confines came
To court my smiles!—now, now what dost thou see
Before thee? A poor wretch of blight and shame,
For whom the Fates a dismal doom have wove,
His blood-won slave despised, his thrall of love!
As once, when in the heyday of my fame
I won thy heart in virgin purity,—
When princes from earth's farthest confines came
To court my smiles!—now, now what dost thou see
Before thee? A poor wretch of blight and shame,
For whom the Fates a dismal doom have wove,
His blood-won slave despised, his thrall of love!
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“Ah! would this heart were dead, these eyes were blind,
At rest from ceaseless torture day by day!—
Torture by his fell presence thrice refined;
For though he loves in his rough soldier way,
I hate him tenfold among all mankind,
And, hating, must dissemble as I may,
Must cringe and lie, for I am brought so low
That pride and truth are conquered by my woe!
At rest from ceaseless torture day by day!—
Torture by his fell presence thrice refined;
For though he loves in his rough soldier way,
I hate him tenfold among all mankind,
And, hating, must dissemble as I may,
Must cringe and lie, for I am brought so low
That pride and truth are conquered by my woe!
“Arise then, O beloved one! and depart,
And leave me to the woes I must endure;
I am not worth thy faith: life hath its smart,
But death erelong will come and bring the cure!”
He rose, he clasped her to his faithful heart,
And fondly cried, “To me thou'rt bright and pure,
O love! and I will bear thee back with me,
And my young bride high honored shalt thou be!”
And leave me to the woes I must endure;
I am not worth thy faith: life hath its smart,
But death erelong will come and bring the cure!”
He rose, he clasped her to his faithful heart,
And fondly cried, “To me thou'rt bright and pure,
O love! and I will bear thee back with me,
And my young bride high honored shalt thou be!”
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Ah! well for them that Curoi with his knights
Is on the southern borders of his land,
Encamped amid the lovely pine-clad heights
That rise o'er spreading Carra's silver strand!
There roams he, tasting all the fresh delights
That woodcraft brings when summer winds are bland,
Forgetting his fair prize and her sad lot,
And that wronged love revengeful sleepeth not.
Is on the southern borders of his land,
Encamped amid the lovely pine-clad heights
That rise o'er spreading Carra's silver strand!
There roams he, tasting all the fresh delights
That woodcraft brings when summer winds are bland,
Forgetting his fair prize and her sad lot,
And that wronged love revengeful sleepeth not.
Again they sat beneath the leafy tree,
On the green flowery bank, gaze answering gaze,
And word fond word, in love's fresh ecstasy,
As once before in those lost happy days
Far, far away in Mana of the Sea.
Thus sat they till the hot noon's torrid rays
Smote sea and wood, then down the pathway came
Unto their trysting-place the foster-dame.
On the green flowery bank, gaze answering gaze,
And word fond word, in love's fresh ecstasy,
As once before in those lost happy days
Far, far away in Mana of the Sea.
Thus sat they till the hot noon's torrid rays
Smote sea and wood, then down the pathway came
Unto their trysting-place the foster-dame.
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“And art thou come?” she cried, “O valiant one!
Hath love o'er thy true heart such wondrous power,
That thou in blind desire must heedless run
Into the lion's jaws for this poor flower?
Alas that ever shone the mocking sun
Upon our bootless rage! This very hour
A courier crossed the bridge on courser light
To tell of his great lord's return to-night.
Hath love o'er thy true heart such wondrous power,
That thou in blind desire must heedless run
Into the lion's jaws for this poor flower?
Alas that ever shone the mocking sun
Upon our bootless rage! This very hour
A courier crossed the bridge on courser light
To tell of his great lord's return to-night.
“Arise then and depart! His purpose dread
I know not, yet I know that naught remains
For thee but instant flight, else on her head
Will fall his anger, and renewèd pains
Will rive our hearts, and thou on dungeon bed
Shalt lie beneath the moat in captive chains
Till into black despair thy warm heart sink,
Or the red block thy youthful blood shall drink.
I know not, yet I know that naught remains
For thee but instant flight, else on her head
Will fall his anger, and renewèd pains
Will rive our hearts, and thou on dungeon bed
Shalt lie beneath the moat in captive chains
Till into black despair thy warm heart sink,
Or the red block thy youthful blood shall drink.
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“Depart! depart! The hour will yet draw near
For love and for thy vengeance long delayed:
The Summer flowers bloom bright by stream and mere
And wood and crag, but thou must let them fade
Thy vengeance still unwon; then Autumn sere
Shall come, but when upon the moaning glade
Slain by the winds of Winter he expires
'Mid Samhain's feast and sacrificial fires,
For love and for thy vengeance long delayed:
The Summer flowers bloom bright by stream and mere
And wood and crag, but thou must let them fade
Thy vengeance still unwon; then Autumn sere
Shall come, but when upon the moaning glade
Slain by the winds of Winter he expires
'Mid Samhain's feast and sacrificial fires,
“Then do thou come, and with thy bravest band
Valiant and swift and sure, and here abide
Within this secret wood. Then Curoi's sand
Of life shall run its last, for I will guide
To vengeance sure and stern thine armèd hand!
Then in his hour of triumph and of pride
We'll slay him as the forest dwellers slay
The wolf that bears their best-loved child away!
Valiant and swift and sure, and here abide
Within this secret wood. Then Curoi's sand
Of life shall run its last, for I will guide
To vengeance sure and stern thine armèd hand!
Then in his hour of triumph and of pride
We'll slay him as the forest dwellers slay
The wolf that bears their best-loved child away!
224
“And thou, poor child of many sorrows, lay
Thy face against this withered breast of mine
To shut from thy sad eyes the woful ray
That lights his parting footsteps! Gaily shine
O'er sea and hill the beams of middle day,
And ye must part, and thou must now untwine
Thine arms from him, O maid!”—and shudderingly,
Moaning the while in her great agony,
Thy face against this withered breast of mine
To shut from thy sad eyes the woful ray
That lights his parting footsteps! Gaily shine
O'er sea and hill the beams of middle day,
And ye must part, and thou must now untwine
Thine arms from him, O maid!”—and shudderingly,
Moaning the while in her great agony,
Fair Blanid saw him go. Then as a wreath
Of snow at Springtide in the mountain pass
Slides from its cleft to the flat sward beneath,
So dropt she down upon the woodland grass
All motionless, as though she ne'er would breathe
Earth's air again. Too soon, too soon, alas!
She woke to weep, then rose and weeping still
With the old foster-dame went up the hill!
Of snow at Springtide in the mountain pass
Slides from its cleft to the flat sward beneath,
So dropt she down upon the woodland grass
All motionless, as though she ne'er would breathe
Earth's air again. Too soon, too soon, alas!
She woke to weep, then rose and weeping still
With the old foster-dame went up the hill!
225
Meanwhile Cuhullin plied the rapid oar
Of the light boat with gladsome heart and fond
Across the harbor, round the sea-cape hoar,
And into a lone wood-locked cove beyond,
Where sprang he lightly to the wave-ribbed shore
And up the wild-wood went, Love's golden wand
Touching his heart with its sweet sorcery,
Till won he where a stream danced fresh and free
Of the light boat with gladsome heart and fond
Across the harbor, round the sea-cape hoar,
And into a lone wood-locked cove beyond,
Where sprang he lightly to the wave-ribbed shore
And up the wild-wood went, Love's golden wand
Touching his heart with its sweet sorcery,
Till won he where a stream danced fresh and free
From ledge to ledge into a glade of green:
And there Loy waited, there the twain bestrode
Their steeds, and like a dream each changing scene
Seemed hurrying by as in hot haste they rode
Unto the North, till, as with ray serene
Upon the mountain-tops the sunset glowed,
They laid them down and slept, and morn again
Found them fast speeding o'er the perilous plain.
And there Loy waited, there the twain bestrode
Their steeds, and like a dream each changing scene
Seemed hurrying by as in hot haste they rode
Unto the North, till, as with ray serene
Upon the mountain-tops the sunset glowed,
They laid them down and slept, and morn again
Found them fast speeding o'er the perilous plain.
| Blanid | |