From the Land of Dreams :: :: University of Virginia Library

Before her child was born, from o'er the sea,
In a bad hour, this news to Aifé came:
“Cuchullain weds with Emer.” In her ear,
And in her jealous heart, that message dwelt,
Poisoning the sweet springs of her motherhood
While the child grew. Love battling with dark hate
Strove in the storms of her breast; yet the boy grew,
No blemish on him, beautiful and strong,
The child of love, not hate; blithe as a fawn,
And fearless as a hound of noble race;
Yet gently he endured his mother's moods,
And when she raged would coax her from her spleen
With some bright roguish answer, deftly shot
Athwart her bitter humour, like a ray
Of sunshine through the lowering of a storm.

As an oak sapling planted by a stream
He grew and throve under his mother's eyes—
Sad eyes too proud for tears; now soft awhile,
Surprised by love; now cold and fierce again,
Sternly she trained him in all games of war,
Till in the School of Scatha every feat
His father did no worse did he, the down
Of manhood on his face.

But when his thumb
Could hold his father's ring, grimly she set
That ring upon his hand, and laid upon him
Three champion's vows; the first: “Ne'er to go back
Before a living man, but sooner die”;
The second: “Never to avoid the proof
Of battle, though the champion of the world
Frowned in his face; but sooner die”; the third:
“For any man's fair word, or threat of death,
Never to tell his name.”

Bitter that day
Was Aifé's heart, where, through long waiting years,
While never back to her arms over the sea
Cuchullain came, the black witch jealousy
Sat like a carrion bird, with gloomy spell
Blighting the flowers of love, chanting for ever
In hoarse monotonous voice one baleful word,
“Revenge!” Now, as the mother kissed her son,
And sent him forth saying: “This ring will find
Thy father,” in her heart she heard that song;
And, even when on his hand she kissed the ring,
Her eyes hot with the memory of old tears,

Out of the dreary cave of her sick brain,
Where Love lay on his bier, crept a dark thought,
Whispering: “Now let the father slay the son,
The son his father, my false lover's wrong
Shall be avenged at last, and I can die.”

So did they part, and Aifé from the strand
Watched Conlaoch's bark over the heaving waves
Flee like a gull, and vanish in the sea.