gods and fighting men: the story of the tuatha de danaan and of the fianna of ireland, arranged and put into english by lady gregory. with a preface by w.b. yeats dedication to the members of the irish literary society of new york my friends, those i know and those i do not know, i am glad in the year of the birth of your society to have this book to offer you. it has given great courage to many workers here--working to build up broken walls--to know you have such friendly thoughts of them in your minds. a few of you have already come to see us, and we begin to hope that one day the steamers across the atlantic will not go out full, but come back full, until some of you find your real home is here, and say as some of us say, like finn to the woman of enchantments-- [illustration: irish gaelic] "we would not give up our own country--ireland--if we were to get the whole world as an estate, and the country of the young along with it." augusta gregory. preface i a few months ago i was on the bare hill of allen, "wide almhuin of leinster," where finn and the fianna lived, according to the stories, although there are no earthen mounds there like those that mark the sites of old buildings on so many hills. a hot sun beat down upon flowering gorse and flowerless heather; and on every side except the east, where there were green trees and distant hills, one saw a level horizon and brown boglands with a few green places and here and there the glitter of water. one could imagine that had it been twilight and not early afternoon, and had there been vapours drifting and frothing where there were now but shadows of clouds, it would have set stirring in one, as few places even in ireland can, a thought that is peculiar to celtic romance, as i think, a thought of a mystery coming not as with gothic nations out of the pressure of darkness, but out of great spaces and windy light. the hill of teamhair, or tara, as it is now called, with its green mounds and its partly wooded sides, and its more gradual slope set among fat grazing lands, with great trees in the hedgerows, had brought before one imaginations, not of heroes who were in their youth for hundreds of years, or of women who came to them in the likeness of hunted fawns, but of kings that lived brief and politic lives, and of the five white roads that carried their armies to the lesser kingdoms of ireland, or brought to the great fair that had given teamhair its sovereignty, all that sought justice or pleasure or had goods to barter. ii it is certain that we must not confuse these kings, as did the mediæval chroniclers, with those half-divine kings of almhuin. the chroniclers, perhaps because they loved tradition too well to cast out utterly much that they dreaded as christians, and perhaps because popular imagination had begun the mixture, have mixed one with another ingeniously, making finn the head of a kind of militia under cormac macart, who is supposed to have reigned at teamhair in the second century, and making grania, who travels to enchanted houses under the cloak of angus, god of love, and keeps her troubling beauty longer than did helen hers, cormac's daughter, and giving the stories of the fianna, although the impossible has thrust its proud finger into them all, a curious air of precise history. it is only when one separates the stories from that mediæval pedantry, as in this book, that one recognises one of the oldest worlds that man has imagined, an older world certainly than one finds in the stories of cuchulain, who lived, according to the chroniclers, about the time of the birth of christ. they are far better known, and one may be certain of the antiquity of incidents that are known in one form or another to every gaelic-speaking countryman in ireland or in the highlands of scotland. sometimes a labourer digging near to a cromlech, or bed of diarmuid and crania as it is called, will tell one a tradition that seems older and more barbaric than any description of their adventures or of themselves in written text or story that has taken form in the mouths of professed story-tellers. finn and the fianna found welcome among the court poets later than did cuchulain; and one finds memories of danish invasions and standing armies mixed with the imaginations of hunters and solitary fighters among great woods. one never hears of cuchulain delighting in the hunt or in woodland things; and one imagines that the story-teller would have thought it unworthy in so great a man, who lived a well-ordered, elaborate life, and had his chariot and his chariot-driver and his barley-fed horses to delight in. if he is in the woods before dawn one is not told that he cannot know the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak; and when emer laments him no wild creature comes into her thoughts but the cuckoo that cries over cultivated fields. his story must have come out of a time when the wild wood was giving way to pasture and tillage, and men had no longer a reason to consider every cry of the birds or change of the night. finn, who was always in the woods, whose battles were but hours amid years of hunting, delighted in the "cackling of ducks from the lake of the three narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of doire an cairn; the bellowing of the ox from the valley of the berries; the whistle of the eagle from the valley of victories or from the rough branches of the ridge of the stream; the grouse of the heather of cruachan; the call of the otter of druim re coir." when sorrow comes upon the queens of the stories, they have sympathy for the wild birds and beasts that are like themselves: "credhe wife of cael came with the others and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and crying as she went. and as she was searching she saw a crane of the meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it, he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death by the fox than the nestlings to be killed by him. and credhe was looking at that, and she said: 'it is no wonder i to have such love for my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her nestlings.'" iii one often hears of a horse that shivers with terror, or of a dog that howls at something a man's eyes cannot see, and men who live primitive lives where instinct does the work of reason are fully conscious of many things that we cannot perceive at all. as life becomes more orderly, more deliberate, the supernatural world sinks farther away. although the gods come to cuchulain, and although he is the son of one of the greatest of them, their country and his are far apart, and they come to him as god to mortal; but finn is their equal. he is continually in their houses; he meets with bodb dearg, and angus, and manannan, now as friend with friend, now as with an enemy he overcomes in battle; and when he has need of their help his messenger can say: "there is not a king's son or a prince, or a leader of the fianna of ireland, without having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the tuatha de danaan." when the fianna are broken up at last, after hundreds of years of hunting, it is doubtful that he dies at all, and certain that he comes again in some other shape, and oisin, his son, is made king over a divine country. the birds and beasts that cross his path in the woods have been fighting men or great enchanters or fair women, and in a moment can take some beautiful or terrible shape. one thinks of him and of his people as great-bodied men with large movements, that seem, as it were, flowing out of some deep below the narrow stream of personal impulse, men that have broad brows and quiet eyes full of confidence in a good luck that proves every day afresh that they are a portion of the strength of things. they are hardly so much individual men as portions of universal nature, like the clouds that shape themselves and re-shape themselves momentarily, or like a bird between two boughs, or like the gods that have given the apples and the nuts; and yet this but brings them the nearer to us, for we can remake them in our image when we will, and the woods are the more beautiful for the thought. do we not always fancy hunters to be something like this, and is not that why we think them poetical when we meet them of a sudden, as in these lines in "pauline": "an old hunter talking with gods; or a nigh-crested chief sailing with troops of friends to tenedos" iv one must not expect in these stories the epic lineaments, the many incidents, woven into one great event of, let us say, the story of the war for the brown bull of cuailgne, or that of the last gathering at muirthemne. even diarmuid and grania, which is a long story, has nothing of the clear outlines of deirdre, and is indeed but a succession of detached episodes. the men who imagined the fianna had the imagination of children, and as soon as they had invented one wonder, heaped another on top of it. children--or, at any rate, it is so i remember my own childhood--do not understand large design, and they delight in little shut-in places where they can play at houses more than in great expanses where a country-side takes, as it were, the impression of a thought. the wild creatures and the green things are more to them than to us, for they creep towards our light by little holes and crevices. when they imagine a country for themselves, it is always a country where one can wander without aim, and where one can never know from one place what another will be like, or know from the one day's adventure what may meet one with to-morrow's sun. i have wished to become a child again that i might find this book, that not only tells one of such a country, but is fuller than any other book that tells of heroic life, of the childhood that is in all folk-lore, dearer to me than all the books of the western world. children play at being great and wonderful people, at the ambitions they will put away for one reason or another before they grow into ordinary men and women. mankind as a whole had a like dream once; everybody and nobody built up the dream bit by bit, and the ancient story-tellers are there to make us remember what mankind would have been like, had not fear and the failing will and the laws of nature tripped up its heels. the fianna and their like are themselves so full of power, and they are set in a world so fluctuating and dream-like, that nothing can hold them from being all that the heart desires. i have read in a fabulous book that adam had but to imagine a bird, and it was born into life, and that he created all things out of himself by nothing more important than an unflagging fancy; and heroes who can make a ship out of a shaving have but little less of the divine prerogatives. they have no speculative thoughts to wander through eternity and waste heroic blood; but how could that be otherwise, for it is at all times the proud angels who sit thinking upon the hill-side and not the people of eden. one morning we meet them hunting a stag that is "as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer-time"; and whatever they do, whether they listen to the harp or follow an enchanter over-sea, they do for the sake of joy, their joy in one another, or their joy in pride and movement; and even their battles are fought more because of their delight in a good fighter than because of any gain that is in victory. they live always as if they were playing a game; and so far as they have any deliberate purpose at all, it is that they may become great gentlemen and be worthy of the songs of poets. it has been said, and i think the japanese were the first to say it, that the four essential virtues are to be generous among the weak, and truthful among one's friends, and brave among one's enemies, and courteous at all times; and if we understand by courtesy not merely the gentleness the story-tellers have celebrated, but a delight in courtly things, in beautiful clothing and in beautiful verse, one understands that it was no formal succession of trials that bound the fianna to one another. only the table round, that is indeed, as it seems, a rivulet from the same river, is bound in a like fellowship, and there the four heroic virtues are troubled by the abstract virtues of the cloister. every now and then some noble knight builds himself a cell upon the hill-side, or leaves kind women and joyful knights to seek the vision of the grail in lonely adventures. but when oisin or some kingly forerunner--bran, son of febal, or the like--rides or sails in an enchanted ship to some divine country, he but looks for a more delighted companionship, or to be in love with faces that will never fade. no thought of any life greater than that of love, and the companionship of those that have drawn their swords upon the darkness of the world, ever troubles their delight in one another as it troubles iseult amid her love, or arthur amid his battles. it is one of the ailments of our speculation that thought, when it is not the planning of something, or the doing of something or some memory of a plain circumstance separates us from one another because it makes us always more unlike, and because no thought passes through another's ear unchanged. companionship can only be perfect when it is founded on things, for things are always the same under the hand, and at last one comes to hear with envy of the voices of boys lighting a lantern to ensnare moths, or of the maids chattering in the kitchen about the fox that carried off a turkey before breakfast. this book is full of fellowship untroubled like theirs, and made noble by a courtesy that has gone perhaps out of the world. i do not know in literature better friends and lovers. when one of the fianna finds osgar dying the proud death of a young man, and asks is it well with him, he is answered, "i am as you would have me be." the very heroism of the fianna is indeed but their pride and joy in one another, their good fellowship. goll, old and savage, and letting himself die of hunger in a cave because he is angry and sorry, can speak lovely words to the wife whose help he refuses. "'it is best as it is,' he said, 'and i never took the advice of a woman east or west, and i never will take it. and oh, sweet-voiced queen,' he said, 'what ails you to be fretting after me? and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks ... and do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands,' he said, 'but remember your constant lover aodh, son of the best woman of the world, that came from spain asking for you, and that i fought on corcar-an-dearg; and go to him now,' he said, 'for it is bad when a woman is without a good man.'" vi they have no asceticism, but they are more visionary than any ascetic, and their invisible life is but the life about them made more perfect and more lasting, and the invisible people are their own images in the water. their gods may have been much besides this, for we know them from fragments of mythology picked out with trouble from a fantastic history running backward to adam and eve, and many things that may have seemed wicked to the monks who imagined that history, may have been altered or left out; but this they must have been essentially, for the old stories are confirmed by apparitions among the country-people to-day. the men of dea fought against the mis-shapen fomor, as finn fights against the cat-heads and the dog-heads; and when they are overcome at last by men, they make themselves houses in the hearts of hills that are like the houses of men. when they call men to their houses and to their country under-wave they promise them all that they have upon earth, only in greater abundance. the god midhir sings to queen etain in one of the most beautiful of the stories: "the young never grow old; the fields and the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm streams of mead and wine flow through that country; there is no care or no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not seen." these gods are indeed more wise and beautiful than men; but men, when they are great men, are stronger than they are, for men are, as it were, the foaming tide-line of their sea. one remembers the druid who answered, when some one asked him who made the world, "the druids made it." all was indeed but one life flowing everywhere, and taking one quality here, another there. it sometimes seems to one as if there is a kind of day and night of religion, and that a period when the influences are those that shape the world is followed by a period when the greater power is in influences that would lure the soul out of the world, out of the body. when oisin is speaking with s. patrick of the friends and the life he has outlived, he can but cry out constantly against a religion that has no meaning for him. he laments, and the country-people have remembered his words for centuries: "i will cry my fill, but not for god, but because finn and the fianna are not living." vii old writers had an admirable symbolism that attributed certain energies to the influence of the sun, and certain others to the lunar influence. to lunar influence belong all thoughts and emotions that were created by the community, by the common people, by nobody knows who, and to the sun all that came from the high disciplined or individual kingly mind. i myself imagine a marriage of the sun and moon in the arts i take most pleasure in; and now bride and bridegroom but exchange, as it were, full cups of gold and silver, and now they are one in a mystical embrace. from the moon come the folk-songs imagined by reapers and spinners out of the common impulse of their labour, and made not by putting words together, but by mixing verses and phrases, and the folk-tales made by the capricious mixing of incidents known to everybody in new ways, as one deals out cards, never getting the same hand twice over. when one hears some fine story, one never knows whether it has not been hazard that put the last touch of adventure. such poetry, as it seems to me, desires an infinity of wonder or emotion, for where there is no individual mind there is no measurer-out, no marker-in of limits. the poor fisher has no possession of the world and no responsibility for it; and if he dreams of a love-gift better than the brown shawl that seems too common for poetry, why should he not dream of a glove made from the skin of a bird, or shoes made from the skin of a fish, or a coat made from the glittering garment of the salmon? was it not aeschylus who said he but served up fragments from the banquet of homer?--but homer himself found the great banquet on an earthen floor and under a broken roof. we do not know who at the foundation of the world made the banquet for the first time, or who put the pack of cards into rough hands; but we do know that, unless those that have made many inventions are about to change the nature of poetry, we may have to go where homer went if we are to sing a new song. is it because all that is under the moon thirsts to escape out of bounds, to lose itself in some unbounded tidal stream, that the songs of the folk are mournful, and that the story of the fianna, whenever the queens lament for their lovers, reminds us of songs that are still sung in country-places? their grief, even when it is to be brief like grania's, goes up into the waste places of the sky. but in supreme art or in supreme life there is the influence of the sun too, and the sun brings with it, as old writers tell us, not merely discipline but joy; for its discipline is not of the kind the multitudes impose upon us by their weight and pressure, but the expression of the individual soul turning itself into a pure fire and imposing its own pattern, its own music, upon the heaviness and the dumbness that is in others and in itself. when we have drunk the cold cup of the moon's intoxication, we thirst for something beyond ourselves, and the mind flows outward to a natural immensity; but if we have drunk from the hot cup of the sun, our own fullness awakens, we desire little, for wherever one goes one's heart goes too; and if any ask what music is the sweetest, we can but answer, as finn answered, "what happens." and yet the songs and stories that have come from either influence are a part, neither less than the other, of the pleasure that is the bride-bed of poetry. viii gaelic-speaking ireland, because its art has been made, not by the artist choosing his material from wherever he has a mind to, but by adding a little to something which it has taken generations to invent, has always had a popular literature. one cannot say how much that literature has done for the vigour of the race, for one cannot count the hands its praise of kings and high-hearted queens made hot upon the sword-hilt, or the amorous eyes it made lustful for strength and beauty. one remembers indeed that when the farming people and the labourers of the towns made their last attempt to cast out england by force of arms they named themselves after the companions of finn. even when gaelic has gone, and the poetry with it, something of the habit of mind remains in ways of speech and thought and "come-all-ye"s and poetical saying; nor is it only among the poor that the old thought has been for strength or weakness. surely these old stories, whether of finn or cuchulain, helped to sing the old irish and the old norman-irish aristocracy to their end. they heard their hereditary poets and story-tellers, and they took to horse and died fighting against elizabeth or against cromwell; and when an english-speaking aristocracy had their place, it listened to no poetry indeed, but it felt about it in the popular mind an exacting and ancient tribunal, and began a play that had for spectators men and women that loved the high wasteful virtues. i do not think that their own mixed blood or the habit of their time need take all, or nearly all, credit or discredit for the impulse that made our modern gentlemen fight duels over pocket-handkerchiefs, and set out to play ball against the gates of jerusalem for a wager, and scatter money before the public eye; and at last, after an epoch of such eloquence the world has hardly seen its like, lose their public spirit and their high heart and grow querulous and selfish as men do who have played life out not heartily but with noise and tumult. had they understood the people and the game a little better, they might have created an aristocracy in an age that has lost the meaning of the word. when one reads of the fianna, or of cuchulain, or of some great hero, one remembers that the fine life is always a part played finely before fine spectators. there also one notices the hot cup and the cold cup of intoxication; and when the fine spectators have ended, surely the fine players grow weary, and aristocratic life is ended. when o'connell covered with a dark glove the hand that had killed a man in the duelling field, he played his part; and when alexander stayed his army marching to the conquest of the world that he might contemplate the beauty of a plane-tree, he played his part. when osgar complained as he lay dying, of the keening of the women and the old fighting men, he too played his part; "no man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron; but the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old fighting men and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." if we would create a great community--and what other game is so worth the labour?--we must recreate the old foundations of life, not as they existed in that splendid misunderstanding of the eighteenth century, but as they must always exist when the finest minds and ned the beggar and seaghan the fool think about the same thing, although they may not think the same thought about it. ix when i asked the little boy who had shown me the pathway up the hill of allen if he knew stories of finn and oisin, he said he did not, but that he had often heard his grandfather telling them to his mother in irish. he did not know irish, but he was learning it at school, and all the little boys he knew were learning it. in a little while he will know enough stories of finn and oisin to tell them to his children some day. it is the owners of the land whose children might never have known what would give them so much happiness. but now they can read this book to their children, and it will make slieve-na-man, allen, and benbulben, the great mountain that showed itself before me every day through all my childhood and was yet unpeopled, and half the country-sides of south and west, as populous with memories as are dundealgan and emain macha and muirthemne; and after a while somebody may even take them to some famous place and say, "this land where your fathers lived proudly and finely should be dear and dear and again dear"; and perhaps when many names have grown musical to their ears, a more imaginative love will have taught them a better service. x i need say nothing about the translation and arrangement of this book except that it is worthy to be put beside "cuchulain of muirthemne." such books should not be commended by written words but by spoken words, were that possible, for the written words commending a book, wherein something is done supremely well, remain, to sound in the ears of a later generation, like the foolish sound of church bells from the tower of a church when every pew is full. w.b. yeats. contents part i. the gods book i. the coming of the tuatha de danaan chap. i. the fight with the firbolgs ii. the reign of bres book ii. lugh of the long hand chap. i. the coming of lugh ii. the sons of tuireann iii. the great battle of magh tuireadh iv. the hidden house of lugh book iii. the coming of the gael chap. i. the landing ii. the battle of tailltin book iv. the ever-living living ones chap. i. bodb dearg ii. the dagda iii. angus og iv. the morrigu v. aine vi. aoibhell vii. midhir and etain viii. manannan ix. manannan at play x. his call to bran xi. his three calls to cormac xii. cliodna's wave xiii. his call to connla xiv. tadg in manannan's islands xv. laegaire in the happy plain book v. the fate of the children of lir part ii. the fianna book i. finn, son of cumhal chap. i. the coming of finn ii. finn's household iii. birth of bran iv. oisin's mother v. the best men of the fianna book ii. finn's helpers chap. i. the lad of the skins ii. black, brown, and grey iii. the hound iv. red ridge book iii. the battle of the white strand chap. i. the enemies of ireland ii. cael and credhe iii. conn crither iv. glas, son of dremen v. the help of the men of dea vi. the march of the fianna vii. the first fighters viii. the king of ulster's son ix. the high king's son x. the king of lochlann and his sons xi. labran's journey xii. the great fight xiii. credhe's lament book iv. huntings and enchantments chap. i. the king of britain's son ii. the cave of ceiscoran iii. donn, son of midhir iv. the hospitality of cuanna's house v. cat-heads and dog-heads vi. lomna's head vii. ilbrec of ess ruadh viii. the cave of cruachan ix. the wedding at ceann slieve x. the shadowy one xi. finn's madness xii. the red woman xiii. finn and the phantoms xiv. the pigs of angus xv. the hunt of slieve cuilinn book v. oisin's children book vi. diarmuid chap. i. birth of diarmuid ii. how diarmuid got his love-spot iii. the daughter of king under-wave iv. the hard servant v. the house of the quicken trees book vii. diarmuid and grania chap. i. the flight from teamhair ii. the pursuit iii. the green champions iv. the wood of dubhros v. the quarrel vi. the wanderers vii. fighting and peace viii. the boar of beinn gulbain book viii. cnoc-an-air chap. i. tailc, son of treon ii. meargach's wife iii. ailne's revenge book ix. the wearing away of the fianna chap. i. the quarrel with the sons of morna ii. death of goll iii. the battle of gabhra book x. the end of the fianna chap. i. death of bran ii. the call of oisin iii. the last of the great men book xi. oisin and patrick chap. i. oisin's story ii. oisin in patrick's house iii. the arguments iv. oisin's laments gods and fighting men. part one: the gods. book one: the coming of the tuatha de danaan. chapter i. the fight with the firbolgs it was in a mist the tuatha de danaan, the people of the gods of dana, or as some called them, the men of dea, came through the air and the high air to ireland. it was from the north they came; and in the place they came from they had four cities, where they fought their battle for learning: great falias, and shining gorias, and finias, and rich murias that lay to the south. and in those cities they had four wise men to teach their young men skill and knowledge and perfect wisdom: senias in murias; and arias, the fair-haired poet, in finias; and urias of the noble nature in gorias; and morias in falias itself. and they brought from those four cities their four treasures: a stone of virtue from falias, that was called the lia fail, the stone of destiny; and from gorias they brought a sword; and from finias a spear of victory; and from murias the fourth treasure, the cauldron that no company ever went away from unsatisfied. it was nuada was king of the tuatha de danaan at that time, but manannan, son of lir, was greater again. and of the others that were chief among them were ogma, brother to the king, that taught them writing, and diancecht, that understood healing, and neit, a god of battle, and credenus the craftsman, and goibniu the smith. and the greatest among their women were badb, a battle goddess; and macha, whose mast-feeding was the heads of men killed in battle; and the morrigu, the crow of battle; and eire and fodla and banba, daughters of the dagda, that all three gave their names to ireland afterwards; and eadon, the nurse of poets; and brigit, that was a woman of poetry, and poets worshipped her, for her sway was very great and very noble. and she was a woman of healing along with that, and a woman of smith's work, and it was she first made the whistle for calling one to another through the night. and the one side of her face was ugly, but the other side was very comely. and the meaning of her name was breo-saighit, a fiery arrow. and among the other women there were many shadow-forms and great queens; but dana, that was called the mother of the gods, was beyond them all. and the three things they put above all others were the plough and the sun and the hazel-tree, so that it was said in the time to come that ireland was divided between those three, coll the hazel, and cecht the plough, and grian the sun. and they had a well below the sea where the nine hazels of wisdom were growing; that is, the hazels of inspiration and of the knowledge of poetry. and their leaves and their blossoms would break out in the same hour, and would fall on the well in a shower that raised a purple wave. and then the five salmon that were waiting there would eat the nuts, and their colour would come out in the red spots of their skin, and any person that would eat one of those salmon would know all wisdom and all poetry. and there were seven streams of wisdom that sprang from that well and turned back to it again; and the people of many arts have all drank from that well. it was on the first day of beltaine, that is called now may day, the tuatha de danaan came, and it was to the north-west of connacht they landed. but the firbolgs, the men of the bag, that were in ireland before them, and that had come from the south, saw nothing but a mist, and it lying on the hills. eochaid, son of erc, was king of the firbolgs at that time, and messengers came to him at teamhair, and told him there was a new race of people come into ireland, but whether from the earth or the skies or on the wind was not known, and that they had settled themselves at magh rein. they thought there would be wonder on eochaid when he heard that news; but there was no wonder on him, for a dream had come to him in the night, and when he asked his druids the meaning of the dream, it is what they said, that it would not be long till there would be a strong enemy coming against him. then king eochaid took counsel with his chief advisers, and it is what they agreed, to send a good champion of their own to see the strangers and to speak with them. so they chose out sreng, that was a great fighting man, and he rose up and took his strong red-brown shield, and his two thick-handled spears, and his sword, and his head-covering, and his thick iron club, and he set out from teamhair, and went on towards the place the strangers were, at magh rein. but before he reached it, the watchers of the tuatha de danaan got sight of him, and they sent out one of their own champions, bres, with his shield and his sword and his two spears, to meet him and to talk with him. so the two champions went one towards the other slowly, and keeping a good watch on one another, and wondering at one another's arms, till they came near enough for talking; and then they stopped, and each put his shield before his body and struck it hard into the ground, and they looked at one another over the rim. bres was the first to speak, and when sreng heard it was irish he was talking, his own tongue, he was less uneasy, and they drew nearer, and asked questions as to one another's family and race. and after a while they put their shields away, and it was what sreng said, that he had raised his in dread of the thin, sharp spears bres had in his hand. and bres said he himself was in dread of the thick-handled spears he saw with sreng, and he asked were all the arms of the firbolgs of the same sort. and sreng took off the tyings of his spears to show them better, and bres wondered at them, being so strong and so heavy, and so sharp at the sides though they had no points. and sreng told him the name of those spears was craisech, and that they would break through shields and crush flesh and bones, so that their thrust was death or wounds that never healed. and then he looked at the sharp, thin, hard-pointed spears that were with bres. and in the end they made an exchange of spears, the way the fighters on each side would see the weapons the others were used to. and it is the message bres sent to the firbolgs, that if they would give up one half of ireland, his people would be content to take it in peace; but if they would not give up that much, there should be a battle. and he and sreng said to one another that whatever might happen in the future, they themselves would be friends. sreng went back then to teamhair and gave the message and showed the spear; and it is what he advised his people, to share the country and not to go into battle with a people that had weapons so much better than their own. but eochaid and his chief men consulted together, and they said in the end: "we will not give up the half of the country to these strangers; for if we do," they said, "they will soon take the whole." now as to the men of dea, when bres went back to them, and showed them the heavy spear, and told them of the strong, fierce man he had got it from, and how sturdy he was and well armed, they thought it likely there would soon be a battle. and they went back from where they were to a better place, farther west in connacht, and there they settled themselves, and made walls and ditches on the plain of magh nia, where they had the great mountain, belgata, in their rear. and while they were moving there and putting up their walls, three queens of them, badb and macha and the morrigu, went to teamhair where the firbolgs were making their plans. and by the power of their enchantments they brought mists and clouds of darkness over the whole place, and they sent showers of fire and of blood over the people, the way they could not see or speak with one another through the length of three days. but at the end of that time, the three druids of the firbolgs, cesarn and gnathach and ingnathach, broke the enchantment. the firbolgs gathered their men together then, and they came with their eleven battalions and took their stand at the eastern end of the plain of magh nia. and nuada, king of the men of dea, sent his poets to make the same offer he made before, to be content with the half of the country if it was given up to him. king eochaid bade the poets to ask an answer of his chief men that were gathered there; and when they heard the offer they would not consent. so the messengers asked them when would they begin the battle. "we must have a delay," they said; "for we want time to put our spears and our armour in order, and to brighten our helmets and to sharpen our swords, and to have spears made like the ones you have. and as to yourselves," they said, "you will be wanting to have spears like our craisechs made for you." so they agreed then to make a delay of a quarter of a year for preparation. it was on a midsummer day they began the battle. three times nine hurlers of the tuatha de danaan went out against three times nine hurlers of the firbolgs, and they were beaten, and every one of them was killed. and the king, eochaid, sent a messenger to ask would they have the battle every day or every second day. and it is what nuada answered that they would have it every day, but there should be just the same number of men fighting on each side. eochaid agreed to that, but he was not well pleased, for there were more men of the firbolgs than of the men of dea. so the battle went on for four days, and there were great feats done on each side, and a great many champions came to their death. but for those that were alive at evening, the physicians on each side used to make a bath of healing, with every sort of healing plant or herb in it, the way they would be strong and sound for the next day's fight. and on the fourth day the men of dea got the upper hand, and the firbolgs were driven back. and a great thirst came on eochaid, their king, in the battle, and he went off the field looking for a drink, and three fifties of his men protecting him; but three fifties of the tuatha de danaan followed after them till they came to the strand that is called traigh eothaile, and they had a fierce fight there, and at the last king eochaid fell, and they buried him there, and they raised a great heap of stones over his grave. and when there were but three hundred men left of the eleven battalions of the firbolgs, and sreng at the head of them, nuada offered them peace, and their choice among the five provinces of ireland. and sreng said they would take connacht; and he and his people lived there and their children after them. it is of them ferdiad came afterwards that made such a good fight against cuchulain, and erc, son of cairbre, that gave him his death. and that battle, that was the first fought in ireland by the men of dea, was called by some the first battle of magh tuireadh. and the tuatha de danaan took possession of teamhair, that was sometimes called druim cain, the beautiful ridge, and liathdruim, the grey ridge, and druim na descan, the ridge of the outlook, all those names were given to teamhair. and from that time it was above all other places, for its king was the high king over all ireland. the king's rath lay to the north, and the hill of the hostages to the north-east of the high seat, and the green of teamhair to the west of the hill of the hostages. and to the north-east, in the hill of the sidhe, was a well called nemnach, and out of it there flowed a stream called nith, and on that stream the first mill was built in ireland. and to the north of the hill of the hostages was the stone, the lia fail, and it used to roar under the feet of every king that would take possession of ireland. and the wall of the three whispers was near the house of the women that had seven doors to the east, and seven doors to the west; and it is in that house the feasts of teamhair used to be held. and there was the great house of a thousand soldiers, and near it, to the south, the little hill of the woman soldiers. chapter ii. the reign of bres but if nuada won the battle, he lost his own arm in it, that was struck off by sreng; and by that loss there came troubles and vexation on his people. for it was a law with the tuatha de danaan that no man that was not perfect in shape should be king. and after nuada had lost the battle he was put out of the kingship on that account. and the king they chose in his place was bres, that was the most beautiful of all their young men, so that if a person wanted to praise any beautiful thing, whether it was a plain, or a dun, or ale, or a flame, or a woman, or a man, or a horse, it is what he would say, "it is as beautiful as bres." and he was the son of a woman of the tuatha de danaan, but who his father was no one knew but herself. but in spite of bres being so beautiful, his reign brought no great good luck to his people; for the fomor, whose dwelling-place was beyond the sea, or as some say below the sea westward, began putting tribute on them, the way they would get them under their own rule. it was a long time before that the fomor came first to ireland; dreadful they were to look at, and maimed, having but one foot or one hand, and they under the leadership of a giant and his mother. there never came to ireland an army more horrible or more dreadful than that army of the fomor. and they were friendly with the firbolgs and content to leave ireland to them, but there was jealousy between them and the men of dea. and it was a hard tax they put on them, a third part of their corn they asked, and a third part of their milk, and a third part of their children, so that there was not smoke rising from a roof in ireland but was under tribute to them. and bres made no stand against them, but let them get their way. and as to bres himself, he put a tax on every house in ireland of the milk of hornless dun cows, or of the milk of cows of some other single colour, enough for a hundred men. and one time, to deceive him, nechtan singed all the cows of ireland in a fire of fern, and then he smeared them with the ashes of flax seed, the way they were all dark brown. he did that by the advice of the druid findgoll, son of findemas. and another time they made three hundred cows of wood with dark brown pails in place of udders, and the pails were filled with black bog stuff. then bres came to look at the cows, and to see them milked before him, and cian, father of lugh, was there. and when they were milked it was the bog stuff that was squeezed out; and bres took a drink of it thinking it to be milk, and he was not the better of it for a long time. and there was another thing against bres; he was no way open-handed, and the chief men of the tuatha de danaan grumbled against him, for their knives were never greased in his house, and however often they might visit him there was no smell of ale on their breath. and there was no sort of pleasure or merriment in his house, and no call for their poets, or singers, or harpers, or pipers, or horn-blowers, or jugglers, or fools. and as to the trials of strength they were used to see between their champions, the only use their strength was put to now was to be doing work for the king. ogma himself, the shining poet, was under orders to bring firing to the palace every day for the whole army from the islands of mod; and he so weak for want of food that the sea would sweep away two-thirds of his bundle every day. and as to the dagda, he was put to build raths, for he was a good builder, and he made a trench round rath brese. and he used often to be tired at the work, and one time he nearly gave in altogether for want of food, and this is the way that happened. he used to meet in the house an idle blind man, cridenbel his name was, that had a sharp tongue, and that coveted the dagda's share of food, for he thought his own to be small beside it. so he said to him: "for the sake of your good name let the three best bits of your share be given to me." and the dagda gave in to that every night; but he was the worse of it, for what the blind man called a bit would be the size of a good pig, and with his three bits he would take a full third of the whole. but one day, as the dagda was in the trench, he saw his son, angus og, coming to him. "that is a good meeting," said angus; "but what is on you, for you have no good appearance to-day?" "there is a reason for that," said the dagda, "for every evening, cridenbel, the blind man, makes a demand for the three best bits of my share of food, and takes them from me." "i will give you an advice," said angus. he put his hand in his bag then, and took out three pieces of gold and gave them to him. "put these pieces of gold into the three bits you will give this evening to cridenbel," he said, "and they will be the best bits in the dish, and the gold will turn within him the way he will die." so in the evening the dagda did that; and no sooner had cridenbel swallowed down the gold than he died. some of the people said then to the king: "the dagda has killed cridenbel, giving him some deadly herb." the king believed that, and there was anger on him against the dagda, and he gave orders he should be put to death. but the dagda said: "you are not giving the right judgment of a prince." and he told all that had happened, and how cridenbel used to say, "give me the three best bits before you, for my own share is not good to-night." "and on this night," he said, "the three pieces of gold were the best things before me, and i gave them to him, and he died." the king gave orders then to have the body cut open. and they found the gold inside it, and they knew it was the truth the dagda had told. and angus came to him again the next day, and he said: "your work will soon be done, and when you are given your wages, take nothing they may offer you till the cattle of ireland are brought before you, and choose out a heifer then, black and black-maned, that i will tell you the signs of." so when the dagda had brought his work to an end, and they asked him what reward he wanted, he did as angus had bidden him. and that seemed folly to bres; he thought the dagda would have asked more than a heifer of him. there came a day at last when a poet came to look for hospitality at the king's house, corpre, son of etain, poet of the tuatha de danaan. and it is how he was treated, he was put in a little dark narrow house where there was no fire, or furniture, or bed; and for a feast three small cakes, and they dry, were brought to him on a little dish. when he rose up on the morrow he was no way thankful, and as he was going across the green, it is what he said: "without food ready on a dish; without milk enough for a calf to grow on; without shelter; without light in the darkness of night; without enough to pay a story-teller; may that be the prosperity of bres." and from that day there was no good luck with bres, but it is going down he was for ever after. and that was the first satire ever made in ireland. now as to nuada: after his arm being struck off, he was in his sickness for a while, and then diancecht, the healer, made an arm of silver for him, with movement in every finger of it, and put it on him. and from that he was called nuada argat-lamh, of the silver hand, for ever after. now miach, son of diancecht, was a better hand at healing than his father, and had done many things. he met a young man, having but one eye, at teamhair one time, and the young man said: "if you are a good physician you will put an eye in the place of the eye i lost." "i could put the eye of that cat in your lap in its place," said miach. "i would like that well," said the young man. so miach put the cat's eye in his head; but he would as soon have been without it after, for when he wanted to sleep and take his rest, it is then the eye would start at the squeaking of the mice, or the flight of the birds, or the movement of the rushes; and when he was wanting to watch an army or a gathering, it is then it was sure to be in a deep sleep. and miach was not satisfied with what his father had done to the king, and he took nuada's own hand that had been struck off, and brought it to him and set it in its place, and he said: "joint to joint, and sinew to sinew." three days and three nights he was with the king; the first day he put the hand against his side, and the second day against his breast, till it was covered with skin, and the third day he put bulrushes that were blackened in the fire on it, and at the end of that time the king was healed. but diancecht was vexed when he saw his son doing a better cure than himself, and he threw his sword at his head, that it cut the flesh, but the lad healed the wound by means of his skill. then diancecht threw it a second time, that it reached the bone, but the lad was able to cure the wound. then he struck him the third time and the fourth, till he cut out the brain, for he knew no physician could cure him after that blow; and miach died, and he buried him. and herbs grew up from his grave, to the number of his joints and sinews, three hundred and sixty-five. and airmed, his sister, came and spread out her cloak and laid out the herbs in it, according to their virtue. but diancecht saw her doing that, and he came and mixed up the herbs, so that no one knows all their right powers to this day. then when the tuatha de danaan saw nuada as well as he was before, they gathered together to teamhair, where bres was, and they bade him give up the kingship, for he had held it long enough. so he had to give it up, though he was not very willing, and nuada was put back in the kingship again. there was great vexation on bres then, and he searched his mind to know how could he be avenged on those that had put him out, and how he could gather an army against them; and he went to his mother, eri, daughter of delbaith, and bade her tell him what his race was. "i know that well," she said; and she told him then that his father was a king of the fomor, elathan, son of dalbaech, and that he came to her one time over a level sea in some great vessel that seemed to be of silver, but she could not see its shape, and he himself having the appearance of a young man with yellow hair, and his clothes sewed with gold, and five rings of gold about his neck. and she that had refused the love of all the young men of her own people, gave him her love, and she cried when he left her. and he gave her a ring from his hand, and bade her give it only to the man whose finger it would fit, and he went away then the same way as he had come. and she brought out the ring then to bres, and he put it round his middle finger, and it fitted him well. and they went then together to the hill where she was the time she saw the silver vessel coming, and down to the strand, and she and bres and his people set out for the country of the fomor. and when they came to that country they found a great plain with many gatherings of people on it, and they went to the gathering that looked the best, and the people asked where did they come from, and they said they were come from ireland. "have you hounds with you?" they asked them then, for it was the custom at that time, when strangers came to a gathering, to give them some friendly challenge. "we have hounds," said bres. so the hounds were matched against one another, and the hounds of the tuatha de danaan were better than the hounds of the fomor. "have you horses for a race?" they asked then. "we have," said bres. and the horses of the tuatha de danaan beat the horses of the fomor. then they asked was any one among them a good hand with the sword, and they said bres was the best. but when he put his hand to his sword, elathan, his father, that was among them, knew the ring, and he asked who was this young man. then his mother answered him and told the whole story, and that bres was his own son. there was sorrow on his father then, and he said: "what was it drove you out of the country you were king over?" and bres said: "nothing drove me out but my own injustice and my own hardness; i took away their treasures from the people, and their jewels, and their food itself. and there were never taxes put on them before i was their king." "that is bad," said his father; "it is of their prosperity you had a right to think more than of your own kingship. and their good-will would be better than their curses," he said; "and what is it you are come to look for here?" "i am come to look for fighting men," said bres, "that i may take ireland by force." "you have no right to get it by injustice when you could not keep it by justice," said his father. "what advice have you for me then?" said bres. and elathan bade him go to the chief king of the fomor, balor of the evil eye, to see what advice and what help would he give him. book two: lugh of the long hand. chapter i. the coming of lugh now as to nuada of the silver hand, he was holding a great feast at teamhair one time, after he was back in the kingship. and there were two door-keepers at teamhair, gamal, son of figal, and camel, son of riagall. and a young man came to the door where one of them was, and bade him bring him in to the king. "who are you yourself?" said the door-keeper. "i am lugh, son of cian of the tuatha de danaan, and of ethlinn, daughter of balor, king of the fomor," he said; "and i am foster-son of taillte, daughter of the king of the great plain, and of echaid the rough, son of duach." "what are you skilled in?" said the door-keeper; "for no one without an art comes into teamhair." "question me," said lugh; "i am a carpenter." "we do not want you; we have a carpenter ourselves, luchtar, son of luachaid." "then i am a smith." "we have a smith ourselves, colum cuaillemech of the three new ways." "then i am a champion." "that is no use to us; we have a champion before, ogma, brother to the king." "question me again," he said; "i am a harper." "that is no use to us; we have a harper ourselves, abhean, son of bicelmos, that the men of the three gods brought from the hills." "i am-a poet," he said then, "and a teller of tales." "that is no use to us; we have a teller of tales ourselves, ere, son of ethaman." "and i am a magician." "that is no use to us; we have plenty of magicians and people of power." "i am a physician," he said. "that is no use; we have diancecht-for our physician." "let me be a cup-bearer," he said. "we do not want you; we have nine cup-bearers ourselves." "i am a good worker in brass." "we have a worker in brass ourselves, that is credne cerd." then lugh said: "go and ask the king if he has any one man that can do all these things, and if he has, i will not ask to come into teamhair." the door-keeper went into the king's house then and told him all that. "there is a young man at the door," he said, "and his name should be the ildánach, the master of all arts, for all the things the people of your house can do, he himself is able to do every one of them." "try him with the chess-boards," said nuada. so the chess-boards were brought out, and every game that was played, lugh won it. and when nuada was told that, he said: "let him in, for the like of him never came into teamhair before." then the door-keeper let him pass, and he came into the king's house and sat down in the seat of knowledge. and there was a great flag-stone there that could hardly be moved by four times twenty yoke of oxen, and ogma took it up and hurled it out through the house, so that it lay on the outside of teamhair, as a challenge to lugh. but lugh hurled it back again that it lay in the middle of the king's house. he played the harp for them then, and he had them laughing and crying, till he put them asleep at the end with a sleepy tune. and when nuada saw all the things lugh could do, he began to think that by his help the country might get free of the taxes and the tyranny put on it by the fomor. and it is what he did, he came down from his throne, and he put lugh on it in his place, for the length of thirteen days, the way they might all listen to the advice he would give. this now is the story of the birth of lugh. the time the fomor used to be coming to ireland, balor of the strong blows, or, as some called him, of the evil eye, was living on the island of the tower of glass. there was danger for ships that went near that island, for the fomor would come out and take them. and some say the sons of nemed in the old time, before the firbolgs were in ireland, passed near it in their ships, and what they saw was a tower of glass in the middle of the sea, and on the tower something that had the appearance of men, and they went against it with druid spells to attack it. and the fomor worked against them with druid spells of their own; and the sons of nemed attacked the tower, and it vanished, and they thought it was destroyed. but a great wave rose over them then, and all their ships went down and all that were in them. and the tower was there as it was before, and balor living in it. and it is the reason he was called "of the evil eye," there was a power of death in one of his eyes, so that no person could look at it and live. it is the way it got that power, he was passing one time by a house where his father's druids were making spells of death, and the window being open he looked in, and the smoke of the poisonous spells was rising up, and it went into his eye. and from that time he had to keep it closed unless he wanted to be the death of some enemy, and then the men that were with him would lift the eyelid with a ring of ivory. now a druid foretold one time that it was by his own grandson he would get his death. and he had at that time but one child, a daughter whose name was ethlinn; and when he heard what the druid said, he shut her up in the tower on the island. and he put twelve women with her to take charge of her and to guard her, and he bade them never to let her see a man or hear the name of a man. so ethlinn was brought up in the tower, and she grew to be very beautiful; and sometimes she would see men passing in the currachs, and sometimes she would see a man in her dreams. but when she would speak of that to the women, they would give her no answer. so there was no fear on balor, and he went on with war and robbery as he was used, seizing every ship that passed by, and sometimes going over to ireland to do destruction there. now it chanced at that time there were three brothers of the tuatha de danaan living together in a place that was called druim na teine, the ridge of the fire, goibniu and samthainn and cian. cian was a lord of land, and goibniu was the smith that had such a great name. now cian had a wonderful cow, the glas gaibhnenn, and her milk never failed. and every one that heard of her coveted her, and many had tried to steal her away, so that she had to be watched night and day. and one time cian was wanting some swords made, and he went to goibniu's forge, and he brought the glas gaibhnenn with him, holding her by a halter. when he came to the forge his two brothers were there together, for samthainn had brought some steel to have weapons made for himself; and cian bade samthainn to hold the halter while he went into the forge to speak with goibniu. now balor had set his mind for a long time on the glas gaibhnenn, but he had never been able to get near her up to this time. and he was watching not far off, and when he saw samthainn holding the cow, he put on the appearance of a little boy, having red hair, and came up to him and told him he heard his two brothers that were in the forge saying to one another that they would use all his steel for their own swords, and make his of iron. "by my word," said samthainn, "they will not deceive me so easily. let you hold the cow, little lad," he said, "and i will go in to them." with that he rushed into the forge, and great anger on him. and no sooner did balor get the halter in his hand than he set out, dragging the glas along with him, to the strand, and across the sea to his own island. when cian saw his brother coming in he rushed out, and there he saw balor and the glas out in the sea. and he had nothing to do then but to reproach his brother, and to wander about as if his wits had left him, not knowing what way to get his cow back from balor. at last he went to a druid to ask an advice from him; and it is what the druid told him, that so long as balor lived, the cow would never be brought back, for no one would go within reach of his evil eye. cian went then to a woman-druid, birog of the mountain, for her help. and she dressed him in a woman's clothes, and brought him across the sea in a blast of wind, to the tower where ethlinn was. then she called to the women in the tower, and asked them for shelter for a high queen she was after saving from some hardship, and the women in the tower did not like to refuse a woman of the tuatha de danaan, and they let her and her comrade in. then birog by her enchantments put them all into a deep sleep, and cian went to speak with ethlinn. and when she saw him she said that was the face she had seen in her dreams. so she gave him her love; but after a while he was brought away again on a blast of wind. and when her time came, ethlinn gave birth to a son. and when balor knew that, he bade his people put the child in a cloth and fasten it with a pin, and throw him into a current of the sea. and as they were carrying the child across an arm of the sea, the pin dropped out, and the child slipped from the cloth into the water, and they thought he was drowned. but he was brought away by birog of the mountain, and she brought him to his father cian; and he gave him to be fostered by taillte, daughter of the king of the great plain. it is thus lugh was born and reared. and some say balor came and struck the head off cian on a white stone, that has the blood marks on it to this day; but it is likely it was some other man he struck the head off, for it was by the sons of tuireann that cian came to his death. and after lugh had come to teamhair, and made his mind up to join with his father's people against the fomor, he put his mind to the work; and he went to a quiet place in grellach dollaid, with nuada and the dagda, and with ogma; and goibniu and diancecht were called to them there. a full year they stopped there, making their plans together in secret, the way the fomor would not know they were going to rise against them till such time as all would be ready, and till they would know what their strength was. and it is from that council the place got the name afterwards of "the whisper of the men of dea." and they broke up the council, and agreed to meet again that day three years, and every one of them went his own way, and lugh went back to his own friends, the sons of manannan. and it was a good while after that, nuada was holding a great assembly of the people on the hill of uisnech, on the west side of teamhair. and they were not long there before they saw an armed troop coming towards them from the east, over the plain; and there was a young man in front of the troop, in command over the rest, and the brightness of his face was like the setting sun, so that they were not able to look at him because of its brightness. and when he came nearer they knew it was lugh lamh-fada, of the long hand, that had come back to them, and along with him were the riders of the sidhe from the land of promise, and his own foster-brothers, the sons of manannan, sgoith gleigeil, the white flower, and goitne gorm-shuileach, the blue-eyed spear, and sine sindearg, of the red ring, and donall donn-ruadh, of the red-brown hair. and it is the way lugh was, he had manannan's horse, the aonbharr, of the one mane, under him, that was as swift as the naked cold wind of spring, and the sea was the same as dry land to her, and the rider was never killed off her back. and he had manannan's breast-plate on him, that kept whoever was wearing it from wounds, and a helmet on his head with two beautiful precious stones set in the front of it and one at the back, and when he took it off, his forehead was like the sun on a dry summer day. and he had manannan's sword, the freagarthach, the answerer, at his side, and no one that was wounded by it would ever get away alive; and when that sword was bared in a battle, no man that saw it coming against him had any more strength than a woman in child-birth. and the troop came to where the king of ireland was with the tuatha de danaan, and they welcomed one another. and they were not long there till they saw a surly, slovenly troop coming towards them, nine times nine of the messengers of the fomor, that were coming to ask rent and taxes from the men of ireland; and the names of the four that were the hardest and the most cruel were eine and eathfaigh and coron and compar; and there was such great dread of these four on the tuatha de danaan, that not one of them would so much as punish his own son or his foster-son without leave from them. they came up then to where the king of ireland was with the riders of the sidhe, and the king and all the tuatha de danaan stood up before them. and lugh of the long hand said: "why do you rise up before that surly, slovenly troop, when you did not rise up before us?" "it is needful for us to do it," said the king; "for if there was but a child of us sitting before them, they would not think that too small a cause for killing him." "by my word," said lugh, "there is a great desire coming on me to kill themselves." "that is a thing would bring harm on us," said the king, "for we would meet our own death and destruction through it." "it is too long a time you have been under this oppression," said lugh. and with that he started up and made an attack on the fomor, killing and wounding them, till he had made an end of eight nines of them, but he let the last nine go under the protection of nuada the king. "and i would kill you along with the others," he said, "but i would sooner see you go with messages to your own country than my own people, for fear they might get any ill-treatment." so the nine went back then till they came to lochlann, where the men of the fomor were, and they told them the story from beginning to end, and how a young well-featured lad had come into ireland and had killed all the tax-gatherers but themselves, "and it is the reason he let us off," they said, "that we might tell you the story ourselves." "do you know who is the young man?" said balor of the evil eye then. "i know well," said ceithlenn, his wife; "he is the son of your daughter and mine. and it was foretold," she said, "that from the time he would come into ireland, we would never have power there again for ever." then the chief men of the fomor went into a council, eab, son of neid, and seanchab, grandson of neid, and sital salmhor, and liath, son of lobais, and the nine poets of the fomor that had learning and the gift of foreknowledge, and lobais the druid, and balor himself and his twelve white-mouthed sons, and ceithlenn of the crooked teeth, his queen. and it was just at that time bres and his father elathan were come to ask help of the fomor, and bres said: "i myself will go to ireland, and seven great battalions of the riders of the fomor along with me, and i will give battle to this ildánach, this master of all arts, and i will strike his head off and bring it here to you, to the green of berbhe." "it would be a fitting thing for you to do," said they all. "let my ships be made ready for me," said bres, "and let food and provisions be put in them." so they made no delay, but went and got the ships ready, and they put plenty of food and drink in them, and the two swift luaths were sent out to gather the army to bres. and when they were all gathered, they made ready their armour and their weapons, and they set out for ireland. and balor the king followed them to the harbour, and he said: "give battle to that ildánach, and strike off his head; and tie that island that is called ireland to the back of your ships, and let the destroying water take its place, and put it on the north side of lochlann, and not one of the men of dea will follow it there to the end of life and time." then they pushed out their ships and put up their painted sails, and went out from the harbour on the untilled country, on the ridges of the wide-lying sea, and they never turned from their course till they came to the harbour of eas dara. and from that they sent out an army through west connacht and destroyed it altogether, through and through. and the king of connacht at that time was bodb dearg, son of the dagda. chapter ii. the sons of tuireann and lugh of the long hand was at that time at teamhair with the king of ireland, and it was showed to him that the fomor were after landing at eas dara. and when he knew that, he made ready manannan's horse, the aonbharr, at the time of the battle of the day and night; and he went where nuada the king was, and told him how the fomor had landed at eas dara and had spoiled bodb dearg's country; "and it is what i want," he said, "to get help from you to give battle to them." but nuada was not minded to avenge the destruction that was done on bodb dearg and not on himself, and lugh was not well pleased with his answer, and he went riding out of teamhair westward. and presently he saw three armed men coming towards him, his own father cian, with his brothers cu and ceithen, that were the three sons of cainte, and they saluted him. "what is the cause of your early rising?" they said. "it is good cause i have for it," said lugh, "for the fomor are come into ireland and have robbed bodb dearg; and what help will you give me against them?" he said. "each one of us will keep off a hundred from you in the battle," said they. "that is a good help," said lugh; "but there is a help i would sooner have from you than that: to gather the riders of the sidhe to me from every place where they are." so cu and ceithen went towards the south, and cian set out northward, and he did not stop till he reached the plain of muirthemne. and as he was going across the plain he saw three armed men before him, that were the three sons of tuireann, son of ogma. and it is the way it was between the three sons of tuireann and the three sons of cainte, they were in hatred and enmity towards one another, so that whenever they met there was sure to be fighting among them. then cian said: "if my two brothers had been here it is a brave fight we would make; but since they are not, it is best for me to fall back." then he saw a great herd of pigs near him, and he struck himself with a druid rod that put on him the shape of a pig of the herd, and he began rooting up the ground like the rest. then brian, one of the sons of tuireann, said to his brothers: "did you see that armed man that was walking the plain a while ago?" "we did see him," said they. "do you know what was it took him away?" said brian. "we do not know that," said they. "it is a pity you not to be keeping a better watch over the plains of the open country in time of war," said brian; "and i know well what happened him, for he struck himself with his druid rod into the shape of a pig of these pigs, and he is rooting up the ground now like any one of them; and whoever he is, he is no friend to us." "that is bad for us," said the other two, "for the pigs belong to some one of the tuatha de danaan, and even if we kill them all, the druid pig might chance to escape us in the end." "it is badly you got your learning in the city of learning," said brian, "when you cannot tell an enchanted beast from a natural beast." and while he was saying that, he struck his two brothers with his druid rod, and he turned them into two thin, fast hounds, and they began to yelp sharply on the track of the enchanted pig. and it was not long before the pig fell out from among the others, and not one of the others made away but only itself, and it made for a wood, and at the edge of the wood brian gave a cast of his spear that went through its body. and the pig cried out, and it said: "it is a bad thing you have done to have made a cast at me when you knew me." "it seems to me you have the talk of a man," said brian. "i was a man indeed," said he; "i am cian, son of cainte, and give me your protection now." "i swear by the gods of the air," said brian, "that if the life came back seven times to you, i would take it from you every time." "if that is so," said cian, "give me one request: let me go into my own shape again." "we will do that," said brian, "for it is easier to me to kill a man than a pig." so cian took his own shape then, and he said: "give me mercy now." "we will not give it," said brian. "well, i have got the better of you for all that," said cian; "for if it was in the shape of a pig you had killed me there would only be the blood money for a pig on me; but as it is in my own shape you will kill me, there never was and never will be any person killed for whose sake a heavier fine will be paid than for myself. and the arms i am killed with," he said, "it is they will tell the deed to my son." "it is not with weapons you will be killed, but with the stones lying on the ground," said brian. and with that they pelted him with stones, fiercely and roughly, till all that was left of him was a poor, miserable, broken heap; and they buried him the depth of a man's body in the earth, and the earth would not receive that murder from them, but cast it up again. brian said it should go into the earth again, and they put it in the second time, and the second time the earth would not take it. and six times the sons of tuireann buried the body, and six times it was cast up again; but the seventh time it was put underground the earth kept it. and then they went on to join lugh of the long hand for the battle. now as to lugh; upon parting with his father he went forward from teamhair westward, to the hills that were called afterwards gairech and ilgairech, and to the ford of the shannon that is now called athluain, and to bearna nah-eadargana, the gap of separation, and over magh luirg, the plain of following, and to corr slieve na seaghsa, the round mountain of the poet's spring, and to the head of sean-slieve, and through the place of the bright-faced corann, and from that to magh mor an aonaigh, the great plain of the fair, where the fomor were, and the spoils of connacht with them. it is then bres, son of elathan, rose up and said: "it is a wonder to me the sun to be rising in the west to-day, and it rising in the east every other day." "it would be better for us it to be the sun," said the druids. "what else is it?" said he. "it is the shining of the face of lugh, son of ethlinn," said they. lugh came up to them then and saluted them. "why do you come like a friend to us?" said they. "there is good cause for that," he said, "for there is but one half of me of the tuatha de danaan, and the other half of yourselves. and give me back now the milch cows of the men of ireland," he said. "may early good luck not come to you till you get either a dry or a milch cow here," said a man of them, and anger on him. but lugh stopped near them for three days and three nights, and at the end of that time the riders of the sidhe came to him. and bodb dearg, son of the dagda, came with twenty-nine hundred men, and he said: "what is the cause of your delay in giving battle?" "waiting for you i was," said lugh. then the kings and chief men of the men of ireland took their armour on them, and they raised the points of their spears over their heads, and they made close fences of their shields. and they attacked their enemies on magh mor an aonaigh, and their enemies answered them, and they threw their whining spears at one another, and when their spears were broken they drew their swords from their blue-bordered sheaths and began to strike at one another, and thickets of brown flames rose above them from the bitterness of their many-edged weapons. and lugh saw the battle pen where bres, son of elathan, was, and he made a fierce attack on him and on the men that were guarding him, till he had made an end of two hundred of them. when bres saw that, he gave himself up to lugh's protection. "give me my life this time," he said, "and i will bring the whole race of the fomor to fight it out with you in a great battle; and i bind myself to that, by the sun and the moon, the sea and the land," he said. on that lugh gave him his life, and then the druids that were with him asked his protection for themselves. "by my word," said lugh, "if the whole race of the fomor went under my protection they would not be destroyed by me." so then bres and the druids set out for their own country. now as to lugh and the sons of tuireann. after the battle of magh mor an aonaigh, he met two of his kinsmen and asked them did they see his father in the fight. "we did not," said they. "i am sure he is not living," said lugh; "and i give my word," he said, "there will no food or drink go into my mouth till i get knowledge by what death my father died." then he set out, and the riders of the sidhe after him, till they came to the place where he and his father parted from one another, and from that to the place where his father went into the shape of a pig when he saw the sons of tuireann. and when lugh came to that place the earth spoke to him, and it said: "it is in great danger your father was here, lugh, when he saw the sons of tuireann before him, and it is into the shape of a pig he had to go, but it is in his own shape they killed him." then lugh told that to his people, and he found the spot where his father was buried, and he bade them dig there, the way he would know by what death the sons of tuireann had made an end of him. then they raised the body out of the grave and looked at it, and it was all one bed of wounds. and lugh said: "it was the death of an enemy the sons of tuireann gave my dear father." and he gave him three kisses, and it is what he said: "it is bad the way i am myself after this death, for i can hear nothing with my ears, and i can see nothing with my eyes, and there is not a living pulse in my heart, with grief after my father. and you gods i worship," he said, "it is a pity i not to have come here the time this thing was done. and it is a great thing that has been done here," he said, "the people of the gods of dana to have done treachery on one another, and it is long they will be under loss by it and be weakened by it. and ireland will never be free from trouble from this out, east and west," he said. then they put cian under the earth again, and after that there was keening made over his grave, and a stone was raised on it, and his name was written in ogham, and lugh said: "this hill will take its name from cian, although he himself is stripped and broken. and it was the sons of tuireann did this thing," he said, "and there will grief and anguish fall on them from it, and on their children after them. and it is no lying story i am telling you," he said; "and it is a pity the way i am, and my heart is broken in my breast since cian, the brave man, is not living." then he bade his people to go before him to teamhair, "but do not tell the story till i tell it myself," he said. and when lugh came to teamhair he sat in the high seat of the king, and he looked about him and he saw the three sons of tuireann. and those were the three that were beyond all others at teamhair at that time for quickness and skill, for a good hand in battle, for beauty and an honourable name. then lugh bade his people to shake the chain of silence, and they did so, and they all listened. and lugh said: "what are your minds fixed on at this time, men of dea?" "on yourself indeed," said they. "i have a question to ask of you," he said. "what is the vengeance each one of you would take on the man that would kill your father?" there was great wonder on them when they heard that, and one of the chief men among them said: "tell us was it your own father that was killed?" "it was indeed," said lugh; "and i see now in this house," he said, "the men that killed him, and they know themselves what way they killed him better than i know it." then the king said: "it is not a death of one day only i would give the man that had killed my father, if he was in my power, but to cut off one of his limbs from day to day till i would make an end of him." all the chief men said the same, and the sons of tuireann like the rest. "there are making that answer," said lugh, "the three men that killed my father; and let them pay the fine for him now, since you are all together in the one place. and if they will not," he said, "i will not break the protection of the king's house, but they must make no attempt to quit this house till they have settled with me." "if it was i myself had killed your father," said the king, "i would be well content you to take a fine from me for him." "it is at us lugh is saying all this," said the sons of tuireann among themselves. "let us acknowledge the killing of his father to him," said iuchar and iucharba. "i am in dread," said brian, "that it is wanting an acknowledgment from us he is, in the presence of all the rest, and that he will not let us off with a fine afterwards." "it is best to acknowledge it," said the others; "and let you speak it out since you are the eldest." then brian, son of tuireann, said: "it is at us you are speaking, lugh, for you are thinking we went against the sons of cainte before now; and we did not kill your father," he said, "but we will pay the fine for him the same as if we did kill him." "i will take a fine from you that you do not think of," said lugh, "and i will say here what it is, and if it is too much for you, i will let you off a share of it." "let us hear it from you," said they. "here it is," said lugh; "three apples, and the skin of a pig, and a spear, and two horses, and a chariot, and seven pigs, and a dog's whelp, and a cooking-spit, and three shouts on a hill. that is the fine i am asking," he said; "and if it is too much for you, a part of it will be taken off you presently, and if you do not think it too much, then pay it" "it is not too much," said brian, "or a hundred times of it would not be too much. and we think it likely," he said, "because of its smallness that you have some treachery towards us behind it." "i do not think it too little of a fine," said lugh; "and i give you the guarantee of the tuatha de danaan i will ask no other thing, and i will be faithful to you, and let you give the same pledge to me." "it is a pity you to ask that," said brian, "for our own pledge is as good as any pledge in the world." "your own pledge is not enough," said lugh, "for it is often the like of you promised to pay a fine in this way, and would try to back out of it after." so then the sons of tuireann bound themselves by the king of ireland, and by bodb dearg, son of the dagda, and by the chief men of the tuatha de danaan, that they would pay that fine to lugh. "it would be well for me now," said lugh, "to give you better knowledge of the fine." "it would be well indeed," said they. "this is the way of it then," said lugh. "the three apples i asked of you are the three apples from the garden in the east of the world, and no other apples will do but these, for they are the most beautiful and have most virtue in them of the apples of the whole world. and it is what they are like, they are of the colour of burned gold, and they are the size of the head of a child a month old, and there is the taste of honey on them, and they do not leave the pain of wounds or the vexation of sickness on any one that eats them, and they do not lessen by being eaten for ever. and the skin i asked of you," he said, "is the pig skin of tuis, king of greece, and it heals all the wounds and all the sickness of the world, and whatever danger a man may be in, if it can but overtake the life in him, it will cure him; and it is the way it was with that pig, every stream of water it would go through would be turned into wine to the end of nine days after, and every wound it touched was healed; and it is what the druids of greece said, that it is not in itself this virtue was, but in the skin, and they skinned it, and the skin is there ever since. and i think, too, it will not be easy for you to get it, with or without leave." "and do you know what is the spear i am asking of you?" he said. "we do not," said they. "it is a very deadly spear belonging to the king of persia, the luin it is called, and every choice thing is done by it, and its head is kept steeped in a vessel of water, the way it will not burn down the place where it is, and it will be hard to get it. and do you know what two horses and what chariot i am asking of you? they are the chariot and the two wonderful horses of dobar, king of siogair, and the sea is the same as land to them, and there are no faster horses than themselves, and there is no chariot equal to that one in shape and in strength. "and do you know what are the seven pigs i asked of you? they are the pigs of easal, king of the golden pillars; and though they are killed every night, they are found alive again the next day, and there will be no disease or no sickness on any person that will eat a share of them. "and the whelp i asked of you is fail-inis, the whelp belonging to the king of ioruaidh, the cold country. and all the wild beasts of the world would fall down at the sight of her, and she is more beautiful than the sun in his fiery wheels, and it will be hard to get her. "and the cooking-spit i asked of you is a spit of the spits of the women of inis cenn-fhinne, the island of caer of the fair hair. and the three shouts you are to give on a hill must be given on the hill of miochaoin in the north of lochlann. and miochaoin and his sons are under bonds not to allow any shouts to be given on that hill; and it was with them my father got his learning, and if i would forgive you his death, they would not forgive you. and if you get through all your other voyages before you reach to them, it is my opinion they themselves will avenge him on you. and that is the fine i have asked of you," said lugh. there was silence and darkness on the sons of tuireann when they heard that. and they went to where their father was, and told him the fine that had been put on them. "it is bad news that is," said tuireann; "and it is to your death and your destruction you will be going, looking for those things. but for all that, if lugh himself had a mind to help you, you could work out the fine, and all the men of the world could not do it but by the power of manannan or of lugh. go then and ask the loan of manannan's horse, the aonbharr, from lugh, and if he has any wish to get the fine, he will give it to you; but if he does not wish it he will say the horse is not his, and that he would not give the loan of a loan. ask him then for the loan of manannan's curragh, the scuabtuinne, the sweeper of the waves. and he will give that, for he is under bonds not to refuse a second request, and the curragh is better for you than the horse," he said. so the sons of tuireann went to where lugh was, and they saluted him, and they said they could not bring him the fine without his own help, and for that reason it would be well for them to get a loan of the aonbharr. "i have that horse only on loan myself," said lugh, "and i will not give a loan of a loan." "if that is so, give us the loan of manannan's curragh," said brian. "i will give that," said lugh. "what place is it?" said they. "at brugh na boinn," said lugh. then they went back again to where tuireann was, and his daughter ethne, their sister, with him, and they told him they had got the curragh. "it is not much the better you will be for it," said tuireann, "although lugh would like well to get every part of this fine he could make use of before the battle with the fomor. but he would like yourselves to come to your death looking for it." then they went away, and they left tuireann sorrowful and lamenting, and ethne went with them to where the curragh was. and brian got into it, and he said: "there is place but for one other person along with me here." and he began to find fault with its narrowness. "you ought not to be faulting the curragh," said ethne; "and o my dear brother," she said, "it was a bad thing you did, to kill the father of lugh of the long hand; and whatever harm may come to you from it, it is but just." "do not say that, ethne," they said, "for we are in good heart, and we will do brave deeds. and we would sooner be killed a hundred times over," they said, "than to meet with the death of cowards." "my grief," said ethne, "there is nothing more sorrowful than this, to see you driven out from your own country." then the three pushed out their curragh from the beautiful clear-bayed shore of ireland. "what course shall we take first?" said they. "we will go look for the apples," said brian, "as they were the first thing we were bade bring. and so we ask of you, curragh of manannan that is under us, to sail to the garden in the east of the world." and the curragh did not neglect that order, but it sailed forward over the green-sided waves and deep places till it came to its harbour in the east of the world. and then brian asked his brothers: "what way have you a mind to get into the garden? for i think," he said, "the king's champions and the fighting men of the country are always guarding it, and the king himself is chief over them." "what should we do," said his brothers, "but to make straight at them and attack them, and bring away the apples or fall ourselves, since we cannot escape from these dangers that are before us without meeting our death in some place." "it would be better," said brian, "the story of our bravery and our craftiness to be told and to live after us, than folly and cowardice to be told of us. and what is best for us to do now," he said, "is to go in the shape of swift hawks into the garden, and the watchers have but their light spears to throw at us, and let you take good care to keep out of their reach; and after they have thrown them all, make a quick flight to the apples and let each of you bring away an apple of them in your claws, and i will bring away the third." they said that was a good advice, and brian struck himself and the others with his druid rod, and changed them into beautiful hawks. and they flew towards the garden, and the watchers took notice of them and shouted on every side of them, and threw showers of spears and darts, but the hawks kept out of their reach as brian had bade them, till all the spears were spent, and then they swept down bravely on the apples, and brought them away with them, without so much as a wound. and the news went through the city and the whole district, and the king had three wise, crafty daughters, and they put themselves into the shape of three ospreys, and they followed the hawks to the sea, and sent flashes of lightning before them and after them, that scorched them greatly. "it is a pity the way we are now," said the sons of tuireann, "for we will be burned through and through with this lightning if we do not get some relief." "if i can give you relief i will do it," said brian. with that he struck himself and his brothers with the druid rod, and they were turned into three swans, and they went down quickly into the sea, and the ospreys went away from them then, and the sons of tuireann went into their boat. after that they consulted together, and it is what they agreed, to go to greece and to bring away the skin of the pig, with or without leave. so they went forward till they came near to the court of the king of greece. "what appearance should we put on us going in here?" said brian. "what appearance should we go in with but our own?" said the others. "that is not what i think best," said brian; "but to go in with the appearance of poets from ireland, the way the high people of greece will hold us in respect and in honour." "it would be hard for us to do that," they said, "and we without a poem, and it is little we know how to make one." however, they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they knocked at the door of the court, and the door-keeper asked who was in it. "we are poets of ireland," said brian, "and we are come with a poem to the king." the door-keeper went in and told the king that there were poets from ireland at the door. "let them in," said the king, "for it is in search of a good man they came so far from their own country." and the king gave orders that everything should be well set out in the court, the way they would say they had seen no place so grand in all their travels. the sons of tuireann were let in then, having the appearance of poets, and they fell to drinking and pleasure without delay; and they thought they had never seen, and there was not in the world, a court so good as that or so large a household, or a place where they had met with better treatment. then the king's poets got up to give out their poems and songs. and then brian, son of tuireann, bade his brothers to say a poem for the king. "we have no poem," said they; "and do not ask any poem of us, but the one we know before, and that is to take what we want by the strength of our hand if we are the strongest, or to fall by those that are against us if they are the strongest." "that is not a good way to make a poem," said brian. and with that he rose up himself and asked a hearing. and they all listened to him, and it is what he said: "o tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak among kings; the skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward i ask for it. "the war of a neighbour against an ear; the fair ear of his neighbour will be against him; he who gives us what he owns, his court will not be the scarcer for it. "a raging army and a sudden sea are a danger to whoever goes against them. the skin of a pig, bounty without hardness, this is the reward i ask, o tuis." "that is a good poem," said the king; "but i do not know a word of its meaning." "i will tell you its meaning," said brian. "'o tuis, we do not hide your fame; we praise you as the oak above the kings.' that is, as the oak is beyond the kingly trees of the wood, so are you beyond the kings of the world for open-handedness and for grandeur. "'the skin of a pig, bounty without hardness.' that is, the skin of a pig you own is what i would wish to get from you as a reward for my poem. "'the war of a neighbour against an ear, the fair ear of his neighbour will be against him.' that is, you and i will be by the ears about the skin, unless i get it with your consent. "and that is the meaning of the poem," said brian. "i would praise your poem," said the king, "if there was not so much about my pig-skin in it; and you have no good sense, man of poetry," he said, "to be asking that thing of me, and i would not give it to all the poets and the learned men and the great men of the world, since they could not take it away without my consent. but i will give you three times the full of the skin of gold as the price of your poem," he said. "may good be with you, king," said brian, "and i know well it was no easy thing i was asking, but i knew i would get a good ransom for it. and i am that covetous," he said, "i will not be satisfied without seeing the gold measured myself into the skin." the king sent his servants with them then to the treasure-house to measure the gold. "measure out the full of it to my brothers first," said brian, "and then give good measure to myself, since it was i made the poem." but when the skin was brought out, brian made a quick sudden snatch at it with his left hand, and drew his sword and made a stroke at the man nearest him, and made two halves of him. and then he kept a hold of the skin and put it about himself, and the three of them rushed out of the court, cutting down every armed man before them, so that not one escaped death or wounding. and then brian went to where the king himself was, and the king made no delay in attacking him, and they made a hard fight of it, and at the end the king of greece fell by the hand of brian, son of tuireann. the three brothers rested for a while after that, and then they said they would go and look for some other part of the fine. "we will go to pisear, king of persia," said brian, "and ask him for the spear." so they went into their boat, and they left the blue streams of the coast of greece, and they said: "we are well off when we have the apples and the skin." and they stopped nowhere till they came to the borders of persia. "let us go to the court with the appearance of poets," said brian, "the same as we went to the king of greece." "we are content to do that," said the others, "as all turned out so well the last time we took to poetry; not that it is easy for us to take to a calling that does not belong to us." so they put the poet's tie on their hair, and they were as well treated as they were at the other court; and when the time came for poems brian rose up, and it is what he said: "it is little any spear looks to pisear; the battles of enemies are broken, it is not too much for pisear to wound every one of them. "a yew, the most beautiful of the wood, it is called a king, it is not bulky. may the spear drive on the whole crowd to their wounds of death." "that is a good poem," said the king, "but i do not understand why my own spear is brought into it, o man of poetry from ireland." "it is because it is that spear of your own i would wish to get as the reward of my poem," said brian. "it is little sense you have to be asking that of me," said the king; "and the people of my court never showed greater respect for poetry than now, when they did not put you to death on the spot." when brian heard that talk from the king, he thought of the apple that was in his hand, and he made a straight cast and hit him in the forehead, so that his brains were put out at the back of his head, and he bared the sword and made an attack on the people about him. and the other two did not fail to do the same, and they gave him their help bravely till they had made an end of all they met of the people of the court. and then they found the spear, and its head in a cauldron of water, the way it would not set fire to the place. and after a while they said it was time for them to go and look for the rest of the great fine that was on them, and they asked one another what way should they go. "we will go to the king of the island of siogair," said brian, "for it is with him are the two horses and the chariot the ildánach asked of us." they went forward then and brought the spear with them, and it is proud the three champions were after all they had done. and they went on till they were come to the court of the king of siogair. "it is what we will do this time," said brian, "we will go in with the appearance of paid soldiers from ireland, and we will make friends with the king, the way we will get to know in what place the horses and the chariot are kept." and when they had settled on that they went forward to the lawn before the king's house. the king and the chief men that were with him rose up and came through the fair that was going on there, and they saluted the king, and he asked who were they. "we are trained fighting men from ireland," they said, "and we are earning wages from the kings of the world." "is it your wish to stop with me for a while?" said the king. "that is what we are wanting," said they. so then they made an agreement and took service with him. they stopped in the court a fortnight and a month, and they never saw the horses through that time. then brian said: "this is a bad way we are in, to have no more news of the horses now than the first day we came to the place." "what is best for us to do now?" said his brothers. "let us do this," said brian, "let us take our arms and gather our things together, and go to the king and tell him we will leave the country and this part of the world unless he will show us those horses." so they went to the king that very day, and he asked them what did they mean by getting themselves ready for a journey. "you will hear that, high king," said brian; "it is because trained fighting men from ireland, like ourselves, have always trust put in them by the kings they guard, and we are used to be told the secrets and the whispers of any person we are with, and that is not the way you have treated us since we came to you. for you have two horses and a chariot that are the best in the world, as we have been told, and we have not been given a sight of them yet." "it would be a pity you to go on that account," said the king, "when i would have showed them to you the first day, if i had known you had a wish to see them. and if you have a mind to see them now," he said, "you may see them; for i think there never came soldiers from ireland to this place that were thought more of by myself and by my people than yourselves." he sent for the horses then, and they were yoked to the chariot, and their going was as fast as the cold spring wind, and the sea was the same as the land to them. and brian was watching the horses closely, and on a sudden he took hold of the chariot and took the chariot driver out and dashed him against the nearest rock, and made a leap into his place himself, and made a cast of the persian spear at the king, that went through his heart. and then he and his brothers scattered the people before them, and brought away the chariot. "we will go now to easal, the king of the golden pillars," said brian, "to look for the seven pigs the ildánach bade us bring him." they sailed on then without delay or drawback to that high country. and it is the way the people of that country were, watching their harbours for fear of the sons of tuireann, for the story of them had been told in all parts, how they had been sent out of ireland by force, and how they were bringing away with them all the gifted treasures of the whole world. easal came to the edge of the harbour to meet them, and he asked was it true what he heard, that the king of every country they had gone to had fallen by them. brian said it was true, whatever he might wish to do to them for it. "what was it made you do that?" said easal. brian told him then it was the oppression and the hard sentence of another had put them to it; and he told him all that had happened, and how they had put down all that offered to stand against them until that time. "what did you come to this country now for?" said the king. "for the pigs belonging to yourself," said brian; "for to bring them away with us is a part of the fine." "what way do you think to get them?" said the king. "if we get them with good-will," said brian, "we are ready to take them thankfully; and if we do not, we are ready to do battle with yourself and your people on the head of them, that you may fall by us, and we may bring away the pigs in spite of you." "if that is to be the end of it," said the king, "it would be a pity to bring my people into a battle." "it would be a pity indeed," said brian. then the king whispered and took advice with his people about the matter, and it is what they agreed, to give up the pigs of their own free will to the sons of tuireann, since they could not see that any one had been able to stand against them up to that time. then the sons of tuireann gave their thanks to easal, and there was wonder on them to have got the pigs like that, when they had to fight for every other part of the fine. and more than that, they had left a share of their blood in every other place till then. easal brought them to his own house that night, and they were served with food, and drink, and good beds, and all they could wish for. and they rose up on the morrow and came into the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them. "it is well you have done by us, giving us these pigs," said brian, "for we did not get any share of the fine without fighting but these alone." and he made a poem for the king then, praising him, and putting a great name on him for what he had done. "what journey are you going to make now, sons of tuireann?" said easal. "we are going," they said, "to the country of ioruaidh, on account of a whelp that is there." "give me one request," said easal, "and that is to bring me with you to the king of ioruaidh, for a daughter of mine is his wife, and i would wish to persuade him to give you the whelp without a battle." "that will please us well," they said. so the king's ship was made ready, and we have no knowledge of what happened till they came to the delightful, wonderful coast of ioruaidh. the people and the armies were watching the harbours and landing-places before them, and they knew them at once and shouted at them. then easal went on shore peaceably, and he went to where his son-in-law, the king, was, and told him the story of the sons of tuireann from beginning to end. "what has brought them to this country?" said the king of ioruaidh. "to ask for the hound you have," said easal. "it was a bad thought you had coming with them to ask it," said the king, "for the gods have not given that much luck to any three champions in the world, that they would get my hound by force or by good-will." "it would be better for you to let them have the hound," said easal, "since they have put down so many of the kings of the world." but all he could say was only idleness to the king. so he went then to where the sons of tuireann were, and gave them the whole account. and when they heard the king's answer, they made no delay, but put quick hands on their arms, and offered to give battle to the army of ioruaidh. and when they met, there was a brave battle fought on both sides. and as for the sons of tuireann, they began to kill and to strike at the men of ioruaidh till they parted from one another in the fight, so that iuchar and iucharba chanced to be on one side, and brian by himself on the other side. it was a gap of danger and a breaking of ranks was before brian in every path he took, till he came to the king of ioruaidh in the battle pen where he was. and then the two brave champions began a fierce fight together, and they did not spare one another in it. and at the last brian overcame the king, and bound him, and brought him through the middle of the army, till he came to the place where easal was, and it is what he said: "there is your son-in-law for you, and i swear by my hand of valour, i would think it easier to kill him three times than to bring him to you once like this." so then the whelp was given to the sons of tuireann, and the king was unbound, and peace was made between them. and when they had brought all this to an end, they bade farewell to easal and to all the rest. now as to lugh of the long hand, it was showed to him that the sons of tuireann had got all the things that were wanting to him against the battle with the fomor; and on that he sent a druid spell after them to put forgetfulness on them of the rest of the fine that they had not got. and he put a great desire and longing on them to go back to ireland; so they forgot that a part of the fine was wanting to them, and they turned back again toward home. and it is the place where lugh was at the time, at a gathering of the people for a fair on the green outside teamhair, and the king of ireland along with him. and it was made known to lugh that the sons of tuireann were landed at brugh na boinn. and he went into the city of teamhair, and shut the gate after him, and he put on manannan's smooth armour, and the cloak, of the daughters of flidais, and he took his own arms in his hand. and the sons of tuireann came where the king was, and they were made welcome by him and by the tuatha de danaan. and the king asked them did they get the fine. "we did get it," said they; "and where is lugh till we give it to him?" "he was here a while ago," said the king. and the whole fair was searched for him, but he was not found. "i know the place where he is," said brian; "for it has been made known to him that we are come to ireland, and these deadly arms with us, and he is gone into teamhair to avoid us." messengers were sent to him then, and it is the answer he gave them that he would not come, but that the fine should be given to the king. so the sons of tuireann did that, and when the king had taken the fine they all went to the palace in teamhair; and lugh came out on the lawn and the fine was given to him, and it is what he said: "there is a good payment here for any one that ever was killed or that ever will be killed. but there is something wanting to it yet that it is not lawful to leave out. and where is the cooking-spit?" he said; "and where are the three shouts on the hill that you did not give yet?" and when the sons of tuireann heard that there came clouds of weakness on them. and they left the place and went to their father's house that night, and they told him all they had done, and the way lugh had treated them. there was grief and darkness on tuireann then, and they spent the night together. and on the morrow they went to their ship, and ethne, their sister, with them, and she was crying and lamenting, and it is what she said: "it is a pity, brian of my life, it is not to teamhair your going is, after all the troubles you have had before this, even if i could not follow you. "o salmon of the dumb boinn, o salmon of the lifé river, since i cannot keep you here i am loath to part from you. "o rider of the wave of tuaidh, the man that stands best in the fight, if you come back again, i think it will not be pleasing to your enemy. "is there pity with you for the sons of tuireann leaning now on their green shields? their going is a cause for pity, my mind is filled up with it. "you to be to-night at beinn edair till the heavy coming of the morning, you who have taken forfeits from brave men, it is you have increased our grief. "it is a pity your journey is from teamhair, and from the pleasant plains, and from great uisnech of midhe; there is nothing so pitiful as this." after that complaint they went out on the rough waves of the green sea; and they were a quarter of a year on the sea without getting any news of the island. then brian put on his water dress and he made a leap, and he was a long time walking in the sea looking for the island of the fair-haired women, and he found it in the end. and he went looking for the court, and when he came to it, all he found was a troop of women doing needlework and embroidering borders. and among all the other things they had with them, there was the cooking-spit. and when brian saw it, he took it up in his hand and he was going to bring it with him to the door. and all the women began laughing when they saw him doing that, and it is what they said: "it is a brave deed you put your hand to; for even if your brothers were along with you, the least of the three times fifty women of us would not let the spit go with you or with them. but for all that," they said, "take a spit of the spits with you, since you had the daring to try and take it in spite of us." brian bade them farewell then, and went to look for the boat. and his brothers thought it was too long he was away from them, and just as they were going to leave the place they were, they saw him coming towards them, and that raised their courage greatly. and he went into the boat, and they went on to look for the hill of miochaoin. and when they came there, miochaoin, that was the guardian of the hill, came towards them; and when brian saw him he attacked him, and the fight of those two champions was like the fight of two lions, till miochaoin fell at the last. and after miochaoin had fallen, his three sons came out to fight with the three sons of tuireann. and if any one ever came from the east of the world to look at any fight, it is to see the fight of these champions he had a right to come, for the greatness of their blows and the courage of their minds. the names of the sons of miochaoin were core and conn and aedh, and they drove their three spears through the bodies of the sons of tuireann, and that did not discourage them at all and they put their own three spears through the bodies of the sons of miochaoin, so that they fell into the clouds and the faintness of death. and then brian said: "what way are you now, my dear brothers?" "we are near our death," said they. "let us rise up," he said, "and give three shouts upon the hill, for i see the signs of death coming on us." "we are not able to do that," said they. then brian rose up and raised each of them with one hand, and he shedding blood heavily all the time, until they gave the three shouts. after that brian brought them with him to the boat, and they were travelling the sea for a long time, but at last brian said: "i see beinn edair and our father's dun, and teamhair of the kings." "we would have our fill of health if we could see that," said the others; "and for the love of your good name, brother," they said, "raise up our heads on your breast till we see ireland again, and life or death will be the same to us after that. and o brian," they said, "flame of valour without treachery, we would sooner death to bring ourselves away, than to see you with wounds upon your body, and with no physician to heal you." then they came to beinn edair, and from that they went on to their father's house, and brian said to tuireann: "go, dear father, to teamhair, and give this spit to lugh, and bring the skin that has healing in it for our relief. ask it from him for the sake of friendship," he said, "for we are of the one blood, and let him not give hardness for hardness. and o dear father," he said, "do not be long on your journey, or you will not find us alive before you." then tuireann went to teamhair, and he found lugh of the long hand before him, and he gave him the spit, and he asked the skin of him to heal his children, and lugh said he would not give it and tuireann came back to them and told them he had not got the skin. and brian said: "bring me with you to lugh, to see would i get it from him." so they went to lugh, and brian asked the skin of him. and lugh said he would not give it, and that if they would give him the breadth of the earth in gold for it, he would not take it from them, unless he was sure their death would come on them in satisfaction for the deed they had done. when brian heard that, he went to the place his two brothers were, and he lay down between them, and his life went out from him, and out from the other two at the same time. and their father cried and lamented over his three beautiful sons, that had the making of a king of ireland in each of them, and his strength left him and he died; and they were buried in the one grave. chapter iii. the great battle of magh tuireadh and it was not long after lugh had got the fine from the sons of tuireann that the fomor came and landed at scetne. the whole host of the fomor were come this time, and their king, balor, of the strong blows and of the evil eye, along with them; and bres, and indech, son of de domnann, a king of the fomor, and elathan, son of lobos, and goll and ingol, and octriallach, son of indech, and elathan, son of delbaeth. then lugh sent the dagda to spy out the fomor, and to delay them till such time as the men of ireland would come to the battle. so the dagda went to their camp, and he asked them for a delay, and they said he might have that. and then to make sport of him, the fomor made broth for him, for he had a great love for broth. so they filled the king's cauldron with four times twenty gallons of new milk, and the same of meal and fat, and they put in goats and sheep and pigs along with that, and boiled all together, and then they poured it all out into a great hole in the ground. and they called him to it then, and told him he should eat his fill, the way the fomor would not be reproached for want of hospitality the way bres was. "we will make an end of you if you leave any part of it after you," said indech, son of de domnann. so the dagda took the ladle, and it big enough for a man and a woman to lie in the bowl of it, and he took out bits with it, the half of a salted pig, and a quarter of lard a bit would be. "if the broth tastes as well as the bits taste, this is good food," he said. and he went on putting the full of the ladle into his mouth till the hole was empty; and when all was gone he put down his hand and scraped up all that was left among the earth and the gravel. sleep came on him then after eating the broth, and the fomor were laughing at him, for his belly was the size of the cauldron of a great house. but he rose up after a while, and, heavy as he was, he made his way home; and indeed his dress was no way sightly, a cape to the hollow of the elbows, and a brown coat, long in the breast and short behind, and on his feet brogues of horse hide, with the hair outside, and in his hand a wheeled fork it would take eight men to carry, so that the track he left after him was deep enough for the boundary ditch of a province. and on his way he saw the battle-crow, the morrigu, washing herself in the river unius of connacht, and one of her two feet at ullad echne, to the south of the water, and the other at loscuinn, to the north of the water, and her hair hanging in nine loosened locks. and she said to the dagda, that she would bring the heart's blood of indech, son of de domnann, that had threatened him, to the men of ireland. and while he was away lugh had called together the druids, and smiths, and physicians, and law-makers, and chariot-drivers of ireland, to make plans for the battle. and he asked the great magician mathgen what could he do to help them. "it is what i can do," said mathgen, "through my power i can throw down all the mountains of ireland on the fomor, until their tops will be rolling on the ground. and the twelve chief mountains of ireland will bring you their help," he said, "and will fight for you: slieve leag and denda ulad, and bennai boirche and bri ruri, and slieve bladma and slieve snechtae, and slieve mis and blai-slieve, and nemthann and slieve macca belgodon, and segois and cruachan aigle." then he asked the cup-bearers what help they could give. "we will put a strong thirst on the fomor," they said, "and then we will bring the twelve chief lochs of ireland before them, and however great their thirst may be, they will find no water in them: derc-loch, loch luimnech, loch orbsen, loch righ, loch mescdhae, loch cuan, loch laeig, loch echach, loch febail, loch decket, loch riach, mor-loch. and we will go," they said, "to the twelve chief rivers of ireland: the buas, the boinn, the banna, the nem, the laoi, the sionnan, the muaid, the sligech, the samair, the fionn, the ruirtech, the siuir; and they will all be hidden away from the fomor the way they will not find a drop in them. but as for the men of ireland," they said, "there will be drink for them if they were to be in the battle to the end of seven years." and figol, son of mamos, the druid, was asked then what he would do, and he said: "it is what i will do, i will cause three showers of fire to pour on the faces of the army of the fomor, and i will take from them two-thirds of their bravery and their strength, and i will put sickness on their bodies, and on the bodies of their horses. but as to the men of ireland," he said, "every breath they breathe will be an increase of strength and of bravery to them; and if they are seven years in the battle they will never be any way tired." then lugh asked his two witches, bechulle and dianan: "what power can you bring to the battle?" "it is easy to say that," they said. "we will put enchantment on the trees and the stones and the sods of the earth, till they become an armed host against the fomor, and put terror on them and put them to the rout." then lugh asked carpre, the poet, son of etain, what could he do. "it is not hard to say that," said carpre. "i will make a satire on them at sunrise, and the wind from the north, and i on a hill-top and my back to a thorn-tree, and a stone and a thorn in my hand. and with that satire," he said, "i will put shame on them and enchantment, the way they will not be able to stand against fighting men." then he asked goibniu the smith what would he be able to do. "i will do this," he said. "if the men of ireland stop in the battle to the end of seven years, for every sword that is broken and for every spear that is lost from its shaft, i will put a new one in its place. and no spear-point that will be made by my hand," he said, "will ever miss its mark; and no man it touches will ever taste life again. and that is more than dolb, the smith of the fomor, can do," he said. "and you, credne," lugh said then to his worker in brass, "what help can you give to our men in the battle?" "it is not hard to tell that," said credne, "rivets for their spears and hilts for their swords and bosses and rims for their shields, i will supply them all." "and you, luchta," he said then to his carpenter, "what will you do?" "i will give them all they want of shields and of spear shafts," said luchta. then he asked diancecht, the physician, what would he do, and it is what he said: "every man that will be wounded there, unless his head is struck off, or his brain or his marrow cut through, i will make him whole and sound again for the battle of the morrow." then the dagda said: "those great things you are boasting you will do, i will do them all with only myself." "it is you are the good god!" said they, and they all gave a great shout of laughter. then lugh spoke to the whole army and put strength in them, so that each one had the spirit in him of a king or a great lord. then when the delay was at an end, the fomor and the men of ireland came on towards one another till they came to the plain of magh tuireadh. that now was not the same magh tuireadh where the first battle was fought, but it was to the north, near ess dara. and then the two armies threatened one another. "the men of ireland are daring enough to offer battle to us," said bres to indech, son of de domnann. "i give my word," said indech, "it is in small pieces their bones will be, if they do not give in to us and pay their tribute." now the men of dea had determined not to let lugh go into the battle, because of the loss his death would be to them; and they left nine of their men keeping a watch on him. and on the first day none of the kings or princes went into the battle, but only the common fighting men, and they fierce and proud enough. and the battle went on like that from day to day with no great advantage to one or the other side. but there was wonder on the fomor on account of one thing. such of their own weapons as were broken or blunted in the fight lay there as they were, and such of their own men as were killed showed no sign of life on the morrow; but it was not so with the tuatha de danaan, for if their men were killed or their weapons were broken to-day, they were as good as before on the morrow. and this is the way that happened. the well of slaine lay to the west of magh tuireadh to the east of loch arboch. and diancecht and his son octruil and his daughter airmed used to be singing spells over the well and to be putting herbs in it; and the men that were wounded to death in the battle would be brought to the well and put into it as dead men, and they would come out of it whole and sound, through the power of the spells. and not only were they healed, but there was such fire put into them that they would be quicker in the fight than they were before. and as to the arms, it is the way they were made new every day. goibniu the smith used to be in the forge making swords and spears, and he would make a spear-head by three turns, and then luchta the carpenter would make the shaft by three cuts, and the third cut was a finish, and would set it in the ring of the spear. and when the spear-heads were stuck in the side of the forge, he would throw the shaft and the rings the way they would go into the spear-head and want no more setting. and then credne the brazier would make the rivets by three turns and would cast the rings of the spears to them, and with that they were ready and were set together. and all this went against the fomor, and they sent one of their young men to spy about the camp and to see could he find out how these things were done. it was ruadan, son of bres and of brigit daughter of the dagda they sent, for he was a son and grandson of the tuatha de danaan. so he went and saw all that was done, and came back to the fomor. and when they heard his story it is what they thought, that goibniu the smith was the man that hindered them most. and they sent ruadan back again, and bade him make an end of him. so he went back again to the forge, and he asked goibniu would he give him a spear-head. and then he asked rivets of credne, and a shaft of the carpenter, and all was given to him as he asked. and there was a woman there, cron, mother to fianlug, grinding the spears. and after the spear being given to ruadan, he turned and threw it at goibniu, that it wounded him. but goibniu pulled it out and made a cast of it at ruadan, that it went through him and he died; and bres, his father, and the army of the fomor, saw him die. and then brigit came and keened her son with shrieking and with crying. and as to goibniu, he went into the well and was healed. but after that octriallach, son of indech, called to the fomor and bade each man of them bring a stone of the stones of drinnes and throw them into the well of slane. and they did that till the well was dried up, and a cairn raised over it, that is called octriallach's cairn. and it was while goibniu was making spear-heads for the battle of magh tuireadh, a charge was brought against his wife. and it was seen that it was heavy news to him, and that jealousy came on him. and it is what he did, there was a spear-shaft in his hand when he heard the story, nes its name was; and he sang spells over the spear-shaft, and any one that was struck with that spear afterwards, it would burn him up like fire. and at last the day of the great battle came, and the fomor came out of their camp and stood in strong ranks. and there was not a leader or a fighting man of them was without good armour to his skin, and a helmet on his head, a broad spear in his right hand, a heavy sword in his belt, a strong shield on his shoulder. and to attack the army of the fomor that day was to strike the head against a rock, or to go up fighting against a fire. and the men of dea rose up and left lugh and his nine comrades keeping him, and they went on to the battle; and midhir was with them, and bodb dearg and diancecht. and badb and macha and the morrigu called out that they would go along with them. and it was a hard battle was fought, and for a while it was going against the tuatha de danaan; and nuada of the silver hand, their king, and macha, daughter of emmass, fell by balor, king of the fomor. and cass-mail fell by octriallach, and the dagda got a dreadful wound from a casting spear that was thrown by ceithlenn, wife of balor. but when the battle was going on, lugh broke away from those that were keeping him, and rushed out to the front of the men of dea. and then there was a fierce battle fought, and lugh was heartening the men of ireland to fight well, the way they would not be in bonds any longer. for it was better for them, he said, to die protecting their own country than to live under bonds and under tribute any longer. and he sang a song of courage to them, and the hosts gave a great shout as they went into battle, and then they met together, and each of them began to attack the other. and there was great slaughter, and laying low in graves, and many comely men fell there in the stall of death. pride and shame were there side by side, and hardness and red anger, and there was red blood on the white skin of young fighting men. and the dashing of spear against shield, and sword against sword, and the shouting of the fighters, and the whistling of casting spears and the rattling of scabbards was like harsh thunder through the battle. and many slipped in the blood that was under their feet, and they fell, striking their heads one against another; and the river carried away bodies of friends and enemies together. then lugh and balor met in the battle, and lugh called out reproaches to him; and there was anger on balor, and he said to the men that were with him: "lift up my eyelid till i see this chatterer that is talking to me." then they raised balor's eyelid, but lugh made a cast of his red spear at him, that brought the eye out through the back of his head, so that it was towards his own army it fell, and three times nine of the fomor died when they looked at it. and if lugh had not put out that eye when he did, the whole of ireland would have been burned in one flash. and after this, lugh struck his head off. and as for indech, son of de domnann, he fell and was crushed in the battle, and blood burst from his mouth, and he called out for leat glas, his poet, as he lay there, but he was not able to help him. and then the morrigu came into the battle, and she was heartening the tuatha de danaan to fight the battle well; and, as she had promised the dagda, she took the full of her two hands of indech's blood, and gave it to the armies that were waiting at the ford of unius; and it was called the ford of destruction from that day. and after that it was not a battle any more, but a rout, and the fomor were beaten back to the sea. and lugh and his comrades were following them, and they came up with bres, son of elathan, and no guard with him, and he said: "it is better for you to spare my life than to kill me. and if you spare me now," he said, "the cows of ireland will never go dry." "i will ask an advice about that from our wise men," said lugh. so he told maeltine mor-brethach, of the great judgments, what bres was after saying. but maeltine said: "do not spare him for that, for he has no power over their offspring, though he has power so long as they are living." then bres said: "if you spare me, the men of ireland will reap a harvest of corn every quarter." but maeltine said: "the spring is for ploughing and sowing, and the beginning of summer for the strength of corn, and the beginning of autumn for its ripeness, and the winter for using it." "that does not save you," said lugh then to bres. but then to make an excuse for sparing him, lugh said: "tell us what is the best way for the men of ireland to plough and to sow and to reap." "let their ploughing be on a tuesday, and their casting seed into the field on a tuesday, and their reaping on a tuesday," said bres. so lugh said that would do, and he let him go free after that. it was in this battle ogma found orna, the sword of tethra, a king of the fomor, and he took it from its sheath and cleaned it. and when the sword was taken out of the sheath, it told all the deeds that had been done by it, for there used to be that power in swords. and lugh and the dagda and ogma followed after the fomor, for they had brought away the dagda's harp with them, that was called uaitne. and they came to a feasting-house, and in it they found bres and his father elathan, and there was the harp hanging on the wall. and it was in that harp the dagda had bound the music, so that it would not sound till he would call to it. and sometimes it was called dur-da-bla, the oak of two blossoms, and sometimes coir-cethar-chuin, the four-angled music. and when he saw it hanging on the wall it is what he said: "come summer, come winter, from the mouth of harps and bags and pipes." then the harp sprang from the wall, and came to the dagda, and it killed nine men on its way. and then he played for them the three things harpers understand, the sleepy tune, and the laughing tune, and the crying tune. and when he played the crying tune, their tearful women cried, and then he played the laughing tune, till their women and children laughed; and then he played the sleepy tune, and all the hosts fell asleep. and through that sleep the three went away through the fomor that would have been glad to harm them. and when all was over, the dagda brought out the heifer he had got as wages from bres at the time he was making his dun. and she called to her calf, and at the sound of her call all the cattle of ireland the fomor had brought away as tribute, were back in their fields again. and cé, the druid of nuada of the silver hand, was wounded in the battle, and he went southward till he came to carn corrslebe. and there he sat down to rest, tired with his wounds and with the fear that was on him, and the journey. and he saw a smooth plain before him, and it full of flowers, and a great desire came on him to reach to that plain, and he went on till he came to it, and there he died. and when his grave was made there, a lake burst out over it and over the whole plain, and it was given the name of loch cé. and there were but four men of the fomor left in ireland after the battle, and they used to be going through the country, spoiling corn and milk and fruit, and whatever came from the sea, till they were driven out one samhain night by the morrigu and by angus og, that the fomor might never be over ireland again. and after the battle was won, and the bodies were cleared away, the morrigu gave out the news of the great victory to the hosts and to the royal heights of ireland and to its chief rivers and its invers, and it is what she said: "peace up to the skies, the skies down to earth, the earth under the skies; strength to every one." and as to the number of men that fell in the battle, it will not be known till we number the stars of the sky, or flakes of snow, or the dew on the grass, or grass under the feet of cattle, or the horses of the son of lir in a stormy sea. and lugh was made king over the men of dea then, and it was at nas he had his court. and while he was king, his foster-mother taillte, daughter of magh mor, the great plain, died. and before her death she bade her husband duach the dark, he that built the fort of the hostages in teamhair, to clear away the wood of cuan, the way there could be a gathering of the people around her grave. so he called to the men of ireland to cut down the wood with their wide-bladed knives and bill-hooks and hatchets, and within a month the whole wood was cut down. and lugh buried her in the plain of midhe, and raised a mound over her, that is to be seen to this day. and he ordered fires to be kindled, and keening to be made, and games and sports to be held in the summer of every year out of respect to her. and the place they were held got its name from her, that is taillten. and as to lugh's own mother, that was tall beautiful ethlinn, she came to teamhair after the battle of magh tuireadh, and he gave her in marriage to tadg, son of nuada. and the children that were born to them were muirne, mother of finn, the head of the fianna of ireland, and tuiren, that was mother of bran. chapter iv. the hidden house of lugh and after lugh had held the kingship for a long time, the dagda was made king in his place. and lugh went away out of ireland, and some said he died at uisnech, the place where the five provinces meet, and the first place there was ever a fire kindled in ireland. it was by mide, son of brath, it was kindled, for the sons of nemed, and it was burning through six years, and it was from that fire every chief fire was kindled in ireland. but lugh was seen again in ireland at the time conchubar and the men of the red branch went following white birds southward to the boinn at the time of cuchulain's birth. and it was he came and kept watch over cuchulain in his three days' sleep at the time of the war for the bull of cuailgne. and after that again he was seen by conn of the hundred battles, and this is the way that happened. conn was in teamhair one time, and he went up in the early morning to the rath of the kings at the rising of the sun, and his three druids with him, maol and bloc and bhuice; and his three poets, ethain and corb and cesarn. and the reason he had for going up there with them every day, was to look about on every side, the way if any men of the sidhe would come into ireland they would not come unknown to him. and on this day he chanced to stand upon a stone that was in the rath, and the stone screamed under his feet, that it was heard all over teamhair and as far as bregia. then conn asked his chief druid how the stone came there, and what it screamed for. and the druid said he would not answer that till the end of fifty-three days. and at the end of that time, conn asked him again, and it is what the druid said: "the lia fail is the name of the stone; it is out of falias it was brought, and it is in teamhair it was set up, and in teamhair it will stay for ever. and as long as there is a king in teamhair it is here will be the gathering place for games, and if there is no king to come to the last day of the gathering, there will be hardness in that year. and when the stone screamed under your feet," he said, "the number of the screams it gave was a foretelling of the number of kings of your race that would come after you. but it is not i myself will name them for you," he said. and while they were in the same place, there came a great mist about them and a darkness, so that they could not know what way they were going, and they heard the noise of a rider coming towards them. "it would be a great grief to us," said conn, "to be brought away into a strange country." then the rider threw three spears at them, and every one came faster than the other. "it is the wounding of a king indeed," said the druids, "any one to cast at conn of teamhair." the rider stopped casting his spears on that, and he came to them and bade conn welcome, and asked him to come to his house. they went on then till they came to a beautiful plain, and there they saw a king's rath, and a golden tree at its door, and inside the rath a grand house with a roof of white bronze. so they went into the house, and the rider that had come to meet them was there before them, in his royal seat, and there had never been seen a man like him in teamhair for comeliness or for beauty, or the wonder of his face. and there was a young woman in the house, having a band of gold on her head, and a silver vessel with hoops of gold beside her, and it full of red ale, and a golden bowl on its edge, and a golden cup at its mouth. she said then to the master of the house: "who am i to serve drink to?" "serve it to conn of the hundred battles," he said, "for he will gain a hundred battles before he dies." and after that he bade her to pour out the ale for art of the three shouts, the son of conn; and after that he went through the names of all the kings of ireland that would come after conn, and he told what would be the length of their lifetime. and the young woman left the vessel with conn, and the cup and the bowl, and she gave him along with that the rib of an ox and of a hog; twenty-four feet was the length of the ox-rib. and the master of the house told them the young woman was the kingship of ireland for ever. "and as for myself," he said, "i am lugh of the long hand, son of ethlinn." book three: the coming of the gael. chapter i. the landing it is not known, now, for what length of time the tuatha de danaan had the sway over ireland, and it is likely it was a long time they had it, but they were put from it at last. it was at inver slane, to the north of leinster, the sons of gaedhal of the shining armour, the very gentle, that were called afterwards the sons of the gael, made their first attempt to land in ireland to avenge ith, one of their race that had come there one time and had met with his death. it is under the leadership of the sons of miled they were, and it was from the south they came, and their druids had told them there was no country for them to settle in till they would come to that island in the west. "and if you do not get possession of it yourselves," they said, "your children will get possession of it." but when the tuatha de danaan saw the ships coming, they flocked to the shore, and by their enchantments they cast such a cloud over the whole island that the sons of miled were confused, and all they could see was some large thing that had the appearance of a pig. and when they were hindered from landing there by enchantments, they went sailing along the coast till at last they were able to make a landing at inver sceine in the west of munster. from that they marched in good order as far as slieve mis. and there they were met by a queen of the tuatha de danaan, and a train of beautiful women attending on her, and her druids and wise men following her. amergin, one of the sons of miled, spoke to her then, and asked her name, and she said it was banba, wife of mac cuill, son of the hazel. they went on then till they came to slieve eibhline, and there another queen of the tuatha de danaan met them, and her women and her druids after her, and they asked her name, and she said it was fodhla, wife of mac cecht, son of the plough. they went on then till they came to the hill of uisnech, and there they saw another woman coming towards them. and there was wonder on them while they were looking at her, for in the one moment she would be a wide-eyed most beautiful queen, and in another she would be a sharp-beaked, grey-white crow. she came on to where eremon, one of the sons of miled, was, and sat down before him, and he asked her who was she, and she said: "i am eriu, wife of mac greine, son of the sun." and the names of those three queens were often given to ireland in the after time. the sons of the gael went on after that to teamhair, where the three sons of cermait honey-mouth, son of the dagda, that had the kingship between them at that time held their court. and these three were quarrelling with one another about the division of the treasures their father had left, and the quarrel was so hot it seemed likely it would come to a battle in the end. and the sons of the gael wondered to see them quarrelling about such things, and they having so fruitful an island, where the air was so wholesome, and the sun not too strong, or the cold too bitter, and where there was such a plenty of honey and acorns, and of milk, and of fish, and of corn, and room enough for them all. great grandeur they were living in, and their druids about them, at the palace of teamhair. and amergin went to them, and it is what he said, that they must give up the kingship there and then, or they must leave it to the chance of a battle. and he said he asked this in revenge for the death of ith, of the race of the gael, that had come to their court before that time, and that had been killed by treachery. when the sons of cermait honey-mouth heard amergin saying such fierce words, there was wonder on them, and it is what they said, that they were not willing to fight at that time, for their army was not ready. "but let you make an offer to us," they said, "for we see well you have good judgment and knowledge. but if you make an offer that is not fair," they said, "we will destroy you with our enchantments." at that amergin bade the men that were with him to go back to inver sceine, and to hurry again into their ships with the rest of the sons of the gael, and to go out the length of nine waves from the shore. and then he made his offer to the tuatha de danaan, that if they could hinder his men from landing on their island, he and all his ships would go back again to their own country, and would never make any attempt to come again; but that if the sons of the gael could land on the coast in spite of them, then the tuatha de danaan should give up the kingship and be under their sway. the tuatha de danaan were well pleased with that offer, for they thought that by the powers of their enchantments over the winds and the sea, and by their arts, they would be well able to keep them from ever setting foot in the country again. so the sons of the gael did as amergin bade them and they went back into their ship and drew up their anchors, and moved out to the length of nine waves from the shore. and as soon as the men of dea saw they had left the land, they took to their enchantments and spells, and they raised a great wind that scattered the ships of the gael, and drove them from one another. but amergin knew it was not a natural storm was in it, and arranan, son of miled, knew that as well, and he went up in the mast of his ship to look about him. but a great blast of wind came against him, and he fell back into the ship and died on the moment. and there was great confusion on the gael, for the ships were tossed to and fro, and had like to be lost. and the ship that donn, son of miled, was in command of was parted from the others by the dint of the storm, and was broken in pieces, and he himself and all with him were drowned, four-and-twenty men and women in all. and ir, son of miled, came to his death in the same way, and his body was cast on the shore, and it was buried in a small island that is now called sceilg michill. a brave man ir was, leading the sons of the gael to the front of every battle, and their help and their shelter in battle, and his enemies were in dread of his name. and heremon, another of the sons of miled, with his share of the ships, was driven to the left of the island, and it is hardly he got safe to land. and the place where he landed was called inver colpa, because colpa of the sword, another of the sons of miled, was drowned there, and he trying to get to land. five of the sons of miled in all were destroyed by the storm and the winds the men of dea had raised by their enchantments, and there were but three of them left, heber, and heremon, and amergin. and one of them, donn, before he was swept into the sea, called out: "it is treachery our knowledgeable men are doing on us, not to put down this wind." "there is no treachery," said amergin, his brother. and he rose up then before them, and whatever enchantment he did on the winds and the sea, he said these words along with it: "that they that are tossing in the great wide food-giving sea may reach now to the land. "that they may find a place upon its plains, its mountains, and its valleys; in its forests that are full of nuts and of all fruits; on its rivers and its streams, on its lakes and its great waters. "that we may have our gatherings and our races in this land; that there may be a king of our own in teamhair; that it may be the possession of our many kings. "that the sons of miled may be seen in this land, that their ships and their boats may find a place there. "this land that is now under darkness, it is for it we are asking; let our chief men, let their learned wives, ask that we may come to the noble woman, great eriu." after he had said this, the wind went down and the sea was quiet again on the moment. and those that were left of the sons of miled and of the sons of the gael landed then at inver sceine. and amergin was the first to put his foot on land, and when he stood on the shore of ireland, it is what he said: "i am the wind on the sea; i am the wave of the sea; i am the bull of seven battles; i am the eagle on the rock; i am a flash from the sun; i am the most beautiful of plants; i am a strong wild boar; i am a salmon in the water; i am a lake in the plain; i am the word of knowledge; i am the head of the spear in battle; i am the god that puts fire in the head; who spreads light in the gathering on the hills? who can tell the ages of the moon? who can tell the place where the sun rests?" chapter ii. the battle of tailltin and three days after the landing of the gael, they were attacked by eriu, wife of mac greine, son of the sun, and she having a good share of men with her. and they fought a hard battle, and many were killed on both sides. and this was the first battle fought between the sons of the gael and the men of dea for the kingship of ireland. it was in that battle fais, wife of un, was killed in a valley at the foot of the mountain, and it was called after her, the valley of fais. and scota, wife of miled, got her death in the battle, and she was buried in a valley on the north side of the mountain near the sea. but the sons of the gael lost no more than three hundred men, and they beat back the men of dea and killed a thousand of them. and eriu was beaten back to tailltin, and as many of her men as she could hold together; and when she came there she told the people how she had been worsted in the battle, and the best of her men had got their death. but the gael stopped on the battle-field, and buried their dead, and they gave a great burial to two of their druids, aer and eithis, that were killed in the fight. and after they had rested for a while, they went on to inver colpa in leinster, and heremon and his men joined them there. and then they sent messengers to the three kings of ireland, the three sons of cermait honey-mouth, and bade them to come out and fight a battle that would settle the ownership of the country once for all. so they came out, and the best of the fighters of the tuatha de danaan with them, to tailltin. and there they attacked one another, and the sons of the gael remembered the death of ith, and there was great anger on them, and they fell on the men of dea to avenge him, and there was a fierce battle fought. and for a while neither side got the better of the other, but at the last the gael broke through the army of the men of dea and put them to the rout, with great slaughter, and drove them out of the place. and their three kings were killed in the rout, and the three queens of ireland, eriu and fodhla and banba. and when the tuatha de danaan saw their leaders were dead they fell back in great disorder, and the sons of the gael followed after them. but in following them they lost two of their best leaders, cuailgne, son of breagan, at slieve cuailgne, and fuad, his brother, at slieve fuad. but they were no way daunted by that, but followed the men of dea so hotly that they were never able to bring their army together again, but had to own themselves beaten, and to give up the country to the gael. and the leaders, the sons of miled, divided the provinces of ireland between them. heber took the two provinces of munster, and he gave a share of it to amergin; and heremon got leinster and connacht for his share, and ulster was divided between eimhir, son of ir, son of miled, and some others of their chief men. and it was of the sons of eimhir, that were called the children of rudraighe, and that lived in emain macha for nine hundred years, some of the best men of ireland came; fergus, son of rogh, was of them, and conall cearnach, of the red branch of ulster. and from the sons of ith, the first of the gael to get his death in ireland, there came in the after time fathadh canaan, that got the sway over the whole world from the rising to the setting sun, and that took hostages of the streams and the birds and the languages. and it is what the poets of ireland used to be saying, that every brave man, good at fighting, and every man that could do great deeds and not be making much talk about them, was of the sons of the gael; and that every skilled man that had music and that did enchantments secretly, was of the tuatha de danaan. but they put a bad name on the firbolgs and the men of domnand and the gaileoin, for lies and for big talk and injustice. but for all that there were good fighters among them, and ferdiad, that made so good a stand against cuchulain, in the war for the bull of cuailgne was one of them. and the gaileoin fought well in the same war; but the men of ireland had no great liking for them, and their druids drove them out of the country afterwards. book four: the ever-living living ones. chapter i. bodb dearg but as to the tuatha de danaan after they were beaten, they would not go under the sway of the sons of miled, but they went away by themselves. and because manannan, son of lir, understood all enchantments, they left it to him to find places for them where they would be safe from their enemies. so he chose out the most beautiful of the hills and valleys of ireland for them to settle in; and he put hidden walls about them, that no man could see through, but they themselves could see through them and pass through them. and he made the feast of age for them, and what they drank at it was the ale of goibniu the smith, that kept whoever tasted it from age and from sickness and from death. and for food at the feast he gave them his own swine, that though they were killed and eaten one day, would be alive and fit for eating again the next day, and that would go on in that way for ever. and after a while they said: "it would be better for us one king to be over us, than to be scattered the way we are through the whole of ireland." now the men among them that had the best chance of getting the kingship at that time were bodb dearg, son of the dagda; and ilbrech of ess ruadh; and lir of sidhe fionnachaidh, the hill of the white field, on slieve fuad; and midhir the proud of bri leith, and angus og, son of the dagda; but he did not covet the kingship at all, but would sooner be left as he was. then all the chief men but those five went into council together, and it is what they agreed, to give the kingship to bodb dearg, for the sake of his father, for his own sake, and because he was the eldest among the children of the dagda. it was in sidhe femen bodb dearg had his house, and he put great enchantments about it. cliach, the harper of the king of the three rosses in connacht, went one time to ask one of his daughters in marriage, and he stayed outside the place through the whole length of a year, playing his harp, and able to get no nearer to bodb or to his daughter. and he went on playing till a lake burst up under his feet, the lake that is on the top of a mountain, loch bel sead. it was bodb's swineherd went to da derga's inn, and his squealing pig along with him, the night conaire, the high king of ireland, met with his death; and it was said that whatever feast that swineherd would go to, there would blood be shed before it was over. and bodb had three sons, angus, and artrach, and aedh. and they used often to be living among men in the time of the fianna afterwards. artrach had a house with seven doors, and a free welcome for all that came, and the king's son of ireland, and of alban, used to be coming to angus to learn the throwing of spears and darts; and troops of poets from alban and from ireland used to be with aedh, that was the comeliest of bodb's sons, so that his place used to be called "the rath of aedh of the poets." and indeed it was a beautiful rath at that time, with golden-yellow apples in it and crimson-pointed nuts of the wood. but after the passing away of the fianna, the three brothers went back to the tuatha de danaan. and bodb dearg was not always in his own place, but sometimes he was with angus at brugh na boinn. three sons of lugaidh menn, king of ireland, eochaid, and fiacha, and ruide, went there one time, for their father refused them any land till they would win it for themselves. and when he said that, they rose with the ready rising of one man, and went and sat down on the green of brugh na boinn, and fasted there on the tuatha de danaan, to see if they could win some good thing from them. and they were not long there till they saw a young man, quiet and with pleasant looks, coming towards them, and he wished them good health, and they answered him the same way. "where are you come from?" they asked him then. "from the rath beyond, with the many lights," he said. "and i am bodb dearg, son of the dagda," he said, "and come in with me now to the rath." so they went in, and supper was made ready for them, but they did not use it. bodb dearg asked them then why was it they were using nothing. "it is because our father has refused land to us," said they; "and there are in ireland but the two races, the sons of the gael and the men of dea, and when the one failed us we are come to the other." then the men of dea consulted together. and the chief among them was midhir of the yellow hair, and it is what he said: "let us give a wife to every one of these three men, for it is from a wife that good or bad fortune comes." so they agreed to that, and midhir's three daughters, doirenn, and aife, and aillbhe, were given to them. then midhir asked bodb to say what marriage portion should be given to them. "i will tell you that," said bodb. "we are three times fifty sons of kings in this hill; let every king's son give three times fifty ounces of red gold. and i myself," he said, "will give them along with that, three times fifty suits of clothing of all colours." "i will give them a gift," said a young man of the tuatha de danaan, from rachlainn in the sea. "a horn i will give them, and a vat. and there is nothing wanting but to fill the vat with pure water, and it will turn into mead, fit to drink, and strong enough to make drunken. and into the horn," he said, "you have but to put salt water from the sea, and it will turn into wine on the moment." "a gift to them from me," said lir of sidhe fionnachaidh, "three times fifty swords, and three times fifty well-riveted long spears." "a gift from me," said angus og, son of the dagda, "a rath and a good town with high walls, and with bright sunny houses, and with wide houses, in whatever place it will please them between rath chobtaige and teamhair." "a gift to them from me," said aine, daughter of modharn, "a woman-cook that i have, and there is _geasa_ on her not to refuse food to any; and according as she serves it out, her store fills up of itself again." "another gift to them from me," said bodb dearg, "a good musician that i have, fertuinne, son of trogain; and although there were women in the sharpest pains of childbirth, and brave men wounded early in the day, in a place where there were saws going through wood, they would sleep at the sweetness of the music he makes. and whatever house he may be in, the people of the whole country round will hear him." so they stopped in brugh na boinne three days and three nights, and when they left it, angus bade them bring away from the oak-wood three apple-trees, one in full bloom, and one shedding its blossom, and the third covered with ripe fruit. they went then to their own dun that was given them, and it is a good place they had there, and a troop of young men, and great troops of horses and of greyhounds; and they had three sorts of music that comely kings liked to be listening to, the music of harps and of lutes, and the chanting of trogain's son; and there were three great sounds, the tramping on the green, and the uproar of racing, and the lowing of cattle; and three other sounds, the grunting of good pigs with the fat thick on them, and the voices of the crowd on the green lawn, and the noise of men drinking inside the house. and as to eochaid, it was said of him that he never took a step backwards in flight, and his house was never without music or drinking of ale. and it was said of fiacha that there was no man of his time braver than himself, and that he never said a word too much. and as to ruide, he never refused any one, and never asked anything at all of any man. and when their lifetime was over, they went back to the tuatha de danaan, for they belonged to them through their wives, and there they have stopped ever since. and bodb dearg had a daughter, scathniamh, the flower of brightness, that gave her love to caoilte in the time of the fianna; and they were forced to part from one another, and they never met again till the time caoilte was, old and withered, and one of the last that was left of the fianna. and she came to him out of the cave of cruachan, and asked him for the bride-price he had promised her, and that she was never able to come and ask for till then. and caoilte went to a cairn that was near and that was full up of gold, that was wages earned by conan maol and hidden there, and he gave the gold to bodb dearg's daughter. and the people that were there wondered to see the girl so young and comely, and caoilte so grey and bent and withered. "there is no wonder in that," said caoilte, "for i am of the sons of miled that wither and fade away, but she is of the tuatha de danaan that never change and that never die." chapter ii. the dagda and it was at brugh na boinne the dagda, the red man of all knowledge, had his house. and the most noticeable things in it were the hall of the morrigu, and the bed of the dagda, and the birthplace of cermait honey-mouth, and the prison of the grey of macha that was cuchulain's horse afterwards. and there was a little hill by the house that was called the comb and the casket of the dagda's wife; and another that was called the hill of dabilla, that was the little hound belonging to boann. and the valley of the mata was there, the sea-turtle that could suck down a man in armour. and it is likely the dagda put up his cooking oven there, that druimne, son of luchair, made for him at teamhair. and it is the way it was, the axle and the wheel were of wood, and the body was iron, and there were twice nine wheels in its axle, that it might turn the faster; and it was as quick as the quickness of a stream in turning, and there were three times nine spits from it, and three times nine pots. and it used to lie down with the cinders and to rise to the height of the roof with the flame. the dagda himself made a great vat one time for ainge, his daughter, but she was not well satisfied with it, for it would not stop from dripping while the sea was in flood, though it would not lose a drop during the ebb-tide. and she gathered a bundle of twigs to make a new vat for herself, but gaible, son of nuada of the silver hand, stole it from her and hurled it away. and in the place where it fell a beautiful wood grew up, that was called gaible's wood. and the dagda had his household at brugh na boinne, and his steward was dichu, and len linfiaclach was the smith of the brugh. it was he lived in the lake, making the bright vessels of fand, daughter of flidhais; and every evening when he left off work he would make a cast of the anvil eastward to indeoin na dese, the anvil of the dese, as far as the grave end. three showers it used to cast, a shower of fire, and a shower of water, and a shower of precious stones of pure purple. but tuirbe, father of goibniu the smith, used to throw better again, for he would make a cast of his axe from tulach na bela, the hill of the axe, in the face of the flood tide, and he would put his order on the sea, and it would not come over the axe. and corann was the best of the harpers of the household; he was harper to the dagda's son, diancecht. and one time he called with his harp to cailcheir, one of the swine of debrann. and it ran northward with all the strength of its legs, and the champions of connacht were following after it with all their strength of running, and their hounds with them, till they got as far as ceis corain, and they gave it up there, all except niall that went on the track of the swine till he found it in the oak-wood of tarba, and then it made away over the plain of ai, and through a lake. and niall and his hound were drowned in following it through the lake. and the dagda gave corann a great tract of land for doing his harping so well. but however great a house the dagda had, angus got it away from him in the end, through the help of manannan, son of lir. for manannan bade him to ask his father for it for the length of a day and a night, and that he by his art would take away his power of refusing. so angus asked for the brugh, and his father gave it to him for a day and a night. but when he asked it back again, it is what angus said, that it had been given to him for ever, for the whole of life and time is made up of a day and a night, one following after the other. so when the dagda heard that he went away and his people and his household with him, for manannan had put an enchantment on them all. but dichu the steward was away at the time, and his wife and his son, for they were gone out to get provisions for a feast for manannan and his friends. and when he came back and knew his master was gone, he took service with angus. and angus stopped in brugh na boinne, and some say he is there to this day, with the hidden walls about him, drinking goibniu's ale and eating the pigs that never fail. as to the dagda, he took no revenge, though he had the name of being revengeful and quick in his temper. and some say it was at teamhair he made his dwelling-place after that, but wherever it was, a great misfortune came on him. it chanced one time corrgenn, a great man of connacht, came to visit him, and his wife along with him. and while they were there, corrgenn got it in his mind that there was something that was not right going on between his wife and aedh, one of the sons of the dagda. and great jealousy and anger came on him, and he struck at the young man and killed him before his father's face. every one thought the dagda would take corrgenn's life then and there in revenge for his son's life. but he would not do that, for he said if his son was guilty, there was no blame to be put on corrgenn for doing what he did. so he spared his life for that time, but if he did, corrgenn did not gain much by it. for the punishment he put on him was to take the dead body of the young man on his back, and never to lay it down till he would find a stone that would be its very fit in length and in breadth, and that would make a gravestone for him; and when he had found that, he could bury him in the nearest hill. so corrgenn had no choice but to go, and he set out with his load; but he had a long way to travel before he could find a stone that would fit, and it is where he found one at last, on the shore of loch feabhail. so then he left the body up on the nearest hill, and he went down and raised the stone and brought it up and dug a grave and buried the dagda's son. and it is many an ochone! he gave when he was putting the stone over him, and when he had that done he was spent, and he dropped dead there and then. and the dagda brought his two builders, garbhan and imheall, to the place, and he bade them build a rath there round the grave. it was garbhan cut the stones and shaped them, and imheall set them all round the house till the work was finished, and then he closed the top of the house with a slab. and the place was called the hill of aileac, that is, the hill of sighs and of a stone, for it was tears of blood the dagda shed on account of the death of his son. chapter iii. angus og and as to angus og, son of the dagda, sometimes he would come from brugh na boinn and let himself be seen upon the earth. it was a long time after the coming of the gael that he was seen by cormac, king of teamhair, and this is the account he gave of him. he was by himself one day in his hall of judgment, for he used to be often reading the laws and thinking how he could best carry them out. and on a sudden he saw a stranger, a very comely young man, at the end of the hall; and he knew on the moment it was angus og, for he had often heard his people talking of him, but he himself used to be saying he did not believe there was any such person at all. and when his people came back to the hall, he told them how he had seen angus himself, and had talked with him, and angus had told him his name, and had foretold what would happen him in the future. "and he was a beautiful young man," he said, "with high looks, and his appearance was more beautiful than all beauty, and there were ornaments of gold on his dress; in his hand he held a silver harp with strings of red gold, and the sound of its strings was sweeter than all music under the sky; and over the harp were two birds that seemed to be playing on it. he sat beside me pleasantly and played his sweet music to me, and in the end he foretold things that put drunkenness on my wits." the birds, now, that used to be with angus were four of his kisses that turned into birds and that used to be coming about the young men of ireland, and crying after them. "come, come," two of them would say, and "i go, i go," the other two would say, and it was hard to get free of them. but as to angus, even when he was in his young youth, he used to be called the frightener, or the disturber; for the plough teams of the world, and every sort of cattle that is used by men, would make away in terror before him. and one time he appeared in the shape of a land-holder to two men, ribh and eocho, that were looking for a place to settle in. the first place they chose was near bregia on a plain that was belonging to angus; and it was then he came to them, leading his horse in his hand, and told them they should not stop there. and they said they could not carry away their goods without horses. then he gave them his horse, and bade them to put all they had a mind to on that horse and he would carry it, and so he did. but the next place they chose was magh find, the fine plain, that was the playing ground of angus and of midhir. and that time midhir came to them in the same way and gave them a horse to put their goods on, and he went on with them as far as magh dairbthenn. and there were many women loved angus, and there was one enghi, daughter of elcmair, loved him though she had not seen him. and she went one time looking for him to the gathering for games between cletech and sidhe in broga; and the bright troops of the sidhe used to come to that gathering every samhain evening, bringing a moderate share of food with them, that is, a nut. and the sons of derc came from the north, out of sidhe findabrach, and they went round about the young men and women without their knowledge and they brought away elcmair's daughter. there were great lamentations made then, and the name the place got was cnoguba, the nut lamentation, from the crying there was at that gathering. and derbrenn, eochaid fedlech's daughter, was another that was loved by angus, and she had six fosterlings, three boys and three girls. but the mother of the boys, dalb garb, the rough, put a spell on them she made from a gathering of the nuts of caill ochuid, that turned them into swine. and angus gave them into the care of buichet, the hospitaller of leinster, and they stopped a year with him. but at the end of that time there came a longing on buichet's wife to eat a bit of the flesh of one of them. so she gathered a hundred armed men and a hundred hounds to take them. but the pigs made away, and went to brugh na boinn, to angus, and he bade them welcome, and they asked him to give them his help. but he said he could not do that till they had shaken the tree of tarbga, and eaten the salmon of inver umaill. so they went to glascarn, and stopped a year in hiding with derbrenn. and then they shook the tree of tarbga, and they went on towards inver umaill. but maeve gathered the men of connacht to hunt them, and they all fell but one, and their heads were put in a mound, and it got the name of duma selga, the mound of the hunting. and it was in the time of maeve of cruachan that angus set his love on caer ormaith, of the province of connacht, and brought her away to brugh na boinn. chapter iv. the morrigu as to the morrigu, the great queen, the crow of battle, where she lived after the coming of the gael is not known, but before that time it was in teamhair she lived. and she had a great cooking-spit there, that held three sorts of food on it at the one time: a piece of raw meat, and a piece of dressed meat, and a piece of butter. and the raw was dressed, and the dressed was not burned, and the butter did not melt, and the three together on the spit. nine men that were outlaws went to her one time and asked for a spit to be made for themselves. and they brought it away with them, and it had nine ribs in it, and every one of the outlaws would carry a rib in his hand wherever he would go, till they would all meet together at the close of day. and if they wanted the spit to be high, it could be raised to a man's height, and at another time it would not be more than the height of a fist over the fire, without breaking and without lessening. and mechi, the son the morrigu had, was killed by mac cecht on magh mechi, that till that time had been called magh fertaige. three hearts he had, and it is the way they were, they had the shapes of three serpents through them. and if mechi had not met with his death, those serpents in him would have grown, and what they left alive in ireland would have wasted away. and mac cecht burned the three hearts on magh luathad, the plain of ashes, and he threw the ashes into the stream; and the rushing water of the stream stopped and boiled up, and every creature in it died. and the morrigu used often to be meddling in ireland in cuchulain's time, stirring up wars and quarrels. it was she came and roused up cuchulain one time when he was but a lad, and was near giving in to some enchantment that was used against him. "there is not the making of a hero in you," she said to him, "and you lying there under the feet of shadows." and with that cuchulain rose up and struck off the head of a shadow that was standing over him, with his hurling stick. and the time conchubar was sending out finched to rouse up the men of ulster at the time of the war for the bull of cuailgne, he bade him to go to that terrible fury, the morrigu, to get help for cuchulain. and she had a dispute with cuchulain one time he met her, and she bringing away a cow from the hill of cruachan; and another time she helped talchinem, a druid of the household of conaire mor, to bring away a bull his wife had set her mind on. and indeed she was much given to meddling with cattle, and one time she brought away a cow from odras, that was of the household of the cow-chief of cormac hua cuined, and that was going after her husband with cattle. and the morrigu brought the cow away with her to the cave of cruachan, and the hill of the sidhe. and odras followed her there till sleep fell on her in the oak-wood of falga; and the morrigu awoke her and sang spells over her, and made of her a pool of water that went to the river that flows to the west of slieve buane. and in the battle of magh rath, she fluttered over congal claen in the shape of a bird, till he did not know friend from foe. and after that again at the battle of cluantarbh, she was flying over the head of murchadh, son of brian; for she had many shapes, and it was in the shape of a crow she would sometimes fight her battles. and if it was not the morrigu, it was badb that showed herself in the battle of dunbolg, where the men of ireland were fighting under aedh, son of niall; and brigit was seen in the same battle on the side of the men of leinster. chapter v. aine and as to aine, that some said was a daughter of manannan, but some said was the morrigu herself, there was a stone belonging to her that was called cathair aine. and if any one would sit on that stone he would be in danger of losing his wits, and any one that would sit on it three times would lose them for ever. and people whose wits were astray would make their way to it, and mad dogs would come from all parts of the country, and would flock around it, and then they would go into the sea to aine's place there. but those that did cures by herbs said she had power over the whole body; and she used to give gifts of poetry and of music, and she often gave her love to men, and they called her the leanan sidhe, the sweet-heart of the sidhe. and it was no safe thing to offend aine, for she was very revengeful. oilioll oluim, a king of ireland, killed her brother one time, and it is what she did, she made a great yew-tree by enchantment beside the river maigh in luimnech, and she put a little man in it, playing sweet music on a harp. and oilioll's son was passing the river with his step-brother, and they saw the tree and heard the sweet music from it. and first they quarrelled as to which of them would have the little harper, and then they quarrelled about the tree, and they asked a judgment from oilioll, and he gave it for his own son. and it was the bad feeling about that judgment that led to the battle of magh mucruimhe, and oilioll and his seven sons were killed there, and so aine got her revenge. chapter vi. aoibhell and aoibhell, another woman of the sidhe, made her dwelling-place in craig liath, and at the time of the battle of cluantarbh she set her love on a young man of munster, dubhlaing ua artigan, that had been sent away in disgrace by the king of ireland. but before the battle he came back to join with murchadh, the king's son, and to fight for the gael. and aoibhell came to stop him; and when he would not stop with her she put a druid covering about him, the way no one could see him. and he went where murchadh was fighting, and he made a great attack on the enemies of ireland, and struck them down on every side. and murchadh looked around him, and he said; "it seems to me i hear the sound of the blows of dubhlaing ua artigan, but i do not see himself." then dubhlaing threw off the druid covering that was about him, and he said: "i will not keep this covering upon me when you cannot see me through it. and come now across the plain to where aoibhell is," he said, "for she can give us news of the battle." so they went where she was, and she bade them both to quit the battle, for they would lose their lives in it. but murchadh said to her, "i will tell you a little true story," he said; "that fear for my own body will never make me change my face. and if we fall," he said, "the strangers will fall with us; and it is many a man will fall by my own hand, and the gael will be sharing their strong places." "stop with me, dubhlaing," she said then, "and you will have two hundred years of happy life with myself." "i will not give up murchadh," he said, "or my own good name, for silver or gold." and there was anger on aoibhell when he said that, and she said: "murchadh will fall, and you yourself will fall, and your proud blood will be on the plain to-morrow." and they went back into the battle, and got their death there. and it was aoibhell gave a golden harp to the son of meardha the time he was getting his learning at the school of the sidhe in connacht and that he heard his father had got his death by the king of lochlann. and whoever heard the playing of that harp would not live long after it. and meardha's son went where the three sons of the king of lochlann were, and played on his harp for them, and they died. it was that harp cuchulain heard the time his enemies were gathering against him at muirthemne, and he knew by it that his life was near its end. chapter vii. midhir and etain and midhir took a hill for himself, and his wife fuamach was with him there, and his daughter, bri. and leith, son of celtchar of cualu, was the most beautiful among the young men of the sidhe of ireland at that time, and he loved bri, midhir's daughter. and bri went out with her young girls to meet him one time at the grave of the daughters beside teamhair. and leith came and his young men along with him till he was on the hill of the after repentance. and they could not come nearer to one another because of the slingers on midhir's hill that were answering one another till their spears were as many as a swarm of bees on a day of beauty. and cochlan, leith's servant, got a sharp wound from them and he died. then the girl turned back to midhir's hill, and her heart broke in her and she died. and leith said: "although i am not let come to this girl, i will leave my name with her." and the hill was called bri leith from that time. after a while midhir took etain echraide to be his wife. and there was great jealousy on fuamach, the wife he had before, when she saw the love that midhir gave to etain, and she called to the druid, bresal etarlaim to help her, and he put spells on etain the way fuamach was able to drive her away. and when she was driven out of bri leith, angus og, son of the dagda, took her into his keeping; and when midhir asked her back, he would not give her up, but he brought her about with him to every place he went. and wherever they rested, he made a sunny house for her, and put sweet-smelling flowers in it, and he made invisible walls about it, that no one could see through and that could not be seen. but when news came to fuamach that etain was so well cared by angus, anger and jealousy came on her again, and she searched her mind for a way to destroy etain altogether. and it is what she did, she persuaded midhir and angus to go out and meet one another and to make peace, for there had been a quarrel between them ever since the time etain was sent away. and when angus was away from brugh na boinn, fuamach went and found etain there, in her sunny house. and she turned her with druid spells into a fly, and then she sent a blast of wind into the house, that swept her away through the window. but as to midhir and angus, they waited a while for fuamach to come and join them. and when she did not come they were uneasy in their minds, and angus hurried back to brugh na boinn. and when he found the sunny house empty, he went in search of fuamach, and it was along with etarlaim, the druid, he found her, and he struck her head off there and then. and for seven years etain was blown to and fro through ireland in great misery. and at last she came to the house of etar, of inver cechmaine, where there was a feast going on, and she fell from a beam of the roof into the golden cup that was beside etar's wife. and etar's wife drank her down with the wine, and at the end of nine months she was born again as etar's daughter. and she had the same name as before, etain; and she was reared as a king's daughter, and there were fifty young girls, daughters of princes, brought up with her to keep her company. and it happened one day etain and all the rest of the young girls were out bathing in the bay at inver cechmaine, and they saw from the water a man, with very high looks, coming towards them over the plain, and he riding a bay horse with mane and tail curled. a long green cloak he had on him, and a shirt woven with threads of red gold, and a brooch of gold that reached across to his shoulders on each side. and he had on his back a shield of silver with a rim of gold and a boss of gold, and in his hand a sharp-pointed spear covered with rings of gold from heel to socket. fair yellow hair he had, coming over his forehead, and it bound with a golden band to keep it from loosening. and when he came near them he got down from his horse, and sat down on the bank, and it is what he said: "it is here etain is to-day, at the mound of fair women. it is among little children is her life on the strand of inver cechmaine. "it is she healed the eye of the king from the well of loch da lig; it is she was swallowed in a heavy drink by the wife of etar. "many great battles will happen for your sake to echaid of midhe; destruction will fall upon the sidhe, and war on thousands of men." and when he had said that, he vanished, and no one knew where he went. and they did not know the man that had come to them was midhir of bri leith. and when etain was grown to be a beautiful young woman, she was seen by eochaid feidlech, high king of ireland, and this is the way that happened. he was going one time over the fair green of bri leith, and he saw at the side of a well a woman, with a bright comb of gold and silver, and she washing in a silver basin having four golden birds on it, and little bright purple stones set in the rim of the basin. a beautiful purple cloak she had, and silver fringes to it, and a gold brooch; and she had on her a dress of green silk with a long hood, embroidered in red gold, and wonderful clasps of gold and silver on her breasts and on her shoulder. the sunlight was falling on her, so that the gold and the green silk were shining out. two plaits of hair she had, four locks in each plait, and a bead at the point of every lock, and the colour of her hair was like yellow flags in summer, or like red gold after it is rubbed. there she was, letting down her hair to wash it, and her arms out through the sleeve-holes of her shift. her soft hands were as white as the snow of a single night, and her eyes as blue as any blue flower, and her lips as red as the berries of the rowan-tree, and her body as white as the foam of a wave. the bright light of the moon was in her face, the highness of pride in her eyebrows, a dimple of delight in each of her cheeks, the light of wooing in her eyes, and when she walked she had a step that was steady and even like the walk of a queen. and eochaid sent his people to bring her to him, and he asked her name, and she told him her name was etain, daughter of etar, king of the riders of the sidhe. and eochaid gave her his love, and he paid the bride-price, and brought her home to teamhair as his wife, and there was a great welcome before her there. and after a while there was a great feast made at teamhair, and all the chief men of ireland came to it, and it lasted from the fortnight before samhain to the fortnight after it. and king eochaid's brother ailell, that was afterwards called ailell anglonach, of the only fault, came to the feast. and when he saw his brother's wife etain, he fell in love with her on the moment, and all through the length of the feast he was not content unless he could be looking at her. and a woman, the daughter of luchta lamdearg, of the red hand, took notice of it, and she said: "what far thing are you looking at, ailell? it is what i think, that to be looking the way you are doing is a sign of love." then ailell checked himself, and did not look towards etain any more. but when the feast was at an end, and the gathering broken up, great desire and envy came on ailell, so that he fell sick, and they brought him to a house in teffia. and he stopped there through the length of a year, and he was wasting away, but he told no one the cause of his sickness. and at the end of the year, eochaid came to visit his brother, and he passed his hand over his breast, and ailell let a groan. "what way are you?" said eochaid then. "are you getting any easier, for you must not let this illness come to a bad end." "by my word," said ailell, "it is not easier i am, but worse and worse every day and every night." "what is it ails you?" said eochaid. "and what is it that is coming against you." "by my word, i cannot tell you that," said ailell. "i will bring one here that will know the cause of your sickness," said the king. with that he sent fachtna, his own physician, to ailell; and when he came he passed his hand over ailell's heart, and at that he groaned again. "this sickness will not be your death," said fachtna then; "and i know well what it comes from. it is either from the pains of jealousy, or from love you have given, and that you have not found a way out of." but there was shame on ailell, and he would not confess to the physician that what he said was right. so fachtna went away then and left him. as to king eochaid, he went away to visit all the provinces of ireland that were under his kingship, and he left etain after him, and it is what he said: "good etain," he said, "take tender care of ailell so long as he is living; and if he should die from us, make a sodded grave for him, and raise a pillar stone over it, and write his name on it in ogham." and with that he went away on his journey. one day, now, etain went into the house where ailell was lying in his sickness, and they talked together, and then she made a little song for him, and it is what she said: "what is it ails you, young man, for it is a long time you are wasted with this sickness, and it is not the hardness of the weather has stopped your light footstep." and ailell answered her in the same way, and he said: "i have good cause for my hurt; the music of my own harp does not please me; there is no sort of food is pleasant to me, and so i am wasted away." then etain said: "tell me what is it ails you, for i am a woman that is wise. tell me is there anything that would cure you, the way i may help you to it?" and ailell answered her: "o kind, beautiful woman, it is not good to tell a secret to a woman, but sometimes it may be known through the eyes." and etain said: "though it is bad to tell a secret, yet it ought to be told now, or how can help be given to you?" and ailell answered: "my blessing on you, fair-haired etain. it is not fit i am to be spoken with; my wits have been no good help to me; my body is a rebel to me. all ireland knows, o king's wife, there is sickness in my head and in my body." and etain said: "if there is a woman of the fair-faced women of ireland tormenting you this way, she must come to you here if it pleases you; and it is i myself will woo her for you," she said. then ailell said to her: "woman, it would be easy for you yourself to put my sickness from me. and my desire," he said, "is a desire that is as long as a year; but it is love given to an echo, the spending of grief on a wave, a lonely fight with a shadow, that is what my love and my desire have been to me." and it is then etain knew what was the sickness that was on him, and it was a heavy trouble to her. but she came to him every day to tend him, and to make ready his food, and to pour water over his hands, and all she could do she did for him, for it was a grief to her, he to wither away and to be lost for her sake. and at last one day she said to him: "rise up, ailell, son of a king, man of high deeds, and i will do your healing." then he put his arms about her, and she kissed him, and she said: "come at the morning of to-morrow at the break of day to the house outside the dun, and i will give you all your desire." that night ailell lay without sleep until the morning was at hand. and at the very time he should have risen to go to her, it was at that time his sleep settled down upon him, and he slept on till the full light of day. but etain went to the house outside the dun, and she was not long there when she saw a man coming towards her having the appearance of ailell, sick and tired and worn. but when he came near and she looked closely at him, she saw it was not ailell that was in it. then he went away, and after she had waited a while, she herself went back into the dun. and it was then ailell awoke, and when he knew the morning had passed by, he would sooner have had death than life, and he fretted greatly. and etain came in then, and he told her what had happened him. and she said: "come to-morrow to the same place." but the same thing happened the next day. and when it happened on the third day, and the same man came to meet etain, she said to him: "it is not you at all i come to meet here, and why is it that you come to meet me? and as to him i came to meet," she said, "indeed it is not for gain or through lightness i bade him come to me, but to heal him of the sickness he is lying under for my sake." then the man said: "it would be more fitting for you to come to meet me than any other one. for in the time long ago," he said, "i was your first husband, and your first man." "what is it you are saying," she said, "and who are you yourself?" "it is easy to tell that," he said; "i am midhir of bri leith." "and what parted us if i was your wife?" said etain. "it was through fuamach's sharp jealousy and through the spells of bresal etarlaim, the druid, we were parted. and will you come away with me now?" he said. but etain said: "it is not for a man whose kindred is unknown i will give up the high king of ireland." and midhir said: "surely it was i myself put that great desire for you on ailell, and it was i hindered him from going to meet you, the way you might keep your good name." and when she went back to ailell's house, she found his sickness was gone from him, and his desire. and she told him all that had happened, and he said: "it has turned out well for us both: i am well of my sickness and your good name is not lessened." "we give thanks to our gods for that," said etain, "for we are well pleased to have it so." and just at that time eochaid came back from his journey, and they told him the whole story, and he was thankful to his wife for the kindness she had showed to ailell. it was a good while after that, there was a great fair held at teamhair, and etain was out on the green looking at the games and the races. and she saw a rider coming towards her, but no one could see him but herself; and when he came near she saw he had the same appearance as the man that came and spoke with her and her young girls the time they were out in the sea at inver cechmaine. and when he came up to her he began to sing words to her that no one could hear but herself. and it is what he said: "o beautiful woman, will you come with me to the wonderful country that is mine? it is pleasant to be looking at the people there, beautiful people without any blemish; their hair is of the colour of the flag-flower, their fair body is as white as snow, the colour of the foxglove is on every cheek. the young never grow old there; the fields and the flowers are as pleasant to be looking at as the blackbird's eggs; warm, sweet streams of mead and of wine flow through that country; there is no care and no sorrow on any person; we see others, but we ourselves are not seen. "though the plains of ireland are beautiful, it is little you would think of them after our great plain; though the ale of ireland is heady, the ale of the great country is still more heady. o beautiful woman, if you come to my proud people it is the flesh of pigs newly killed i will give you for food; it is ale and new milk i will give you for drink; it is feasting you will have with me there; it is a crown of gold you will have upon your hair, o beautiful woman! "and will you come there with me, etain?" he said. but etain said she would not leave eochaid the high king. "will you come if eochaid gives you leave?" midhir said then. "i will do that," said etain. one day, after that time, eochaid the high king was looking out from his palace at teamhair, and he saw a strange man coming across the plain. yellow hair he had, and eyes blue and shining like the flame of a candle, and a purple dress on him, and in his hand a five-pronged spear and a shield having gold knobs on it. he came up to the king, and the king bade him welcome. "who are you yourself?" he said; "and what are you come for, for you are a stranger to me?" "if i am a stranger to you, you are no stranger to me, for i have known you this long time," said the strange man. "what is your name?" said the king. "it is nothing very great," said he; "i am called midhir of bri leith." "what is it brings you here?" said eochaid. "i am come to play a game of chess with you," said the stranger. "are you a good player?" said the king. "a trial will tell you that," said midhir. "the chessboard is in the queen's house, and she is in her sleep at this time," said eochaid. "that is no matter," said midhir, "for i have with me a chess-board as good as your own." and with that he brought out his chessboard, and it made of silver, and precious stones shining in every corner of it. and then he brought out the chessmen, and they made of gold, from a bag that was of shining gold threads. "let us play now," said midhir. "i will not play without a stake," said the king. "what stake shall we play for?" said midhir. "we can settle that after the game is over," said the king. they played together then, and midhir was beaten, and it is what the king asked of him, fifty brown horses to be given to him. and then they played the second time, and midhir was beaten again, and this time the king gave him four hard things to do: to make a road over moin lamraide, and to clear midhe of stones, and to cover the district of tethra with rushes, and the district of darbrech with trees. so midhir brought his people from bri leith to do those things, and it is bard work they had doing them. and eochaid used to be out watching them, and he took notice that when the men of the sidhe yoked their oxen, it was by the neck and the shoulder they used to yoke them, and not by the forehead and the head. and it was after eochaid taught his people to yoke them that way, he was given the name of eochaid airem, that is, of the plough. and when all was done, midhir came to eochaid again, looking thin and wasted enough with the dint of the hard work he had been doing, and he asked eochaid to play the third game with him. eochaid agreed, and it was settled as before, the stake to be settled by the winner. it was midhir won the game that time, and when the king asked him what he wanted, "it is etain, your wife, i want," said he. "i will not give her to you," said the king. "all i will ask then," said midhir, "is to put my arms about her and to kiss her once." "you may do that," said the king, "if you will wait to the end of a month." so midhir agreed to that, and went away for that time. at the end of the month he came back again, and stood in the great hall at teamhair, and no one had ever seen him look so comely as he did that night. and eochaid had all his best fighting men gathered in the hall, and he shut all the doors of the palace when he saw midhir come in, for fear he would try to bring away etain by force. "i am come to be paid what is due to me," said midhir. "i have not been thinking of it up to this time," said eochaid, and there was anger on him. "you promised me etain, your wife," said midhir. the redness of shame came on etain when she heard that, but midhir said: "let there be no shame on you, etain, for it is through the length of a year i have been asking your love, and i have offered you every sort of treasure and riches, and you refused to come to me till such a time as your husband would give you leave." "it is true i said that," said etain, "i will go if eochaid gives me up to you." "i will not give you up," said eochaid; "i will let him do no more than put his arms about you in this place, as was promised him." "i will do that," said midhir. with that he took his sword in his left hand, and he took etain in his right arm and kissed her. all the armed men in the house made a rush at him then, but he rose up through the roof bringing etain with him, and when they rushed out of the house to follow him, all they could see was two swans high up in the air, linked together by a chain of gold. there was great anger on eochaid then, and he went and searched all through ireland, but there were no tidings of them to be had, for they were in the houses of the sidhe. it was to the brugh of angus on the boinn they went first, and after they had stopped there a while they went to a hill of the sidhe in connacht. and there was a serving-maid with etain at that time, cruachan croderg her name was, and she said to midhir: "is this your own place we are in?" "it is not," said midhir; "my own place is nearer to the rising of the sun." she was not well pleased to stop there when she heard that, and midhir said to quiet her: "it is your own name will be put on this place from this out." and the hill was called the hill of cruachan from that time. then they went to bri leith; and etain's daughter esa came to them there, and she brought a hundred of every sort of cattle with her, and midhir fostered her for seven years. and all through that time eochaid the high king was making a search for them. but at last codal of the withered breast took four rods of yew and wrote oghams on them, and through them and through his enchantments he found out that etain was with midhir in bri leith. so eochaid went there, and made an attack on the place, and he was for nine years besieging it, and midhir was driving him away. and then his people began digging through the hill; and when they were getting near to where etain was, midhir sent three times twenty beautiful women, having all of them the appearance of etain, and he bade the king choose her out from among them. and the first he chose was his own daughter esa. but then etain called to him, and he knew her, and he brought her home to teamhair. and eochaid gave his daughter esa her choice of a place for herself. and she chose it, and made a rath there, that got the name of rath esa. and from it she could see three notable places, the hill of the sidhe in broga, and the hill of the hostages in teamhair, and dun crimthain on beinn edair. but there was great anger on midhir and his people because of their hill being attacked and dug into. and it was in revenge for that insult they brought conaire, high king of ireland, that was grandson of eochaid and of etain, to his death afterwards at da derga's inn. chapter viii. manannan now as to manannan the proud, son of lir, after he had made places for the rest of the tuatha de danaan to live in, he went away out of ireland himself. and some said he was dead, and that he got his death by uillenn faebarderg, of the red edge, in battle. and it is what they said, that the battle was fought at magh cuilenn, and that manannan was buried standing on his feet, and no sooner was he buried than a great lake burst up under his feet in the place that was a red bog till that time. and the lake got the name of loch orbson, from one of the names of manannan. and it was said that red badb was glad and many women were sorry at that battle. but he had many places of living, and he was often heard of in ireland after. it was he sent a messenger to etain, mother of conaire the high king, the time she was hidden in the cowherd's house. and it was he brought up deirdre's children in emhain of the apple trees, and it was said of that place, "a house of peace is the hill of the sidhe of emhain." and it was he taught diarmuid of the fianna the use of weapons, and it was he taught cuchulain the use of the gae bulg, and some say it was he was deirdre's father, and that he brought conchubar, king of ulster, to the place she was hidden, and he running with the appearance of a hare before the hounds of the men of ulster to bring them there. and it is what they say, that the time conchubar had brought the sons of usnach to emain macha, and could not come at them to kill them because of their bravery, it was to manannan he went for help. and manannan said he would give him no help, for he had told him at the time he brought deirdre away that she would be the cause of the breaking up of his kingdom, and he took her away in spite of him. but conchubar asked him to put blindness for a while on the sons of usnach, or the whole army would be destroyed with their blows. so after a while he consented to that. and when the sons of usnach came out again against the army of ulster, the blindness came on them, and it was at one another they struck, not seeing who was near them, and it was by one another's hands they fell. but more say manannan had no hand in it, and that it was cathbad, the druid, put a sea about them and brought them to their death by his enchantments. and some say culain, the smith, that gave his name to cuchulain afterwards, was manannan himself, for he had many shapes. anyway, before culain came to ulster, he was living in the island of falga, that was one of manannan's places. and one time before conchubar came into the kingdom, he went to ask advice of a druid, and the druid bade him to go to the island of falga and to ask culain, the smith he would find there, to make arms for him. so conchubar did so, and the smith promised to make a sword and spear and shield for him. and while he was working at them conchubar went out one morning early to walk on the strand, and there he saw a sea-woman asleep on the shore. and he put bonds on her in her sleep, the way she would not make her escape. but when she awoke and saw what had happened, she asked him to set her free. "and i am tiabhal," she said, "one of the queens of the sea. and bid culain," she said, "that is making your shield for you, to put my likeness on it and my name about it. and whenever you will go into a battle with that shield the strength of your enemies will lessen, and your own strength and the strength of your people will increase." so conchubar let her go, and bade the smith do as she had told him. and when he went back to ireland he got the victory wherever he brought that shield. and he sent for culain then, and offered him a place on the plains of muirthemne. and whether he was or was not manannan, it is likely he gave cuchulain good teaching the time he stopped with him there after killing his great dog. manannan had good hounds one time, but they went hunting after a pig that was destroying the whole country, and making a desert of it. and they followed it till they came to a lake, and there it turned on them, and no hound of them escaped alive, but they were all drowned or maimed. and the pig made for an island then, that got the name of muc-inis, the pigs island afterwards; and the lake got the name of loch conn, the lake of the hounds. and it was through manannan the wave of tuaig, one of the three great waves of ireland, got its name, and this is the way that happened. there was a young girl of the name of tuag, a fosterling of conaire the high king, was reared in teamhair, and a great company of the daughters of the kings of ireland were put about her to protect her, the way she would be kept for a king's asking. but manannan sent fer ferdiad, of the tuatha de danaan, that was a pupil of his own and a druid, in the shape of a woman of his own household, and he went where tuag was, and sang a sleep-spell over her, and brought her away to inver glas. and there he laid her down while he went looking for a boat, that he might bring her away in her sleep to the land of the ever-living women. but a wave of the flood-tide came over the girl, and she was drowned, and manannan killed fer ferdiad in his anger. and one time manannan's cows came up out of the sea at baile cronin, three of them, a red, and a white, and a black, and the people that were there saw them standing on the strand for a while, as if thinking, and then they all walked up together, side by side, from the strand. and at that time there were no roads in ireland, and there was great wonder on the people when they saw a good wide road ready before the three cows to walk on. and when they got about a mile from the sea they parted; the white cow went to the north-west, towards luimnech, and the red cow went to the south-west, and on round the coast of ireland, and the black cow went to the north-east, towards lis mor, in the district of portlairge, and a road opened before each of them, that is to be seen to this day. and some say it was manannan went to finn and the fianna in the form of the gilla decair, the bad servant, and brought them away to land-under-wave. anyway, he used often to go hunting with them on cnoc aine, and sometimes he came to their help. chapter ix. manannan at play and it was he went playing tricks through ireland a long time after that again, the time he got the name of o'donnell's kern. and it is the way it happened, aodh dubh o'donnell was holding a feast one time in bel-atha senaig, and his people were boasting of the goodness of his house and of his musicians. and while they were talking, they saw a clown coming towards them, old striped clothes he had, and puddle water splashing in his shoes, and his sword sticking out naked behind him, and his ears through the old cloak that was over his head, and in his hand he had three spears of hollywood scorched and blackened. he wished o'donnell good health, and o'donnell did the same to him, and asked where did he come from. "it is where i am," he said, "i slept last night at dun monaidhe, of the king of alban; i am a day in ile, a day in cionn-tire, a day in rachlainn, a day in the watchman's seat in slieve fuad; a pleasant, rambling, wandering man i am, and it is with yourself i am now, o'donnell," he said. "let the gate-keeper be brought to me," said o'donnell. and when the gate-keeper came, he asked was it he let in this man, and the gate-keeper said he did not, and that he never saw him before. "let him off, o'donnell," said the stranger, "for it was as easy for me to come in, as it will be to me to go out again." there was wonder on them all then, any man to have come into the house without passing the gate. the musicians began playing their music then, and all the best musicians of the country were there at the time, and they played very sweet tunes on their harps. but the strange man called out: "by my word, o'donnell, there was never a noise of hammers beating on iron in any bad place was so bad to listen to as this noise your people are making." with that he took a harp, and he made music that would put women in their pains and wounded men after a battle into a sweet sleep, and it is what o'donnell said: "since i first heard talk of the music of the sidhe that is played in the hills and under the earth below us, i never heard better music than your own. and it is a very sweet player you are," he said. "one day i am sweet, another day i am sour," said the clown. then o'donnell bade his people to bring him up to sit near himself. "i have no mind to do that," he said; "i would sooner be as i am, an ugly clown, making sport for high-up people." then o'donnell sent him down clothes, a hat and a striped shirt and a coat, but he would not have them. "i have no mind," he said, "to let high-up people be making a boast of giving them to me." they were afraid then he might go from them, and they put twenty armed horsemen and twenty men on foot to hold him back from leaving the house, and as many more outside at the gate, for they knew him not to be a man of this world. "what are these men for?" said he. "they are to keep you here," said o'donnell. "by my word, it is not with you i will be eating my supper to-morrow," he said, "but at cnoc aine, where seaghan, son of the earl is, in desmumain." "if i find you giving one stir out of yourself, between this and morning, i will knock you into a round lump there on the ground," said o'donnell. but at that the stranger took up the harp again, and he made the same sweet music as before. and when they were all listening to him, he called out to the men outside: "here i am coming, and watch me well now or you will lose me." when the men that were watching the gate heard that, they lifted up their axes to strike at him, but in their haste it was at one another they struck, till they were all lying stretched in blood. then the clown said to the gate-keeper: "let you ask twenty cows and a hundred of free land of o'donnell as a fee for bringing his people back to life. and take this herb," he said, "and rub it in the mouth of each man of them, and he will rise up whole and well again." so the gate-keeper did that, and he got the cows and the land from o'donnell, and he brought all the people to life again. now at that time seaghan, son of the earl, was holding a gathering on the green in front of his dun, and he saw the same man coming towards him, and dressed in the same way, and the water splashing in his shoes. but when he asked who was he, he gave himself the name of a very learned man, duartane o'duartane, and he said it was by ess ruadh he was come, and by ceiscorainn and from that to corrslieve, and to magh lorg of the dagda, and into the district of hy'conaill gabhra, "till i came to yourself," he said, "by cruachan of magh ai." so they brought him into the house, and gave him wine for drinking and water for washing his feet, and he slept till the rising of the sun on the morrow. and at that time seaghan, son of the earl, came to visit him, and he said: "it is a long sleep you had, and there is no wonder in that, and your journey so long yesterday. but i often heard of your learning in books and of your skill on the harp, and i would like to hear you this morning," he said. "i am good in those arts indeed," said the stranger. so they brought him a book, but he could not read a word of it, and then they brought him a harp, and he could not play any tune. "it is likely your reading and your music are gone from you," said seaghan; and he made a little rann on him, saying it was a strange thing duartane o'duartane that had such a great name not to be able to read a line of a book, or even to remember one. but when the stranger heard how he was being mocked at, he took up the book, and read from the top to the bottom of the page very well and in a sweet-sounding voice. and after that he took the harp and played and sang the same way he did at o'donnell's house the day before. "it is a very sweet man of learning you are," said seaghan. "one day i am sweet, another day i am sour," said the stranger. they walked out together then on cnoc aine, but while they were talking there, the stranger was gone all of a minute, and seaghan, son of the earl, could not see where he went. and after that he went on, and he reached sligach just at the time o'conchubar was setting out with the men of connacht to avenge the connacht hag's basket on the hag of munster. and this time he gave himself the name of the gilla decair, the bad servant. and he joined with the men of connacht, and they went over the sionnan westward into munster, and there they hunted and drove every creature that could be made travel, cattle and horses and flocks, into one place, till they got the hornless bull of the munster hag and her two speckled cows, and o'conchubar brought them away to give to the connacht hag in satisfaction for her basket. but the men of munster made an attack on them as they were going back; and the gilla decair asked o'conchubar would he sooner have the cows driven, or have the munster men checked, and he said he would sooner have the munster men checked. so the gilla decair turned on them, and with his bow and twenty-four arrows he kept them back till o'conchubar and his people were safe out of their reach in connacht. but he took some offence then, on account of o'conchubar taking the first drink himself when they came to his house, and not giving it to him, that had done so much, and he took his leave and went from them on the moment. after that he went to where tadg o'cealaigh was, and having his old striped clothes and his old shoes as before. and when they asked him what art he had, he said: "i am good at tricks. and if you will give me five marks i will show you a trick," he said. "i will give that," said tadg. with that the stranger put three rushes on the palm of his hand. "i will blow away the middle rush now," he said, "and the other two will stop as they are." so they told him to do that, and he put the tops of two of his fingers on the two outside rushes, and blew the middle one away. "there is a trick now for you, tadg o'cealaigh," he said then. "by my word, that is not a bad trick," said o'cealaigh. but one of his men said: "that there may be no good luck with him that did it. and give me the half of that money now, tadg," he said, "and i will do the same trick for you myself." "i will give you the half of what i got if you will do it," said the stranger. so the other put the rushes on his hand, but if he did, when he tried to do the trick, his two finger-tips went through the palm of his hand. "ob-ob-ob!" said the stranger, "that is not the way i did the trick. but as you have lost the money," he said, "i will heal you again." "i could do another trick for you," he said; "i could wag the ear on one side of my head and the ear on the other side would stay still." "do it then," said o'cealaigh. so the man of tricks took hold of one of his ears and wagged it up and down. "that is a good trick indeed," said o'cealaigh. "i will show you another one now," he said. with that he took from his bag a thread of silk, and gave a cast of it up into the air, that it was made fast to a cloud. and then he took a hare out of the same bag, and it ran up the thread; and then took out a little dog and laid it on after the hare, and it followed yelping on its track; and after that again he brought out a little serving-boy and bade him to follow dog and hare up the thread. then out of another bag he had with him he brought out a beautiful, well-dressed young woman, and bade her to follow after the hound and the boy, and to take care and not let the hare be torn by the dog. she went up then quickly after them, and it was a delight to tadg o'cealaigh to be looking at them and to be listening to the sound of the hunt going on in the air. all was quiet then for a long time, and then the man of tricks said: "i am afraid there is some bad work going on up there." "what is that?" said o'cealaigh. "i am thinking," said he, "the hound might be eating the hare, and the serving-boy courting the girl." "it is likely enough they are," said o'cealaigh. with that the stranger drew in the thread, and it is what he found, the boy making love to the girl and the hound chewing the bones of the hare. there was great anger on the man of tricks when he saw that, and he took his sword and struck the head off the boy. "i do not like a thing of that sort to be done in my presence," said tadg o'cealaigh. "if it did not please you, i can set all right again," said the stranger. and with that he took up the head and made a cast of it at the body, and it joined to it, and the young man stood up, but if he did his face was turned backwards. "it would be better for him to be dead than to be living like that," said o'cealaigh. when the man of tricks heard that, he took hold of the boy and twisted his head straight, and he was as well as before. and with that the man of tricks vanished, and no one saw where was he gone. that is the way manannan used to be going round ireland, doing tricks and wonders. and no one could keep him in any place, and if he was put on a gallows itself, he would be found safe in the house after, and some other man on the gallows in his place. but he did no harm, and those that would be put to death by him, he would bring them to life again with a herb out of his bag. and all the food he would use would be a vessel of sour milk and a few crab-apples. and there never was any music sweeter than the music he used to be playing. chapter x. his call to bran and there were some that went to manannan's country beyond the sea, and that gave an account of it afterwards. one time bran, son of febal, was out by himself near his dun, and he heard music behind him. and it kept always after him, and at last he fell asleep with the sweetness of the sound. and when he awoke from his sleep he saw beside him a branch of silver, and it having white blossoms, and the whiteness of the silver was the same as the whiteness of the blossoms. and he brought the branch in his hand into the royal house, and when all his people were with him they saw a woman with strange clothing standing in the house. and she began to make a song for bran, and all the people were looking at her and listening to her, and it is what she said: "i bring a branch of the apple-tree from emhain, from the far island around which are the shining horses of the son of lir. a delight of the eyes is the plain where the hosts hold their games; curragh racing against chariot in the white silver plain to the south. "there are feet of white bronze under it, shining through life and time; a comely level land through the length of the world's age, and many blossoms falling on it. "there is an old tree there with blossoms, and birds calling from among them; every colour is shining there, delight is common, and music, in the gentle-voiced plain, in the silver cloud plain to the south. "keening is not used, or treachery, in the tilled familiar land; there is nothing hard or rough, but sweet music striking on the ear. "to be without grief, without sorrow, without death, without any sickness, without weakness; that is the sign of emhain; it is not common wonder that is. "there is nothing to liken its mists to, the sea washes the wave against the land; brightness falls from its hair. "there are riches, there are treasures of every colour in the gentle land, the bountiful land. sweet music to be listening to; the best of wine to drink. "golden chariots in the plain of the sea, rising up to the sun with the tide; silver chariots and bronze chariots on the plain of sports. "gold-yellow horses on the strand, and crimson horses, and others with wool on their backs, blue like the colour of the sky. "it is a day of lasting weather, silver is dropping on the land; a pure white cliff on the edge of the sea, getting its warmth from the sun. "the host race over the plain of sports; it is beautiful and not weak their game is; death or the ebbing of the tide will not come to them in the many-coloured land. "there will come at sunrise a fair man, lighting up the level lands; he rides upon the plain that is beaten by the waves, he stirs the sea till it is like blood. "an army will come over the clear sea, rowing to the stone that is in sight, that a hundred sounds of music come from. "it sings a song to the army; it is not sad through the length of time; it increases music with hundreds singing together; they do not look for death or the ebb-tide. "there are three times fifty far islands in the ocean to the west of us, and every one of them twice or three times more than ireland. "it is not to all of you i am speaking, though i have made all these wonders known. let bran listen from the crowd of the world to all the wisdom that has been told him. "do not fall upon a bed of sloth; do not be overcome by drunkenness; set out on your voyage over the clear sea, and you may chance to come to the land of women." with that the woman went from them, and they did not know where she went. and she brought away her branch with her, for it leaped into her hand from bran's hand, and he had not the strength to hold it. then on the morrow bran set out upon the sea, and three companies of nine along with him; and one of his foster-brothers and comrades was set over each company of nine. and when they had been rowing for two days and two nights, they saw a man coming towards them in a chariot, over the sea. and the man made himself known to them, and he said that he was manannan, son of lir. and then manannan spoke to him in a song, and it is what he said: "it is what bran thinks, he is going in his curragh over the wonderful, beautiful clear sea; but to me, from far off in my chariot, it is a flowery plain he is riding on. "what is a clear sea to the good boat bran is in, is a happy plain with many flowers to me in my two-wheeled chariot. "it is what bran sees, many waves beating across the clear sea; it is what i myself see, red flowers without any fault. "the sea-horses are bright in summer-time, as far as bran's eyes can reach; there is a wood of beautiful acorns under the head of your little boat. "a wood with blossom and with fruit, that has the smell of wine; a wood without fault, without withering, with leaves of the colour of gold. "let bran row on steadily, it is not far to the land of women; before the setting of the sun you will reach emhain, of many-coloured hospitality." with that bran went from him; and after a while he saw an island, and he rowed around it, and there was a crowd on it, wondering at them, and laughing; and they were all looking at bran and at his people, but they would not stop to talk with them, but went on giving out gusts of laughter. bran put one of his men on the island then, but he joined with the others, and began to stare the same way as the men of the island. and bran went on rowing round about the island; and whenever they went past his own man, his comrades would speak to him, but he would not answer them, but would only stare and wonder at them. so they went away and left him on that island that is called the island of joy. it was not long after that they reached to the land of women. and they saw the chief one of the women at the landing-place, and it is what she said: "come hither to land, bran, son of febal, it is welcome your coming is." but bran did not dare to go on shore. then the woman threw a ball of thread straight to him, and he caught it in his hand, and it held fast to his palm, and the woman kept the thread in her own hand, and she pulled the curragh to the landing-place. on that they went into a grand house, where there was a bed for every couple, three times nine beds. and the food that was put on every dish never came to an end, and they had every sort of food and of drink they wished for. and it seemed to them they were only a year there when the desire of home took hold on one of them, nechtan, son of collbrain, and his kinsmen were begging and praying bran to go back with him to ireland. the woman said there would be repentance on them if they went; but in spite of that they set out in the end. and the woman said to them not to touch the land when they would come to ireland, and she bade them to visit and to bring with them the man they left in the island of joy. so they went on towards ireland till they came to a place called srub bruin. and there were people on the strand that asked them who they were that were coming over the sea. and bran said: "i am bran, son of febal." but the people said: "we know of no such man, though the voyage of bran is in our very old stories." then nechtan, son of collbrain, made a leap out of the curragh, and no sooner did he touch the shore of ireland than he was a heap of ashes, the same as if he had been in the earth through hundreds of years. and then bran told the whole story of his wanderings to the people, from the beginning. and after that he bade them farewell, and his wanderings from that time are not known. chapter xi. his three calls to cormac and another that went to manannan's country was cormac, grandson of conn, king of teamhair, and this is the way it happened. he was by himself in teamhair one time, and he saw an armed man coming towards him, quiet, with high looks, and having grey hair; a shirt ribbed with gold thread next his skin, broad shoes of white bronze between his feet and the ground, a shining branch, having nine apples of red gold, on his shoulder. and it is delightful the sound of that branch was, and no one on earth would keep in mind any want, or trouble, or tiredness, when that branch was shaken for him; and whatever trouble there might be on him, he would forget it at the sound. then cormac and the armed man saluted one another, and cormac asked where did he come from. "i come," he said, "from a country where there is nothing but truth, and where there is neither age nor withering away, nor heaviness, nor sadness, nor jealousy nor envy, nor pride." "that is not so with us," said cormac, "and i would be well pleased to have your friendship," he said. "i am well pleased to give it," said the stranger. "give me your branch along with it," said cormac. "i will give it," said the stranger, "if you will give me the three gifts i ask in return." "i will give them to you indeed," said cormac. then the strange man left the branch and went away, and cormac did not know where was he gone to. he went back then into the royal house, and there was wonder on all the people when they saw the branch. and he shook it at them, and it put them all asleep from that day to the same time on the morrow. at the end of a year the strange man came back again, and he asked for the first of his three requests. "you will get it," said cormac. "i will take your daughter, aille, to-day," said the stranger. so he brought away the girl with him, and the women of ireland gave three loud cries after the king's daughter. but cormac shook the branch at them, until it put away sorrow from them, and put them all into their sleep. that day month the stranger came again, and he brought cormac's son, carpre lifecar, away with him. there was crying and lamenting without end in teamhair after the boy, and on that night no one ate or slept, and they were all under grief and very downhearted. but when cormac shook the branch their sorrow went from them. then the stranger came the third time, and cormac asked him what did he want. "it is your wife, ethne, i am asking this time," he said. and he went away then, bringing ethne, the queen, along with him. but cormac would not bear that, and he went after them, and all his people were following him. but in the middle of the plain of the wall, a thick mist came on them, and when it was gone, cormac found himself alone on a great plain. and he saw a great dun in the middle of the plain, with a wall of bronze around it, and in the dun a house of white silver, and it half thatched with the white wings of birds. and there was a great troop of the riders of the sidhe all about the house, and their arms full of white birds' wings for thatching. but as soon as they would put on the thatch, a blast of wind would come and carry it away again. then he saw a man kindling a fire, and he used to throw a thick oak-tree upon it. and when he would come back with a second tree, the first one would be burned out. "i will be looking at you no longer," cormac said then, "for there is no one here to tell me your story, and i think i could find good sense in your meanings if i understood them," he said. then he went on to where there was another dun, very large and royal, and another wall of bronze around it, and four houses within it. and he went in and saw a great king's house, having beams of bronze and walls of silver, and its thatch of the wings of white birds. and then he saw on the green a shining well, and five streams flowing from it, and the armies drinking water in turn, and the nine lasting purple hazels of buan growing over it. and they were dropping their nuts into the water, and the five salmon would catch them and send their husks floating down the streams. and the sound of the flowing of those streams is sweeter than any music that men sing. then he went into the palace, and he found there waiting for him a man and a woman, very tall, and having clothes of many colours. the man was beautiful as to shape, and his face wonderful to look at; and as to the young woman that was with him, she was the loveliest of all the women of the world, and she having yellow hair and a golden helmet. and there was a bath there, and heated stones going in and out of the water of themselves, and cormac bathed himself in it. "rise up, man of the house," the woman said after that, "for this is a comely traveller is come to us; and if you have one kind of food or meat better than another, let it be brought in." the man rose up then and he said: "i have but seven pigs, but i could feed the whole world with them, for the pig that is killed and eaten to-day, you will find it alive again to-morrow." another man came into the house then, having an axe in his right hand, and a log in his left hand, and a pig behind him. "it is time to make ready," said the man of the house, "for we have a high guest with us to-day." then the man struck the pig and killed it, and he cut the logs and made a fire and put the pig on it in a cauldron. "it is time for you to turn it," said the master of the house after a while. "there would be no use doing that," said the man, "for never and never will the pig be boiled until a truth is told for every quarter of it." "then let you tell yours first," said the master of the house. "one day," said the man, "i found another man's cows in my land, and i brought them with me into a cattle pound. the owner of the cows followed me, and he said he would give me a reward to let the cows go free. so i gave them back to him, and he gave me an axe, and when a pig is to be killed, it is with the axe it is killed, and the log is cut with it, and there is enough wood to boil the pig, and enough for the palace besides. and that is not all, for the log is found whole again in the morning. and from that time till now, that is the way they are." "it is true indeed that story is," said the man of the house. they turned the pig in the cauldron then, and but one quarter of it was found to be cooked. "let us tell another true story," they said. "i will tell one," said the master of the house. "ploughing time had come, and when we had a mind to plough that field outside, it is the way we found it, ploughed, and harrowed, and sowed with wheat. when we had a mind to reap it, the wheat was found in the haggard, all in one thatched rick. we have been using it from that day to this, and it is no bigger and no less." then they turned the pig, and another quarter was found to be ready. "it is my turn now," said the woman. "i have seven cows," she said, "and seven sheep. and the milk of the seven cows would satisfy the whole of the men of the world, if they were in the plain drinking it, and it is enough for all the people of the land of promise, and it is from the wool of the seven sheep all the clothes they wear are made." and at that story the third quarter of the pig was boiled. "if these stories are true," said cormac to the man of the house, "you are manannan, and this is manannan's wife; for no one on the whole ridge of the world owns these treasures but himself. it was to the land of promise he went to look for that woman, and he got those seven cows with her." they said to cormac that it was his turn now. so cormac told them how his wife, and his son, and his daughter, had been brought away from him, and how he himself had followed them till he came to that place. and with that the whole pig was boiled, and they cut it up, and cormac's share was put before him. "i never used a meal yet," said he, "having two persons only in my company." the man of the house began singing to him then, and put him asleep. and when he awoke, he saw fifty armed men, and his son, and his wife, and his daughter, along with them. there was great gladness and courage on him then, and ale and food were given out to them all. and there was a gold cup put in the hand of the master of the house, and cormac was wondering at it, for the number of the shapes on it, and for the strangeness of the work. "there is a stranger thing yet about it," the man said; "let three lying words be spoken under it, and it will break into three, and then let three true words be spoken under it, and it will be as good as before." so he said three lying words under it, and it broke in three pieces. "it is best to speak truth now under it," he said, "and to mend it. and i give my word, cormac," he said, "that until to-day neither your wife or your daughter has seen the face of a man since they were brought away from you out of teamhair, and that your son has never seen the face of a woman." and with that the cup was whole again on the moment. "bring away your wife and your children with you now," he said, "and this cup along with them, the way you will have it for judging between truth and untruth. and i will leave the branch with you for music and delight, but on the day of your death they will be taken from you again." "and i myself," he said, "am manannan, son of lir, king of the land of promise, and i brought you here by enchantments that you might be with me to-night in friendship. "and the riders you saw thatching the house," he said, "are the men of art and poets, and all that look for a fortune in ireland, putting together cattle and riches. for when they go out, all that they leave in their houses goes to nothing, and so they go on for ever. "and the man you saw kindling the fire," he said, "is a young lord that is more liberal than he can afford, and every one else is served while he is getting the feast ready, and every one else profiting by it. "and the well you saw is the well of knowledge, and the streams are the five streams through which all knowledge goes. and no one will have knowledge who does not drink a draught out of the well itself or out of the streams. and the people of many arts are those who drink from them all." and on the morning of the morrow, when cormac rose up, he found himself on the green of teamhair, and his wife, and his son, and his daughter, along with him, and he having his branch and his cup. and it was given the name of cormac's cup, and it used to judge between truth and falsehood among the gael. but it was not left in ireland after the night of cormac's death, as manannan had foretold him. chapter xii. cliodna's wave and it was in the time of the fianna of ireland that ciabhan of the curling hair, the king of ulster's son, went to manannan's country. ciabhan now was the most beautiful of the young men of the world at that time, and he was as far beyond all other kings' sons as the moon is beyond the stars. and finn liked him well, but the rest of the fianna got to be tired of him because there was not a woman of their women, wed or unwed, but gave him her love. and finn had to send him away at the last, for he was in dread of the men of the fianna because of the greatness of their jealousy. so ciabhan went on till he came to the strand of the cairn, that is called now the strand of the strong man, between dun sobairce and the sea. and there he saw a curragh, and it having a narrow stern of copper. and ciabhan got into the curragh, and his people said: "is it to leave ireland you have a mind, ciabhan?" "it is indeed," he said, "for in ireland i get neither shelter or protection." he bade farewell to his people then, and he left them very sorrowful after him, for to part with him was like the parting of life from the body. and ciabhan went on in the curragh, and great white shouting waves rose up about him, every one of them the size of a mountain; and the beautiful speckled salmon that are used to stop in the sand and the shingle rose up to the sides of the curragh, till great dread came on ciabhan, and he said: "by my word, if it was on land i was i could make a better fight for myself" and he was in this danger till he saw a rider coming towards him on a dark grey horse having a golden bridle, and he would be under the sea for the length of nine waves, and he would rise with the tenth wave, and no wet on him at all. and he said: "what reward would you give to whoever would bring you out of this great danger?" "is there anything in my hand worth offering you?" said ciabhan. "there is," said the rider, "that you would give your service to whoever would give you his help." ciabhan agreed to that, and he put his hand into the rider's hand. with that the rider drew him on to the horse, and the curragh came on beside them till they reached to the shore of tir tairngaire, the land of promise. they got off the horse there, and came to loch luchra, the lake of the dwarfs, and to manannan's city, and a feast was after being made ready there, and comely serving-boys were going round with smooth horns, and playing on sweet-sounding harps till the whole house was filled with the music. then there came in clowns, long-snouted, long-heeled, lean and bald and red, that used to be doing tricks in manannan's house. and one of these tricks was, a man of them to take nine straight willow rods, and to throw them up to the rafters of the house, and to catch them again as they came down, and he standing on one leg, and having but one hand free. and they thought no one could do that trick but themselves, and they were used to ask strangers to do it, the way they could see them fail. so this night when one of them had done the trick, he came up to ciabhan, that was beyond all the men of dea or the sons of the gael that were in the house, in shape and in walk and in name, and he put the nine rods in his hand. and ciabhan stood up and he did the feat before them all, the same as if he had never learned to do any other thing. now gebann, that was a chief druid in manannan's country, had a daughter, cliodna of the fair hair, that had never given her love to any man. but when she saw ciabhan she gave him her love, and she agreed to go away with him on the morrow. and they went down to the landing-place and got into a curragh, and they went on till they came to teite's strand in the southern part of ireland. it was from teite brec the freckled the strand got its name, that went there one time for a wave game, and three times fifty young girls with her, and they were all drowned in that place. and as to ciabhan, he came on shore, and went looking for deer, as was right, under the thick branches of the wood; and he left the young girl in the boat on the strand. but the people of manannan's house came after them, having forty ships. and iuchnu, that was in the curragh with cliodna, did treachery, and he played music to her till she lay down in the boat and fell asleep. and then a great wave came up on the strand and swept her away. and the wave got its name from cliodna of the fair hair, that will be long remembered. chapter xiii. his call to connla and it is likely it was manannan sent his messenger for connla of the red hair the time he went away out of ireland, for it is to his country connla was brought; and this is the way he got the call. it chanced one day he was with his father conn, king of teamhair, on the hill of uisnach, and he saw a woman having wonderful clothing coming towards him. "where is it you come from?" he asked her. "i come," she said, "from tir-nam-beo, the land of the ever-living ones, where no death comes. we use feasts that are lasting," she said, "and we do every kind thing without quarrelling, and we are called the people of the sidhe." "who are you speaking to, boy?" said conn to him then, for no one saw the strange woman but only connla. "he is speaking to a high woman that death or old age will never come to," she said. "i am asking him to come to magh mell, the pleasant plain where the triumphant king is living, and there he will be a king for ever without sorrow or fret. come with me, connla of the red hair," she said, "of the fair freckled neck and of the ruddy cheek; come with me, and your body will not wither from its youth and its comeliness for ever." they could all hear the woman's words then, though they could not see her, and it is what conn said to coran his druid: "help me, coran, you that sing spells of the great arts. there is an attack made on me that is beyond my wisdom and beyond my power, i never knew so strong an attack since the first day i was a king. there is an unseen figure fighting with me; she is using her strength against me to bring away my beautiful son; the call of a woman is bringing him away from the hands of the king." then coran, the druid, began singing spells against the woman of the sidhe, the way no one would hear her voice, and connla could not see her any more. but when she was being driven away by the spells of the druid, she threw an apple to connla. and through the length of a month from that time, connla used no other food nor drink but that apple, for he thought no other food or drink worth the using. and for all he ate of it, the apple grew no smaller, but was whole all the while. and there was great trouble on connla on account of the woman he had seen. and at the end of a month connla was at his father's side in magh archomnim, and he saw the same woman coming towards him, and it is what she said: "it is a high place indeed connla has among dying people, and death before him. but the ever-living living ones," she said, "are asking you to take the sway over the people of tethra, for they are looking at you every day in the gatherings of your country among your dear friends." when conn, the king, heard her voice, he said to his people: "call coran, the druid to me, for i hear the sound of the woman's voice again." but on that she said: "o conn, fighter of a hundred, it is little love and little respect the wonderful tribes of traig mor, the great strand, have for druids; and where its law comes, it scatters the spells on their lips." then conn looked to his son connla to see what he would say, and connla said: "my own people are dearer to me than any other thing, yet sorrow has taken hold of me because of this woman." then the woman spoke to him again, and it is what she said: "come now into my shining ship, if you will come to the plain of victory. there is another country it would not be worse for you to look for; though the bright sun is going down, we shall reach to that country before night. that is the country that delights the mind of every one that turns to me. there is no living race in it but women and girls only." and when the woman had ended her song, connla made a leap from his people into the shining boat, and they saw him sailing away from them far off and as if in a mist, as far as their eyes could see. it is away across the sea they went, and they have never come back again, and only the gods know where was it they went. chapter xiv. tadg in manannan's islands and another that went to the land of the ever-living ones, but that came back again, was tadg, son of cian, son of olioll; and this is the way that happened. it was one time tadg was going his next heir's round, into the west of munster, and his two brothers, airnelach and eoghan, along with him. and cathmann, son of tabarn, that was king of the beautiful country of fresen that lay to the south-east of the great plain, was searching the sea for what he could find just at that time, and nine of his ships with him. and they landed at beire do bhunadas, to the west of munster, and the country had no stir in it, and so they slipped ashore, and no one took notice of them till all were surrounded, both men and cattle. and tadg's wife liban, daughter of conchubar abratrudh of the red brows, and his two brothers, and a great many of the people of munster, were taken by the foreigners and brought away to the coasts of fresen. and cathmann took liban to be his own wife, and he put hardship on tadg's two brothers: eoghan he put to work a common ferry across a channel of the coast, and airnelach to cut firing and to keep up fires for all the people; and all the food they got was barley seed and muddy water. and as to tadg himself, it was only by his courage and the use of his sword he made his escape, but there was great grief and discouragement on him, his wife and his brothers to have been brought away. but he had forty of his fighting men left that had each killed a man of the foreigners, and they had brought one in alive. and this man told them news of the country he came from. and when tadg heard that, he made a plan in his own head, and he gave orders for a curragh to be built that would be fit for a long voyage. very strong it was, and forty ox-hides on it of hard red leather, that was after being soaked in bark. and it was well fitted with masts, and oars, and pitch, and everything that was wanting. and they put every sort of meat, and drink, and of clothes in it, that would last them through the length of a year. when all was ready, and the curragh out in the tide, tadg said to his people: "let us set out now on the high sea, looking for our own people that are away from us this long time." they set out then over the stormy, heavy flood, till at last they saw no land before them or behind them, but only the hillsides of the great sea. and farther on again they heard the singing of a great flock of unknown birds; and pleasant white-bellied salmon were leaping about the curragh on every side, and seals, very big and dark, were coming after them, breaking through the shining wash of the oars; and great whales after them again, so that the young men liked to be looking at them, for they were not used to see the like before. they went on rowing through twenty days and twenty nights, and at the end of that time they got sight of a high land, having a smooth coast. and when they reached it they all landed, and they pulled up the curragh and lit their fires, and food was given out to them, and they were not long making an end of it. they made beds for themselves then on the beautiful green grass, and enjoyed their sleep till the rising of the sun on the morrow. tadg rose up then and put on his arms, and went out, and thirty of his men along with him, to search the whole island. they went all through it, but they found no living thing on it, man or beast, but only flocks of sheep. and the size of the sheep was past all telling, as big as horses they were, and the whole island was filled with their wool. and there was one great flock beyond all the others, all of very big rams, and one of them was biggest of all, nine horns he had, and he charged on tadg's chief men, attacking them and butting at them. there was vexation on them then, and they attacked him again, and there was a struggle between them. and at the first the ram broke through five of their shields. but tadg took his spear that there was no escape from, and made a lucky cast at the ram and killed him. and they brought the ram to the curragh and made it ready for the young men to eat, and they stopped three nights on the island, and every night it was a sheep they had for their food. and they gathered a good share of the wool and put it in the curragh because of the wonder and the beauty of it. and they found the bones of very big men on the island, but whether they died of sickness or were killed by the rams they did not know. they left that island then and went forward till they found two strange islands where there were great flocks of wonderful birds, like blackbirds, and some of them the size of eagles or of cranes, and they red with green heads on them, and the eggs they had were blue and pure crimson. and some of the men began eating the eggs, and on the moment feathers began to grow out on them. but they went bathing after that, and the feathers dropped off them again as quick as they came. it was the foreigner they had with them gave them the course up to this time, for he had been on the same track before. but now they went on through the length of six weeks and never saw land, and he said then, "we are astray on the great ocean that has no boundaries." then the wind with its sharp voice began to rise, and there was a noise like the tramping of feet in the sea, and it rose up into great mountains hard to climb, and there was great fear on tadg's people, for they had never seen the like. but he began to stir them up and to rouse them, and he bade them to meet the sea like men. "do bravery," he said, "young men of munster, and fight for your lives against the waves that are rising up and coming at the sides of the curragh." tadg took one side of the curragh then and his men took the other side, and he was able to pull it round against the whole twenty-nine of them, and to bale it out and keep it dry along with that. and after a while they got a fair wind and put up their sail, the way less water came into the curragh, and then the sea went down and lay flat and calm, and there were strange birds of many shapes singing around them in every part. they saw land before them then, with a good coast, and with that courage and gladness came on them. and when they came nearer to the land they found a beautiful inver, a river's mouth, with green hills about it, and the bottom of it sandy and as bright as silver, and red-speckled salmon in it, and pleasant woods with purple tree-tops edging the stream. "it is a beautiful country this is," said tadg, "and it would be happy for him that would be always in it; and let you pull up the ship now," he said, "and dry it out." a score of them went forward then into the country, and a score stopped to mind the curragh. and for all the cold and discouragement and bad weather they had gone through, they felt no wish at all for food or for fire, but the sweet smell of the crimson branches in the place they were come to satisfied them. they went on through the wood, and after a while they came to an apple garden having red apples in it, and leafy oak-trees, and hazels yellow with nuts. "it is a wonder to me," said tadg, "to find summer here, and it winter time in our own country." it was a delightful place they were in, but they went on into another wood, very sweet smelling, and round purple berries in it, every one of them bigger than a man's head, and beautiful shining birds eating the berries, strange birds they were, having white bodies and purple heads and golden beaks. and while they were eating the berries they were singing sweet music, that would have put sick men and wounded men into their sleep. tadg and his men went farther on again till they came to a great smooth flowery plain with a dew of honey over it, and three steep hills on the plain, having a very strong dun on every one of them. and when they got to the nearest hill they found a white-bodied woman, the best of the women of the whole world, and it is what she said: "your coming is welcome, tadg, son of cian, and there will be food and provision for you as you want it." "i am glad of that welcome," said tadg; "and tell me now, woman of sweet words," he said, "what is that royal dun on the hill, having walls of white marble around it?" "that is the dun of the royal line of the kings of ireland, from heremon, son of miled, to conn of the hundred battles, that was the last to go into it." "what is the name of this country?" tadg said then. "it is inislocha, the lake island," she said, "and there are two kings over it, rudrach and dergcroche, sons of bodb." and then she told tadg the whole story of ireland, to the time of the coming of the sons of the gael. "that is well," said tadg then, "and you have good knowledge and learning. and tell me now," he said, "who is living in that middle dun that has the colour of gold?" "it is not myself will tell you that," she said, "but go on to it yourself and you will get knowledge of it." and with that she went from them into the dun of white marble. tadg and his men went on then till they came to the middle dun, and there they found a queen of beautiful shape, and she wearing a golden dress. "health to you, tadg," she said. "i thank you for that," said tadg. "it is a long time your coming on this journey was foretold," she said. "what is your name?" he asked then. "i am cesair," she said, "the first that ever reached ireland. but since i and the men that were with me came out of that dark, unquiet land, we are living for ever in this country." "tell me, woman," said tadg, "who is it lives in that dun having a wall of gold about it?" "it is not hard to tell that," she said, "every king, and every chief man, and every noble person that was in a high place of all those that had power in ireland, it is in that dun beyond they are; parthalon and nemed, firbolgs and tuatha de danaan." "it is good knowledge and learning you have," said tadg. "indeed i have good knowledge of the history of the world," she said, "and this island," she said, "is the fourth paradise of the world; and as to the others, they are inis daleb to the south, and inis ercandra to the north, and adam's paradise in the east of the world." "who is there living in that dun with the silver walls?" said tadg then. "i will not tell you that, although i have knowledge of it," said the woman; "but go to the beautiful hill where it is, and you will get knowledge of it." they went on then to the third hill, and on the top of the hill was a very beautiful resting-place, and two sweethearts there, a boy and a girl, comely and gentle. smooth hair they had, shining like gold, and beautiful green clothes of the one sort, and any one would think them to have had the same father and mother. gold chains they had around their necks, and bands of gold above those again. and tadg spoke to them: "o bright, comely children," he said, "it is a pleasant place you have here." and they answered him back, and they were praising his courage and his strength and his wisdom, and they gave him their blessing. and it is how the young man was, he had a sweet-smelling apple, having the colour of gold, in his hand, and he would eat a third part of it, and with all he would eat, it would never be less. and that was the food that nourished the two of them, and neither age or sorrow could touch them when once they had tasted it. "who are you yourself?" tadg asked him then. "i am son to conn of the hundred battles," he said. "is it connla you are?" said tadg. "i am indeed," said the young man, "and it is this girl of many shapes that brought me here." and the girl said: "i have given him my love and my affection, and it is because of that i brought him to this place, the way we might be looking at one another for ever, and beyond that we have never gone." "that is a beautiful thing and a strange thing," said tadg, "and a thing to wonder at. and who is there in that grand dun with the silver walls?" he said. "there is no one at all in it," said the girl. "what is the reason of that?" said tadg. "it is for the kings that are to rule ireland yet," she said; "and there will be a place in it for yourself, tadg. and come now," she said, "till you see it." the lovers went on to the dun, and it is hardly the green grass was bent under their white feet. and tadg and his people went along with them. they came then to the great wonderful house that was ready for the company of the kings; it is a pleasant house that was, and any one would like to be in it. walls of white bronze it had, set with crystal and with carbuncles, that were shining through the night as well as through the day. tadg looked out from the house then, and he saw to one side of him a great sheltering apple-tree, and blossoms and ripe fruit on it. "what is that apple tree beyond?" said tadg. "it is the fruit of that tree is food for the host in this house," said the woman. "and it was an apple of that apple-tree brought connla here to me; a good tree it is, with its white-blossomed branches, and its golden apples that would satisfy the whole house." and then connla and the young girl left them, and they saw coming towards them a troop of beautiful women. and there was one among them was most beautiful of all, and when she was come to them she said: "a welcome to you, tadg." "i thank you for that welcome," said tadg; "and tell me," he said, "who are you yourself?" "i am cliodna of the fair hair," she said, "daughter of gebann, son of treon, of the tuatha de danaan, a sweetheart of ciabhan of the curling hair; and it is from me cliodna's wave on the coast of munster got its name; and i am a long time now in this island, and it is the apples of that tree you saw that we use for food." and tadg was well pleased to be listening to her talk, but after a while he said: "it is best for us to go on now to look for our people." "we will be well pleased if you stop longer with us," said the woman. and while she was saying those words they saw three beautiful birds coming to them, one of them blue and his head crimson, and one was crimson and his head green, and the third was speckled and his head the colour of gold, and they lit on the great apple-tree, and every bird of them ate an apple, and they sang sweet music then, that would put sick men into their sleep. "those birds will go with you," cliodna said then; "they will give you guidance on your way, and they will make music for you, and there will be neither sorrow or sadness on you, by land or by sea, till you come to ireland. and bring away this beautiful green cup with you," she said, "for there is power in it, and if you do but pour water into it, it will be turned to wine on the moment. and do not let it out of your hand," she said, "but keep it with you; for at whatever time it will escape from you, your death will not be far away. and it is where you will meet your death, in the green valley at the side of the boinn; and it is a wandering wild deer will give you a wound, and after that, it is strangers will put an end to you. and i myself will bury your body, and there will be a hill over it, and the name it will get is croidhe essu." they went out of the shining house then, and cliodna of the fair hair went with them to the place they had left their ship, and she bade their comrades a kindly welcome; and she asked them how long had they been in that country. "it seems to us," they said, "we are not in it but one day only." "you are in it through the whole length of a year," said she, "and through all that time you used neither food nor drink. but however long you would stop here," she said, "cold or hunger would never come on you." "it would be a good thing to live this way always," said tadg's people when they heard that. but he himself said: "it is best for us to go on and to look for our people. and we must leave this country, although it is displeasing to us to leave it." then cliodna and tadg bade farewell to one another, and she gave her blessing to him and to his people. and they set out then over the ridges of the sea; and they were downhearted after leaving that country until the birds began to sing for them, and then their courage rose up, and they were glad and light-hearted. and when they looked back they could not see the island they had come from, because of a druid mist that came on it and hid it from them. then by the leading of the birds they came to the country of fresen, and they were in a deep sleep through the whole voyage. and then they attacked the foreigners and got the better of them, and tadg killed cathmann, the king, after a hard fight; and liban his wife made no delay, and came to meet her husband and her sweetheart, and it is glad she was to see him. and after they had rested a while they faced the sea again, and tadg and his wife liban, and his two brothers, and a great many other treasures along with them, and they came home to ireland safely at the last. chapter xv. laegaire in the happy plain and another that went to visit magh mell, the happy plain, was laegaire, son of the king of connacht, crimthan cass. he was out one day with the king, his father, near loch na-n ean, the lake of birds, and the men of connacht with them, and they saw a man coming to them through the mist. long golden-yellow hair he had, and it streaming after him, and at his belt a gold-hilted sword, and in his hand two five-barbed darts, a gold-rimmed shield on his back, a five-folded crimson cloak about his shoulders. "give a welcome to the man that is coming towards you," said laegaire, that had the best name of all the men of connacht, to his people. and to the stranger he said: "a welcome to the champion we do not know." "i am thankful to you all," said he. "what is it you are come for, and where are you going?" said laegaire then. "i am come to look for the help of fighting men," said the stranger. "and my name," he said, "is fiachna, son of betach, of the men of the sidhe; and it is what ails me, my wife was taken from my pillow and brought away by eochaid, son of sal. and we fought together, and i killed him, and now she is gone to a brother's son of his, goll, son of dalbh, king of a people of magh mell. seven battles i gave him, but they all went against me; and on this very day there is another to be fought, and i am come to ask help. and to every one that deserves it, i will give a good reward of gold and of silver for that help." and it is what he said: "the most beautiful of plains is the plain of the two mists; it is not far from this; it is a host of the men of the sidhe full of courage are stirring up pools of blood upon it. "we have drawn red blood from the bodies of high nobles; many women are keening them with cries and with tears. "the men of the host in good order go out ahead of their beautiful king; they march among blue spears, white troops of fighters with curled hair. "they scatter the troops of their enemies, they destroy every country they make an attack on; they are beautiful in battle, a host with high looks, rushing, avenging. "it is no wonder they to have such strength: every one of them is the son of a king and a queen; manes of hair they have of the colour of gold. "their bodies smooth and comely; their eyes blue and far-seeing; their teeth bright like crystal, within their thin red lips. "white shields they have in their hands, with patterns on them of white silver; blue shining swords, red horns set with gold. "they are good at killing men in battle; good at song-making, good at chess-playing. "the most beautiful of plains is the plain of the two mists; the men of the sidhe are stirring up pools of blood on it; it is not far from this place." "it would be a shameful thing not to give our help to this man," said laegaire. fiachna, son of betach, went down into the lake then, for it was out of it he had come, and laegaire went down into it after him, and fifty fighting men along with him. they saw a strong place before them then, and a company of armed men, and goll, son of dalbh, at the head of them. "that is well," said laegaire, "i and my fifty men will go out against this troop." "i will answer you," said goll, son of dalbh. the two fifties attacked one another then, and goll fell, but laegaire and his fifty escaped with their lives and made a great slaughter of their enemies, that not one of them made his escape. "where is the woman now?" said laegaire. "she is within the dun of magh mell, and a troop of armed men keeping guard about it," said fiachna. "let you stop here, and i and my fifty will go there," said laegaire. so he and his men went on to the dun, and laegaire called out to the men that were about it: "your king has got his death, your chief men have fallen, let the woman come out, and i will give you your own lives." the men agreed to that, and they brought the woman out. and when she came out she made this complaint: "it is a sorrowful day that swords are reddened for the sake of the dear dead body of goll, son of dalbh. it was he that loved me, it was himself i loved, it is little laegaire liban cares for that. "weapons were hacked and were split by goll; it is to fiachna, son of betach, i must go; it is goll son of dalbh, i loved." and that complaint got the name of "the lament of the daughter of eochaid the dumb." laegaire went back with her then till he put her hand in fiachna's hand. and that night fiachna's daughter, deorgreine, a tear of the sun, was given to laegaire as his wife, and fifty other women were given to his fifty fighting men, and they stopped with them there to the end of a year. and at the end of that time, laegaire said: "let us go and ask news of our own country." "if you have a mind to go," said fiachna, "bring horses with you; but whatever happens," he said, "do not get off from them." so they set out then; and when they got back to ireland, they found a great gathering of the whole of the men of connacht that were keening them. and when the men of connacht saw them coming they rose up to meet them, and to bid them welcome. but laegaire called out: "do not come to us, for it is to bid you farewell we are here." "do not go from us again," said crimthan, his father, "and i will give you the sway over the three connachts, their silver and their gold, their horses and their bridles, and their beautiful women, if you will not go from us." and it is what laegaire said: "in the place we are gone to, the armies move from kingdom to kingdom, they listen to the sweet-sounding music of the sidhe, they drink from shining cups, we talk with those we love, it is beer that falls instead of rain. "we have brought from the dun of the pleasant plain thirty cauldrons, thirty drinking horns; we have brought the complaint that was sung by the sea, by the daughter of eochaid the dumb. "there is a wife for every man of the fifty; my own wife to me is the tear of the sun; i am made master of a blue sword; i would not give for all your whole kingdom one night of the nights of the sidhe." with that laegaire turned from them, and went back to the kingdom. and he was made king there along with fiachna, son of betach, and his daughter, and he did not come out of it yet. book five: the fate of the children of lir now at the time when the tuatha de danaan chose a king for themselves after the battle of tailltin, and lir heard the kingship was given to bodb dearg, it did not please him, and he left the gathering without leave and with no word to any one; for he thought it was he himself had a right to be made king. but if he went away himself, bodb was given the kingship none the less, for not one of the five begrudged it to him but only lir, and it is what they determined, to follow after lir, and to burn down his house, and to attack himself with spear and sword, on account of his not giving obedience to the king they had chosen. "we will not do that," said bodb dearg, "for that man would defend any place he is in; and besides that," he said, "i am none the less king over the tuatha de danaan, although he does not submit to me." all went on like that for a good while, but at last a great misfortune came on lir, for his wife died from him after a sickness of three nights. and that came very hard on lir, and there was heaviness on his mind after her. and there was great talk of the death of that woman in her own time. and the news of it was told all through ireland, and it came to the house of bodb, and the best of the men of dea were with him at that time. and bodb said: "if lir had a mind for it," he said, "my help and my friendship would be good for him now, since his wife is not living to him. for i have here with me the three young girls of the best shape, and the best appearance, and the best name in all ireland, aobh, aoife, and ailbhe, the three daughters of oilell of aran, my own three nurselings." the men of dea said then it was a good thought he had, and that what he said was true. messages and messengers were sent then from bodb dearg to the place lir was, to say that if he had a mind to join with the son of the dagda and to acknowledge his lordship, he would give him a foster-child of his foster-children. and lir thought well of the offer, and he set out on the morrow with fifty chariots from sidhe fionnachaidh; and he went by every short way till he came to bodb's dwelling-place at loch dearg, and there was a welcome before him there, and all the people were merry and pleasant before him, and he and his people got good attendance that night. and the three daughters of oilell of aran were sitting on the one seat with bodb dearg's wife, the queen of the tuatha de danaan, that was their foster-mother. and bodb said: "you may have your choice of the three young girls, lir." "i cannot say," said lir, "which one of them is my choice, but whichever of them is the eldest, she is the noblest, and it is best for me to take her." "if that is so," said bodb, "it is aobh is the eldest, and she will be given to you, if it is your wish." "it is my wish," he said. and he took aobh for his wife that night, and he stopped there for a fortnight, and then he brought her away to his own house, till he would make a great wedding-feast. and in the course of time aobh brought forth two children, a daughter and a son, fionnuala and aodh their names were. and after a while she was brought to bed again, and this time she gave birth to two sons, and they called them fiachra and conn. and she herself died at their birth. and that weighed very heavy on lir, and only for the way his mind was set on his four children he would have gone near to die of grief. the news came to bodb dearg's place, and all the people gave out three loud, high cries, keening their nursling. and after they had keened her it is what bodb dearg said: "it is a fret to us our daughter to have died, for her own sake and for the sake of the good man we gave her to, for we are thankful for his friendship and his faithfulness. however," he said, "our friendship with one another will not be broken, for i will give him for a wife her sister aoife." when lir heard that, he came for the girl and married her, and brought her home to his house. and there was honour and affection with aoife for her sister's children; and indeed no person at all could see those four children without giving them the heart's love. and bodb dearg used often to be going to lir's house for the sake of those children; and he used to bring them to his own place for a good length of time, and then he would let them go back to their own place again. and the men of dea were at that time using the feast of age in every hill of the sidhe in turn; and when they came to lir's hill those four children were their joy and delight, for the beauty of their appearance; and it is where they used to sleep, in beds in sight of their father lir. and he used to rise up at the break of every morning, and to lie down among his children. but it is what came of all this, that a fire of jealousy was kindled in aoife, and she got to have a dislike and a hatred of her sister's children. then she let on to have a sickness, that lasted through nearly the length of a year. and the end of that time she did a deed of jealousy and cruel treachery against the children of lir. and one day she got her chariot yoked, and she took the four children in it, and they went forward towards the house of bodb dearg; but fionnuala had no mind to go with her, for she knew by her she had some plan for their death or their destruction, and she had seen in a dream that there was treachery against them in aoife's mind. but all the same she was not able to escape from what was before her. and when they were on their way aoife said to her people: "let you kill now," she said, "the four children of lir, for whose sake their father has given up my love, and i will give you your own choice of a reward out of all the good things of the world." "we will not do that indeed," said they; "and it is a bad deed you have thought of, and harm will come to you out of it." and when they would not do as she bade them, she took out a sword herself to put an end to the children with; but she being a woman and with no good courage, and with no great strength in her mind, she was not able to do it. they went on then west to loch dairbhreach, the lake of the oaks, and the horses were stopped there. and aoife bade the children of lir to go out and bathe in the lake, and they did as she bade them. and as soon as aoife saw them out in the lake she struck them with a druid rod, and put on them the shape of four swans, white and beautiful. and it is what she said: "out with you, children of the king, your luck is taken away from you for ever; it is sorrowful the story will be to your friends; it is with flocks of birds your cries will be heard for ever." and fionnuala said: "witch, we know now what your name is, you have struck us down with no hope of relief; but although you put us from wave to wave, there are times when we will touch the land. we shall get help when we are seen; help, and all that is best for us; even though we have to sleep upon the lake, it is our minds will be going abroad early." and then the four children of lir turned towards aoife, and it is what fionnuala said: "it is a bad deed you have done, aoife, and it is a bad fulfilling of friendship, you to destroy us without cause; and vengeance for it will come upon you, and you will fall in satisfaction for it, for your power for our destruction is not greater than the power of our friends to avenge it on you; and put some bounds now," she said, "to the time this enchantment is to stop on us." "i will do that," said aoife, "and it is worse for you, you to have asked it of me. and the bounds i set to your time are this, till the woman from the south and the man from the north will come together. and since you ask to hear it of me," she said, "no friends and no power that you have will be able to bring you out of these shapes you are in through the length of your lives, until you have been three hundred years on loch dairbhreach, and three hundred years on sruth na maoile between ireland and alban, and three hundred years at irrus domnann and inis gluaire; and these are to be your journeys from this out," she said. but then repentance came on aoife, and she said: "since there is no other help for me to give you now, you may keep your own speech; and you will be singing sweet music of the sidhe, that would put the men of the earth to sleep, and there will be no music in the world equal to it; and your own sense and your own nobility will stay with you, the way it will not weigh so heavy on you to be in the shape of birds. and go away out of my sight now, children of lir," she said, "with your white faces, with your stammering irish. it is a great curse on tender lads, they to be driven out on the rough wind. nine hundred years to be on the water, it is a long time for any one to be in pain; it is i put this on you through treachery, it is best for you to do as i tell you now. "lir, that got victory with so many a good cast, his heart is a kernel of death in him now; the groaning of the great hero is a sickness to me, though it is i that have well earned his anger." and then the horses were caught for aoife, and the chariot yoked for her, and she went on to the palace of bodb dearg, and there was a welcome before her from the chief people of the place. and the son of the dagda asked her why she did not bring the children of lir with her. "i will tell you that," she said. "it is because lir has no liking for you, and he will not trust you with his children, for fear you might keep them from him altogether." "i wonder at that," said bodb dearg, "for those children are dearer to me than my own children." and he thought in his own mind it was deceit the woman was doing on him, and it is what he did, he sent messengers to the north to sidhe fionnachaidh. and lir asked them what did they come for. "on the head of your children," said they. "are they not gone to you along with aoife?" he said. "they are not," said they; "and aoife said it was yourself would not let them come." it is downhearted and sorrowful lir was at that news, for he understood well it was aoife had destroyed or made an end of his children. and early in the morning of the morrow his horses were caught, and he set out on the road to the south-west. and when he was as far as the shore of loch dairbhreach, the four children saw the horses coming towards them, and it is what fionnuala said: "a welcome to the troop of horses i see coming near to the lake; the people they are bringing are strong, there is sadness on them; it is us they are following, it is for us they are looking; let us move over to the shore, aodh, fiachra, and comely conn. those that are coming can be no others in the world but only lir and his household." then lir came to the edge of the lake, and he took notice of the swans having the voice of living people, and he asked them why was it they had that voice. "i will tell you that, lir," said fionnuala. "we are your own four children, that are after being destroyed by your wife, and by the sister of our own mother, through the dint of her jealousy." "is there any way to put you into your own shapes again?" said lir. "there is no way," said fionnuala, "for all the men of the world could not help us till we have gone through our time, and that will not be," she said, "till the end of nine hundred years." when lir and his people heard that, they gave out three great heavy shouts of grief and sorrow and crying. "is there a mind with you," said lir, "to come to us on the land, since you have your own sense and your memory yet?" "we have not the power," said fionnuala, "to live with any person at all from this time; but we have our own language, the irish, and we have the power to sing sweet music, and it is enough to satisfy the whole race of men to be listening to that music. and let you stop here to-night," she said, "and we will be making music for you." so lir and his people stopped there listening to the music of the swans, and they slept there quietly that night. and lir rose up early on the morning of the morrow and he made this complaint:-- "it is time to go out from this place. i do not sleep though i am in my lying down. to be parted from my dear children, it is that is tormenting my heart. "it is a bad net i put over you, bringing aoife, daughter of oilell of aran, to the house. i would never have followed that advice if i had known what it would bring upon me. "o fionnuala, and comely conn, o aodh, o fiachra of the beautiful arms; it is not ready i am to go away from you, from the border of the harbour where you are." then lir went on to the palace of bodb dearg, and there was a welcome before him there; and he got a reproach from bodb dearg for not bringing his children along with him. "my grief!" said lir. "it is not i that would not bring my children along with me; it was aoife there beyond, your own foster-child and the sister of their mother, that put them in the shape of four white swans on loch dairbhreach, in the sight of the whole of the men of ireland; but they have their sense with them yet, and their reason, and their voice, and their irish." bodb dearg gave a great start when he heard that, and he knew what lir said was true, and he gave a very sharp reproach to aoife, and he said: "this treachery will be worse for yourself in the end, aoife, than to the children of lir. and what shape would you yourself think worst of being in?" he said. "i would think worst of being a witch of the air," she said. "it is into that shape i will put you now," said bodb. and with that he struck her with a druid wand, and she was turned into a witch of the air there and then, and she went away on the wind in that shape, and she is in it yet, and will be in it to the end of life and time. as to bodb dearg and the tuatha de danaan they came to the shore of loch dairbhreach, and they made their camp there to be listening to the music of the swans. and the sons of the gael used to be coming no less than the men of dea to hear them from every part of ireland, for there never was any music or any delight heard in ireland to compare with that music of the swans. and they used to be telling stories, and to be talking with the men of ireland every day, and with their teachers and their fellow-pupils and their friends. and every night they used to sing very sweet music of the sidhe; and every one that heard that music would sleep sound and quiet whatever trouble or long sickness might be on him; for every one that heard the music of the birds, it is happy and contented he would be after it. these two gatherings now of the tuatha de danaan and of the sons of the gael stopped there around loch dairbhreach through the length of three hundred years. and it is then fionnuala said to her brothers: "do you know," she said, "we have spent all we have to spend of our time here, but this one night only." and there was great sorrow on the sons of lir when they heard that, for they thought it the same as to be living people again, to be talking with their friends and their companions on loch dairbhreach, in comparison with going on the cold, fretful sea of the maoil in the north. and they came early on the morrow to speak with their father and with their foster-father, and they bade them farewell, and fionnuala made this complaint:-- "farewell to you, bodb dearg, the man with whom all knowledge is in pledge. and farewell to our father along with you, lir of the hill of the white field. "the time is come, as i think, for us to part from you, o pleasant company; my grief it is not on a visit we are going to you. "from this day out, o friends of our heart, our comrades, it is on the tormented course of the maoil we will be, without the voice of any person near us. "three hundred years there, and three hundred years in the bay of the men of domnann, it is a pity for the four comely children of lir, the salt waves of the sea to be their covering by night. "o three brothers, with the ruddy faces gone from you, let them all leave the lake now, the great troop that loved us, it is sorrowful our parting is." after that complaint they took to flight, lightly, airily, till they came to sruth na maoile between ireland and alban. and that was a grief to the men of ireland, and they gave out an order no swan was to be killed from that out, whatever chance there might be of killing one, all through ireland. it was a bad dwelling-place for the children of lir they to be on sruth na maoile. when they saw the wide coast about them, they were filled with cold and with sorrow, and they thought nothing of all they had gone through before, in comparison to what they were going through on that sea. now one night while they were there a great storm came on them, and it is what fionnuala said: "my dear brothers," she said, "it is a pity for us not to be making ready for this night, for it is certain the storm will separate us from one another. and let us," she said, "settle on some place where we can meet afterwards, if we are driven from one another in the night." "let us settle," said the others, "to meet one another at carraig na ron, the rock of the seals, for we all have knowledge of it." and when midnight came, the wind came on them with it, and the noise of the waves increased, and the lightning was flashing, and a rough storm came sweeping down, the way the children of lir were scattered over the great sea, and the wideness of it set them astray, so that no one of them could know what way the others went. but after that storm a great quiet came on the sea, and fionnuala was alone on sruth na maoile; and when she took notice that her brothers were wanting she was lamenting after them greatly, and she made this complaint:-- "it is a pity for me to be alive in the state i am; it is frozen to my sides my wings are; it is little that the wind has not broken my heart in my body, with the loss of aodh. "to be three hundred years on loch dairbhreach without going into my own shape, it is worse to me the time i am on sruth na maoile. "the three i loved, och! the three i loved, that slept under the shelter of my feathers; till the dead come back to the living i will see them no more for ever. "it is a pity i to stay after fiachra, and after aodh, and after comely conn, and with no account of them; my grief i to be here to face every hardship this night." she stopped all night there upon the rock of the seals until the rising of the sun, looking out over the sea on every side till at last she saw conn coming to her, his feathers wet through and his head hanging, and her heart gave him a great welcome; and then fiachra came wet and perished and worn out, and he could not say a word they could understand with the dint of the cold and the hardship he had gone through. and fionnuala put him under her wings, and she said: "we would be well off now if aodh would but come to us." it was not long after that, they saw aodh coming, his head dry and his feathers beautiful, and fionnuala gave him a great welcome, and she put him in under the feathers of her breast, and fiachra under her right wing and conn under her left wing, the way she could put her feathers over them all. "and och! my brothers," she said, "this was a bad night to us, and it is many of its like are before us from this out." they stayed there a long time after that, suffering cold and misery on the maoil, till at last a night came on them they had never known the like of before, for frost and snow and wind and cold. and they were crying and lamenting the hardship of their life, and the cold of the night and the greatness of the snow and the hardness of the wind. and after they had suffered cold to the end of a year, a worse night again came on them, in the middle of winter. and they were on carraig na ron, and the water froze about them, and as they rested on the rock, their feet and their wings and their feathers froze to the rock, the way they were not able to move from it. and they made such a hard struggle to get away, that they left the skin of their feet and their feathers and the tops of their wings on the rock after them. "my grief, children of lir," said fionnuala, "it is bad our state is now, for we cannot bear the salt water to touch us, and there are bonds on us not to leave it; and if the salt water goes into our sores," she said, "we will get our death." and she made this complaint:-- "it is keening we are to-night; without feathers to cover our bodies; it is cold the rough, uneven rocks are under our bare feet. "it is bad our stepmother was to us the time she played enchantments on us, sending us out like swans upon the sea. "our washing place is on the ridge of the bay, in the foam of flying manes of the sea; our share of the ale feast is the salt water of the blue tide. "one daughter and three sons; it is in the clefts of the rocks we are; it is on the hard rocks we are, it is a pity the way we are." however, they came on to the course of the maoil again, and the salt water was sharp and rough and bitter to them, but if it was itself, they were not able to avoid it or to get shelter from it. and they were there by the shore under that hardship till such time as their feathers grew again, and their wings, and till their sores were entirely healed. and then they used to go every day to the shore of ireland or of alban, but they had to come back to sruth na maoile every night. now they came one day to the mouth of the banna, to the north of ireland, and they saw a troop of riders, beautiful, of the one colour, with well-trained pure white horses under them, and they travelling the road straight from the south-west. "do you know who those riders are, sons of lir?" said fionnuala. "we do not," they said; "but it is likely they might be some troop of the sons of the gael, or of the tuatha de danaan." they moved over closer to the shore then, that they might know who they were, and when the riders saw them they came to meet them until they were able to hold talk together. and the chief men among them were two sons of bodb dearg, aodh aithfhiosach, of the quick wits, and fergus fithchiollach, of the chess, and a third part of the riders of the sidhe along with them, and it was for the swans they had been looking for a long while before that, and when they came together they wished one another a kind and loving welcome. and the children of lir asked for news of all the men of dea, and above all of lir, and bodb dearg and their people. "they are well, and they are in the one place together," said they, "in your father's house at sidhe fionnachaidh, using the feast of age pleasantly and happily, and with no uneasiness on them, only for being without yourselves, and without knowledge of what happened you from the day you left loch dairbhreach." "that has not been the way with us," said fionnuala, "for we have gone through great hardship and uneasiness and misery on the tides of the sea until this day." and she made this complaint:-- "there is delight to-night with the household of lir! plenty of ale with them and of wine, although it is in a cold dwelling-place this night are the four children of the king. "it is without a spot our bedclothes are, our bodies covered over with curved feathers; but it is often we were dressed in purple, and we drinking pleasant mead. "it is what our food is and our drink, the white sand and the bitter water of the sea; it is often we drank mead of hazel-nuts from round four-lipped drinking cups. "it is what our beds are, bare rocks out of the power of the waves; it is often there used to be spread out for us beds of the breast-feathers of birds. "though it is our work now to be swimming through the frost and through the noise of the waves, it is often a company of the sons of kings were riding after us to the hill of bodb. "it is what wasted my strength, to be going and coming over the current of the maoil the way i never was used to, and never to be in the sunshine on the soft grass. "fiachra's bed and conn's bed is to come under the cover of my wings on the sea. aodh has his place under the feathers of my breast, the four of us side by side. "the teaching of manannan without deceit, the talk of bodb dearg on the pleasant ridge; the voice of angus, his sweet kisses; it is by their side i used to be without grief." after that the riders went on to lir's house, and they told the chief men of the tuatha de danaan all the birds had gone through, and the state they were in. "we have no power over them," the chief men said, "but we are glad they are living yet, for they will get help in the end of time." as to the children of lir, they went back towards their old place in the maoil, and they stopped there till the time they had to spend in it was spent. and then fionnuala said: "the time is come for us to leave this place. and it is to irrus domnann we must go now," she said, "after our three hundred years here. and indeed there will be no rest for us there, or any standing ground, or any shelter from the storms. but since it is time for us to go, let us set out on the cold wind, the way we will not go astray." so they set out in that way, and left sruth na maoile behind them, and went to the point of irrus domnann, and there they stopped, and it is a life of misery and a cold life they led there. and one time the sea froze about them that they could not move at all, and the brothers were lamenting, and fionnuala was comforting them, for she knew there would help come to them in the end. and they stayed at irrus domnann till the time they had to spend there was spent. and then fionnuala said: "the time is come for us to go back to sidhe fionnachaidh, where our father is with his household and with all our own people." "it pleases us well to hear that," they said. so they set out flying through the air lightly till they came to sidhe fionnachaidh; and it is how they found the place, empty before them, and nothing in it but green hillocks and thickets of nettles, without a house, without a fire, without a hearthstone. and the four pressed close to one another then, and they gave out three sorrowful cries, and fionnuala made this complaint:-- "it is a wonder to me this place is, and it without a house, without a dwelling-place. to see it the way it is now, ochone! it is bitterness to my heart. "without dogs, without hounds for hunting, without women, without great kings; we never knew it to be like this when our father was in it. "without horns, without cups, without drinking in the lighted house; without young men, without riders; the way it is to-night is a foretelling of sorrow. "the people of the place to be as they are now, ochone! it is grief to my heart! it is plain to my mind to-night the lord of the house is not living. "och, house where we used to see music and playing and the gathering of people! i think it a great change to see it lonely the way it is to-night. "the greatness of the hardships we have gone through going from one wave to another of the sea, we never heard of the like of them coming on any other person. "it is seldom this place had its part with grass and bushes; the man is not living that would know us, it would be a wonder to him to see us here." however, the children of lir stopped that night in their father's place and their grandfather's, where they had been reared, and they were singing very sweet music of the sidhe. and they rose up early on the morning of the morrow and went to inis gluaire, and all the birds of the country gathered near them on loch na-n ean, the lake of the birds. and they used to go out to feed every day to the far parts of the country, to inis geadh and to accuill, the place donn, son of miled, and his people that were drowned were buried, and to all the western islands of connacht, and they used to go back to inis gluaire every night. it was about that time it happened them to meet with a young man of good race, and his name was aibric; and he often took notice of the birds, and their singing was sweet to him and he loved them greatly, and they loved him. and it is this young man that told the whole story of all that had happened them, and put it in order. and the story he told of what happened them in the end is this. it was after the faith of christ and blessed patrick came into ireland, that saint mochaomhog came to inis gluaire. and the first night he came to the island, the children of lir heard the voice of his bell, ringing near them. and the brothers started up with fright when they heard it "we do not know," they said, "what is that weak, unpleasing voice we hear." "that is the voice of the bell of mochaomhog," said fionnuala; "and it is through that bell," she said, "you will be set free from pain and from misery." they listened to that music of the bell till the matins were done, and then they began to sing the low, sweet music of the sidhe. and mochaomhog was listening to them, and he prayed to god to show him who was singing that music, and it was showed to him that the children of lir were singing it. and on the morning of the morrow he went forward to the lake of the birds, and he saw the swans before him on the lake, and he went down to them at the brink of the shore. "are you the children of lir?" he said. "we are indeed," said they. "i give thanks to god for that," said he, "for it is for your sakes i am come to this island beyond any other island, and let you come to land now," he said, "and give your trust to me, that you may do good deeds and part from your sins." they came to the land after that, and they put trust in mochaomhog, and he brought them to his own dwelling-place, and they used to be hearing mass with him. and he got a good smith and bade him make chains of bright silver for them, and he put a chain between aodh and fionnuala, and a chain between conn and fiachra. and the four of them were raising his heart and gladdening his mind, and no danger and no distress that was on the swans before put any trouble on them now. now the king of connacht at that time was lairgnen, son of colman, son of cobthach, and deoch, daughter of finghin, was his wife. and that was the coming together of the man from the north and the woman from the south, that aoife had spoken of. and the woman heard talk of the birds, and a great desire came on her to get them, and she bade lairgnen to bring them to her, and he said he would ask them of mochaomhog. and she gave her word she would not stop another night with him unless he would bring them to her. and she set out from the house there and then. and lairgnen sent messengers after her to bring her back, and they did not overtake her till she was at cill dun. she went back home with them then, and lairgnen sent messengers to ask the birds of mochaomhog, and he did not get them. there was great anger on lairgnen then, and he went himself to the place mochaomhog was, and he asked was it true he had refused him the birds. "it is true indeed," said he. at that lairgnen rose up, and he took hold of the swans, and pulled them off the altar, two birds in each hand, to bring them away to deoch. but no sooner had he laid his hand on them than their bird skins fell off, and what was in their place was three lean, withered old men and a thin withered old woman, without blood or flesh. and lairgnen gave a great start at that, and he went out from the place. it is then fionnuala said to mochaomhog: "come and baptize us now, for it is short till our death comes; and it is certain you do not think worse of parting with us than we do of parting with you. and make our grave afterwards," she said, "and lay conn at my right side and fiachra on my left side, and aodh before my face, between my two arms. and pray to the god of heaven," she said, "that you may be able to baptize us." the children of lir were baptized then, and they died and were buried as fionnuala had desired; fiachra and conn one at each side of her, and aodh before her face. and a stone was put over them, and their names were written in ogham, and they were keened there, and heaven was gained for their souls. and that is the fate of the children of lir so far. part two: the fianna. book one: finn, son of cumhal. chapter i. the coming of finn at the time finn was born his father cumhal, of the sons of baiscne, head of the fianna of ireland, had been killed in battle by the sons of morna that were fighting with him for the leadership. and his mother, that was beautiful long-haired muirne, daughter of tadg, son of nuada of the tuatha de danaan and of ethlinn, mother of lugh of the long hand, did not dare to keep him with her; and two women, bodhmall, the woman druid, and liath luachra, came and brought him away to care him. it was to the woods of slieve bladhma they brought him, and they nursed him secretly, because of his father's enemies, the sons of morna, and they kept him there a long time. and muirne, his mother, took another husband that was king of carraighe; but at the end of six years she came to see finn, going through every lonely place till she came to the wood, and there she found the little hunting cabin, and the boy asleep in it, and she lifted him up in her arms and kissed him, and she sang a little sleepy song to him; and then she said farewell to the women, and she went away again. and the two women went on caring him till he came to sensible years; and one day when he went out he saw a wild duck on the lake with her clutch, and he made a cast at her that cut the wings off her that she could not fly, and he brought her back to the cabin, and that was his first hunt. and they gave him good training in running and leaping and swimming. one of them would run round a tree, and she having a thorn switch, and finn after her with another switch, and each one trying to hit at the other; and they would leave him in a field, and hares along with him, and would bid him not to let the hares quit the field, but to keep before them whichever way they would go; and to teach him swimming they would throw him into the water and let him make his way out. but after a while he went away with a troop of poets, to hide from the sons of morna, and they hid him in the mountain of crotta cliach; but there was a robber in leinster at that time, fiacuil, son of codhna, and he came where the poets were in fidh gaible and killed them all. but he spared the child and brought him to his own house, that was in a cold marsh. but the two women, bodhmall and liath, came looking for him after a while, and fiacuil gave him up to them, and they brought him back to the same place he was before. he grew up there, straight and strong and fair-haired and beautiful. and one day he was out in slieve bladhma, and the two women along with him, and they saw before them a herd of the wild deer of the mountain. "it is a pity," said the old women, "we not to be able to get a deer of those deer." "i will get one for you," said finn; and with that he followed after them, and caught two stags of them and brought them home to the hunting cabin. and after that he used to be hunting for them every day. but at last they said to him: "it is best for you to leave us now, for the sons of morna are watching again to kill you." so he went away then by himself, and never stopped till he came to magh lifé, and there he saw young lads swimming in a lake, and they called to him to swim against them. so he went into the lake, and he beat them at swimming. "fair he is and well shaped," they said when they saw him swimming, and it was from that time he got the name of finn, that is, fair. but they got to be jealous of his strength, and he went away and left them. he went on then till he came to loch lein, and he took service there with the king of finntraigh; and there was no hunter like him, and the king said: "if cumhal had left a son, you would be that son." he went from that king after, and he went into carraighe, and there he took service with the king, that had taken his mother muirne for his wife. and one day they were playing chess together, and he won seven games one after another. "who are you at all?" said the king then. "i am a son of a countryman of the luigne of teamhair," said finn. "that is not so," said the king, "but you are the son that muirne my wife bore to cumhal. and do not stop here any longer," he said, "that you may not be killed under my protection." from that he went into connacht looking for his father's brother, crimall, son of trenmor; and as he was going on his way he heard the crying of a lone woman. he went to her, and looked at her, and tears of blood were on her face. "your face is red with blood, woman," he said. "i have reason for it," said she, "for my only son is after being killed by a great fighting man that came on us." and finn followed after the big champion and fought with him and killed him. and the man he killed was the same man that had given cumhal his first wound in the battle where he got his death, and had brought away his treasure-bag with him. now as to that treasure-bag, it is of a crane skin it was made, that was one time the skin of aoife, the beautiful sweetheart of ilbrec, son of manannan, that was put into the shape of a crane through jealousy. and it was in manannan's house it used to be, and there were treasures kept in it, manannan's shirt and his knife, and the belt and the smith's hook of goibniu, and the shears of the king of alban, and the helmet of the king of lochlann, and a belt of the skin of a great fish, and the bones of asal's pig that had been brought to ireland by the sons of tuireann. all those treasures would be in the bag at full tide, but at the ebbing of the tide it would be empty. and it went from manannan to lugh, son of ethlinn, and after that to cumhal, that was husband to muirne, ethlinn's daughter. and finn took the bag and brought it with him till he found crimall, that was now an old man, living in a lonely place, and some of the old men of the fianna were with him, and used to go hunting for him. and finn gave him the bag, and told him his whole story. and then he said farewell to crimall, and went on to learn poetry from finegas, a poet that was living at the boinn, for the poets thought it was always on the brink of water poetry was revealed to them. and he did not give him his own name, but he took the name of deimne. seven years, now, finegas had stopped at the boinn, watching the salmon, for it was in the prophecy that he would eat the salmon of knowledge that would come there, and that he would have all knowledge after. and when at the last the salmon of knowledge came, he brought it to where finn was, and bade him to roast it, but he bade him not to eat any of it. and when finn brought him the salmon after a while he said: "did you eat any of it at all, boy?" "i did not," said finn; "but i burned my thumb putting down a blister that rose on the skin, and after doing that, i put my thumb in my mouth." "what is your name, boy?" said finegas. "deimne," said he. "it is not, but it is finn your name is, and it is to you and not to myself the salmon was given in the prophecy." with that he gave finn the whole of the salmon, and from that time finn had the knowledge that came from the nuts of the nine hazels of wisdom that grow beside the well that is below the sea. and besides the wisdom he got then, there was a second wisdom came to him another time, and this is the way it happened. there was a well of the moon belonging to beag, son of buan, of the tuatha de danaan, and whoever would drink out of it would get wisdom, and after a second drink he would get the gift of foretelling. and the three daughters of beag, son of buan, had charge of the well, and they would not part with a vessel of it for anything less than red gold. and one day finn chanced to be hunting in the rushes near the well, and the three women ran out to hinder him from coming to it, and one of them that had a vessel of the water in her hand, threw it at him to stop him, and a share of the water went into his mouth. and from that out he had all the knowledge that the water of that well could give. and he learned the three ways of poetry; and this is the poem he made to show he had got his learning well:-- "it is the month of may is the pleasant time; its face is beautiful; the blackbird sings his full song, the living wood is his holding, the cuckoos are singing and ever singing; there is a welcome before the brightness of the summer. "summer is lessening the rivers, the swift horses are looking for the pool; the heath spreads out its long hair, the weak white bog-down grows. a wildness comes on the heart of the deer; the sad restless sea is asleep. "bees with their little strength carry a load reaped from the flowers; the cattle go up muddy to the mountains; the ant has a good full feast. "the harp of the woods is playing music; there is colour on the hills, and a haze on the full lakes, and entire peace upon every sail. "the corncrake is speaking, a loud-voiced poet; the high lonely waterfall is singing a welcome to the warm pool, the talking of the rushes has begun. "the light swallows are darting; the loudness of music is around the hill; the fat soft mast is budding; there is grass on the trembling bogs. "the bog is as dark as the feathers of the raven; the cuckoo makes a loud welcome; the speckled salmon is leaping; as strong is the leaping of the swift fighting man. "the man is gaining; the girl is in her comely growing power; every wood is without fault from the top to the ground, and every wide good plain. "it is pleasant is the colour of the time; rough winter is gone; every plentiful wood is white; summer is a joyful peace. "a flock of birds pitches in the meadow; there are sounds in the green fields, there is in them a clear rushing stream. "there is a hot desire on you for the racing of horses; twisted holly makes a leash for the hound; a bright spear has been shot into the earth, and the flag-flower is golden under it. "a weak lasting little bird is singing at the top of his voice; the lark is singing clear tidings; may without fault, of beautiful colours. "i have another story for you; the ox is lowing, the winter is creeping in, the summer is gone. high and cold the wind, low the sun, cries are about us; the sea is quarrelling. "the ferns are reddened and their shape is hidden; the cry of the wild goose is heard; the cold has caught the wings of the birds; it is the time of ice-frost, hard, unhappy." and after that, finn being but a young lad yet, made himself ready and went up at samhain time to the gathering of the high king at teamhair. and it was the law at that gathering, no one to raise a quarrel or bring out any grudge against another through the whole of the time it lasted. and the king and his chief men, and goll, son of morna, that was now head of the fianna, and caoilte, son of ronan, and conan, son of morna, of the sharp words, were sitting at a feast in the great house of the middle court; and the young lad came in and took his place among them, and none of them knew who he was. the high king looked at him then, and the horn of meetings was brought to him, and he put it into the boy's hand, and asked him who was he. "i am finn, son of cumhal," he said, "son of the man that used to be head over the fianna, and king of ireland; and i am come now to get your friendship, and to give you my service." "you are son of a friend, boy," said the king, "and son of a man i trusted." then finn rose up and made his agreement of service and of faithfulness to the king; and the king took him by the hand and put him sitting beside his own son, and they gave themselves to drinking and to pleasure for a while. every year, now, at samhain time, for nine years, there had come a man of the tuatha de danaan out of sidhe finnachaidh in the north, and had burned up teamhair. aillen, son of midhna, his name was, and it is the way he used to come, playing music of the sidhe, and all the people that heard it would fall asleep. and when they were all in their sleep, he would let a flame of fire out of his mouth, and would blow the flame till all teamhair was burned. the king rose up at the feast after a while, and his smooth horn in his hand, and it is what he said: "if i could find among you, men of ireland, any man that would keep teamhair till the break of day to-morrow without being burned by aillen, son of midhna, i would give him whatever inheritance is right for him to have, whether it be much or little." but the men of ireland made no answer, for they knew well that at the sound of the sweet pitiful music made by that comely man of the sidhe, even women in their pains and men that were wounded would fall asleep. it is then finn rose up and spoke to the king of ireland. "who will be your sureties that you will fulfil this?" he said. "the kings of the provinces of ireland," said the king, "and cithruadh with his druids." so they gave their pledges, and finn took in hand to keep teamhair safe till the breaking of day on the morrow. now there was a fighting man among the followers of the king of ireland, fiacha, son of conga, that cumhal, finn's father, used to have a great liking for, and he said to finn: "well, boy," he said, "what reward would you give me if i would bring you a deadly spear, that no false cast was ever made with?" "what reward are you asking of me?" said finn. "whatever your right hand wins at any time, the third of it to be mine," said fiacha, "and a third of your trust and your friendship to be mine." "i will give you that," said finn. then fiacha brought him the spear, unknown to the sons of morna or to any other person, and he said: "when you will hear the music of the sidhe, let you strip the covering off the head of the spear and put it to your forehead, and the power of the spear will not let sleep come upon you." then finn rose up before all the men of ireland, and he made a round of the whole of teamhair. and it was not long till he heard the sorrowful music, and he stripped the covering from the head of the spear, and he held the power of it to his forehead. and aillen went on playing his little harp, till he had put every one in their sleep as he was used; and then he let a flame of fire out from his mouth to burn teamhair. and finn held up his fringed crimson cloak against the flame, and it fell down through the air and went into the ground, bringing the four-folded cloak with it deep into the earth. and when aillen saw his spells were destroyed, he went back to sidhe finnachaidh on the top of slieve fuad; but finn followed after him there, and as aillen was going in at the door he made a cast of the spear that went through his heart. and he struck his head off then, and brought it back to teamhair, and fixed it on a crooked pole and left it there till the rising of the sun over the heights and invers of the country. and aillen's mother came to where his body was lying, and there was great grief on her, and she made this complaint:-- "ochone! aillen is fallen, chief of the sidhe of beinn boirche; the slow clouds of death are come on him. och! he was pleasant, och! he was kind. aillen, son of midhna of slieve fuad. "nine times he burned teamhair. it is a great name he was always looking for, ochone, ochone, aillen!" and at the breaking of day, the king and all the men of ireland came out upon the lawn at teamhair where finn was. "king," said finn, "there is the head of the man that burned teamhair, and the pipe and the harp that made his music. and it is what i think," he said, "that teamhair and all that is in it is saved." then they all came together into the place of counsel, and it is what they agreed, the headship of the fianna of ireland to be given to finn. and the king said to goll, son of morna: "well, goll," he said, "is it your choice to quit ireland or to put your hand in finn's hand?" "by my word, i will give finn my hand," said goll. and when the charms that used to bring good luck had done their work, the chief men of the fianna rose up and struck their hands in finn's hand, and goll, son of morna, was the first to give him his hand the way there would be less shame on the rest for doing it. and finn kept the headship of the fianna until the end; and the place he lived in was almhuin of leinster, where the white dun was made by nuada of the tuatha de danaan, that was as white as if all the lime in ireland was put on it, and that got its name from the great herd of cattle that died fighting one time around the well, and that left their horns there, speckled horns and white. and as to finn himself, he was a king and a seer and a poet; a druid and a knowledgeable man; and everything he said was sweet-sounding to his people. and a better fighting man than finn never struck his hand into a king's hand, and whatever any one ever said of him, he was three times better. and of his justice it used to be said, that if his enemy and his own son had come before him to be judged, it is a fair judgment he would have given between them. and as to his generosity it used to be said, he never denied any man as long as he had a mouth to eat with, and legs to bring away what he gave him; and he left no woman without her bride-price, and no man without his pay; and he never promised at night what he would not fulfil on the morrow, and he never promised in the day what he would not fulfil at night, and he never forsook his right-hand friend. and if he was quiet in peace he was angry in battle, and oisin his son and osgar his son's son followed him in that. there was a young man of ulster came and claimed kinship with them one time, saying they were of the one blood. "if that is so," said oisin, "it is from the men of ulster we took the madness and the angry heart we have in battle." "that is so indeed," said finn. chapter ii. finn's household and the number of the fianna of ireland at that time was seven score and ten chief men, every one of them having three times nine righting men under him. and every man of them was bound to three things, to take no cattle by oppression, not to refuse any man, as to cattle or riches; no one of them to fall back before nine fighting men. and there was no man taken into the fianna until his tribe and his kindred would give securities for him, that even if they themselves were all killed he would not look for satisfaction for their death. but if he himself would harm others, that harm was not to be avenged on his people. and there was no man taken into the fianna till he knew the twelve books of poetry. and before any man was taken, he would be put into a deep hole in the ground up to his middle, and he having his shield and a hazel rod in his hand. and nine men would go the length of ten furrows from him and would cast their spears at him at the one time. and if he got a wound from one of them, he was not thought fit to join with the fianna. and after that again, his hair would be fastened up, and he put to run through the woods of ireland, and the fianna following after him to try could they wound him, and only the length of a branch between themselves and himself when they started. and if they came up with him and wounded him, he was not let join them; or if his spears had trembled in his hand, or if a branch of a tree had undone the plaiting of his hair, or if he had cracked a dry stick under his foot, and he running. and they would not take him among them till he had made a leap over a stick the height of himself, and till he had stooped under one the height of his knee, and till he had taken a thorn out from his foot with his nail, and he running his fastest. but if he had done all these things, he was of finn's people. it was good wages finn and the fianna got at that time; in every district a townland, in every house the fostering of a pup or a whelp from samhain to beltaine, and a great many things along with that. but good as the pay was, the hardships and the dangers they went through for it were greater. for they had to hinder the strangers and robbers from beyond the seas, and every bad thing, from coming into ireland. and they had hard work enough in doing that. and besides the fighting men, finn had with him his five druids, the best that ever came into the west, cainnelsciath, of the shining shield, one of them was, that used to bring down knowledge from the clouds in the sky before finn, and that could foretell battles. and he had his five wonderful physicians, four of them belonging to ireland, and one that came over the sea from the east. and he had his five high poets and his twelve musicians, that had among them daighre, son of morna, and suanach, son of senshenn, that was finn's teller of old stories, the sweetest that ever took a harp in his hand in ireland or in alban. and he had his three cup-bearers and his six door-keepers and his horn-players and the stewards of his house and his huntsman, comhrag of the five hundred hounds, and his serving-men that were under garbhcronan, of the rough buzzing; and a great troop of others along with them. and there were fifty of the best sewing-women in ireland brought together in a rath on magh feman, under the charge of a daughter of the king of britain, and they used to be making clothing for the fianna through the whole of the year. and three of them, that were a king's daughters, used to be making music for the rest on a little silver harp; and there was a very great candlestick of stone in the middle of the rath, for they were not willing to kindle a fire more than three times in the year for fear the smoke and the ashes might harm the needlework. and of all his musicians the one finn thought most of was cnu deireoil, the little nut, that came to him from the sidhe. it was at slieve-nam-ban, for hunting, finn was the time he came to him. sitting down he was on the turf-built grave that is there; and when he looked around him he saw a small little man about four feet in height standing on the grass. light yellow hair he had, hanging down to his waist, and he playing music on his harp. and the music he was making had no fault in it at all, and it is much that the whole of the fianna did not fall asleep with the sweetness of its sound. he came up then, and put his hand in finn's hand. "where do you come from, little one, yourself and your sweet music?" said finn. "i am come," he said, "out of the place of the sidhe in slieve-nam-ban, where ale is drunk and made; and it is to be in your company for a while i am come here." "you will get good rewards from me, and riches and red gold," said finn, "and my full friendship, for i like you well." "that is the best luck ever came to you, finn," said all the rest of the fianna, for they were well pleased to have him in their company. and they gave him the name of the little nut; and he was good in speaking, and he had so good a memory he never forgot anything he heard east or west; and there was no one but must listen to his music, and all the fianna liked him well. and there were some said he was a son of lugh lamh-fada, of the long hand. and the five musicians of the fianna were brought to him, to learn the music of the sidhe he had brought from that other place; for there was never any music heard on earth but his was better. these were the three best things finn ever got, bran and sceolan that were without fault, and the little nut from the house of the sidhe in slieve-nam-ban. chapter iii. birth of bran. this, now, is the story of the birth of bran. finn's mother, muirne, came one time to almhuin, and she brought with her tuiren, her sister. and iollan eachtach, a chief man of the fianna of ulster, was at almhuin at the time, and he gave his love to tuiren, and asked her in marriage, and brought her to his own house. but before they went, finn made him gave his word he would bring her back safe and sound if ever he asked for her, and he bade him find sureties for himself among the chief men of the fianna. and iollan did that, and the sureties he got were caoilte and goll and lugaidh lamha, and it was lugaidh gave her into the hand of iollan eachtach. but before iollan made that marriage, he had a sweetheart of the sidhe, uchtdealb of the fair breast; and there came great jealousy on her when she knew he had taken a wife. and she took the appearance of finn's woman-messenger, and she came to the house where tuiren was, and she said: "finn sends health and long life to you, queen, and he bids you to make a great feast; and come with me now," she said, "till i speak a few words with you, for there is hurry on me." so tuiren went out with her, and when they were away from the house the woman of the sidhe took out her dark druid rod from under her cloak and gave her a blow of it that changed her into a hound, the most beautiful that was ever seen. and then she went on, bringing the hound with her, to the house of fergus fionnliath, king of the harbour of gallimh. and it is the way fergus was, he was the most unfriendly man to dogs in the whole world, and he would not let one stop in the same house with him. but it is what uchtdealb said to him: "finn wishes you life and health, fergus, and he says to you to take good care of his hound till he comes himself; and mind her well," she said, "for she is with young, and do not let her go hunting when her time is near, or finn will be no way thankful to you." "i wonder at that message," said fergus, "for finn knows well there is not in the world a man has less liking for dogs than myself. but for all that," he said, "i will not refuse finn the first time he sent a hound to me." and when he brought the hound out to try her, she was the best he ever knew, and she never saw the wild creature she would not run down; and fergus took a great liking for hounds from that out. and when her time came near, they did not let her go hunting any more, and she gave birth to two whelps. and as to finn, when he heard his mother's sister was not living with iollan eachtach, he called to him for the fulfilment of the pledge that was given to the fianna. and iollan asked time to go looking for tuiren, and he gave his word that if he did not find her, he would give himself up in satisfaction for her. so they agreed to that, and iollan went to the hill where uchtdealb was, his sweetheart of the sidhe, and told her the way things were with him, and the promise he had made to give himself up to the fianna. "if that is so," said she, "and if you will give me your pledge to keep me as your sweetheart to the end of your life, i will free you from that danger." so iollan gave her his promise, and she went to the house of fergus fionnliath, and she brought tuiren away and put her own shape on her again, and gave her up to finn. and finn gave her to lugaidh lamha that asked her in marriage. and as to the two whelps, they stopped always with finn, and the names he gave them were bran and sceolan. chapter iv. oisin's mother. it happened one time finn and his men were coming back from the hunting, a beautiful fawn started up before them, and they followed after it, men and dogs, till at last they were all tired and fell back, all but finn himself and bran and sceolan. and suddenly as they were going through a valley, the fawn stopped and lay down on the smooth grass, and bran and sceolan came up with it, and they did not harm it at all, but went playing about it, licking its neck and its face. there was wonder on finn when he saw that, and he went on home to almhuin, and the fawn followed after him playing with the hounds, and it came with them into the house at almhuin. and when finn was alone late that evening, a beautiful young woman having a rich dress came before him, and she told him it was she herself was the fawn he was after hunting that day. "and it is for refusing the love of fear doirche, the dark druid of the men of dea," she said, "i was put in this shape. and through the length of three years," she said, "i have lived the life of a wild deer in a far part of ireland, and i am hunted like a wild deer. and a serving-man of the dark druid took pity on me," she said, "and he said that if i was once within the dun of the fianna of ireland, the druid would have no more power over me. so i made away, and i never stopped through the whole length of a day till i came into the district of almhuin. and i never stopped then till there was no one after me but only bran and sceolan, that have human wits; and i was safe with them, for they knew my nature to be like their own." then finn gave her his love, and took her as his wife, and she stopped in almhuin. and so great was his love for her, he gave up his hunting and all the things he used to take pleasure in, and gave his mind to no other thing but herself. but at last the men of lochlann came against ireland, and their ships were in the bay below beinn edair, and they landed there. and finn and the battalions of the fianna went out against them, and drove them back. and at the end of seven days finn came back home, and he went quickly over the plain of almhuin, thinking to see sadbh his wife looking out from the dun, but there was no sign of her. and when he came to the dun, all his people came out to meet him, but they had a very downcast look. "where is the flower of almhuin, beautiful gentle sadbh?" he asked them. and it is what they said: "while you were away fighting, your likeness, and the likeness of bran and of sceolan appeared before the dun, and we thought we heard the sweet call of the dord fiann. and sadbh, that was so good and so beautiful, came out of the house," they said, "and she went out of the gates, and she would not listen to us, and we could not stop her." "let me go meet my love," she said, "my husband, the father of the child that is not born." and with that she went running out towards the shadow of yourself that was before her, and that had its arms stretched out to her. but no sooner did she touch it than she gave a great cry, and the shadow lifted up a hazel rod, and on the moment it was a fawn was standing on the grass. three times she turned and made for the gate of the dun, but the two hounds the shadow had with him went after her and took her by the throat and dragged her back to him. "and by your hand of valour, finn," they said, "we ourselves made no delay till we went out on the plain after her. but it is our grief, they had all vanished, and there was not to be seen woman, or fawn or druid, but we could hear the quick tread of feet on the hard plain, and the howling of dogs. and if you would ask every one of us in what quarter he heard those sounds, he would tell you a different one." when finn heard that, he said no word at all, but he struck his breast over and over again with his shut hands. and he went then to his own inside room, and his people saw him no more for that day, or till the sun rose over magh lifé on the morrow. and through the length of seven years from that time, whenever he was not out fighting against the enemies of ireland, he went searching and ever searching in every far corner for beautiful sadbh. and there was great trouble on him all the time, unless he might throw it off for a while in hunting or in battle. and through all that time he never brought out to any hunting but the five hounds he had most trust in, bran and sceolan and lomaire and brod and lomluath, the way there would be no danger for sadbh if ever he came on her track. but after the end of seven years, finn and some of his chief men were hunting on the sides of beinn gulbain, and they heard a great outcry among the hounds, that were gone into some narrow place. and when they followed them there, they saw the five hounds of finn in a ring, and they keeping back the other hounds, and in the middle of the ring was a young boy, with high looks, and he naked and having long hair. and he was no way daunted by the noise of the hounds, and did not look at them at all, but at the men that were coming up. and as soon as the fight was stopped bran and sceolan went up to the little lad, and whined and licked him, that any one would think they had forgotten their master. finn and the others came up to him then, and put their hands on his head, and made much of him. and they brought him to their own hunting cabin, and he ate and drank with them, and before long he lost his wildness and was the same as themselves. and as to bran and sceolan, they were never tired playing about him. and it is what finn thought, there was some look of sadbh in his face, and that it might be he was her son, and he kept him always beside him. and little by little when the boy had learned their talk, he told them all he could remember. he used to be with a deer he loved very much, he said, and that cared and sheltered him, and it was in a wide place they used to be, having hills and valleys and streams and woods in it, but that was shut in with high cliffs on every side, that there was no way of escape from it. and he used to be eating fruits and roots in the summer, and in the winter there was food left for him in the shelter of a cave. and a dark-looking man used to be coming to the place, and sometimes he would speak to the deer softly and gently, and sometimes with a loud angry voice. but whatever way he spoke, she would always draw away from him with the appearance of great dread on her, and the man would go away in great anger. and the last time he saw the deer, his mother, the dark man was speaking to her for a long time, from softness to anger. and at the end he struck her with a hazel rod, and with that she was forced to follow him, and she looking back all the while at the child, and crying after him that any one would pity her. and he tried hard to follow after her, and made every attempt, and cried out with grief and rage, but he had no power to move, and when he could hear his mother no more he fell on the grass and his wits went from him. and when he awoke it is on the side of the hill he was, where the hounds found him. and he searched a long time for the place where he was brought up, but he could not find it. and the name the fianna gave him was oisin, and it is he was their maker of poems, and their good fighter afterwards. chapter v. the best men of the fianna and while oisin was in his young youth, finn had other good men along with him, and the best of them were goll, son of morna, and caoilte, son of ronan, and lugaidh's son. as to goll, that was of connacht, he was very tall and light-haired, and some say he was the strongest of all the fianna. finn made a poem in praise of him one time when some stranger was asking what sort he was, saying how hardy he was and brave in battle, and as strong as a hound or as the waves, and with all that so kind and so gentle, and open-handed and sweet-voiced, and faithful to his friends. and the chessboard he had was called the solustairtech, the shining thing, and some of the chessmen were made of gold, and some of them of silver, and each one of them was as big as the fist of the biggest man of the fianna; and after the death of goll it was buried in slieve baune. and as to caoilte, that was a grey thin man, he was the best runner of them all. and he did a good many great deeds; a big man of the fomor he killed one time, and he killed a five-headed giant in a wheeling door, and another time he made an end of an enchanted boar that no one else could get near, and he killed a grey stag that had got away from the fianna through twenty-seven years. and another time he brought finn out of teamhair, where he was kept by force by the high king, because of some rebellion the fianna had stirred up. and when caoilte heard finn had been brought away to teamhair, he went out to avenge him. and the first he killed was cuireach, a king of leinster that had a great name, and he brought his head up to the hill that is above buadhmaic. and after that he made a great rout through ireland, bringing sorrow into every house for the sake of finn, killing a man in every place, and killing the calves with the cows. and every door the red wind from the east blew on, he would throw it open, and go in and destroy all before him, setting fire to the fields, and giving the wife of one man to another. and when he came to teamhair, he came to the palace, and took the clothes off the door-keeper, and he left his own sword that was worn thin in the king's sheath, and took the king's sword that had great power in it. and he went into the palace then in the disguise of a servant, to see how he could best free finn. and when evening came caoilte held the candle at the king's feast in the great hall, and after a while the king said: "you will wonder at what i tell you, finn, that the two eyes of caoilte are in my candlestick." "do not say that," said finn, "and do not put reproach on my people although i myself am your prisoner; for as to caoilte," he said, "that is not the way with him, for it is a high mind he has, and he only does high deeds, and he would not stand serving with a candle for all the gold of the whole world." after that caoilte was serving the king of ireland with drink, and when he was standing beside him he gave out a high sorrowful lament. "there is the smell of caoilte's skin on that lament," said the king. and when caoilte saw he knew him he spoke out and he said: "tell me what way i can get freedom for my master." "there is no way to get freedom for him but by doing one thing," said the king, "and that is a thing you can never do. if you can bring me together a couple of all the wild creatures of ireland," he said, "i will give up your master to you then." when caoilte heard him say that he made no delay, but he set out from teamhair, and went through the whole of ireland to do that work for the sake of finn. it is with the flocks of birds he began, though they were scattered in every part, and from them he went on to the beasts. and he gathered together two of every sort, two ravens from fiodh da bheann; two wild ducks from loch na seillein; two foxes from slieve cuilinn; two wild oxen from burren; two swans from blue dobhran; two owls from the wood of faradhruim; two polecats from the branchy wood on the side of druim da raoin, the ridge of the victories; two gulls from the strand of loch leith; four woodpeckers from white brosna; two plovers from carraigh dhain; two thrushes from leith lomard; two wrens from dun aoibh; two herons from corrain cleibh; two eagles from carraig of the stones; two hawks from fiodh chonnach; two sows from loch meilghe; two water-hens from loch erne; two moor-hens from monadh maith; two sparrow-hawks from dubhloch; two stonechats from magh cuillean; two tomtits from magh tuallainn; two swallows from sean abhla; two cormorants from ath cliath; two wolves from broit cliathach; two blackbirds from the strand of the two women; two roebucks from luachair ire; two pigeons from ceas chuir; two nightingales from leiter ruadh; two starlings from green-sided teamhair; two rabbits from sith dubh donn; two wild pigs from cluaidh chuir; two cuckoos from drom daibh; two lapwings from leanain na furraich; two woodcocks from craobh ruadh; two hawks from the bright mountain; two grey mice from luimneach; two otters from the boinn; two larks from the great bog; two bats from the cave of the nuts; two badgers from the province of ulster; two landrail from the banks of the sionnan; two wagtails from port lairrge; two curlews from the harbour of gallimh; two hares from muirthemne; two deer from sith buidhe; two peacocks from magh mell; two cormorants from ath cliath; two eels from duth dur; two goldfinches from slieve na-n eun; two birds of slaughter from magh bhuilg; two bright swallows from granard; two redbreasts from the great wood; two rock-cod from cala chairge; two sea-pigs from the great sea; two wrens from mios an chuil; two salmon from eas mhic muirne; two clean deer from gleann na smoil; two cows from magh mor; two cats from the cave of cruachan; two sheep from bright sidhe diobhlain; two pigs of the pigs of the son of lir; a ram and a crimson sheep from innis. and along with all these he brought ten hounds of the hounds of the fianna, and a horse and a mare of the beautiful horses of manannan. and when caoilte had gathered all these, he brought them to the one place. but when he tried to keep them together, they scattered here and there from him; the raven went away southward, and that vexed him greatly, but he overtook it again in gleann da bheann, beside loch lurcan. and then his wild duck went away from him, and it was not easy to get it again, but he followed it through every stream to grey accuill till he took it by the neck and brought it back, and it no way willing. and indeed through the length of his life caoilte remembered well all he went through that time with the birds, big and little, travelling over hills and ditches and striving to bring them with him, that he might set finn his master free. and when he came to teamhair he had more to go through yet, for the king would not let him bring them in before morning, but gave him a house having nine doors in it to put them up in for the night. and no sooner were they put in than they raised a loud screech all together, for a little ray of light was coming to them through fifty openings, and they were trying to make their escape. and if they were not easy in the house, caoilte was not easy outside it, watching every door till the rising of the sun on the morrow. and when he brought out his troop, the name the people gave them was "caoilte's rabble," and there was no wonder at all in that. but all the profit the king of ireland got from them was to see them together for that one time. for no sooner did finn get his freedom than the whole of them scattered here and there, and no two of them went by the same road out of teamhair. and that was one of the best things caoilte, son of ronan, ever did. and another time he ran from the wave of cliodna in the south to the wave of rudraige in the north. and colla his son was a very good runner too, and one time he ran a race backwards against the three battalions of the fianna for a chessboard. and he won the race, but if he did, he went backward over beinn edair into the sea. and very good hearing caoilte had. one time he heard the king of the luigne of connacht at his hunting, and blathmec that was with him said, "what is that hunt, caoilte?" "a hunt of three packs of hounds," he said, "and three sorts of wild creatures before them. the first hunt," he said, "is after stags and large deer and the second hunt is after swift small hares, and the third is a furious hunt after heavy boars." "and what is the fourth hunt, caoilte?" said blathmec. "it is the hunting of heavy-sided, low-bellied badgers." and then they heard coming after the hunt the shouts of the lads and of the readiest of the men and the serving-men that were best at carrying burdens. and blathmec went out to see the hunting, and just as caoilte had told him, that was the way it was. and he understood the use of herbs, and one time he met with two women that were very downhearted because their husbands had gone from them to take other wives. and caoilte gave them druid herbs, and they put them in the water of a bath and washed in it, and the love of their husbands came back to them, and they sent away the new wives they had taken. and as to lugaidh's son, that was of finn's blood, and another of the best men of the fianna, he was put into finn's arms as a child, and he was reared up by duban's daughter, that had reared eight hundred fighting men of the fianna, till his twelfth year, and then she gave him all he wanted of arms and of armour, and he went to chorraig conluain and the mountains of slieve bladhma, where finn and the fianna were at that time. and finn gave him a very gentle welcome, and he struck his hand in finn's hand, and made his agreement of service with him. and he stopped through the length of a year with the fianna; but he was someway sluggish through all that time, so that under his leading not more than nine of the fianna got to kill so much as a boar or a deer. and along with that, he used to beat both his servants and his hounds. and at last the three battalions of the fianna went to where finn was, at the point of the fianna on the edge of loch lein, and they made their complaint against lugaidh's son, and it is what they said: "make your choice now, will you have us with you, or will you have lugaidh's son by himself." then lugaidh's son came to finn, and finn asked him, "what is it has put the whole of the fianna against you?" "by my word," said the lad, "i do not know the reason, unless it might be they do not like me to be doing my feats and casting my spears among them." then finn gave him an advice, and it is what he said: "if you have a mind to be a good champion, be quiet in a great man's house; be surly in the narrow pass. do not beat your hound without a cause; do not bring a charge against your wife without having knowledge of her guilt; do not hurt a fool in fighting, for he is without his wits. do not find fault with high-up persons; do not stand up to take part in a quarrel; have no dealings with a bad man or a foolish man. let two-thirds of your gentleness be showed to women and to little children that are creeping on the floor, and to men of learning that make the poems, and do not be rough with the common people. do not give your reverence to all; do not be ready to have one bed with your companions. do not threaten or speak big words, for it is a shameful thing to speak stiffly unless you can carry it out afterwards. do not forsake your lord so long as you live; do not give up any man that puts himself under your protection for all the treasures of the world. do not speak against others to their lord, that is not work for a good man. do not be a bearer of lying stories, or a tale-bearer that is always chattering. do not be talking too much; do not find fault hastily; however brave you may be, do not raise factions against you. do not be going to drinking-houses, or finding fault with old men; do not meddle with low people; this is right conduct i am telling you. do not refuse to share your meat; do not have a niggard for your friend; do not force yourself on a great man or give him occasion to speak against you. hold fast to your arms till the hard fight is well ended. do not give up your opportunity, but with that follow after gentleness." that was good advice finn gave, and he was well able to do that; for it was said of him that he had all the wisdom of a little child that is busy about the house, and the mother herself not understanding what he is doing; and that is the time she has most pride in him. and as to lugaidh's son, that advice stayed always with him, and he changed his ways, and after a while he got a great name among the poets of ireland and of alban, and whenever they would praise finn in their poems, they would praise him as well. and aoife, daughter of the king of lochlann, that was married to mal, son of aiel, king of alban, heard the great praise the poets were giving to lugaidh's son, and she set her love on him for the sake of those stories. and one time mal her husband and his young men went hunting to slieve-mor-monaidh in the north of alban. and when he was gone aoife made a plan in her sunny house where she was, to go over to ireland, herself and her nine foster-sisters. and they set out and went over the manes of the sea till they came to beinn edair, and there they landed. and it chanced on that day there was a hunting going on, from slieve bladhma to beinn edair. and finn was in his hunting seat, and his fosterling, brown-haired duibhruinn, beside him. and the little lad was looking about him on every side, and he saw a ship coming to the strand, and a queen with modest looks in the ship, and nine women along with her. they landed then, and they came up to where finn was, bringing every sort of present with them, and aoife sat down beside him. and finn asked news of her, and she told him the whole story, and how she had given her love to lugaidh's son, and was come over the sea looking for him; and finn made her welcome. and when the hunting was over, the chief men of the fianna came back to where finn was, and every one asked who was the queen that was with him. and finn told them her name, and what it was brought her to ireland. "we welcome her that made that journey," said they all; "for there is not in ireland or in alban a better man than the man she is come looking for, unless finn himself." and as to lugaidh's son, it was on the far side of slieve bladhma he was hunting that day, and he was the last to come in. and he went into finn's tent, and when he saw the woman beside him he questioned finn the same as the others had done, and finn told him the whole story. "and it is to you she is come," he said; "and here she is to you out of my hand, and all the war and the battles she brings with her; but it will not fall heavier on you," he said, "than on the rest of the fianna." and she was with lugaidh's son a month and a year without being asked for. but one day the three battalions of the fianna were on the hill of the poet in leinster, and they saw three armed battalions equal to themselves coming, against them, and they asked who was bringing them. "it is mal, son of aiel, is bringing them," said finn, "to avenge his wife on the fianna. and it is a good time they are come," he said, "when we are gathered together at the one spot." then the two armies went towards one another, and mal, son of aiel, took hold of his arms, and three times he broke through the fianna, and every time a hundred fell by him. and in the middle of the battle he and lugaidh's son met, and they fought against one another with spear and sword. and whether the fight was short or long, it was mal fell by lugaidh's son at the last. and aoife stood on a hill near by, as long as the battle lasted. and from that out she belonged to lugaidh's son, and was a mother of children to him. book two: finn's helpers chapter i. the lad of the skins besides all the men finn had in his household, there were some that would come and join him from one place or another. one time a young man wearing a dress of skins came to finn's house at almhuin, and his wife along with him, and he asked to take service with finn. and in the morning, as they were going to their hunting, the lad of the skins said to finn: "let me have no one with me but myself, and let me go into one part of the country by myself, and you yourself with all your men go to another part." "is it on the dry ridges you will go," said finn, "or is it in the deep bogs and marshes, where there is danger of drowning?" "i will go in the deep boggy places," said he. so they all went out from almhuin, finn and the fianna to one part, and the lad of the skins to another part, and they hunted through the day. and when they came back at evening, the lad of the skins had killed more than finn and all his men together. when finn saw that, he was glad to have so good a servant. but conan said to him: "the lad of the skins will destroy ourselves and the whole of the fianna of ireland unless you will find some way to rid yourself of him." "i never had a good man with me yet, conan," said finn, "but you wanted me to put him away; and how could i put away a man like that?" he said. "the way to put him away," said conan, "is to send him to the king of the floods to take from him the great cauldron that is never without meat, but that has always enough in it to feed the whole world. and let him bring that cauldron back here with him to almhuin," he said. so finn called to the lad of the skins, and he said: "go from me now to the king of the floods and get the great cauldron that is never empty from him, and bring it here to me." "so long as i am in your service i must do your work," said the lad of the skins. with that he set out, leaping over the hills and valleys till he came to the shore of the sea. and then he took up two sticks and put one of them across the other, and a great ship rose out of the two sticks. the lad of the skins went into the ship then, and put up the sails and set out over the sea, and he heard nothing but the whistling of eels in the sea and the calling of gulls in the air till he came to the house of the king of the floods. and at that time there were hundreds of ships waiting near the shore; and he left his ship outside them all, and then he stepped from ship to ship till he stood on land. there was a great feast going on at that time in the king's house, and the lad of the skins went up to the door, but he could get no farther because of the crowd. so he stood outside the door for a while, and no one looked at him, and he called out at last: "this is a hospitable house indeed, and these are mannerly ways, not to ask a stranger if there is hunger on him or thirst." "that is true," said the king; "and give the cauldron of plenty now to this stranger," he said, "till he eats his fill." so his people did that, and no sooner did the lad of the skins get a hold of the cauldron than he made away to the ship and put it safe into it. but when he had done that he said: "there is no use in taking the pot by my swiftness, if i do not take it by my strength." and with that he turned and went to land again. and the whole of the men of the army of the king of the floods were ready to fight; but if they were, so was the lad of the skins, and he went through them and over them all till the whole place was quiet. he went back to his ship then and raised the sails and set out again for ireland, and the ship went rushing back to the place where he made it. and when he came there, he gave a touch of his hand to the ship, and there was nothing left of it but the two sticks he made it from, and they lying on the strand before him, and the cauldron of plenty with them. and he took up the cauldron on his back, and brought it to finn, son of cumhal, at almhuin. and finn gave him his thanks for the work he had done. one day, now, finn was washing himself at the well, and a voice spoke out of the water, and it said: "you must give back the cauldron, finn, to the king of the floods, or you must give him battle in place of it." finn told that to the lad of the skins, but the answer he got from him was that his time was up, and that he could not serve on time that was past. "but if you want me to go with you," he said, "let you watch my wife, that is manannan's daughter, through the night; and in the middle of the night, when she will be combing her hair, any request you make of her, she cannot refuse it. and the request you will make is that she will let me go with you to the king of the floods, to bring the cauldron to his house and to bring it back again." so finn watched manannan's daughter through the night, and when he saw her combing her hair, he made his request of her. "i have no power to refuse you," she said; "but you must promise me one thing, to bring my husband back to me, alive or dead. and if he is alive," she said, "put up a grey-green flag on the ship coming back; but if he is dead, put up a red flag." so finn promised to do that, and he himself and the lad of the skins set out together for the dun of the king of the floods, bringing the cauldron with them. no sooner did the king see them than he gave word to all his armies to make ready. but the lad of the skins made for them and overthrew them, and he went into the king's dun, and finn with him, and they overcame him and brought away again the cauldron that was never empty. but as they were going back to ireland, they saw a great ship coming towards them. and when the lad of the skins looked at the ship, he said: "i think it is an old enemy of my own is in that ship, that is trying to bring me to my death, because of my wife that refused him her love." and when the ship came alongside, the man that was in it called out: "i know you well, and it is not by your dress i know you, son of the king of the hills." and with that he made a leap on to the ship, and the two fought a great battle together, and they took every shape; they began young like two little boys, and fought till they were two old men; they fought from being two young pups until they were two old dogs; from being two young horses till they were two old horses. and then they began to fight in the shape of birds, and it is in that shape they killed one another at the last. and finn threw the one bird into the water, but the other, that was the lad of the skins, he brought with him in the ship. and when he came in sight of ireland, he raised a red flag as he had promised the woman. and when he came to the strand, she was there before him, and when she saw finn, she said: "it is dead you have brought him back to me." and finn gave her the bird, and she asked was that what she was to get in the place of her husband. and she was crying over the bird, and she brought it into a little boat with her, and she bade finn to push out the boat to sea. and he pushed it out, and it was driven by wind and waves till at last she saw two birds flying, having a dead one between them. and the two living birds let down the dead one on an island; and it was not long till it rose up living, and the three went away together. and when manannan's daughter saw that, she said: "there might be some cure for my man on the island, the way there was for that dead bird." and the sea brought the boat to the island, and she went searching around, but all she could find was a tree having green leaves. "it might be in these leaves the cure is," she said; and she took some of the leaves and brought them to where the lad of the skins was, and put them about him. and on that moment he stood up as well and as sound as ever he was. they went back then to ireland, and they came to almhuin at midnight, and the lad of the skins knocked at the door, and he said: "put me out my wages." "there is no man, living or dead, has wages on me but the lad of the skins," said finn; "and i would sooner see him here to-night," he said, "than the wages of three men." "if that is so, rise up and you will see him," said he. so finn rose up and saw him, and gave him a great welcome, and paid him his wages. and after that he went away and his wife with him to wherever his own country was; but there were some said he was gone to the country of his wife's father, manannan, son of the sea. chapter ii. black, brown, and grey finn was hunting one time near teamhair of the kings, and he saw three strange men coming towards him, and he asked what were their names. "dubh and dun and glasan, black, brown, and grey, are our names," they said, "and we are come to find finn, son of cumhal, head of the fianna, and to take service with him." so finn took them into his service, and when evening came he said: "let each one of you watch through a third part of the night." and there was a trunk of a tree there, and he bade them make three equal parts of it, and he gave a part to each of the three men, and he said: "when each one of you begins his watch, let him set fire to his own log, and as long as the wood burns let him watch." then they drew lots, and the lot fell to dubh to go on the first watch. so he set fire to his log, and he went out around the place, and bran with him. he went farther and farther till at last he saw a bright light, and when he came to the place where it was, he saw a large house. he went inside, and there was a great company of very strange-looking men in it, and they drinking out of a single cup. one of the men, that seemed to be the highest, gave the cup to the man nearest him; and after he had drunk his fill he passed it on to the next, and so on to the last. and while it was going round, he said: "this is the great cup that was taken from finn, son of cumhal, a hundred years ago, and however many men may be together, every man of them can drink his fill from it, of whatever sort of drink he has a mind for." dubh was sitting near the door, on the edge of the crowd, and when the cup came to him he took a drink from it, and then he slipped away in the dark, bringing it with him. and when he came to the place where finn was, his log was burned out. then it was the turn of dun to go out, for the second lot had fallen on him, and he put a light to his log, and went out, and bran with him. he walked on through the night till he saw a fire that was shining from a large house, and when he went in he saw a crowd of men, and they fighting. and a very old man that was in a high place above the rest called out: "stop fighting now, for i have a better gift for you than the one you lost to-night." and with that he drew a knife out of his belt and held it up, and said: "this is the wonderful knife, the small knife of division, that was stolen from finn, son of cumhal, a hundred years ago; and you have but to cut on a bone with that knife and you will get your fill of the best meat in the world." then he gave the knife to the man nearest him, and a bare bone with it, and the man began to cut, and there came off the bone slices of the best meat in the world. the knife and the bone were sent round then from man to man till they came to dun, and as soon as he had the knife in his hand he slipped out unknown and hurried back, and he had just got to the well where finn was, when his part of the log burned out. then glasan lighted his log and went out on his watch till he came to the house, the same way the others did. and he looked in and he saw the floor full of dead bodies, and he thought to himself: "there must be some great wonder here. and if i lie down on the floor and put some of the bodies over me," he said, "i will be able to see all that happens." so he lay down and pulled some of the bodies over him, and he was not long there till he saw an old hag coming into the house, having one leg and one arm and one upper tooth, that was long enough to serve her in place of a crutch. and when she came inside the door she took up the first dead body she met with, and threw it aside, for it was lean. and as she went on, she took two bites out of every fat body she met with, and threw away every lean one. she had her fill of flesh and blood before she came to glasan, and she dropped down on the floor and fell asleep, and glasan thought that every breath she drew would bring down the roof on his head. he rose up then and looked at her, and wondered at the bulk of her body. and at last he drew his sword and hit her a slash that killed her; but if he did, three young men leaped out of her body. and glasan made a stroke that killed the first of them, and bran killed the second, but the third made his escape. glasan made his way back then, and just when he got to where finn was, his log of wood was burned out, and the day was beginning to break. and when finn rose up in the morning he asked news of the three watchers, and they gave him the cup and the knife and told him all they had seen, and he gave great praise to dubh and to dun; but to glasan he said: "it might have been as well for you to have left that old hag alone, for i am in dread the third young man may bring trouble on us all." it happened at the end of twenty-one years, finn and the fianna were at their hunting in the hills, and they saw a red-haired man coming towards them, and he spoke to no one, but came and stood before finn. "what is it you are looking for?" said finn. "i am looking for a master for the next twenty-one years," he said. "what wages are you asking?" said finn. "no wages at all, but only if i die before the twenty-one years are up, to bury me on inis caol, the narrow island." "i will do that for you," said finn. so the red-haired man served finn well through the length of twenty years. but in the twenty-first year he began to waste and to wither away, and he died. and when he was dead, the fianna were no way inclined to go to inis caol to bury him. but finn said he would break his word for no man, and that he himself would bring his body there. and he took an old white horse that had been turned loose on the hills, and that had got younger and not older since it was put out, and he put the body of the red-haired man on its back, and let it take its own way, and he himself followed it, and twelve men of the fianna. and when they came to inis caol they saw no trace of the horse or of the body. and there was an open house on the island, and they went in. and there were seats for every man of them inside, and they sat down to rest for a while. but when they tried to rise up it failed them to do it, for there was enchantment on them. and they saw the red-haired man standing before them in that moment. "the time is come now," he said, "for me to get satisfaction from you for the death of my mother and my two brothers that were killed by glasan in the house of the dead bodies." he began to make an attack on them then, and he would have made an end of them all, but finn took hold of the dord fiann, and blew a great blast on it. and before the red-haired man was able to kill more than three of them, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, that had heard the sound of the dord fiann, came into the house and made an end of him, and put an end to the enchantment. and finn, with the nine that were left of the fianna, came back again to almhuin. chapter iii. the hound one day the three battalions of the fianna came to magh femen, and there they saw three young men waiting for them, having a hound with them; and there was not a colour in the world but was on that hound, and it was bigger than any other hound. "where do you come from, young men?" said finn. "out of the greater iruath in the east," said they; "and our names are dubh, the dark, and agh, the battle, and ilar, the eagle." "what is it you came for?" "to enter into service, and your friendship," said they. "what good will it do us, you to be with us?" said finn. "we are three," said they, "and you can make a different use of each one of us." "what uses are those?" said finn. "i will do the watching for all the fianna of ireland and of alban," said one of them. "i will take the weight of every fight and every battle that will come to them, the way they can keep themselves in quiet," said the second. "i will meet every troublesome thing that might come to my master," said the third; "and let all the wants of the world be told to me and i will satisfy them. and i have a pipe with me," he said; "and all the men of the world would sleep at the sound of it, and they in their sickness. and as to the hound," he said, "as long as there are deer in ireland he will get provision for the fianna every second night. and i myself," he said, "will get it on the other nights." "what will you ask of us to be with us like that?" said finn. "we will ask three things," they said: "no one to come near to the place where we have our lodging after the fall of night; nothing to be given out to us, but we to provide for ourselves; and the worst places to be given to us in the hunting." "tell me by your oath now," said finn, "why is it you will let no one see you after nightfall?" "we have a reason," said they; "but do not ask it of us, whether we are short or long on the one path with you. but we will tell you this much," they said, "every third night, one of us three is dead and the other two are watching him, and we have no mind for any one to be looking at us." so finn promised that; but if he did there were some of the fianna were not well pleased because of the ways of those three men, living as they did by themselves, and having a wall of fire about them, and they would have made an end of them but for finn protecting them. about that time there came seven men of poetry belonging to the people of cithruadh, asking the fee for a poem, three times fifty ounces of gold and the same of silver to bring back to cithruadh at teamhair. "whatever way we get it, we must find some way to get that," said a man of the fianna. then the three young men from iruath said: "well, men of learning," they said, "would you sooner get the fee for your poem to-night or to-morrow?" "to-morrow will be time enough," said they. and the three young men went to the place where the hound had his bed a little way off from the rath, and the hound threw out of his mouth before them the three times fifty ounces of gold and three times fifty of silver, and they gave them to the men of poetry, and they went away. another time finn said: "what can the three battalions of the fianna do to-night, having no water?" and one of the men of iruath said: "how many drinking-horns are with you?" "three hundred and twelve," said caoilte. "give me the horns into my hand," said the young man, "and whatever you will find in them after that, you may drink it." he filled the horns then with beer and they drank it, and he did that a second and a third time; and with the third time of filling they were talkative and their wits confused. "this is a wonderful mending of the feast," said finn. and they gave the place where all that happened the name of the little rath of wonders. and one time after that again there came to finn three bald red clowns, holding three red hounds in their hands, and three deadly spears. and there was poison on their clothes and on their hands and their feet, and on everything they touched. and finn asked them who were they. and they said they were three sons of uar, son of indast of the tuatha de danaan; and it was by a man of the fianna, caoilte son of ronan, their father was killed in the battle of the tuatha de danaan on slieve nan ean, the mountain of birds, in the east. "and let caoilte son of ronan give us the blood-fine for him now," they said. "what are your names?" said finn. "aincel and digbail and espaid; ill-wishing and harm and want are our names. and what answer do you give us now, finn?" they said. "no one before me ever gave a blood-fine for a man killed in battle, and i will not give it," said finn. "we will do revenge and robbery on you so," said they. "what revenge is that?" said finn. "it is what i will do," said aincel, "if i meet with two or three or four of the fianna, i will take their feet and their hands from them." "it is what i will do," said digbail, "i will not leave a day without loss of a hound or a serving-boy or a fighting man to the fianna of ireland." "and i myself will be always leaving them in want of people, or of a hand, or of an eye," said espaid. "without we get some help against them," said caoilte, "there will not be one of us living at the end of a year." "well," said finn, "we will make a dun and stop here for a while, for i will not be going through ireland and these men following after me, till i find who are the strongest, themselves or ourselves." so the fianna made little raths for themselves all about slieve mis, and they stopped there through a month and a quarter and a year. and through all that time the three red bald-headed men were doing every sort of hurt and harm upon them. but the three sons of the king of iruath came to speak with finn, and it is what they said: "it is our wish, finn, to send the hound that is with us to go around you three times in every day, and however many may be trying to hurt or to rob you, they will not have power to do it after that. but let there be neither fire nor arms nor any other dog in the house he goes into," they said. "i will let none of these things go into the one house with him," said finn, "and he will go safe back to you." so every day the hound would be sent to finn, having his chain of ridges of red gold around his neck, and he would go three times around finn, and three times he would put his tongue upon him. and to the people that were nearest to the hound when he came into the house it would seem like as if a vat of mead was being strained, and to others there would come the sweet smell of an apple garden. and every harm and sickness the three sons of uar would bring on the fianna, the three sons of the king of iruath would take it off them with their herbs and their help and their healing. and after a while the high king of ireland came to slieve mis with a great, troop of his men, to join with finn and the fianna. and they told the high king the whole story, and how the sons of uar were destroying them, and the three sons of the king of iruath were helping them against them. "why would not the men that can do all that find some good spell that would drive the sons of uar out of ireland?" said the high king. with that caoilte went looking for the three young men from iruath and brought them to the high king. "these are comely men," said the high king, "good in their shape and having a good name. and could you find any charm, my sons," he said, "that will drive out these three enemies that are destroying the fianna of ireland?" "we would do that if we could find those men near us," said they; "and it is where they are now," they said, "at daire's cairn at the end of the raths." "where are garb-cronan, the rough buzzing one, and saltran of the long heel?" said finn. "here we are, king of the fianna," said they. "go out to those men beyond, and tell them i will give according to the judgment of the king of ireland in satisfaction for their father." the messengers went out then and brought them in, and they sat down on the bank of the rath. then the high king said: "rise up, dubh, son of the king of iruath, and command these sons of uar with a spell to quit ireland." and dubh rose up, and he said: "go out through the strength of this spell and this charm, you three enemies of the fianna, one-eyed, lame-thighed, left-handed, of the bad race. and go out on the deep bitter sea," he said, "and let each one of you strike a blow of his sword on the head of his brothers. for it is long enough you are doing harm and destruction on the king of the fianna, finn, son of cumhal." with that the hound sent a blast of wind under them that brought them out into the fierce green sea, and each of them struck a blow on the head of the others. and that was the last that was seen of the three destroying sons of uar, aincel and digbail and espaid. but after the time of the fianna, there came three times in the one year, into west munster, three flocks of birds from the western sea having beaks of bone and fiery breath, and the wind from their wings was as cold as a wind of spring. and the first time they came was at reaping time, and every one of them brought away an ear of corn from the field. and the next time they came they did not leave apple on tree, or nut on bush, or berry on the rowan; and the third time they spared no live thing they could lift from the ground, young bird or fawn or silly little child. and the first day they came was the same day of the year the three sons of uar were put out in the sea. and when caoilte, that was one of the last of the fianna, and that was living yet, heard of them, he remembered the sons of uar, and he made a spell that drove them out into the sea again, and they perished there by one another. it was about the length of a year the three sons of the king of iruath stopped with finn. and at the end of that time donn and dubhan, two sons of the king of ulster, came out of the north to munster. and one night they kept watch for the fianna, and three times they made a round of the camp. and it is the way the young men from iruath used to be, in a place by themselves apart from the fianna, and their hound in the middle between them; and at the fall of night there used a wall of fire to be around them, the way no one could look at them. and the third time the sons of the king of ulster made the round of the camp, they saw the fiery wall, and donn said: "it is a wonder the way those three young men are through the length of a year now, and their hound along with them, and no one getting leave to look at them." with that he himself and his brother took their arms in their hands, and went inside the wall of fire, and they began looking at the three men and at the hound. and the great hound they used to see every day at the hunting was at this time no bigger than a lap-dog that would be with a queen or a high person. and one of the young men was watching over the dog, and his sword in his hand, and another of them was holding a vessel of white silver to the mouth of the dog; and any drink any one of the three would ask for, the dog would put it out of his mouth into the vessel. then one of the young men said to the hound: "well, noble one and brave one and just one, take notice of the treachery that is done to you by finn." when the dog heard that he turned to the king of ulster's sons, and there rose a dark druid wind that blew away the shields from their shoulders and the swords from their sides into the wall of fire. and then the three men came out and made an end of them; and when that was done the dog came and breathed on them, and they turned to ashes on the moment, and there was never blood or flesh or bone of them found after. and the three battalions of the fianna divided themselves into companies of nine, and went searching through every part of ireland for the king of ulster's two sons. and as to finn, he went to teamhair luachra, and no one with him but the serving-lads and the followers of the army. and the companies of nine that were looking for the king of ulster's sons came back to him there in the one night; but they brought no word of them, if they were dead or living. but as to the three sons of the king of iruath and the hound that was with them, they were seen no more by finn and the fianna. chapter iv. red ridge there was another young man came and served finn for a while; out of connacht he came, and he was very daring, and the red ridge was the name they gave him. and he all but went from finn one time, because of his wages that were too long in coming to him. and the three battalions of the fianna came trying to quiet him, but he would not stay for them. and at the last finn himself came, for it is a power he had, if he would make but three verses he would quiet any one. and it is what he said: "daring red ridge," he said, "good in battle, if you go from me to-day with your great name it is a good parting for us. but once at rath cro," he said, "i gave you three times fifty ounces in the one day; and at cam ruidhe i gave you the full of my cup of silver and of yellow gold. and do you remember," he said, "the time we were at rath ai, when we found the two women, and when we ate the nuts, myself and yourself were there together." and after that the young man said no more about going from him. and another helper came to finn one time he was fighting at a ford, and all his weapons were used or worn with the dint of the fight. and there came to him a daughter of mongan of the sidhe, bringing him a flat stone having a chain of gold to it. and he took the stone and did great deeds with it. and after the fight the stone fell into the ford, that got the name of ath liag finn. and that stone will never be found till the woman of the waves will find it, and will bring it to land on a sunday morning; and on that day seven years the world will come to an end. book three: the battle of the white strand. chapter i. the enemies of ireland of all the great battles the fianna fought to keep the foreigners out of ireland, the greatest was the one that was fought at finntraigh the white strand, in munster; and this is the whole story of it, and of the way the fianna came to have so great a name. one time the enemies of ireland gathered together under daire donn, high king of the great world, thinking to take ireland and to put it under tribute. the king of greece was of them, and the king of france, and the king of the eastern world, and lughman of the broad arms, king of the saxons, and fiacha of the long hair, king of the gairean, and tor the son of breogan, king of the great plain, and sligech, son of the king of the men of cepda, and comur of the crooked sword, king of the men of the dog-heads, and caitchenn, king of the men of the cat-heads, and caisel of the feathers, king of lochlann, and madan of the bent neck, son of the king of the marshes, and three kings from the rising of the sun in the east, and ogarmach, daughter of the king of greece, the best woman-warrior that ever came into the world, and a great many other kings and great lords. the king of the world asked then: "who is there can give me knowledge of the harbours of ireland?" "i will do that for you, and i will bring you to a good harbour," said glas, son of bremen, that had been put out of ireland by finn for doing some treachery. then the armies set out in their ships, and they were not gone far when the wind rose and the waves, and they could hear nothing but the wild playing of the sea-women, and the screams of frightened birds, and the breaking of ropes and of sails. but after a while, when the wind found no weakness in the heroes, it rose from them and went up into its own high place. and then the sea grew quiet and the waves grew tame and the harbours friendly, and they stopped for a while at an island that was called the green rock. but the king of the world said then: "it is not a harbour like this you promised me, glas, son of dremen, but a shore of white sand where my armies could have their fairs and their gatherings the time they would not be fighting." "i know a harbour of that sort in the west of ireland," said glas, "the harbour of the white strand in corca duibhne." so they went into their ships again, and went on over the sea towards ireland. chapter ii. cael and credhe now as to finn, when it was shown to him that the enemies of ireland were coming, he called together the seven battalions of the fianna. and the place where they gathered was on the hill that was called fionntulach, the white hill, in munster. they often stopped on that hill for a while, and spear-shafts with spells on them were brought to them there, and they had every sort of thing for food, beautiful blackberries, haws of the hawthorn, nuts of the hazels of cenntire, tender twigs of the bramble bush, sprigs of wholesome gentian, watercress at the beginning of summer. and there would be brought to their cooking-pots birds out of the oak-woods, and squirrels from berramain, and speckled eggs from the cliffs, and salmon out of luimnech, and eels of the sionnan, and woodcocks of fidhrinne, and otters from the hidden places of the doile, and fish from the coasts of buie and beare, and dulse from the bays of cleire. and as they were going to set out southwards, they saw one of their young men, gael, grandson of nemhnain, coming towards them. "where are you come from, cael?" finn asked him. "from brugh na boinne," said he. "what were you asking there?" said finn. "i was asking to speak with muirenn, daughter of derg, that was my own nurse," said he. "for what cause?" said finn. "it was about a high marriage and a woman of the sidhe that was showed to me in a dream; credhe it was i saw, daughter of the king of ciarraighe luachra." "do you know this, cael," said finn, "that she is the greatest deceiver of all the women of ireland; and there is hardly a precious thing in ireland but she has coaxed it away to her own great dun." "do you know what she asks of every man that comes asking for her?" said cael. "i know it," said finn; "she will let no one come unless he is able to make a poem setting out the report of her bowls and her horns and her cups, her grand vessels and all her palaces." "i have all that ready," said cael; "it was given to me by my nurse, muirenn, daughter of derg." they gave up the battle then for that time, and they went on over every hilly place and every stony place till they came to loch cuire in the west; and they came to the door of the hill of the sidhe and knocked at it with the shafts of their long gold-socketted spears. and there came young girls having yellow hair to the windows of the sunny houses; and credhe herself, having three times fifty women with her, came out to speak with them. "it is to ask you in marriage we are come," said finn. "who is it is asking for me?" said she. "it is cael, the hundred-killer, grandson of nemhnain, son of the king of leinster in the east." "i have heard talk of him, but i have never seen him," said credhe. "and has he any poem for me?" she said. "i have that," said cael, and he rose up then and sang his poem: "a journey i have to make, and it is no easy journey, to the house of credhe against the breast of the mountain, at the paps of dana; it is there i must be going through hardships for the length of seven days. it is pleasant her house is, with men and boys and women, with druids and musicians, with cup-bearer and door-keeper, with horse-boy that does not leave his work, with distributer to share food; and credhe of the fair hair having command over them all. "it would be delightful to me in her dun, with coverings and with down, if she has but a mind to listen to me. "a bowl she has with juice of berries in it to make her eyebrows black; crystal vats of fermenting grain; beautiful cups and vessels. her house is of the colour of lime; there are rushes for beds, and many silken coverings and blue cloaks; red gold is there, and bright drinking-horns. her sunny house is beside loch cuire, made of silver and yellow gold; its ridge is thatched without any fault, with the crimson wings of birds. the doorposts are green, the lintel is of silver taken in battle. credhe's chair on the left is the delight of delights, covered with gold of elga; at the foot of the pleasant bed it is, the bed that was made of precious stones by tuile in the east. another bed there is on the right, of gold and silver, it is made without any fault, curtains it has of the colour of the foxglove, hanging on rods of copper. "the people of her house, it is they have delight, their cloaks are not faded white, they are not worn smooth; their hair is fair and curling. wounded men in their blood would sleep hearing the birds of the sidhe singing in the eaves of the sunny house. "if i have any thanks to give to credhe, for whom the cuckoo calls, she will get better praise than this; if this love-service i have done is pleasing to her, let her not delay, let her say, 'your coming is welcome to me.' "a hundred feet there are in her house, from one corner to another; twenty feet fully measured is the width of her great door; her roof has its thatch of the wings of blue and yellow birds, the border of her well is of crystals and carbuncles. "there is a vat there of royal bronze; the juice of pleasant malt is running from it; over the vat is an apple-tree with its heavy fruit; when credhe's horn is filled from the vat, four apples fall into it together. "she that owns all these things both at low water and at flood, credhe from the hill of the three peaks, she is beyond all the women of ireland by the length of a spear-cast. "here is this song for her, it is no sudden bride-gift it is, no hurried asking; i bring it to credhe of the beautiful shape, that my coming may be very bright to her." then credhe took him for her husband, and the wedding-feast was made, and the whole of the fianna stopped there through seven days, at drinking and pleasure, and having every good thing. chapter iii. conn crither finn now, when he had turned from his road to go to credhe's house, had sent out watchmen to every landing-place to give warning when the ships of the strangers would be in sight. and the man that was keeping watch at the white strand was conn crither, son of bran, from teamhair luachra. and after he had been a long time watching, he was one night west from the round hill of the fianna that is called cruachan adrann, and there he fell asleep. and while he was in his sleep the ships came; and what roused him was the noise of the breaking of shields and the clashing of swords and of spears, and the cries of women and children and of dogs and horses that were under flames, and that the strangers were making an attack on. conn crither started up when he heard that, and he said: "it is great trouble has come on the people through my sleep; and i will not stay living after this," he said, "for finn and the fianna of ireland to see me, but i will rush into the middle of the strangers," he said, "and they will fall by me till i fall by them." he put on his suit of battle then and ran down towards the strand. and on the way he saw three women dressed in battle clothes before him, and fast as he ran he could not overtake them. he took his spear then to make a cast of it at the woman was nearest him, but she stopped on the moment, and she said: "hold your hand and do not harm us, for we are not come to harm you but to help you." "who are you yourselves?" said conn crither. "we are three sisters," she said, "and we are come from tir nan og, the country of the young, and we have all three given you our love, and no one of us loves you less than the other, and it is to give you our help we are come." "what way will you help me?" said conn. "we will give you good help," she said, "for we will make druid armies about you from stalks of grass and from the tops of the watercress, and they will cry out to the strangers and will strike their arms from their hands, and take from them their strength and their eyesight. and we will put a druid mist about you now," she said, "that will hide you from the armies of the strangers, and they will not see you when you make an attack on them. and we have a well of healing at the foot of slieve iolair, the eagle's mountain," she said, "and its waters will cure every wound made in battle. and after bathing in that well you will be as whole and as sound as the day you were born. and bring whatever man you like best with you," she said, "and we will heal him along with you." conn crither gave them his thanks for that, and he hurried on to the strand. and it was at that time the armies of the king of the great plain were taking spoils from traigh moduirn in the north to finntraighe in the south. and conn crither came on them, and the druid army with him, and he took their spoils from them, and the druid army took their sight and their strength from them, and they were routed, and they made away to where the king of the great plain was, and conn crither followed, killing and destroying. "stop with me, king-hero," said the king of the great plain, "that i may fight with you on account of my people, since there is not one of them that turns to stand against you." so the two set their banners in the earth and attacked one another, and fought a good part of the day until conn crither struck off the king's head. and he lifted up the head, and he was boasting of what he had done. "by my word," he said, "i will not let myself be parted from this body till some of the fianna, few or many, will come to me." chapter iv. glas, son of bremen the king of the world heard that, and he said: "it is a big word that man is saying," he said; "and rise up now, glas, son of dremen, and see which of the fianna of ireland it is that is saying it." glas left the ship then, and he went to where conn crither was, and he asked who was he. "i am conn crither, son of bran, from teamhair luachra," said he. "if that is so," said glas, "you are of the one blood with myself, for i am glas, son of bremen from teamhair luachra." "it is not right for you to come fighting against me from those foreigners, so," said conn. "it is a pity indeed," said glas; "and but for finn and the fianna driving me from them, i would not fight against you or against one of themselves for all the treasures of the whole world." "do not say that," said conn, "for i swear by my hand of valour," he said, "if you had killed finn's own son and the sons of his people along with him, you need not be in dread of him if only you came under his word and his protection." "i think indeed the day is come for me to fight beside you," said glas, "and i will go back and tell that to the king of the world." he went back then to where the king was, and the king asked him which of the men of the fianna was in it. "it is a kinsman of my own is in it, high king," said glas; "and it is weak my heart is, he to be alone, and i have a great desire to go and help him." "if you go," said the king of the world, "it is what i ask you, to come and to tell me every day how many of the fianna of ireland have fallen by me; and if a few of my own men should fall," he said, "come and tell me who it was they fell by." "it is what i ask you," said glas, "not to let your armies land till the fianna come to us, but to let one man only come to fight with each of us until that time," he said. so two of the strangers were sent against them that day, and they got their death by glas and by conn crither. then they asked to have two men sent against each of them, and that was done; and three times nine fell by them before night. and conn crither was covered with wounds after the day, and he said to glas: "three women came to me from the country of the young, and they promised to put me in a well of healing for my wounds. and let you watch the harbour to-night," he said, "and i will go look for them." so he went to them, and they bathed him in the well of healing, and he was whole of his wounds. and as to glas, son of dremen, he went down to the harbour, and he said: "o king of the world," he said, "there is a friend of mine in the ships, madan of the bent neck, son of the king of the marshes; and it is what he said in the great world in the east, that he himself would be enough to take ireland for you, and that he would bring it under tribute to you by one way or another. and i ask you to let him come alone against me to-night, till we see which of us will fight best for ireland." so madan came to the land, and the two attacked one another, and made a very hard fight; but as it was not in the prophecy that glas would find his death there, it was the son of the king of the marshes that got his death by him. and not long after that conn crither came back to glas, and he gave glas great praise for all he had done. chapter v. the help of the men of dea then taistellach that was one of finn's messengers came to the white strand asking news; and conn bade him go back to where finn was and tell him the way things were. but taistellach would not go until he had wetted his sword in the blood of one of the enemies of ireland, the same as the others had done. and he sent a challenge to the ships, and coimhleathan, a champion that was very big and tall, came and fought with him on the strand, and took him in his arms to bring him back living to the ship of the high king; but taistellach struck his head off in the sea and brought it back to land. "victory and blessing be with you!" said conn crither. "and go now to-night," he said, "to the house of bran, son of febal my father at teamhair luachra, and bid him to gather all the tuatha de danaan to help us; and go on to-morrow to the fianna of ireland." so taistellach went on to bran's house, and he told him the whole story and gave him the message. then bran, son of febal, went out to gather the tuatha de danaan, and he went to dun sesnain in ui conall gabra, where they were holding a feast at that time. and there he found three of the best young men of the tuatha de danaan, ilbrec the many coloured, son of manannan, and nemanach the pearly, son of angus og, and sigmall, grandson of midhir, and they made him welcome and bade him to stop with them. "there is a greater thing than this for you to do, men of dea," said bran; and he told them the whole story, and the way conn crither his son was. "stop with me to-night," said sesnan, "and my son dolb will go to bodb dearg, son of the dagda, and gather in the tuatha de danaan to us." so he stopped there, and dolb, son of sesnan, went to sidhe bean finn above magh femen, and bodb dearg was there at that time, and dolb gave him his message. "young man," said bodb dearg, "we are no way bound to help the men of ireland out of that strait." "do not say that," said dolb, "for there is not a king's son or a prince or a leader of the fianna of ireland without having a wife or a mother or a foster-mother or a sweetheart of the tuatha de danaan; and it is good help they have given you every time you were in want of it." "i give my word," said bodb dearg, "it is right to give a good answer to so good a messenger." with that he sent word to the tuatha de danaan in every place where they were, and they gathered to him. and from that they went on to dun sesnain, and they stopped there through the night and they rose up in the morning and put on their shirts of the dearest silk and their embroidered coats of rejoicing, and they took their green shields and their swords and their spears. and their leaders at that time besides bodb dearg were midhir of bri leith, and lir of sidhe finnachaidh, and abarthach, son of ildathach, and ilbrec, son of manannan, and fionnbhar of magh suil, and argat lamh, the silver hand, from the sionnan, and the man of sweet speech from the boinn. and the whole army of them came into ciarraighe luachra, and to red-haired slieve mis, and from that to the harbour of the white strand. "o men of dea," said abarthach then, "let a high mind and high courage rise within you now in the face of the battle. for the doings of every one among you," he said, "will be told till the end of the world; and let you fulfil now the big words you have spoken in the drinking-houses." "rise up, glas, son of dremen," said bodb dearg then, "and tell out to the king of the world that i am come to do battle." glas went then to the king of the world. "are those the fianna of ireland i see?" said the king. "they are not," said glas, "but another part of the men of ireland that do not dare to be on the face of the earth, but that live in hidden houses under the earth, and it is to give warning of battle from them i am come." "who will answer the tuatha de danaan for me?" said the king of the world. "we will go against them," said two of the kings that were with him, comur cromchenn, king of the men of the dog-heads, and caitchenn, king of the men of the cat-heads. and they had five red-armed battalions with them, and they went to the shore like great red waves. "who is there to match with the king of the dog-heads for me?" said bodb dearg. "i will go against him," said lir of sidhe finnachaidh, "though i heard there is not in the world a man with stronger hands than himself." "who will be a match for the king of the cat-heads?" said bodb dearg. "i will be a match for him," said abarthach, son of ildathach. so lir and the king of the dog-heads attacked one another, and they made a hard fight; but after a while lir was getting the worst of it. "it is a pity the way lir is," said bodb dearg; "and let some of you rise up and help him," he said. then ilbrec, son of manannan, went to his help; but if he did, he got a wound himself and could do nothing. then sigmal, grandson of midhir, went to his help, and after him the five sons of finnaistucan, and others of the men of dea, but they were all driven off by the king of the dog-heads. but at that time abarthach had made an end of the king of the cat-heads, and he rose on his spear, and made a leap, and came down between lir and his enemy. "leave off now and look on at the fight," he said to lir, "and leave it to me and the foreigner." with that he took his sword in his left hand and made a thrust with his spear in through the king's armour. and as the king was raising up his shield, he struck at him with the sword that was in his left hand, and cut off both his legs at the knees, and the king let fall his shield then, and abarthach struck off his head. and the two kings being dead, their people broke away and ran, but the men of dea followed them and made an end of them all; but if they did, they lost a good many of their own men. chapter vi. the march of the fianna ana finn and the fianna were at the house of credhe yet, and they saw taistellach coming towards them. it was the custom, now, with finn when he sent any one looking for news, that it was to himself it was to be told first, the way that if he got bad news he would let on not to mind it; and if it was good news he got, he would have the satisfaction of telling it himself. so taistellach told him how the foreigners were come to the harbour of the white strand. then finn turned to his chief men, and he said: "fianna of ireland, there never came harm or danger to ireland to be put aside this great danger that is come against us now. and you get great tribute and great service from the chief men of ireland," he said, "and if you take that from them it is right for you to defend them now." and the fianna all said they would not go back one step from the defence of ireland. and as to credhe, she gave every one of them a battle dress, and they were taking leave of her, and finn said: "let the woman come along with us till we know is it good or bad the end of this journey will be." so she came with them, bringing a great herd of cattle; and through the whole length of the battle, that lasted a year and a day, she had new milk for them, and it was to her house the wounded were brought for healing. then the fianna set out, and they went to the borders of ciarraighe luachra and across by the shores of the bannlid with their left hand to slieve mis, and they made shelters for themselves that night, and kindled fires. but caoilte and oisin and lugaidh's son said to one another they would go on to the harbour, the way they would have time to redden their hands in the blood of the foreigners before the rest of the fianna would come. and at that time the king of the world bade some of his chief men to go on shore and to bring him back some spoils. so they went to land and they gave out a great shout, and the people of the ships gave out a great shout at the same time. "i swear by the oath my people swear by," said caoilte, "i have gone round the whole world, but i never heard so many voices together in the one place." and with that he himself and oisin and lugaidh's son made an attack on the strangers, and struck great blows at them. and when conn crither and glas, son of bremen, heard the noise of those blows, they knew they were struck by some of the fianna of ireland, and they came and joined with them, and did great destruction on the strangers, till there was not one left of all that had come to land. chapter vii. the first fighters and in the morning they saw finn and all his people coming to the rath that is above the harbour. "my father finn," said oisin than, "let us fight now with the whole of the foreigners altogether." "that is not my advice," said finn, "for the number of their armies is too great for us, and we could not stand against them. but we will send out every day," he said, "some son of a king or of a leader against some king of the kings of the world that is equal in blood to ourselves. and let none of you redden your arms," he said, "but against a king or a chief man at first, for when a king is fallen, his people will be more inclined to give way. and who will give out a challenge of battle from me now?" he said. "i will do that," said the son of cuban, leader of the fianna of munster. "do not go, my son," said finn, "for it is not showed to me that you will have good luck in the battle, and i never sent out any man to fight without i knew he would come back safe to me." "do not say that," said cuban's son, "for i would not for the treasure of the whole world go back from a fight on account of a bad foretelling. and as it is my own country they have done their robbery in first," he said, "i will defend it for you." "it is sorrowful i am for that," said finn, "for whichever of the kings of the world will meet you to-day, yourself and himself will fall together." then glas, son of dremen, gave out a challenge of fight from cuban's son, and the king of greece answered it. and the two fought hand to hand, and the king of greece made a great cast of his thick spear at cuban's son, that went through his body and broke his back in two. but he did not take that blow as a gift, but he paid for it with a strong cast of his own golden spear that went through the ringed armour of the king of greece. and those two fell together, sole to sole, and lip to lip. "there is grief on me, cuban's son to have fallen," said finn, "for no one ever went from his house unsatisfied; and a man that i would not keep, or the high king of ireland would not keep for a week, he would keep him in his house through the length of a year. and let follamain, his son, be called to me now," he said, "and i will give him his father's name and place." they stopped there then till the next morning. "who will go and fight to-day?" said finn then. "i will do that," said goll garb, son of the king of alban and of the daughter of goll, son of morna. so he put on his battle dress, and there came against him the three kings from the rising of the sun in the east, and their three battalions with them. and goll garb rushed among their men, and wounded and maimed and destroyed them, and blinded their eyes for ever, so that their wits went from them, and they called to him to stop his deadly sword for a while. so he did that; and it is what they agreed to take their three kings and to give them over to goll garb that he might stop doing destruction with his sword. "who will go out and fight to-day?" said finn, on the morning of the morrow. "i will go," said oisin, "and the chief men of the sons of baiscne with me; for we get the best share of all the pleasant things of ireland, and we should be first to defend her." "i will answer that challenge," said the king of france, "for it is against finn i am come to ireland, on account of my wife that he brought away from me; and these men will fall by me now," he said, "and finn himself at the last; for when the branches of a tree are cut off, it is not hard to cut down the tree itself." so the king of france and oisin met one another at the eastern end of the strand, and they struck their banners of soft silk into the green hill, and bared their swords and made a quick attack on one another. and at one time the king struck such a great blow that he knocked a groan out of oisin. but for all that he was worsted in the end, and great fear came on him, like the fear of a hundred horses at the sound of thunder, and he ran from oisin, and he rose like a swallow, that his feet never touched the earth at all; and he never stopped till he came to gleann na-n gealt, the valley of wild men. and ever since that time, people that have lost their wits make for that valley; and every mad person in ireland, if he had his way, would go there within twenty-four hours. and there rose great cries of lamentation from the armies of the world when they saw him going from them, and the fianna of ireland raised great shouts of joy. and when the night was coming on, it is what finn said: "it is sad and gloomy the king of the world is to-night; and it is likely he will make an attack on us. and which of you will keep watch over the harbour through the night?" he said. "i will," said oisin, "with the same number that was fighting along with me to-day; for it is not too much for you to fight for the fianna of ireland through a day and a night," he said. so they went down to the harbour, and it was just at that time the king of the world was saying, "it seems to me, men of the world, that our luck of battle was not good to-day. and let a share of you rise up now," he said, "and make an attack on the fianna of ireland." then there rose up the nine sons of garb, king of the sea of icht, that were smiths, and sixteen hundred of their people along with them, and they all went on shore but dolar durba that was the eldest of them. and the sons of baiscne were ready for them, and they fought a great battle till the early light of the morrow. and not one of them was left alive on either side that could hold a weapon but only oisin and one of the sons of garb. and they made rushes at one another, and threw their swords out of their hands, and closed their arms about one another, and wrestled together, so that it was worth coming from the east to the west of the world to see the fight of those two. then the foreigner gave a sudden great fall to oisin, to bring him into the sea, for he was a great swimmer, and he thought to get the better of him there. and oisin thought it would not be worthy of him to refuse any man his place of fighting. so they went into the water together, and they were trying to drown one another till they came to the sand and the gravel of the clear sea. and it was a torment to the heart of the fianna, oisin to be in that strait. "rise up, fergus of the sweet lips," said finn then, "and go praise my son and encourage him." so fergus went down to the edge of the sea, and he said: "it is a good fight you are making, oisin, and there are many to see it, for the armies of the whole world are looking at you, and the fianna of ireland. and show now," he said, "your ways and your greatness, for you never went into any place but some woman of high beauty or some king's daughter set her love on you." then oisin's courage increased, and anger came on him and he linked his hands behind the back of the foreigner and put him down on the sand under the sea with his face upwards, and did not let him rise till the life was gone from him. and he brought the body to shore then, and struck off his head and brought it to the fianna. but there was great grief and anger on dolar durba, the eldest of the sons of garb, that had stopped in the ship, and he made a great oath that he would have satisfaction for his brothers. and he went to the high king, and he said: "i will go alone to the strand, and i will kill a hundred men every day till i have made an end of the whole of the armies of ireland; and if any one of your own men comes to interfere with me," he said, "i will kill him along with them." the next morning finn asked who would lead the battle that day. "i will," said dubhan, son of donn. "do not," said finn, "but let some other one go." but dubhan went to the strand, and a hundred men along with him; and there was no one there before him but dolar durba, and he said he was there to fight with the whole of them. and dubhan's men gave a great shout of laughter when they heard that; but dolar durba rushed on them, and he made an end of the whole hundred, without a man of them being able to put a scratch on him. and then he took a hurling stick and a ball, and he threw up the ball and kept it in the air with the hurl from the west to the east of the strand without letting it touch the ground at all. and then he put the ball on his right foot and kicked it high into the air, and when it was coming down he gave it a kick of his left foot and kept it in the air like that, and he rushing like a blast of march wind from one end of the strand to the other. and when he had done that he walked up and down on the strand making great boasts, and challenging the men of ireland to do the like of those feats. and every day he killed a hundred of the men that were sent against him. chapter viii. the king of ulster's son now it chanced at that time that news of the great battle that was going on reached to the court of the king of ulster. and the king's son, that was only twelve years of age, and that was the comeliest of all the young men of ireland, said to his father: "let me go to help finn, son of cumhal, and his men." "you are not old enough, or strong enough, boy; your bones are too soft," said the king. and when the boy went on asking, his father shut him up in some close place, and put twelve young men, his foster-brothers, in charge of him. there was great anger on the young lad then, and he said to his foster-brothers: "it is through courage and daring my father won a great name for himself in his young youth, and why does he keep me from winning a name for myself? and let you help me now," he said, "and i will be a friend to you for ever." and he went on talking to them and persuading them till he got round them all, and they agreed to go with him to join finn and the fianna. and when the king was asleep, they went into the house where the arms were kept, and every lad of them brought away with him a shield and a sword and a helmet and two spears and two greyhound whelps. and they went across ess ruadh in the north, and through connacht of many tribes, and through caille an chosanma, the woods of defence, that were called the choice of every king and the true honour of every poet, and into ciarraighe, and so on to the white strand. and when they came there dolar durba was on the strand, boasting before the men of ireland. and oisin was rising up to go against him, for he said he would sooner die fighting with him than see the destruction he was doing every day on his people. and all the wise men and the fighting men and the poets and the musicians of the fianna gave a great cry of sorrow when they heard oisin saying that. and the king of ulster's son went to finn and stood before him and saluted him, and finn asked who was he, and where did he come from. "i am the son of the king of ulster," he said; "and i am come here, myself and my twelve foster-brothers, to give you what help we can." "i give you a welcome," said finn. just then they heard the voice of dolar durba, very loud and boastful. "who is that i hear?" said the king's son. "it is a man of the foreigners asking for a hundred of my men to go and meet him," said finn. now, when the twelve foster-brothers heard that, they said no word but went down to the strand, unknown to the king's son and to finn. "you are not a grown man," said conan; "and neither yourself or your comrades are fit to face any fighting man at all." "i never saw the fianna of ireland till this day," said the young lad; "but i know well that you are conan maol, that never says a good word of any man. and you will see now," he said, "if i am in dread of that man on the strand, or of any man in the world, for i will go out against him by myself." but finn kept him back and was talking with him; but then conan began again, and he said: "it is many men dolar durba has made an end of, and there was not a man of all those that could not have killed a hundred of the like of you every day." when the king's son heard that, there was great anger on him, and he leaped up, and just then dolar durba gave a great shout on the strand. "what is he giving, that shout for?" said the king's son. "he is shouting for more men to come against him," said conan, "for he is just after killing your twelve comrades." "that is a sorrowful story," said the king's son. and with that he took hold of his arms, and no one could hold him or hinder him, and he rushed down to the strand where dolar durba was. and all the armies of the strangers gave a great shout of laughter, for they thought all finn's men had been made an end of, when he sent a young lad like that against their best champion. and when the boy heard that, his courage grew the greater, and he fell on dolar durba and gave him many wounds before he knew he was attacked at all. and they fought a very hard fight together, till their shields and their swords were broken in pieces. and that did not stop the battle, but they grappled together and fought and wrestled that way, till the tide went over them and drowned them both. and when the sea went over them the armies on each side gave out a great sorrowful cry. and after the ebb-tide on the morrow, the two bodies were found cold and quiet, each one held fast by the other. but dolar durba was beneath the king's son, so they knew it was the young lad was the best and had got the victory. and they buried him, and put a flag-stone over his grave, and keened him there. chapter ix. the high king's son then finn said he would send a challenge himself to daire bonn, the king of the great world. but caoilte asked leave to do that day's fighting himself. and finn said he would agree to that if he could find enough of men to go with him. and he himself gave him a hundred men, and oisin did the same, and so on with the rest. and he gave out his challenge, and it was the son of the king of the great plain that answered it. and while they were in the heat of the fight, a fleet of ships came into the harbour, and finn thought they were come to help the foreigners. but oisin looked at them, and he said: "it is seldom your knowledge fails you, finn, but those are friends of our own: fiachra, son of the king of the fianna of the bretons, and duaban donn, son of the king of tuathmumain with his own people." and when those that were in the ships came on shore, they saw caoilte's banner going down before the son of the king of the great plain. and they all went hurrying on to his help, and between them they made an end of the king's son and of all his people. "who will keep watch to-night?" said finn then. "we will," said the nine garbhs of the fianna, of slieve mis, and slieve cua, and slieve clair, and slieve crot, and slieve muice, and slieve fuad, and slieve atha moir, and dun sobairce and dundealgan. and they were not long watching till they saw the king of the men of dregan coming towards them, and they fought a fierce battle; and at the end of the night there were left standing but three of the garbhs, and the king of the men of dregan. and they fought till their wits were gone from them; and those four fell together, sole against sole, and lip against lip. and the fight went on from day to day, and from week to week, and there were great losses on both sides. and when fergus of the sweet lips saw that so many of the fianna were fallen, he asked no leave but went to teamhair of the kings, where the high king of ireland was, and he told him the way it was with finn and his people. "that is good," said the high king, "finn to be in that strait; for there is no labouring man dares touch a pig or a deer or a salmon if he finds it dead before him on account of the fianna; and there is no man but is in dread to go from one place to another without leave from finn, or to take a wife till he knows if she has a sweetheart among the fianna of ireland. and it is often finn has given bad judgments against us," he said, "and it would be better for us the foreigners to gain the day than himself." then fergus went out to the lawn where the high king's son was playing at ball. "it is no good help you are giving to ireland," said fergus then, "to be playing a game without lasting profit, and strangers taking away your country from you." and he was urging him and blaming him, and great shame came on the young man, and he threw away the stick and went through the people of teamhair and brought together all the young men, a thousand and twenty of them that were in it. and they asked no leave and no advice from the high king, but they set out and went on till they came to finntraigh. and fergus went to where finn was, and told him the son of the high king of ireland was come with him; and all the fianna rose up before the young man and bade him welcome. and finn said: "young man," he said, "we would sooner see you coming at a time when there would be musicians and singers and poets and high-up women to make pleasure for you than at the time we are in the straits of battle the way we are now." "it is not for playing i am come," said the young man, "but to give you my service in battle." "i never brought a lad new to the work into the breast of battle," said finn, "for it is often a lad coming like that finds his death, and i would not wish him to fall through me." "i give my word," said the young man, "i will do battle with them on my own account if i may not do it on yours." then fergus of the fair lips went out to give a challenge of battle from the son of the high king of ireland to the king of the world. "who will answer the king of ireland's son for me?" said the king of the world. "i will go against him," said sligech, king of the men of cepda; and he went on shore, and his three red battalions with him. and the high king's son went against them, and his comrades were near him, and they were saying to him: "take a good heart now into the fight, for the fianna will be no better pleased if it goes well with you than if it goes well with the foreigner." and when the high king's son heard that, he made a rush through the army of the foreigners, and began killing and overthrowing them, till their chief men were all made an end of. then sligech their king came to meet him, very angry and destroying, and they struck at one another and made a great fight, but at the last the king of ireland's son got the upper hand, and he killed the king of the men of cepda and struck off his head. chapter x. the king of lochlann and his sons and the fighting went on from day to day, and at last finn said to fergus of the sweet lips: "go out, fergus, and see how many of the fianna are left for the fight to-day." and fergus counted them, and he said: "there is one battalion only of the fianna left in good order; but there are some of the men of it," he said, "are able to fight against three, and some that are able to fight against nine or thirty or a hundred." "if that is so," said finn, "rise up and go to where the king of the world is, and bid him to come out to the great battle." so fergus went to the king of the world, and it is the way he was, on his bed listening to the music of harps and pipes. "king of the world," said fergus, "it is long you are in that sleep; and that is no shame for you," he said, "for it will be your last sleep. and the whole of the fianna are gone out to their place of battle," he said, "and let you go out and answer them." "in my opinion," said the king of the world, "there is not a man of them is able to fight against me; and how many are there left of the fianna of ireland?" "one battalion only that is in good order," said fergus. "and how many of the armies of the world are there left?" he said. "thirty battalions came with me to ireland; and there are twenty of them fallen by the fianna, and what is left of them is ten red battalions in good order. and there are eight good fighters of them," he said, "that would put down the men of the whole world if they were against me; that is, myself, and conmail my son, and ogarmach, the daughter of the king of greece, that is the best hand in battle of the whole world after myself, and finnachta of the teeth, the chief of my household, and the king of lochlann, caisel clumach of the feathers, and his three sons, tocha, and forne of the broad shoulders, and mongach of the sea." "i swear by the oath of my people," said the king of lochlann then, "if any man of the armies goes out against the fianna before myself and my three sons, we will not go at all, for we would not get the satisfaction we are used to, unless our swords get their fill of blood." "i will go out against them alone," said forne, the youngest son of the king of lochlann. with that he put on his battle suit, and he went among the fianna of ireland, and a red-edged sword in each of his hands. and he destroyed those of their young men that were sent against him, and he made the strand narrow with their bodies. and finn saw that, and it was torment to his heart, and danger of death and loss of wits to him, and he was encouraging the men of ireland against forne. and fergus of the true lips stood up, and it is what he said: "fianna of ireland," he said, "it is a pity the way you are under hardship and you defending ireland. and one man is taking her from you to-day," he said, "and you are like no other thing but a flock of little birds looking for shelter in a bush from a hawk that is after them. and it is going into the shelter of finn and oisin and caoilte you are," he said; "and not one of you is better than another, and none of you sets his face against the foreigner." "by my oath," said oisin, "all that is true, and no one of us tries to do better than another keeping him off." "there is not one of you is better than another," said fergus. then oisin gave out a great shout against the king of lochlann's son. "stop here with me, king's son," he said, "until i fight with you for the fianna." "i give my word it is short the delay will be," said forne. then he himself and oisin made an attack on one another, and it seemed for a while that the battle was going against oisin. "by my word, man of poetry," said finn then to fergus of the true lips, "it is a pity the way you sent my son against the foreigner. and rise up and praise him and hearten him now," he said. so fergus went down to where the fight was, and he said: "there is great shame on the fianna, oisin, seeing you so low in this fight; and there is many a foot messenger and many a horsemen from the daughters of the kings and princes of ireland looking at you now," he said. and great courage rose in oisin then, and he drove his spear through the body of forne, the king of lochlann's son. and he himself came back to the fianna of ireland. then the armies of the world gave out a great cry, keening forne; and there was anger and not fear on his brothers, for they thought it no right thing he to have fallen by a man of the fianna. and tocha, the second son of the king of lochlann, went on shore to avenge his brother. and he went straight into the middle of the fianna, and gave his sword good feeding on their bodies, till they broke away before him and made no stand till lugaidh's son turned round against him. and those two fought a great fight, till their swords were bent and their spears crumbled away, and they lost their golden shields. and at the last lugaidh's son made a stroke of his sword that cut through the foreigner's sword, and then he made another stroke that cut his heart in two halves. and he came back high and proud to the fianna. then the third son of the king of lochlann, mongach of the sea, rose up, and all the armies rose up along with him. "stop here, men of the world," he said, "for it is not you but myself that has to go and ask satisfaction for the bodies of my brothers." so he went on shore; and it is the way he was, with a strong iron flail in his hand having seven balls of pure iron on it, and fifty iron chains, and fifty apples on every chain, and fifty deadly thorns on every apple. and he made a rush through the fianna to break them up entirely and to tear them into strings, and they gave way before him. and great shame came on fidach, son of the king of the bretons, and he said: "come here and praise me, fergus of the true lips, till i go out and fight with the foreigner." "it is easy to praise you, son," said fergus, and he was praising him for a long time. then the two looked at one another and used fierce, proud words. and then mongach of the sea raised his iron flail and made a great blow at the king of the bretons' son. but he made a quick leap to one side and gave him a blow of his sword that cut off his two hands at the joint; and he did not stop at that, but made a blow at his middle that cut him into two halves. but as he fell, an apple of the flail with its deadly thorns went into fidach's comely mouth and through his brain, and it was foot to foot those two fell, and lip to lip. and the next that came to fight on the strand was the king of lochlann himself, caisel of the feathers. and he came to the battle having his shield on his arm; and it is the way the shield was, that was made for him by the smith of the fomor, there were red flames coming from it; and if it was put under the sea itself, not one of its flames would stop blazing. and when he had that shield on his arm no man could come near him. and there was never such destruction done on the men of ireland as on that day, for the flames of fire that he sent from his shield went through the bodies of men till they blazed up like a splinter of oak that was after hanging through the length of a year in the smoke of a chimney; and any one that would touch the man that was burning would catch fire himself. and every other harm that ever came into ireland before was small beside this. then finn said: "lift up your hands, fianna of ireland, and give three shouts of blessing to whoever will hinder this foreigner." and the fianna gave those three shouts; and the king of lochlann gave a great laugh when he heard them. and druimderg, grandson of the head of the fianna of ulster, was near him, and he had with him a deadly spear, the croderg, the red-socketed, that came down from one to another of the sons of rudraighe. and he looked at the king of lochlann, and he could see no part of him without armour but his mouth that was opened wide, and he laughing at the fianna. then druimderg made a cast with the croderg that hit him in the open mouth, and he fell, and his shield fell along with its master, and its flame went out. and druimderg struck the head from his body, and made great boasts of the things he had done. chapter xi. labran's journey it is then fergus of the true lips set out again and went through the length of ireland till he came to the house of tadg, son of nuada, that was grandfather to finn. and there was great grief on muirne, finn's mother, and on labran of the long hand her brother, and on all her people, when they knew the great danger he was in. and tadg asked his wife who did she think would escape with their lives from the great fighting at the white strand. "it is a pity the way they are there," said she; "for if all the living men of the world were on one side, daire donn, the king of the world, would put them all down; for there are no weapons in the world that will ever be reddened on him. and on the night he was born, the smith of the fomor made a shield and a sword, and it is in the prophecy that he will fall by no other arms but those. and it is to the king of the country of the fair men he gave them to keep, and it is with him they are now." "if that is so," said tadg, "you might be able to get help for finn, son of cumhal, the only son of your daughter. and bid labran lamfada to go and ask those weapons of him," he said. "do not be asking me," said she, "to go against daire donn that was brought up in my father's house." but after they had talked for a while, they went out on the lawn, and they sent labran looking for the weapons in the shape of a great eagle. and he went on from sea to sea, till at noon on the morrow he came to the dun of the king of the country of the fair men; and he went in his own shape to the dun and saluted the king, and the king bade him welcome, and asked him to stop with him for a while. "there is a thing i want more than that," said labran, "for the wife of a champion of the fianna has given me her love, and i cannot get her without fighting for her; and it is the loan of that sword and that shield you have in your keeping i am come asking now," he said. there were seven rooms, now, in the king's house that opened into one another, and on the first door was one lock, and on the second two locks, and so on to the door of the last room that had seven locks; and it was in that the sword and the shield that were made by the smith of the fomor were kept. and they were brought out and were given to labran, and stalks of luck were put with them, and they were bound together with shield straps. then labran of the long hand went back across the seas again, and he reached his father's dun between the crowing of the cock and the full light of day; and the weakness of death came on him. "it is a good message you are after doing, my son," said tadg, "and no one ever went that far in so short a time as yourself." "it is little profit that is to me," said labran, "for i am not able to bring them to finn in time for the fight to-morrow." but just at that time one of tadg's people saw aedh, son of aebinn, that was as quick as the wind over a plain till the middle of every day, and after that, there was no man quicker than he was. "you are come at a good time," said tadg. and with that he gave him the sword and the shield to bring to finn for the battle. so aedh, son of aebinn, went with the swiftness of a hare or of a fawn or a swallow, till at the rising of the day on the morrow he came to the white strand. and just at that time fergus of the true lips was rousing up the fianna for the great fight, and it is what he said: "fianna of ireland," he said, "if there was the length of seven days in one day, you would have work to fill it now; for there never was and there never will be done in ireland a day's work like the work of to-day." then the fianna of ireland rose up, and they saw aedh, son of aebinn, coming towards them with his quick running, and finn asked news from him. "it is from the dun of tadg, son of nuada, i am come," he said, "and it is to yourself i am sent, to ask how it is you did not redden your weapons yet upon the king of the world." "i swear by the oath of my people," said finn, "if i do not redden my weapons on him, i will crush his body within his armour." "i have here for you, king of the fianna," said aedh then, "the deadly weapons that will bring him to his death; and it was labran of the long hand got them for you through his druid arts." he put them in finn's hand then, and finn took the coverings off them, and there rose from them flashes of fire and deadly bubbles; and not one of the fianna could stay looking at them, but it put great courage into them to know they were with finn. "rise up now," said finn to fergus of the true lips, "and go where the king of the world is, and bid him to come out to the place of the great fight." chapter xii. the great fight then the king of the world came to the strand, and all his armies with him; and all that were left of the fianna went out against them, and they were like thick woods meeting one another, and they made great strokes, and there were swords crashing against bones, and bodies that were hacked, and eyes that were blinded, and many a mother was left without her son, and many a comely wife without her comrade. then the creatures of the high air answered to the battle, foretelling the destruction that would be done that day; and the sea chattered of the losses, and the waves gave heavy shouts keening them, and the water-beasts roared to one another, and the rough hills creaked with the danger of the battle, and the woods trembled mourning the heroes, and the grey stones cried out at their deeds, and the wind sobbed telling them, and the earth shook, foretelling the slaughter; and the cries of the grey armies put a blue cloak over the sun, and the clouds were dark; and the hounds and the whelps and the crows, and the witches of the valley, and the powers of the air, and the wolves of the forests, howled from every quarter and on every side of the armies, urging them against one another. it was then conan, son of morna, brought to mind that himself and his kindred had done great harm to the sons of baiscne, and he had a wish to do some good thing for them on account of that, and he raised up his sword and did great deeds. and finn was over the battle, encouraging the fianna; and the king of the world was on the other side encouraging the foreigners. "rise up now, fergus," said finn, "and praise conan for me that his courage may be the greater, for it is good work he is doing on my enemies." so fergus went where conan was, and at that time he was heated with the dust of the fight, and he was gone outside to let the wind go about him. "it is well you remember the old quarrel between the sons of morna and the sons of baiscne, conan," said fergus; "and you would be ready to go to your own death if it would bring harm on the sons of baiscne," he said. "for the love of your good name, man of poetry," said conan, "do not be speaking against me without cause, and i will do good work on the foreigners when i get to the battle again." "by my word," said fergus, "that would be a good thing for you to do." he sang a verse of praise for him then, and conan went back into the battle, and his deeds were not worse this time than they were before. and fergus went back to where finn was. "who is best in the battle now?" said finn. "duban, son of cas, a champion of your own people," said fergus, "for he never gives but the one stroke to any man, and no man escapes with his life from that stroke, and three times nine and eighty men have fallen by him up to this time." and duban donn, great-grandson of the king of tuathmumhain, was there listening to him, and it is what he said: "by my oath, fergus," he said, "all you are saying is true, for there is not a son of a king or of a lord is better in the battle than duban, son of cas; and i will go to my own death if i do not go beyond him." with that he went rushing through the battle like flames over a high hill that is thick with furze. nine times he made a round of the battle, and he killed nine times nine in every round. "who is best in the battle now?" said finn, after a while. "it is duban donn that is after going from us," said fergus. "for there has been no one ahead of him since he was in his seventh year, and there is no one ahead of him now." "rise up and praise him that his courage may be the greater," said finn. "it is right to praise him," said fergus, "and the foreigners running before him on every side as they would run from a heavy drenching of the sea." so fergus praised him for a while, and he went back then to finn. "who is best in the battle now?" said finn. "it is osgar is best in it now," said fergus, "and he is fighting alone against two hundred franks and two hundred of the men of gairian, and the king of the men of gairian himself. and all these are beating at his shield," he said, "and not one of them has given him a wound but he gave him a wound back for it." "what way is caoilte, son of ronan?" said finn. "he is in no great strait after the red slaughter he has made," said fergus. "go to him then," said finn, "and bid him to keep off a share of the foreigners from osgar." so fergus went to him. "caoilte," he said, "it is great danger your friend osgar is in under the blows of the foreigners, and let you rise up and give him some help," he said. caoilte went then to the place where osgar was, and he gave a straight blow of his sword at the man who was nearest him, that made two halves of him. osgar raised his head then and looked at him. "it is likely, caoilte," he said, "you did not dare redden your sword on any one till you struck down a man that was before my sword. and it is a shame for you," he said, "all the men of the great world and the fianna of ireland to be in the one battle, and you not able to make out a fight for yourself without coming to take a share of my share of the battle. and i give my oath," he said, "i would be glad to see you put down in your bed of blood on account of that thing." caoilte's mind changed when he heard that, and he turned again to the army of the foreigners with the redness of anger on his white face; and eighty fighting men fell in that rout. "what way is the battle now?" said finn. "it is a pity," said fergus, "there never came and there never will come any one that can tell the way it is now. for by my word," he said, "the tree-tops of the thickest forest in the whole of the western world are not closer together than the armies are now. for the bosses of their shields are in one another's hands. and there is fire coming from the edges of their swords," he said, "and blood is raining down like a shower on a day of harvest; and there were never so many leaves torn by the wind from a great forest as there are locks of long golden hair, and of black curled hair, cut off by sharp weapons, blowing into the clouds at this time. and there is no person could tell one man from another, now," he said, "unless it might be by their voices." with that he went into the very middle of the fight to praise and to hearten the men of the fianna. "who is first in the battle now, fergus?" said finn, when he came back to him. "by my oath, it is no friend of your own is first in it," said fergus, "for it is daire donn, the king of the world; and it is for you he is searching through the battle," he said, "and three times fifty of his own people were with him. but two of the men of your fianna fell on them," he said, "cairell the battle striker, and aelchinn of cruachan, and made an end of them. but they were not able to wound the king of the world," he said, "but the two of them fell together by him." then the king of the world came towards finn, and there was no one near him but arcallach of the black axe, the first that ever brought a wide axe into ireland. "i give my word," said arcallach, "i would never let finn go before me into any battle." he rose up then and made a terrible great blow of his axe at the king, that went through his royal crown to the hair of his head, but that did not take a drop of blood out of him, for the edge of the axe turned and there went balls of fire over the plain from that blow. and the king of the world struck back at arcallach, and made two halves of him. then finn and the king of the world turned on one another. and when the king saw the sword and the shield in finn's hand, he knew those were the weapons that were to bring him to his death, and great dread came on him, and his comeliness left him, and his fingers were shaking, and his feet were unsteady, and the sight of his eyes was weakened. and then the two fought a great fight, striking at one another like two days of judgment for the possession of the world. but the king, that had never met with a wound before, began to be greatly weakened in the fight. and finn gave great strokes that broke his shield and his sword, and that cut off his left foot, and at the last he struck off his head. but if he did, he himself fell into a faint of weakness with the dint of the wounds he had got. then finnachta of the teeth, the first man of the household of the king of the world, took hold of the royal crown of the king, and brought it where conmail his son was, and put it on his head. "that this may bring you success in many battles, my son," he said. and he gave him his father's weapons along with it; and the young man went through the battle looking for finn, and three fifties of the men of the fianna fell by him. then goll garbh the rough, son of the king of alban, saw him and attacked him, and they fought a hard fight. but the king of albain's son gave him a blow under the shelter of the shield, in his left side, that made an end of him. finnachta of the teeth saw that, and he made another rush at the royal crown, and brought it to where ogarmach was, the daughter of the king of greece. "put on that crown, ogarmach," he said, "as it is in the prophecy the world will be owned by a woman; and it will never be owned by any woman higher than yourself," he said. she went then to look for finn in the battle, and fergus of the true lips saw her, and he went where finn was. "o king of the fianna," he said then, "bring to mind the good fight you made against the king of the world and all your victories before that; for it is a great danger is coming to you now," he said, "and that is ogarmach, daughter of the king of greece." with that the woman-fighter came towards him. "o finn," she said, "it is little satisfaction you are to me for all the kings and lords that have fallen by you and by your people; but for all that," she said, "there is nothing better for me to get than your own self and whatever is left of your people." "you will not get that," said finn, "for i will lay your head in its bed of blood the same as i did to every other one." then those two attacked one another like as if there had risen to smother one another the flooded wave of cliodna, and the seeking wave of tuaigh, and the big brave wave of rudraighe. and though the woman-warrior fought for a long time, a blow from finn reached to her at last and cut through the royal crown, and with a second blow he struck her head off. and then he fell himself in his bed of blood, and was the same as dead, but that he rose again. and the armies of the world and the fianna of ireland were fallen side by side there, and there were none left fit to stand but cael, son of crimthan of the harbours, and the chief man of the household of the king of the world, finnachta of the teeth. and finnachta went among the dead bodies and lifted up the body of the king of the world and brought it with him to his ship, and he said: "fianna of ireland," he said, "although it is bad this battle was for the armies of the world, it was worse for yourselves; and i am going back to tell that in the east of the world," he said. finn heard him saying that, and he lying on the ground in his blood, and the best men of the sons of baiscne about him, and he said: "it is a pity i not to have found death before i heard the foreigner saying those words. and nothing i myself have done, or the fianna of ireland, is worth anything since there is left a man of the foreigners alive to go back into the great world again to tell that story. and is there any one left living near me?" he said. "i am," said fergus of the true lips. "what way is the battle now?" said finn. "it is a pity the way it is," said fergus, "for, by my word," he said, "since the armies met together to-day, no man of the foreigners or of the men of ireland took a step backward from one another till they all fell foot to foot, and sole to sole. and there is not so much as a blade of grass or a grain of sand to be seen," he said, "with the bodies of fighting men that are stretched on them; and there is no man of the two armies that is not stretched in that bed of blood, but only the chief man of the household of the king of the world, and your own foster-son, cael, son of crimthan of the harbours." "rise up and go to him," said finn. so fergus went where cael was, and asked what way was he. "it is a pity the way i am," said cael, "for i swear by my word that if my helmet and my armour were taken from me, there is no part of my body but would fall from the other; and by my oath," he said, "it is worse to me to see that man beyond going away alive than i myself to be the way i am. and i leave my blessing to you, fergus," he said; "and take me on your back to the sea till i swim after the foreigner, and it is glad i would be the foreigner to fall by me before the life goes out from my body." fergus lifted him up then and brought him to the sea, and put him swimming after the foreigner. and finnachta waited for him to reach the ship, for he thought he was one of his own people. and cael raised himself up when he came beside the ship, and finnachta stretched out his hand to him. and cael took hold of it at the wrist, and clasped his fingers round it, and gave a very strong pull at him, that brought him over the side. then their hands shut across one another's bodies, and they went down to the sand and the gravel of the clear sea. chapter xiii. credhe's lament then there came the women and the musicians and the singers and the physicians of the fianna of ireland to search out the kings and the princes of the fianna, and to bury them; and every one that might be healed was brought to a place of healing. and credhe, wife of cael, came with the others, and went looking through the bodies for her comely comrade, and crying as she went. and as she was searching, she saw a crane of the meadows and her two nestlings, and the cunning beast the fox watching the nestlings; and when the crane covered one of the birds to save it, he would make a rush at the other bird, the way she had to stretch herself out over the birds; and she would sooner have got her own death by the fox than her nestlings to be killed by him. and credhe was looking at that, and she said: "it is no wonder i to have such love for my comely sweetheart, and the bird in that distress about her nestlings." then she heard a stag in druim ruighlenn above the harbour, that was making great lamentations for his hind from place to place, for they had been nine years together, and had lived in the wood at the foot of the harbour, fidh leis, and finn had killed the hind, and the stag was nineteen days without tasting grass or water, lamenting after the hind. "it is no shame for me," said credhe, "i to die for grief after cael, since the stag is shortening his life sorrowing after the hind." then she met with fergus of the true lips. "have you news of cael for me, fergus?" she said. "i have news," said fergus, "for he and the last man that was left of the foreigners, finnachta fiaclach, are after drowning one another in the sea." and at that time the waves had put cael back on the strand, and the women and the men of the fianna that were looking for him raised him up, and brought him to the south of the white strand. and credhe came to where he was, and she keened him and cried over him, and she made this complaint:-- "the harbour roars, o the harbour roars, over the rushing race of the headland of the two storms, the drowning of the hero of the lake of the two dogs, that is what the waves are keening on the strand. "sweet-voiced is the crane, o sweet-voiced is the crane in the marshes of the ridge of the two strong men; it is she cannot save her nestlings, the wild dog of two colours is taking her little ones. "pitiful the cry, pitiful the cry the thrush is making in the pleasant ridge, sorrowful is the cry of the blackbird in leiter laeig. "sorrowful the call, o sorrowful the call of the deer in the ridge of two lights; the doe is lying dead in druim silenn, the mighty stag cries after her. "sorrowful to me, o sorrowful to me the death of the hero that lay beside me; the son of the woman of the wood of the two thickets, to be with a bunch of grass under his head. "sore to me, o sore to me cael to be a dead man beside me, the waves to have gone over his white body; it is his pleasantness that has put my wits astray. "a woeful shout, o a woeful shout the waves are making on the strand; they that took hold of comely cael, a pity it is he went to meet them. "a woeful crash, o a woeful crash the waves are making on the strand to the north, breaking against the smooth rock, crying after cael now he is gone. "a sorrowful fight, o a sorrowful fight, the sea is making with the strand to the north; my beauty is lessened; the end of my life is measured. "a song of grief, o a song of grief is made by the waves of tulcha leis; all i had is gone since this story came to me. since the son of crimthann is drowned i will love no one after him for ever; many a king fell by his hand; his shield never cried out in the battle." after she had made that complaint, credhe laid herself down beside cael and died for grief after him. and they were put in the one grave, and it was caoilte raised the stone over them. and after that great battle of the white strand, that lasted a year and a day, there was many a sword and shield left broken, and many a dead body lying on the ground, and many a fighting man left with a foolish smile on his face. and the great name that was on the armies of the world went from them to the fianna of ireland; and they took the ships and the gold and the silver and all the spoils of the armies of the world. and from that time the fianna had charge of the whole of ireland, to keep it from the fomor and from any that might come against it. and they never lost power from that time until the time of their last battle, the sorrowful battle of gabhra. book four: huntings and enchantments. chapter i. the king of britain's son arthur, son of the king of britain, came one time to take service with finn, and three times nine men along with him. and they went hunting one day on beinn edair, and finn took his place on the cairn of the fianna between the hill and the sea, and arthur took his stand between the hunt and the sea, the way the deer would not escape by swimming. and while arthur was there he took notice of three of finn's hounds, bran, and sceolan and adhnuall, and he made a plan in his mind to go away across the sea, himself and his three nines, bringing those three hounds along with him. so he did that, and he himself and his men brought away the hounds and crossed the sea, and the place where they landed was inver mara gamiach on the coast of britain. and after they landed, they went to the mountain of lodan, son of lir, to hunt on it. and as to the fianna, after their hunting was done they gathered together on the hill; and as the custom was, all finn's hounds were counted. three hundred full-grown hounds he had, and two hundred whelps; and it is what the poets used to say, that to be counting them was like counting the branches on a tree. now on this day when they were counted, bran and sceolan and adhnuall were missing; and that was told to finn. he bade his people to search again through the three battalions of the fianna, but search as they would, the hounds were not to be found. then finn sent for a long-shaped basin of pale gold, and water in it, and he put his face in the water, and his hand over his face, and it was showed him what had happened, and he said: "the king of britain's son has brought away the hound. and let nine men be chosen out to follow after them," he said. so nine men were chosen out, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne; goll, son of morna; oisin, son of finn; faolan, the friend of the hounds, son of a woman that had come over the sea to give her love to finn; ferdoman, son of bodb dearg; two sons of finn, raighne wide eye and cainche the crimson-red; glas, son of enchered bera, with caoilte and lugaidh's son. and their nine put their helmets on their heads, and took their long spears in their hands, and they felt sure they were a match for any four hundred men from the east to the west of the world. they set out then, till they came to the mountain of lodan, son of lir; and they were not long there till they heard talk of men that were hunting in that place. arthur of britain and his people were sitting on a hunting mound just at that time, and the nine men of the fianna made an attack on them and killed all of them but arthur, that goll, son of morna, put his two arms about and saved from death. then they turned to go back to ireland, bringing arthur with them, and the three hounds. and as they were going, goll chanced to look around him and he saw a dark-grey horse, having a bridle with fittings of worked gold. and then he looked to the left and saw a bay mare that was not easy to get hold of, and it having a bridle of silver rings and a golden bit. and goll took hold of the two, and he gave them into oisin's hand, and he gave them on to diarmuid. they went back to finn then, bringing his three hounds with them, and the king of britain's son as a prisoner; and arthur made bonds with finn, and was his follower till he died. and as to the horse and the mare, they gave them to finn; and the mare bred eight times, at every birth eight foals, and it is of that seed came all the horses of the fair fianna of the gael, for they had used no horses up to that time. and that was not the only time finn was robbed of some of his hounds. for there was a daughter of roman was woman-druid to the tuatha de danaan, and she set her love on finn. but finn said, so long as there was another woman to be found in the world, he would not marry a witch. and one time, three times fifty of finn's hounds passed by the hill where she was; and she breathed on the hounds and shut them up in the hill, and they never came out again. it was to spite finn she did that, and the place got the name of duma na conn, the mound of the hounds. and as to adhnuall, one of the hounds finn thought most of, and that was brought back from the king of britain's son, this is the way he came to his death afterwards. there was a great fight one time between the fianna and macoon, son of macnia, at some place in the province of leinster, and a great many of the fianna were killed. and the hound adhnuall went wandering northward from the battle and went astray; and three times he went round the whole of ireland, and then he came back to the place of the battle, and to a hill where three young men of the fianna that had fallen there were buried after their death, and three daughters of a king of alban that had died for love of them. and when adhnuall came to that hill, he gave three loud howls and he stretched himself out and died. chapter ii. the cave of ceiscoran finn called for a great hunt one time on the plains of magh chonaill and in the forest parts of cairbre of the nuts. and he himself went up to the top of ceiscoran, and his two dogs bran and sceolan with him. and the fianna were shouting through the whole country where they were hunting, the way the deer were roused in their wild places and the badgers in their holes, and foxes in their wanderings, and birds on the wing. and conaran, son of imidd, of the tuatha de danaan, had the sway in ceiscoran at that time, and when he heard the shouting and the cry of the hounds all around, he bade his three daughters that had a great share of enchantments, to do vengeance on finn for his hunting. the three women went then to the opening of a cave that was in the hills, and there they sat down together, and they put three strong enchanted hanks of yarn on crooked holly-sticks, and began to reel them off outside the cave. they were not long there till finn and conan came towards them, and saw the three ugly old hags at their work, their coarse hair tossed, their eyes red and bleary, their teeth sharp and crooked, their arms very long, their nails like the tips of cows' horns, and the three spindles in their hands. finn and conan passed through the hanks of yarn to get a better look at the hags. and no sooner had they done that, than a deadly trembling came on them and a weakness, and the bold hags took hold of them and put them in tight bonds. two other men of the fianna came up then, and the sons of menhann along with them, and they went through the spindles to where finn and conan were, and their strength went from them in the same way, and the hags tied them fast and carried them into the cave. they were not long there till caoilte and lugaidh's son came to the place, and along with them the best men of the sons of baiscne. the sons of morna came as well, and no sooner did they see the hanks than their strength and their bravery went out of them the same as it went from the others. and in the end the whole number of them, gentle and simple, were put in bonds by the hags, and brought into the cave. and there began at the mouth of the cave a great outcry of hounds calling for their masters that had left them there. and there was lying on the hillside a great heap of deer, and wild pigs, and hares, and badgers, dead and torn, that were brought as far as that by the hunters that were tied up now in the cave. then the three women came in, having swords in their hands, to the place where they were lying, to make an end of them. but first they looked out to see was there ever another man of the fianna to bring in and to make an end of with the rest. and they saw coming towards them a very tall man that was goll, son of morna, the flame of battle. and when the three hags saw him they went to meet him, and they fought a hard battle with him. and great anger came on goll, and he made great strokes at the witches, and at the last he raised up his sword, and with one blow he cut the two that were nearest him through and through. and then the oldest of the three women wound her arms about goll, and he beheading the two others, and he turned to face her and they wrestled together, till at last goll gave her a great twist and threw her on the ground. he tied her fast then with the straps of a shield, and took his sword to make an end of her. but the hag said: "o champion that was never worsted, strong man that never went back in battle, i put my body and my life under the protection of your bravery. and it is better for you," she said, "to get finn and the fianna safe and whole than to have my blood; and i swear by the gods my people swear by," she said, "i will give them back to you again." with that goll set her free, and they went together into the hill where the fianna were lying. and goll said: "loose off the fastenings first from fergus of the true lips and from the other learned men of the fianna; and after that from finn, and oisin, and the twenty-nine sons of morna, and from all the rest." she took off the fastenings then, and the fianna made no delay, but rose up and went out and sat down on the side of the hill. and fergus of the sweet lips looked at goll, son of morna, and made great praises of him, and of all that he had done. chapter iii. donn son of midhir one time the fianna were at their hunting at the island of toraig to the north of ireland, and they roused a fawn that was very wild and beautiful, and it made for the coast, and finn and six of his men followed after it through the whole country, till they came to slieve-nam-ban. and there the fawn put down its head and vanished into the earth, and none of them knew where was it gone to. a heavy snow began to fall then that bent down the tops of the trees like a willow-gad, and the courage and the strength went from the fianna with the dint of the bad weather, and finn said to caoilte: "is there any place we can find shelter to-night?" caoilte made himself supple then, and went over the elbow of the hill southward. and when he looked around him he saw a house full of light, with cups and horns and bowls of different sorts in it. he stood a good while before the door of the house, that he knew to be a house of the sidhe, thinking would it be best go in and get news of it, or to go back to finn and the few men that were with him. and he made up his mind to go into the house, and there he sat down on a shining chair in the middle of the floor; and he looked around him, and he saw, on the one side, eight-and-twenty armed men, each of them having a well-shaped woman beside him. and on the other side he saw six nice young girls, yellow-haired, having shaggy gowns from their shoulders. and in the middle there was another young girl sitting in a chair, and a harp in her hand, and she playing on it and singing. and every time she stopped, a man of them would give her a horn to drink from, and she would give it back to him again, and they were all making mirth around her. she spoke to caoilte then. "caoilte, my life," she said, "give us leave to attend on you now." "do not," said caoilte, "for there is a better man than myself outside, finn, son of cumhal, and he has a mind to eat in this house to-night." "rise up, caoilte, and go for finn," said a man of the house then; "for he never refused any man in his own house, and he will get no refusal from us." caoilte went back then to finn, and when finn saw him he said: "it is long you are away from us, caoilte, for from the time i took arms in my hands i never had a night that put so much hardship on me as this one." the six of them went then into the lighted house and their shields and their arms with them. and they sat down on the edge of a seat, and a girl having yellow hair came and brought them to a shining seat in the middle of the house, and the newest of every food, and the oldest of every drink was put before them. and when the sharpness of their hunger and their thirst was lessened, finn said: "which of you can i question?" "question whoever you have a mind to," said the tallest of the men that was near him. "who are you yourself then?" said finn, "for i did not think there were so many champions in ireland, and i not knowing them." "those eight-and-twenty armed men you see beyond," said the tall man, "had the one father and mother with myself; and we are the sons of midhir of the yellow hair, and our mother is fionnchaem, the fair, beautiful daughter of the king of the sidhe of monaid in the east. and at one time the tuatha de danaan had a gathering, and gave the kingship to bodb dearg, son of the dagda, at his bright hospitable place, and he began to ask hostages of myself and of my brothers; but we said that till all the rest of the men of dea had given them, we would not give them. bodb dearg said then to our father: 'unless you will put away your sons, we will wall up your dwelling-place on you.' so the eight-and-twenty brothers of us came out to look for a place for ourselves; and we searched all ireland till we found this secret hidden place, and we are here ever since. and my own name," he said, "is donn, son of midhir. and we had every one of us ten hundred armed men belonging to himself, but they are all worn away now, and only the eight-and-twenty of us left." "what is it is wearing you away?" said finn. "the men of dea," said donn, "that come three times in every year to give battle to us on the green outside." "what is the long new grave we saw on the green outside?" said finn. "it is the grave of diangalach, a man of enchantments of the men of dea; and that is the greatest loss came on them yet," said donn; "and it was i myself killed him," he said. "what loss came next to that?" said finn. "all the tuatha de danaan had of jewels and riches and treasures, horns and vessels and cups of pale gold, we took from them at the one time." "what was the third greatest loss they had?" said finn. "it was fethnaid, daughter of feclach, the woman-harper of the tuatha de danaan, their music and the delight of their minds," said donn. "and to-morrow," he said, "they will be coming to make an attack on us, and there is no one but myself and my brothers left; and we knew we would be in danger, and that we could make no stand against them. and we sent that bare-headed girl beyond to toraig in the north in the shape of a foolish fawn, and you followed her here. it is that girl washing herself, and having a green cloak about her, went looking for you. "and the empty side of the house," he said, "belonged to our people that the men of dea have killed." they spent that night in drinking and in pleasure. and when they rose up in the morning of the morrow, donn, son of midhir, said to finn, "come out with me now on the lawn till you see the place where we fight the battles every year." they went out then and they looked at the graves and the flag-stones, and donn said: "it is as far as this the men of dea come to meet us." "which of them come here?" said finn. "bodb dearg with his seven sons," said donn; "and angus og, son of the dagda, with his seven sons; and finnbharr of cnoc medha with his seventeen sons; lir of sidhe fionnachaidh with his twenty-seven sons and their sons; tadg, son of nuada, out of the beautiful hill of almhuin; donn of the island and donn of the vat; the two called glas from the district of osraige; dobhran dubthaire from the hill of liamhain of the smooth shirt; aedh of the island of rachrainn in the north; ferai and aillinn and lir and fainnle, sons of eogobal, from cnoc aine in munster; cian and coban and conn, three sons of the king of sidhe monaid in alban; aedh minbhreac of ess ruadh with his seven sons; the children of the morrigu, the great queen, her six-and-twenty women warriors, the two luaths from magh life; derg and drecan out of the hill of beinn edair in the east; bodb dearg himself with his great household, ten hundred ten score and ten. those are the chief leaders of the tuatha de danaan that come to destroy our hill every year." finn went back into the hill then, and told all that to his people. "my people," he said, "it is in great need and under great oppression the sons of midhir are, and it is into great danger we are come ourselves. and unless we make a good fight now," he said, "it is likely we will never see the fianna again." "good finn," every one of them said then, "did you ever see any drawing-back in any of us that you give us that warning?" "i give my word," said finn, "if i would go through the whole world having only this many of the fianna of ireland along with me, i would not know fear nor fright. and good donn," he said, "is it by day or by night the men of dea come against you?" "it is at the fall of night they come," said donn, "the way they can do us the most harm." so they waited till night came on, and then finn said: "let one of you go out now on the green to keep watch for us, the way the men of dea will not come on us without word or warning." and the man they set to watch was not gone far when he saw five strong battalions of the men of dea coming towards him. he went back then to the hill and he said: "it is what i think, that the troops that are come against us this time and are standing now around the grave of the man of enchantments are a match for any other fighting men." finn called to his people then, and he said: "these are good fighters are come against you, having strong red spears. and let you all do well now in the battle. and it is what you have to do," he said, "to keep the little troop of brothers, the sons of midhir, safe in the fight; for it would be a treachery to friendship any harm to come on them, and we after joining them; and myself and caoilte are the oldest among you, and leave the rest of the battle to us." then from the covering time of evening to the edge of the morning they fought the battle. and the loss of the tuatha de danaan was no less a number than ten hundred ten score and ten men. then bodb dearg and midhir and fionnbhar said to one another: "what are we to do with all these? and let lir of sidhe fionnachaidh give us an advice," they said, "since he is the oldest of us." and lir said: "it is what i advise, let every one carry away his friends and his fosterlings, his sons and his brothers, to his own place. and as for us that stop here," he said, "let a wall of fire be made about us on the one side, and a wall of water on the other side." then the men of dea put up a great heap of stones, and brought away their dead; and of all the great slaughter that finn and his men and the sons of midhir had made, there was not left enough for a crow to perch upon. and as to finn and his men, they went back into the hill, hurt and wounded and worn-out. and they stopped in the hill with the sons of midhir through the whole length of a year, and three times in the year the men of dea made an attack on the hill, and a battle was fought. and conn, son of midhir, was killed in one of the battles; and as to the fianna, there were so many wounds on them that the clothing was held off from their bodies with bent hazel sticks, and they lying in their beds, and two of them were like to die. and finn and caoilte and lugaidh's son went out on the green, and caoilte said: "it was a bad journey we made coming to this hill, to leave two of our comrades after us." "it is a pity for whoever will face the fianna of ireland," said lugaidh's son, "and he after leaving his comrades after him." "whoever will go back and leave them, it will not be myself," said finn. then bonn, son of midhir, came to them. "good donn," said finn, "have you knowledge of any physician that can cure our men?" "i only know one physician could do that," said donn; "a physician the tuatha de danaan have with them. and unless a wounded man has the marrow of his back cut through, he will get relief from that physician, the way he will be sound at the end of nine days." "how can we bring that man here," said finn, "for those he is with are no good friends to us?" "he goes out every morning at break of day," said donn, "to gather healing herbs while the dew is on them." "find some one, donn," said caoilte, "that will show me that physician, and, living or dead, i will bring him with me." then aedh and flann, two of the sons of midhir, rose up. "come with us, caoilte," they said, and they went on before him to a green lawn with the dew on it; and when they came to it they saw a strong young man armed and having a cloak of the wool of the seven sheep of the land of promise, and it full of herbs of healing he was after gathering for the men of dea that were wounded in the battle. "who is that man?" said caoilte. "that is the man we came looking for," said aedh. "and mind him well now," he said, "that he will not make his escape from us back to his own people." they ran at him together then, and caoilte took him by the shoulders and they brought him away with them to the ford of the slaine in the great plain of leinster, where the most of the fianna were at that time; and a druid mist rose up about them that they could not be seen. and they went up on a little hill over the ford, and they saw before them four young men having crimson fringed cloaks and swords with gold hilts, and four good hunting hounds along with them. and the young man could not see them because of the mist, but caoilte saw they were his own two sons, colla and faolan, and two other young men of the fianna, and he could hear them talking together, and saying it was a year now that finn, son of cumhal, was gone from them. "and what will the fianna of ireland do from this out," said one of them, "without their lord and their leader?" "there is nothing for them to do," said another, "but to go to teamhair and to break up there, or to find another leader for themselves." and there was heavy sorrow on them for the loss of their lord; and it was grief to caoilte to be looking at them. and he and the two sons of midhir went back then by the lake of the two birds to slieve-nam ban, and they went into the hill. and finn and donn gave a great welcome to luibra, the physician, and they showed him their two comrades that were lying in their wounds. "those men are brothers to me," said donn, "and tell me how can they be cured?" luibra looked then at their wounds, and he said: "they can be cured if i get a good reward." "you will get that indeed," said caoilte; "and tell me now," he said, "how long will it take to cure them?" "it will take nine days," said luibra. "it is a good reward you will get," said caoilte, "and this is what it is, your own life to be left to you. but if these young men are not healed," he said, "it is my own hand will strike off your head." and within nine days the physician had done a cure on them, and they were as well and as sound as before. and it was after that time the high king sent a messenger to bring the fianna to the feast of teamhair. and they all gathered to it, men and women, boys and heroes and musicians. and goll, son of morna, was sitting at the feast beside the king. "it is a great loss you have had, fianna of ireland," said the king, "losing your lord and your leader, finn, son of cumhal." "it is a great loss indeed," said goll. "there has no greater loss fallen on ireland since the loss of lugh, son of ethne," said the king. "what orders will you give to the fianna now, king?" said goll. "to yourself, goll," said the king, "i will give the right of hunting over all ireland till we know if the loss of finn is lasting." "i will not take finn's place," said goll, "till he has been wanting to us through the length of three years, and till no person in ireland has any hope of seeing him again." then ailbe of the freckled face said to the king: "what should these seventeen queens belonging to finn's household do?" "let a safe, secret sunny house be given to every one of them," said the king; "and let her stop there and her women with her, and let provision be given to her for a month and a quarter and a year till we have knowledge if finn is alive or dead." then the king stood up, and a smooth drinking-horn in his hand, and he said: "it would be a good thing, men of ireland, if any one among you could get us news of finn in hills or in secret places, or in rivers or invers, or in any house of the sidhe in ireland or in alban." with that berngal, the cow-owner from the borders of slieve fuad, that was divider to the king of ireland, said: "the day finn came out from the north, following after a deer of the sidhe, and his five comrades with him, he put a sharp spear having a shining head in my hand, and a hound's collar along with it, and he bade me to keep them till he would meet me again in the same place." berngal showed the spear and the collar then to the king and to goll, and they looked at them and the king said: "it is a great loss to the men of ireland the man is that owned this collar and this spear. and were his hounds along with him?" he said. "they were," said berngal; "bran and sceolan were with finn, and breac and lainbhui with caoilte, and conuall and comrith with lugaidh's son." the high king called then for fergus of the true lips, and he said: "do you know how long is finn away from us?" "i know that well," said fergus; "it is a month and a quarter and a year since we lost him. and indeed it is a great loss he is to the fianna of ireland," he said, "himself and the men that were with him." "it is a great loss indeed," said the king, "and i have no hope at all of finding those six that were the best men of ireland or of alban." and then he called to cithruadh, the druid, and he said: "it is much riches and many treasures finn gave you, and tell us now is he living or is he dead?" "he is living," said cithruadh then. "but as to where he is, i will give no news of that," he said, "for he himself would not like me to give news of it." there was great joy among them when they heard that, for everything cithruadh had ever foretold had come true. "tell us when will he come back?" said the king. "before the feast of teamhair is over," said the druid, "you will see the leader of the fianna drinking at it." and as to finn and his men, they stopped in the house of the two birds till they had taken hostages for donn, son of midhir, from the tuatha de danaan. and on the last day of the feast of teamhair they came back to their people again. and from that time out the fianna of ireland had not more dealings with the people living in houses than they had with the people of the gods of dana. chapter iv. the hospitality of cuanna's house it happened one day finn and oisin and caoilte and diarmuid and lugaidh's son went up on the top of cairn feargall, and their five hounds with them, bran and sceolan, sear dubh, luath luachar and adhnuall. and they were not long there till they saw a giant coming towards them, very tall and rough and having an iron fork on his back and a squealing pig between the prongs of the fork. and there was a beautiful eager young girl behind the giant, shoving him on before her. "let some one go speak with those people," said finn. so diarmuid went towards them, but they turned away before he came to them. then finn and the rest rose up and went after them, but before they came to the giant and the girl, a dark druid mist rose up that hid the road. and when the mist cleared away, finn and the rest looked about them, and they saw a good light-roofed house at the edge of a ford near at hand. they went on to the house, and there was a green lawn before it, and in the lawn two wells, and on the edge of one well there was a rough iron vessel, and on the edge of the other a copper vessel. they went into the house then, and they found there a very old white-haired man, standing to the right hand of the door, and the beautiful young girl they saw before, sitting near him, and the great rough giant beside the fire, and he boiling a pig. and on the other side of the fire there was an old countryman, having dark-grey hair and twelve eyes in his head, and his twelve eyes were twelve sons of battle. and there was a ram in the house having a white belly and a very black head, and dark-blue horns and green feet. and there was a hag in the end of the house and a worn grey gown on her, and there was no one in the house but those. and the man at the door gave them a welcome, and then the five of them sat down on the floor of the house, and their hounds along with them. "let great respect be shown to finn, son of cumhal, and to his people," said the man at the door. "it is the way i am," said the giant, "to be asking always and getting nothing." but for all that he rose up and showed respect to finn. presently there came a great thirst on finn, and no one took notice of it but caoilte, and he began complaining greatly. "why are you complaining, caoilte?" said the man at the door; "you have but to go out and get a drink for finn at whichever of the wells you will choose." caoilte went out then, and he brought the full of the copper vessel to finn, and finn took a drink from it, and there was the taste of honey on it while he was drinking, and the taste of gall on it after, so that fierce windy pains and signs of death came on him, and his appearance changed, that he would hardly be known. and caoilte made greater complaints than he did before on account of the way he was, till the man at the door bade him to go out and to bring him a drink from the other well. so caoilte did that, and brought in the full of the iron vessel. and finn never went through such great hardship in any battle as he did drinking that draught, from the bitterness of it; but no sooner did he drink it than his own colour and appearance came back to him and he was as well as before, and his people were very glad when they saw that. then the man of the house asked was the pig ready that was in the cauldron. "it is ready," said the giant; "and leave the dividing of it to me," he said. "what way will you divide it?" said the man of the house. "i will give one hind quarter to finn and his dogs," said the giant, "and the other hind quarter to finn's four comrades; and the fore quarter to myself, and the chine and the rump to the old man there by the fire and the hag in the corner; and the entrails to yourself and to the young girl that is beside you." "i give my word," said the man of the house, "you have shared it well." "i give my word," said the ram, "it is a bad division to me, for you have forgotten my share in it." with that he took hold of the quarter that was before the fianna, and brought it into a corner and began to eat it. on that the four of them attacked him with their swords, but with all the hard strokes they gave they could not harm him at all, for the swords slipped from his back the same as they would from a rock. "on my word it is a pity for any one that has the like of you for comrades," said the man with the twelve eyes, "and you letting a sheep bring away your food from you." with that he went up to the ram and took him by the feet and threw him out from the door that he fell on his back, and they saw him no more. it was not long after that, the hag rose up and threw her pale grey gown over finn's four comrades, and they turned to four old men, weak and withered, their heads hanging. when finn saw that there came great dread on him, and the man at the door saw it, and he bade him to come over to him, and to put his head in his breast and to sleep. finn did that, and the hag took her covering off the four men, the way that when finn awoke they were in their own shape again, and it is well pleased he was to see that. "is there wonder on you, finn?" said the man at the door, "at the ways of this house?" "i never wondered more at anything i ever saw," said finn. "i will tell you the meaning of them, so," said the man. "as to the giant you saw first," he said, "having the squealing pig in the prongs of his fork, sluggishness is his name; and the girl here beside me that was shoving him along is liveliness, for liveliness pushes on sluggishness, and liveliness goes farther in the winking of an eye than the foot can travel in a year. the old man there beyond with the twelve bright eyes betokens the world, and he is stronger than any other, and he showed that when he made nothing of the ram. the ram you saw betokens the desires of men. the hag is old age, and her gown withered up your four comrades. and the two wells you drank the two draughts out of," he said, "betoken lying and truth; for it is sweet to people to be telling a lie, but it is bitter in the end. and as to myself," he said, "cuanna from innistuil is my name, and it is not here i am used to be, but i took a very great love for you, finn, because of your wisdom and your great name, and so i put these things in your way that i might see you. and the hospitality of cuanna's house to finn will be the name of this story to the end of the world. and let you and your men come together now," he said, "and sleep till morning." so they did that, and when they awoke in the morning, it is where they were, on the top of cairn feargall, and their dogs and their arms beside them. chapter v. cat-heads and dog-heads nine of the fianna set out one time, looking for a pup they wanted, and they searched through many places before they found it. all through magh leine they searched, and through the valley of the swords, and through the storm of druim cleibh, and it is pleasant the plain of the life looked after it; but not a pup could they find. then they went searching through durlass of the generous men, and great teamhair and dun dobhran and ceanntsaile, men and dogs searching the whole of ireland, but not a pup could they find. and while they were going from place to place, and their people with them, they saw the three armies of the sons of the king of ruadhleath coming towards them. cat-headed one army was, and the one alongside of it was dog-headed, and the men of the third army were white-backed. and when the fianna saw them coming, finn held up his shining spear, and light-hearted caoilte gave out a great shout that was heard in almhuin, and in magh leine, and in teamhair, and in dun reithlein. and that shout was answered by goll, son of morna, and by faolan, finn's son that was with him, and by the stutterers from burren, and by the two sons of maith breac, and by iolunn of the sharp edge, and by cael of the sharp sword, that never gave his ear to tale-bearers. it is pleasant the sound was then of the spears and the armies and of the silken banners that were raised up in the gusty wind of the morning. and as to the banners, finn's banner, the dealb-greine, the sun-shape, had the likeness of the sun on it; and coil's banner was the fulang duaraidh, that was the first and last to move in a battle; and faolan's banner was the coinneal catha, the candle of battle; and oisin's banner was the donn nimhe, the dark deadly one; and caoilte's was the lamh dearg, the red hand; and osgar's was the sguab gabhaidh that had a broom of rowan branches on it, and the only thing asked when the fight was at the hottest was where that broom was; and merry diarmuid's banner was the liath loinneach, the shining grey; and the craobh fuileach, the bloody branch, was the banner of lugaidh's son. and as to conan, it is a briar he had on his banner, because he was always for quarrels and for trouble. and it used to be said of him he never saw a man frown without striking him, or a door left open without going in through it. and when the fianna had raised their banners they attacked the three armies; and first of all they killed the whole of the cat-heads, and then they took the dog-heads in hand and made an end of them, and of the white-backs along with them. and after that they went to a little hill to the south, having a double dun on it, and it is there they found a hound they were able to get a pup from. and by that time they had searched through the whole of ireland, and they did not find in the whole of it a hundred men that could match their nine. and as well as their banners, some of the fianna had swords that had names to them, mac an luin, son of the waves, that belonged to finn; and ceard-nan gallan, the smith of the branches, that was oisin's; and caoilte's cruadh-chosgarach, the hard destroying one; and diarmuid's liomhadoir, the burnisher; and osgar's cosgarach mhor, the great triumphant one. and it is the way they got those swords: there came one time to where finn and caoilte and some others of the fianna were, a young man, very big and ugly, having but one foot and one eye; a cloak of black skins he had over his shoulders, and in his hand a blunt ploughshare that was turning to red. and he told them he was lon, son of liobhan, one of the three smiths of the king of lochlann. and whether he thought to go away from the fianna, or to bring them to his smithy, he started running, and they followed after him all through ireland, to slieve-na-righ, and to luimnech, and to ath luain, and by the right side of cruachan of connacht, and to ess ruadh and to beinn edair, and so to the sea. and wherever it was they found the smithy, they went into it, and there they found four smiths working, and every one of them having seven hands. and finn and caoilte and the rest stopped there watching them till the swords were made, and they brought them away with them then, and it is good use they made of them afterwards. and besides his sword, mac an luin, finn had a shield was called sgiath gailbhinn, the storm shield; and when it called out it could be heard all through ireland. and whether or not it was the storm shield, finn had a wonderful shield that he did great deeds with, and the story of it is this: at the time of the battle of the great battle of magh tuireadh, lugh, after he had struck the head off balor of the evil eye, hung it in the fork of a hazel-tree. and the tree split, and the leaves fell from it with the dint of the poison that dropped from the head. and through the length of fifty years that tree was a dwelling-place of crows and of ravens. and at the end of that time manannan, son of lir, was passing by, and he took notice of the tree that it was split and withered, and he bade his men to dig it up. and when they began to dig, a mist of poison rose up from the roots, and nine of the men got their death from it, and another nine after them, and the third nine were blinded. and luchtaine the carpenter made a shield of the wood of that hazel for manannan. and after a while manannan gave it, and a set of chessmen along with it, to tadg, son of nuada; and from him it came to his grandson, finn, son of muirne and of cumhal. chapter vi. lomna's head finn took a wife one time of the luigne of midhe. and at the same time there was in his household one lomna, a fool. finn now went into tethra, hunting with the fianna, but lomna stopped at the house. and after a while he saw coirpre, a man of the luigne, go in secretly to where finn's wife was. and when the woman knew he had seen that, she begged and prayed of lomna to hide it from finn. and lomna agreed to that, but it preyed on him to have a hand in doing treachery on finn. and after a while he took a four-square rod and wrote an ogham on it, and these were the words he wrote:--"an alder stake in a paling of silver; deadly night-shade in a bunch of cresses; a husband of a lewd woman; a fool among the well-taught fianna; heather on bare ualann of luigne." finn saw the message, and there was anger on him against the woman; and she knew well it was from lomna he had heard the story, and she sent a message to coirpre bidding him to come and kill the fool. so coirpre came and struck his head off, and brought it away with him. and when finn came back in the evening he saw the body, and it without a head. "let us know whose body is this," said the fianna. and then finn did the divination of rhymes, and it is what he said: "it is the body of lomna; it is not by a wild boar he was killed; it is not by a fall he was killed; it is not in his bed he died; it is by his enemies he died; it is not a secret to the luigne the way he died. and let out the hounds now on their track," he said. so they let out the hounds, and put them on the track of coirpre, and finn followed them, and they came to a house, and coirpre in it, and three times nine of his men and he cooking fish on a spit; and lomna's head was on a spike beside the fire. and the first of the fish that was cooked coirpre divided between his men, but he put no bit into the mouth of the head. and then he made a second division in the same way. now that was against the law of the fianna, and the head spoke, and it said: "a speckled white-bellied salmon that grows from a small fish under the sea; you have shared a share that is not right; the fianna will avenge it upon you, coirpre." "put the head outside," said coirpre, "for that is an evil word for us." then the head said from outside: "it is in many pieces you will be; it is great fires will be lighted by finn in luigne." and as it said that, finn came in, and he made an end of coirpre, and of his men. chapter vii. ilbrec of ess ruadh one time caoilte was hunting on beinn gulbain, and he went on to ess ruadh. and when he came near the hill of the sidhe that is there, he saw a young man waiting for him, having a crimson fringed cloak about him, and on his breast a silver brooch, and a white shield, ornamented with linked beasts of red gold, and his hair rolled in a ball at the back, and covered with a golden cup. and he had heavy green weapons, and he was holding two hounds in a silver chain. and when caoilte came up to him he gave him three loving kisses, and sat down beside him on the grass. "who are you, young champion?" said caoilte. "i am derg, son of eoghan of the people of usnach," he said, "and foster-brother of your own." caoilte knew him then, and he said: "and what is your life with your mother's people, the tuatha de danaan in sidhe aedha?" "there is nothing wanting to us there of food or of clothing," said the young man. "but for all that," he said, "i would sooner live the life of the worst treated of the serving-boys of the fianna than the life i am living in the hill of the sidhe." "lonely as you are at your hunting to-day," said caoilte, "it is often i saw you coming to the valley of the three waters in the south, where the siuir and the beoir and the berba come together, with a great company about you; fifteen hundred young men, fifteen hundred serving-boys, and fifteen hundred women." "that was so," said derg; "and although myself and my gentle hound are living in the hill of the sidhe, my mind is always on the fianna. and i remember well the time," he said, "when you yourself won the race against finn's lasting black horse. and come now into the hill," he said, "for the darkness of the night is coming on." so he brought caoilte into the hill with him, and they were set down in their right places. it was at that time, now, there was great war between lir of sidhe fionnachaidh and ilbrec of ess ruadh. there used a bird with an iron beak and a tail of fire to come every evening to a golden window of ilbrec's house, and there he would shake himself till he would not leave sword on pillow, or shield on peg, or spear in rack, but they would come down on the heads of the people of the house; and whatever they would throw at the bird, it is on the heads of some of themselves it would fall. and the night caoilte came in, the hall was made ready for a feast, and the bird came in again, and did the same destruction as before, and nothing they threw at him would touch him at all. "is it long the bird has been doing this?" said caoilte. "through the length of a year now," said derg, "since we went to war with sidhe fionnachaidh." then caoilte put his hand within the rim of his shield, and he took out of it a copper rod he had, and he made a cast of it at the bird, that brought it down on the floor of the hall. "did any one ever make a better cast than that?" said ilbrec. "by my word," said caoilte, "there is no one of us in the fianna has any right to boast against another." then ilbrec took down a sharp spear, having thirty rivets of gold in it, from its place, and he said: "that is the spear of fiacha, son of congha, and it is with that finn made an end of aillen, son of midhna, that used to burn teamhair. and keep it beside you now, caoilte," he said, "till we see will lir come to avenge his bird on us." then they took up their horns and their cups, and they were at drinking and pleasure, and ilbrec said: "well, caoilte," he said, "if lir comes to avenge his bird on us, who will you put in command of the battle?" "i will give the command to derg there beyond," said he. "will you take it in hand, derg?" said the people of the hill. "i will take it," said derg, "with its loss and its gain." so that is how they spent the night, and it was not long in the morning till they heard blowing of horns, and rattling of chariots, and clashing of shields, and the uproar of a great army that came all about the hill. they sent some of their people out then to see were there many in it, and they saw three brave armies of the one size. "it would be a great vexation to me," said aedh nimbrec, the speckled, then, "we to get our death and lir's people to take the hill." "did you never hear, aedh," said caoilte, "that the wild boar escapes sometimes from both hounds and from wolves, and the stag in the same way goes away from the hounds with a sudden start; and what man is it you are most in dread of in the battle?" he said. "the man that is the best fighter of all the men of dea," said they all, "and that is lir of sidhe fionnachaidh." "the thing i have done in every battle i will not give up to-day," said caoilte, "to meet the best man that is in it hand to hand." "the two that are next to him in fighting," they said then, "are donn and dubh." "i will put down those two," said derg. then the host of the sidhe went out to the battle, and the armies attacked one another with wide green spears and with little casting spears, and with great stones; and the fight went on from the rising of the day till midday. and then caoilte and lir met with one another, and they made a very fierce fight, and at the last lir of sidhe fionnachaidh fell by the hand of caoilte. then the two good champions dubh and donn, sons of eirrge, determined to go on with the battle, and it is how they fought, dubh in the front of the whole army, and donn behind all, guarding the rear. but derg saw that, and he put his finger into the thong of his spear and made a cast at the one that was nearest him, and it broke his back and went on into the body of the other, so that the one cast made an end of the two. and that ended the battle, and all that was left of the great army of lir went wearing away to the north. and there was great rejoicing in the hill at ess ruadh, and ilbrec took the spoils of the beaten army for his people, and to caoilte he gave the enchanted spear of fiacha, together with nine rich cloaks and nine long swords with hilts and guards of gold, and nine hounds for hunting. and they said farewell to one another, and caoilte left his blessing to the people of the hill, and he brought their thanks with him. and as hard as the battle had been, it was harder again for derg to part from his comrade, and the day he was parted from finn and from all the fianna was no sadder to him than this day. it was a long time after that caoilte went again to the hill of ilbrec at ess ruadh, and this is the way it happened. it was in a battle at beinn edair in the east that mane, son of the king of lochlann, made a cast at him in the middle of the battle with a deadly spear. and he heard the whistling of the spear, and it rushing to him; and he lifted his shield to protect his head and his body, but that did not save him, for it struck into his thigh, and left its poison in it, so that he had to go in search of healing. and it is where he went, to the hill of the sidhe at ess ruadh, to ask help of bebind, daughter of elcmar of brugh na boinne, that had the drink of healing of the tuatha de danaan, and all that was left of the ale of goibniu that she used to be giving out to them. and caoilte called to cascorach the musician, son of caincenn, and bade him bring his harp and come along with him. and they stopped for a night in the hill of the sidhe of druim nemed in luigne of connacht, and from that they went forward by ess dara, the fall of the oaks, and druim dearg na feinne, the red ridge of the fianna, and ath daim glas, the ford of the grey stag, and to beinn gulbain, and northward into the plain of ceitne, where the men of dea used to pay their tribute to the fomor; and up to the footstep of ess ruadh, and the high place of the boys, where the boys of the tuatha de danaan used to be playing their hurling. and aedh of ess ruadh and ilbrec of ess ruadh were at the door of the hill, and they gave caoilte a true welcome. "i am glad of that welcome," said caoilte. and then bebind, daughter of elcmar of brugh na boinne, came out, and three times fifty comely women about her, and she sat down on the green grass and gave three loving kisses to the three, to caoilte and to cascorach and to fermaise, that had come with them out of the hill of the sidhe in luigne of connacht. and all the people of the hill welcomed them, and they said: "it is little your friendship would be worth if you would not come to help us and we in need of help." "it was not for bravery i was bade come," said cascorach; "but when the right time comes i will make music for you if you have a mind to hear it." "it is not for deeds of bravery we are come," said fermaise, "but we will give you our help if you are in need of it." then caoilte told them the cause of his journey. "we will heal you well," said they. and then they all went into the hill and stayed there three days and three nights at drinking and pleasure. and indeed it was good help caoilte and cascorach gave them after that. for there was a woman-warrior used to come every year with the ships of the men of lochlann to make an attack on the tuatha de danaan. and she had been reared by a woman that knew all enchantments, and there was no precious thing in all the hills of the sidhe but she had knowledge of it, and would bring it away. and just at this time there came a messenger to the door of the hill with news that the harbour was full of ships, and that a great army had landed, and the woman-warrior along with it. and it was cascorach the musician went out against her, having a shield he got the loan of from donn, son of midhir; and she used high words when she saw so young a man coming to fight with her, and he alone. but he made an end of her for all her high talk, and left her lying on the strand with the sea foam washing up to her. and as to caoilte, he went out in a chariot belonging to midhir of the yellow hair, son of the dagda, and a spear was given him that was called ben-badb, the war-woman, and he made a cast of the spear that struck the king of lochlann, that he fell in the middle of his army, and the life went from him. and fermaise went looking for the king's brother, eolus, that was the comeliest of all the men of the world; and he knew him by the band of gold around his head, and his green armour, and his red shield, and he killed him with a cast of a five-pronged spear. and when the men of lochlann saw their three leaders were gone, they went into their ships and back to their own country. and there was great joy through the whole country, both among the men of ireland and the tuatha de danaan, the men of lochlann to have been driven away by the deeds of caoilte and fermaise and cascorach. and that was not all they did, for it was at that time there came three flocks of beautiful red birds from slieve fuad in the north, and began eating the green grass before the hill of the sidhe. "what birds are those?" said caoilte. "three flocks they are that come and destroy the green every year, eating it down to the bare flag-stones, till they leave us no place for our races," said ilbrec. then caoilte and his comrades took up three stones and threw them at the flocks and drove them away. "power and blessings to you," said the people of the sidhe then, "that is a good work you have done. and there is another thing you can do for us," they said, "for there are three ravens come to us every year out of the north, and the time the young lads of the hill are playing their hurling, each one of the ravens carries off a boy of them. and it is to-morrow the hurling will be," they said. so when the full light of day was come on the morrow, the whole of the tuatha de danaan went out to look at the hurling; and to every six men of them was given a chess-board, and a board for some other game to every five, and to every ten men a little harp, and a harp to every hundred men, and pipes that were sharp and powerful to every nine. then they saw the three ravens from the north coming over the sea, and they pitched on the great tree of power that was on the green, and they gave three gloomy screeches, that if such a thing could be, would have brought the dead out of the earth or the hair off the head of the listeners; and as it was, they took the courage out of the whole gathering. then cascorach, son of caincenn, took a man of the chessmen and made a cast at one of the ravens that struck his beak and his throat, and made an end of him; and fermaise killed the second of them, and caoilte the third of them in the same way. "let my cure be done now," said caoilte, "for i have paid my fee for it, and it is time." "you have paid it indeed," said ilbrec. "and where is bebind, daughter of elcmar?" he said. "i am here," said she. "bring caoilte, son of ronan, with you into some hidden place," he said, "and do his cure, and let him be well served, for he has driven every danger from the men of dea and from the sons of the gael. and let cascorach make music for him, and let fermaise, son of eogabil, be watching him and guarding him and attending him." so elcmar's daughter went to the house of arms, and her two sons with her, and a bed of healing was made ready for caoilte, and a bowl of pale gold was brought to her, and it full of water. and she took a crystal vessel and put herbs into it, and she bruised them and put them in the water, and gave the bowl to caoilte, and he drank a great drink out of it, that made him cast up the poison of the spear that was in him. five drinks of it he took, and after that she gave him new milk to drink; but with the dint of the reaching he was left without strength through the length of three days and three nights. "caoilte, my life," she said then, "in my opinion you have got relief." "i have got it indeed," he said, "but that the weakness of my head is troubling me." "the washing of flann, daughter of flidais, will be done for you now," she said, "and the head that washing is done for will never be troubled with pain, or baldness, or weakness of sight." so that cure was done to him for a while; and the people of the hill divided themselves into three parts; the one part of their best men and great nobles, and another of their young men, and another of their women and poets, to be visiting him and making mirth with him as long as he would be on his bed of healing. and everything that was best from their hunting, it was to him they would bring it. and one day, when elcmar's daughter and her two sons and cascorach and fermaise were with caoilte, there was heard a sound of music coming towards them from the waters of ess ruadh, and any one would leave the music of the whole world for that music. and they put their harps on the corners of the pillars and went out, and there was wonder on caoilte that they left him. and he took notice that his strength and the strength of his hands was not come to him yet, and he said: "it is many a rough battle and many a hard fight i went into, and now there is not enough strength in me so much as to go out along with the rest," and he cried tears down. and the others came back to him then, and he asked news of them. "what was that sound of music we heard?" he said. "it was uaine out of the hill of the sidhe, at the wave of cliodna in the south," said they; "and with her the birds of the land of promise; and she is musician to the whole of that country. and every year she goes to visit one of the hills of the sidhe, and it is our turn this time." then the woman from the land of promise came into the house, and the birds came in along with her, and they pitched on the pillars and the beams, and thirty of them came in where caoilte was, began singing together. and cascorach took his harp, and whatever he would play, the birds would sing to it. "it is much music i have heard," said caoilte, "but music so good as that i never heard before." and after that caoilte asked to have the healing of his thigh done, and the daughter of elcmar gave herself to that, and all that was bad was sucked from the wound by her serving people till it was healed. and caoilte stopped on where he was for three nights after that. and then the people of the hill rose up and went into the stream to swim. and caoilte said: "what ails me now not to go swim, since my health has come back to me?" and with that he went into the water. and afterwards they went back into the hill, and there was a great feast made that night. and caoilte bade them farewell after that, and cascorach, but fermaise stopped with them for a while. and the people of the hill gave good gifts to caoilte; a fringed crimson cloak of wool from the seven sheep of the land of promise; and a fish-hook that was called aicil mac mogha, and that could not be set in any river or inver but it would take fish; and along with that they gave him a drink of remembrance, and after that drink there would be no place he ever saw, or no battle or fight he ever was in, but it would stay in his memory. "that is a good help from kinsmen and from friends," said caoilte. then caoilte and cascorach went out from the hill, and the people of it made a great lamentation after them. chapter viii. the cave of cruachan caolite was one time at cruachan of connacht, and cascorach was with him, and there he saw sitting on a heap of stones a man with very rough grey hair, having a dark brown cloak fastened with a pin of bronze, and a long stick of white hazel in his hand; and there was a herd of cattle before him in a fenced field. caoilte asked news of him. "i am steward to the king of ireland," said the old man, "and it is from him i hold this land. and we have great troubles on us in this district," he said. "what troubles are those?" said caoilte. "i have many herds of cattle," he said, "and every year at samhain time, a woman comes out of the hill of the sidhe of cruachan and brings away nine of the best out of every herd. and as to my name, i am bairnech, son of carbh of collamair of bregia." "who was the best man that ever came out of collamair?" said caoilte. "i know, and the men of ireland and of alban know," said he, "it was caoilte, son of ronan. and do you know where is that man now?" he said. "i myself am that man and your own kinsman," said caoilte. when bairnech heard that, he gave him a great welcome, and caoilte gave him three kisses. "it seems to me that to-night is samhain night," said caoilte. "if that is so, it is to-night the woman will come to rob us," said bernech. "let me go to-night to the door of the hill of the sidhe," said cascorach. "you may do that, and bring your arms with you," said caoilte. so cascorach went then, and it was not long till he saw the girl going past him out of the hill of cruachan, having a beautiful cloak of one colour about her; a gown of yellow silk tied up with a knot between her thighs, two spears in her hands, and she not in dread of anything before her or after her. then cascorach blew a blast against her, and put his finger into the thong of his spear, and made a cast at the girl that went through her, and that is the way she was made an end of by cascorach of the music. and then bernech said to caoilte: "caoilte," he said, "do you know the other oppression that is on me in this place?" "what oppression is that?" said caoilte. "three she-wolves that come out of the cave of cruachan every year and destroy our sheep and our wethers, and we can do nothing against them, and they go back into the cave again. and it will be a good friend that will rid us of them," he said. "well, cascorach," said caoilte, "do you know what are the three wolves that are robbing this man?" "i know well," said cascorach, "they are the three daughters of airetach, of the last of the people of oppression of the cave of cruachan, and it is easier for them to do their robbery as wolves than as women." "and will they come near to any one?" said caoilte. "they will only come near to one sort," said cascorach; "if they see the world's men having harps for music, they will come near to them." "and how would it be for me," he said, "to go to-morrow to the cairn beyond, and to bring my harp with me?" so in the morning he rose up and went to the cairn and stopped on it, playing his harp till the coming of the mists of the evening. and while he was there he saw the three wolves coming towards him, and they lay down before him, listening to the music. but cascerach found no way to make an attack on them, and they went back into the cave at the end of the day. cascorach went back then to caoilte and told him what had happened. "go up to-morrow to the same place," said caoilte, "and say to them it would be better for them to be in the shape of women for listening to music than in the shape of wolves." so on the morrow cascorach went out to the same cairn, and set his people about it, and the wolves came there and stretched themselves to listen to the music. and cascorach was saying to them: "if you were ever women," he said, "it would be better for you to be listening to the music as women than as wolves." and they heard that, and they threw off the dark trailing coverings that were about them, for they liked well the sweet music of the sidhe. and when caoilte saw them there side by side, and elbow by elbow, he made a cast of his spear, and it went through the three women, that they were like a skein of thread drawn together on the spear. and that is the way he made an end of the strange, unknown three. and that place got the name of the valley of the shapes of the wolves. chapter ix. the wedding at ceann slieve finn and the fianna made a great hunting one time on the hill of torc that is over loch lein and feara mor. and they went on with their hunting till they came to pleasant green slieve echtge, and from that it spread over other green-topped hills, and through thick tangled woods, and rough red-headed hills, and over the wide plains of the country. and every chief man among them chose the place that was to his liking, and the gap of danger he was used to before. and the shouts they gave in the turns of the hunt were heard in the woods all around, so that they started the deer in the wood, and sent the foxes wandering, and the little red beasts climbing rocks, and badgers from their holes, and birds flying, and fawns running their best. then they let out their angry small-headed hounds and set them hunting. and it is red the hands of the fianna were that day, and it is proud they were of their hounds that were torn and wounded before evening. it happened that day no one stopped with finn but only diorraing, son of domhar. "well, diorraing," said finn, "let you watch for me while i go asleep, for it is early i rose to-day, and it is an early rising a man makes when he cannot see the shadow of his five fingers between himself and the light of day, or know the leaves of the hazel from the leaves of the oak." with that he fell into a quiet sleep that lasted till the yellow light of the evening. and the rest of the fianna, not knowing where he was gone, gave over the hunt. and the time was long to diorraing while finn was asleep, and he roused him and told him the fianna must have given up the hunt, for he could not hear a cry or a whistle from them. "the end of day is come," said finn then, "and we will not follow them to-night. and go now to the wood," he said, "and bring timber and dead branches for a shelter, and i will go looking for food for the night." so diorraing went to the wood, but he was not gone far till he saw a fine well-lighted house of the sidhe before him on the edge of the wood near at hand, and he went back to finn with the news. "let us go to it," said finn, "for we ought not to be working in this place, and people living so near at hand." they went then to the door of the house and knocked at it, and the door-keeper came to it. "whose house is this?" said diorraing. "it belongs to conan of ceann slieve," said the door-keeper. "tell him," said diorraing, "there are two of the fianna of the gael at the door." the door-keeper went in then and told conan there were two men of the fianna at the door. "the one of them," he said, "is young and strong, and quiet and fair-haired, and more beautiful than the rest of the men of the world, and he has in his hand a small-headed, white-breasted hound, having a collar of rubbed gold and a chain of old silver. and the other of them," he said, "is brown and ruddy and white-toothed, and he is leading a yellow-spotted hound by a chain of bright bronze." "it is well you have made your report of them," said conan, "and i know them by it; for the man you spoke of first is finn, son of cumhal, head of the fianna of ireland, and bran in his hand; and the other is diorraing, and sceolan in his hand. and go now quickly and let them in," he said. finn and diorraing were brought in then, and they got good attendance, and their arms were taken from them, and a grand feast was made ready that pleased them well. and the wife of conan was at the one side of finn, and his daughter, finndealbh, of the fair shape, was at his other side. and they had a great deal of talk together, and at last, seeing her so beautiful, the colour of gold on her curled hair, and her eyes as blue as flowers, and a soft four-cornered cloak fastened at her breast with a silver pin, he asked her of conan for his wife. "leave asking that, finn," said conan, "for your own courage is not greater than the courage of the man she is promised to." "who is that?" said finn. "he is fatha, son of the king of ess ruadh," said conan. "your wounds and your danger on yourself," said diorraing; "and it would be right," he said, "that stammering tongue that gave out those words to be tied and to be shortened for ever, and a drink of death to be given to you; for if the whole of the men of dea," he said, "could be put into the one body, finn would be better than them all." "leave off, diorraing," said finn, "for it is not fighting i am here, but asking a wife, and i will get her whether the men of dea think good or bad of it." "i will not be making a quarrel with you," said conan, "but i put you under bonds as a true hero to answer me everything i am going to ask you." "i will do that," said finn. with that conan put questions to finn as to his birth and his rearing, and the deeds he had done since he came to the fianna, and finn gave full answers to them all. and at last he said: "let us go on with this no longer, but if you have musicians with you, let them be brought to us now; for it is not my custom," he said, "to be for a single night without music." "tell me this first," said conan, "who was it made the dord fiann, the mutterer of the fianna, and when was it made?" "i will tell you the truth of that," said finn; "it was made in ireland by the three sons of cearmait honey-mouth; and nine men used to be sounding it, and since it came to me i have fifty men sounding it." "and tell me this," said conan, "what is the music pleased you best of all you ever heard?" "i will tell you that," said finn; "the time the seven battalions of the fianna are gathered in the one place and raise their spear-shafts over their heads, and the sharp whining of the clear, cold wind goes through them, that is very sweet to me. and when the drinking-hall is set out in almhuin, and the cup-bearers give out the bright cups to the chief men of the fianna, that is very sweet to me; and it is sweet to me to be listening to the voice of the sea-gull and the heron, and the noise of the waves of traig liath, the song of the three sons of meardha, the whistle of lugaidh's son, and the voice of the cuckoo in the beginning of summer, and the grunting of the pigs on the plain of eithne, and the shouting of laughter in doire." and it is what he said: "the dord in the green-topped woods, the lasting wash of the waves against the shore, the noise of the waves at traig liath meeting with the river of the white trout; the three men that came to the fianna, a man of them gentle and a man of them rough, another man of them ploughing the clouds, they were sweeter than any other thing. "the grey mane of the sea, the time a man cannot follow its track; the swell that brings the fish to the land, it is sleep-music, its sound is sweet. "feargall, son of fionn, a man that was ready-handed, it is long his leap was, it is well marked his track is; he never gave a story that did not do away with secrets; it is his voice was music of sleep to me." and when finn had answered all the questions so well, conan said he would give him his daughter, and that he would have a wedding-feast ready at the end of a month. they spent the rest of the night then in sleep; but finn saw a dreadful vision through his sleep that made him start three times from his bed. "what makes you start from your bed, finn?" said diorraing. "it was the tuatha de danaan i saw," said he, "taking up a quarrel against me, and making a great slaughter of the fianna." now as to the fianna, they rested at fotharladh of moghna that night, and they were downhearted, having no tidings of finn. and early on the morrow two of them, bran beag and bran mor, rose up and went to mac-an-reith, son of the ram, that had the gift of true knowledge, and they asked him where did finn spend the night. and mac-an-reith was someway unwilling to tell them, but at the last he said it was at the house of conan of ceann slieve. the two brans went on then to conan's house, and finn made them welcome; but they blamed him when they heard he was taking a wife, and none of his people with him. "bid all the fianna to come to the feast at the end of a month," said conan then. so finn and diorraing and the two brans went back to where the fianna were and told them all that had happened, and they went on to almhuin. and when they were in the drinking-hall at almhuin that night, they saw the son of the king of ireland coming to where they were. "it is a pity the king's son to have come," said finn; "for he will not be satisfied without ordering everything in the hall in his own way." "we will not take his orders," said oisin, "but we will leave the half of the hall to him, and keep the other half ourselves." so they did that; but it happened that in the half of the house that was given up to the king of ireland's son, there were sitting two of the men of dea, failbhe mor and failbhe beag; and it is what they said, that it is because they were in that side of the hall it was given up. "it is a pity," said failbhe beag, "this shame and this great insult to have been put on us to-night; and it is likely finn has a mind to do more than that again to us," he said, "for he is going to bring away the woman that is promised to the third best man of the tuatha de danaan, and against the will of her father and mother." and these two went away early in the morning to fionnbhar of magh feabhail, and told him of the insults finn and the fianna of ireland had a mind to put on the tuatha de danaan. and when fionnbhar that was king over the tuatha de danaan heard that, he sent out messengers through the length of ireland to gather them all to him. and there came six good battalions to him on the edge of loch derg dheirc at the end of a month; and it was the same day conan had the wedding-feast made ready for finn and his people. and finn was at teamhair luachra at that time, and when he heard the feast was ready, he set out to go to it. and it chanced that the most of the men he had with him at that time were of the sons of morna. and when they were on their way, finn said to goll, "o goll," he said, "i never felt any fear till now going to a feast. and there are but few of my people with me," he said; "and i know there is no good thing before me, but the men of dea are going to raise a quarrel against me and to kill my people." "i will defend you against anything they may do," said goll. they went on then to conan's house, and there was a welcome before them, and they were brought into the drinking-hall, and finn was put in the place beside the door, and goll on his right and finndeilb, of the fair shape, on his left, and all the rest in the places they were used to. and as to fionnbhar of magh feabhail and the tuatha de danaan, they put a druid mist about themselves and went on, hidden and armed, in sixteen battalions, to the lawn before conan's house. "it is little profit we have being here," they said then, "and goll being with finn against us." "goll will not protect him this time," said ethne, the woman-druid, "for i will entice finn out of the house, however well he is watched." she went on to the house then, and took her stand before finn outside. "who is that before me?" she said then. "it is i myself," said finn. "i put you under the bonds a true hero never broke," she said, "to come out to me here." when finn heard that, he made no delay and went out to her; and for all there were so many in the house, not one of them took notice of him going, only caoilte, and he followed him out. and at the same time the tuatha de danaan let out a flock of blackbirds having fiery beaks, that pitched on the breasts of all the people in the house, and burned them and destroyed them, till the young lads and the women and children of the place ran out on all sides, and the woman of the house, conan's wife, was drowned in the river outside the dun. but as to ethne, the woman-druid, she asked finn would he run against her. "for it is to run a race against you i called you out," she said. "what length of a race?" said finn. "from doire da torc, the wood of the two boars, to ath mor, the great ford," she said. so they set out, but finn got first over the ford. and caoilte was following after them, and finn was urging him, and he said: "it is ashamed of your running you should be, caoilte, a woman to be going past you." on that caoilte made a leap forward, and when he was in front of the witch he turned about and gave a blow of his sword that made two equal halves of her. "power and good luck to you, caoilte!" said finn; "for though it is many a good blow you have struck, you never struck a better one than this." they went back then to the lawn before conan's dun, and there they found the whole company of the tuatha de danaan, that had put the druid mist off them. "it seems to me, caoilte," said finn, "that we are come into the middle of our enemies." with that they turned their backs to one another, and they were attacked on all sides till groans of weakness from the unequal fight were forced from finn. and when goll, that was in the house, heard that, he said: "it is a pity the tuatha de danaan to have enticed finn and caoilte away from us; and let us go to their help and make no delay," he said. then he rushed out, and all that were there of the fianna with him, and conan of ceann slieve and his sons. and great anger came on goll, that he looked like a tall mountain under his grey shield in the battle. and he broke through the tuatha de danaan till he reached to fionnbhar their leader, and they attacked one another, cutting and wounding, till at the last fionnbhar of magh feabhail fell by the strokes of goll. and a great many others fell in that battle, and there never was a harder battle fought in ireland, for there was no man on one side or the other had a mind to go back one step before whoever he was fighting against. for they were the two hardest fighting troops to be found in the four parts of the world, the strong, hardy fianna of the gael, and the beautiful men of dea; and they went near to being all destroyed in that battle. but after a while they saw the rest of the fianna that were not in the battle coming from all parts of ireland. and when the tuatha de danaan saw them coming, they put the druid mist about themselves again and made away. and clouds of weakness came on finn himself, and on them that were with him, with the dint of the fight. and there were many men of the fianna lost in that battle; and as to the rest, it is a long time they stopped in almhuin of leinster, till their wounds were entirely healed. chapter x. the shadowy one and indeed finn had no great luck in going to look for a wife that time; and he had no better luck another time he asked a wife from among the sidhe. and this is the way that happened. it was on the mountain of bearnas mor he was hunting, and a great wild pig turned on the hounds of the fianna and killed the most of them, but bran made an attack on it then and got the best of it. and the pig began to scream, and with that a very tall man came out of the hill and he asked finn to let the pig go free. and when he agreed to that, the man brought them into the hill of the sidhe at glandeirgdeis; and when they came to the door of the house he struck the pig with his druid rod, and on the moment it changed into a beautiful young woman, and the name he called her by was scathach, the shadowy one. and he made a great feast for the fianna, and finn asked the young girl in marriage, and the tall man, her father, said he would give her to him on that very night. but when night came on, scathach asked the loan of a harp, and it was brought to her. one string it had of iron, and one of bronze, and one of silver. and when the iron string would be played, it would set all the hosts of the world crying and ever crying; and when the bright bronze string would be played, it would set them all laughing from the one day to the same hour on the morrow; and when the silver string would be played, all the men of the whole world would fall into a long sleep. and it is the sleepy silver string the shadowy one played upon, till finn and bran and all his people were in their heavy sleep. and when they awoke at the rising of the sun on the morrow, it is outside on the mountain of bearnas they were, where they first saw the wild pig. chapter xi. finn's madness one time finn and the fianna were come to a ford of the slaine, and they sat down for a while. and as they were sitting there they saw on the round rock up over the ford a young woman, having a dress of silk and a green cloak about her, and a golden brooch in the cloak, and the golden crown that is the sign of a queen on her head. "fianna of ireland," she said, "let one of you come now and speak with me." then sciathbreac, of the speckled shield, went towards her. "who is it you are wanting?" he said, "finn, son of cumhal," said she. finn went over then to talk with her. "who are you?" he said, "and what is it you are wanting?" "i am daireann, daughter of bodb dearg, son of the dagda," she said; "and i am come to be your wife if you will give me the bride-gift i ask." "what bride-gift is that?" said finn. "it is your promise," said she, "i to be your only wife through the length of a year, and to have the half of your time after that." "i will not give that promise," said finn, "to any woman of the world, and i will not give it to you," he said. on that the young woman took a cup of white silver from under a covering, and filled it with strong drink, and she gave it to finn. "what is this?" said finn. "it is very strong mead," said she. now there were bonds on finn not to refuse anything belonging to a feast, so he took the cup and drank what was in it, and on the moment he was like one gone mad. and he turned his face towards the fianna, and every harm and every fault and every misfortune in battle that he knew against any one of them, he sprang it on them, through the mad drunkenness the young woman had put on him. then the chief men of the fianna of ireland rose up and left the place to him, every one of them setting out for his own country, till there was no one left upon the hill but finn and caoilte. and caoilte rose up and followed after them, and he said: "fianna of ireland," he said, "do not leave your lord and your leader through the arts and the tricks of a woman of the sidhe." thirteen times he went after them, bringing them back to the hill in that way. and with the end of the day and the fall of night the bitterness went from finn's tongue; and by the time caoilte had brought back the whole of the fianna, his sense and his memory were come back to him, and he would sooner have fallen on his sword and got his death, than have stayed living. and that was the hardest day's work caoilte ever did, unless the day he brought the flock of beasts and birds to teamhair, to ransom finn from the high king of ireland. another time maer, wife of bersa of berramain, fell in love with finn, and she made nine nuts of segair with love charms, and sent them to finn, and bade him eat them. "i will not," said finn; "for they are not nuts of knowledge, but nuts of ignorance; and it is not known what they are, unless they might be an enchantment for drinking love." so he buried them a foot deep in the earth. chapter xii. the red woman one time the fianna were in almhuin with no great work to do, and there came a very misty morning, and finn was in dread that sluggishness would come on his men, and he rose up, and he said: "make yourselves ready, and we will go hunting to gleann-na-smol." they all said the day was too misty to go hunting; but there was no use in talking: they had to do as finn bade them. so they made themselves ready and went on towards gleann-na-smol; and they were not gone far when the mist lifted and the sun came shining out. and when they were on the edge of a little wood, they saw a strange beast coming towards them with the quickness of the wind, and a red woman on its track. narrow feet the beast had, and a head like the head of a boar, and long horns on it; but the rest of it was like a deer, and there was a shining moon on each of its sides. finn stopped, and he said: "fianna of ireland," he said, "did you ever see a beast like that one until now?" "we never did indeed," said they; "and it would be right for us to let out the hounds after it." "wait a while," said finn, "till i speak with the red woman; but do not let the beast go past you," he said. they thought to keep back the beast then, going before it; but they were hardly able to hinder it at all, and it went away through them. and when the red woman was come up to them, finn asked her what was the name of the beast she was following. "i do not know that," she said, "though i am on its track since i left the borders of loch dearg a month ago, and i never lost sight of it since then; and the two moons that are on its two sides shine through the country all around in the night time. and i must follow it till it falls," she said, "or i will lose my own life and the lives of my three sons that are the best fighting men in the whole world." "we will take the beast for you if you have a mind," said finn. "do not try to do that," she said, "for i myself am swifter than you are, and i cannot come up with it." "we will not let it go till we know what sort of a beast is it," said finn. "if you yourself or your share of men go after it, i will bind you hand and foot," said she. "it is too stiff your talk is," said finn. "and do you not know," he said, "i am finn, son of cumhal; and there are fourscore fighting men along with me that were never beaten yet." "it is little heed i give to yourself or your share of men," said the red woman; "and if my three sons were here, they would stand up against you." "indeed it will be a bad day," said finn, "when the threat of a woman will put fear on myself or on the fianna of ireland." with that he sounded his horn, and he said: "let us all follow now, men and dogs, after that beast that we saw." he had no sooner said that word than the woman made a great water-worm of herself, and made an attack on finn, and she would have killed him then and there but for bran being with him. bran took a grip of the worm and shook it, and then it wound itself round bran's body, and would have crushed the life out of her, but finn thrust his sharp sword into its throat. "keep back your hand," said the worm then, "and you will not have the curse of a lonely woman upon you." "it is what i think," said finn, "that you would not leave me my life if you could take it from me; but go out of my sight now," he said, "and that i may never see you again." then she made herself into a red woman again, and went away into the wood. all the fianna were gone on the track of the beast while finn was talking and fighting with the red woman; and he did not know in what place they were, but he went following after them, himself and bran. it was late in the evening when he came up with a share of them, and they still on the track of the beast. the darkness of the night was coming on, but the two moons in the sides of the beast gave a bright light, and they never lost it from sight. they followed it on always; and about midnight they were pressing on it, and it began to scatter blood after it, and it was not long till finn and his men were red from head to foot. but that did not hinder them, and they followed him on till they saw him going in at the foot of cnoc-na-righ at the breaking of day. when they came to the foot of the hill the red woman was standing there before them. "you did not take the beast," she said. "we did not take it, but we know where it is," said finn. she took a druid rod then, and she struck a blow on the side of the hill, and on the moment a great door opened, and they heard sweet music coming from within. "come in now," said the red woman, "till you see the wonderful beast." "our clothing is not clean," said finn, "and we would not like to go in among a company the way we are," he said. she put a horn to her mouth and blew it, and on the moment there came ten young men to her. "bring water for washing," she said, "and four times twenty suits of clothes, and a beautiful suit and a crown of shining stones for finn, son of cumhal." the young men went away then, and they came back at the end of a minute with water and with clothing. when the fianna were washed and dressed, the red woman brought them into a great hall, where there was the brightness of the sun and of the moon on every side. from that she brought them into another great room; and although finn and his men had seen many grand things up to that time, they had never seen any sight so grand as what they saw in this place. there was a king sitting in a golden chair, having clothes of gold and of green, and his chief people were sitting around him, and his musicians were playing. and no one could know what colour were the dresses of the musicians, for every colour of the rainbow was in them. and there was a great table in the middle of the room, having every sort of thing on it, one better than another. the king rose up and gave a welcome to finn and to his men, and he bade them to sit down at the table; and they ate and drank their fill, and that was wanting to them after the hunt they had made. and then the red woman rose up, and she said: "king of the hill, if it is your will, finn and his men have a mind to see the wonderful beast, for they spent a long time following after it, and that is what brought them here." the king struck a blow then on his golden chair, and a door opened behind him, and the beast came through it and stood before the king. and it stooped down before him, and it said: "i am going on towards my own country now; and there is not in the world a runner so good as myself, and the sea is the same to me as the land. and let whoever can come up with me come now," it said, "for i am going." with that the beast went out from the hill as quick as a blast of wind, and all the people that were in it went following after it. it was not long till finn and his men were before the rest, in the front of the hunt, gaining on the beast. and about midday bran made the beast turn, and then she forced it to turn a second time, and it began to put out cries, and it was not long until its strength began to flag; and at last, just at the setting of the sun, it fell dead, and bran was at its side when it fell. then finn and his men came up, but in place of a beast it was a tall man they saw lying dead before them. and the red woman came up at the same time, and she said: "high king of the fianna, that is the king of the firbolgs you have killed; and his people will put great troubles on this country in the time to come, when you yourself, finn, and your people will be under the sod. and i myself am going now to the country of the young," she said, "and i will bring you with me if you have a mind to come." "we give you our thanks for that," said finn, "but we would not give up our own country if we were to get the whole world as an estate, and the country of the young along with it." "that is well," said the red woman; "but you are going home empty after your hunt." "it is likely we will find a deer in gleann-na-smol," said finn. "there is a fine deer at the foot of that tree beyond," said the red woman, "and i will rouse it for you." with that she gave a cry, and the deer started out and away, and finn and his men after it, and it never stopped till it came to gleann-na-smol, but they could not come up with it. then the red woman came to them, and she said: "i think you are tired now with following after the deer; and call your hounds off now," she said, "and i will let out my own little dog after it." so finn sounded a little horn he had at his side, and on the moment the hounds came back to him. and then the red woman brought out a little hound as white as the snow of the mountains, and put it after the deer; and it was not long till it had come up with the deer and killed it, and then it came back and made a leap in under the cloak of the red woman. there was great wonder on finn; but before he could ask a question of the red woman, she was gone out of sight. and as to the deer, finn knew there was enchantment on it, and so he left it there after him. and it is tired and empty the fianna were, going back to almhuin that night. chapter xiii. finn and the phantoms finn went to a gathering one time at aonach clochair, and a great many of the men of munster crowded to it. and the horses of the fianna were brought there, and the horses of the men of munster, and they ran races against one another. and fiachu, son of eoghan, was in it; and when the games were over he gave good presents to finn, a lasting black horse that won the three prizes of the gathering, and a chariot, and a horse for the chariot-driver, and a spear, having a deadly spell, and weapons of silver, and three comely hounds, feirne and derchaem and dialath, having collars of yellow gold and chains of white bronze. and finn rose up and gave his thanks to fiachu, son of eoghan, and he and his people set out to the house of cacher at cluain-da-loch. and they stopped three days feasting in cacher's house, and then finn gave him the price of his feast and of his ale, fifty rings, and fifty horses and fifty cows. and he himself and the fianna went on from that over luachair to the strand at berramain. and finn went trying his black horse on the strand, and caoilte and oisin went racing against him; but it was only folly for them to do that, for he gave a blow to his horse, and away with him to traigh liath and over the plain of health to the old yew of the old valley, and to the inver of the flesc and the inver of the lemain to loch lein, till he came to the hill of bairnech, and caoilte and oisin after him. "night is coming on us," said finn then; "and go look for some place where we can sleep," he said. he looked round then at the rocks on his left hand and he saw a house, and a fire shining out from it in the valley below. "i never knew of a house in this valley," he said. "it is best for us to go see it," said caoilte, "for there are many things we have no knowledge of." the three went on then to the house, and they heard screams and crying from it; and when they came to the house, the people of it were very fierce and rough; and a big grey man took hold of their horses and brought them in and shut the door of the house with iron hooks. "my welcome to you, finn of the great name," he said then; "it is a long time you were in coming here." they sat down then on the hard boards of a bed, and the grey man kindled a fire, and he threw logs of elder-wood on it, till they went near being smothered with the smoke. they saw a hag in the house then having three heads on her lean neck; and there was on the other side a man without a head, having one eye, and it in his breast. "rise up, you that are in the house, and make music for the king of the fianna," said the grey man then. with that nine bodies rose up out of the corner nearest the fianna, and nine heads rose up on the other side of the bed, and they raised nine harsh screeches together, that no one would like to be listening to. and then the hag answered to them, and the headless man answered; and if all of that music was harsh, there was none of it that you would not wish to hear sooner than the music of the one-eyed man. and the music that was sung went near to breaking the bones of their heads; and indeed it is no sweet music that was. then the big grey man rose up and took the axe that was for cutting logs, and he began striking at the horses, flaying and destroying them. then there were brought fifty pointed spits of the rowan-tree, and he put a piece of the horse's flesh on each one of the spits, and settled them on the hearth. but when he took the spits from the fire and put them before finn, it is raw the flesh was on them yet. "take your food away," said finn then, "for i have never eaten meat that was raw, and i never will eat it because of being without food for one day." "if you are come into our house to refuse our food," said the grey man, "we will surely go against yourselves, finn and caoilte and oisin." with that all in the house made an attack on the three; and they were driven back into the corner, and the fire was quenched, and the fight went on through the whole night in the darkness, and but for finn and the way he fought, they would have been put down. and when the sun rose and lighted up the house on the morrow, a mist came into the head of each of the three, so that they fell as if dead on the floor. but after awhile they rose up again, and there was nothing to be seen of the house or of the people of the house, but they had all vanished. and their horses were there, and they took them and went on, very weak and tired, for a long way, till they came to the strand of berramain. and those three that fought against them were the three shapes out of the valley of the yew tree that came to avenge their sister, cuillen of the wide mouth. now as to cuillen, she was a daughter of the king of munster, and her husband was the king of ulster's son. and they had a son that was called fear og, the young man; and there was hardly in ireland a man so good as himself in shape and in courage and in casting a spear. and one time he joined in a game with the fianna, and he did better than them all, and finn gave him a great reward. and after that he went out to a hunt they made, and it was by him and by none of the fianna the first blood was got of pig or of deer. and when they came back, a heavy sickness fell on the young man through the eyes and the envy of the fianna, and it left him without life at the end of nine days. and he was buried under a green hill, and the shining stone he used to hold in his hand, and he doing his feats, was put over his head. and his mother, cuillen, came to his grave keening him every day through the length of a year. and one day she died there for grief after her son, and they put her into the same green hill. but as to finn, he was afraid of no earthly thing, and he killed many great serpents in loch cuilinn and loch neathach, and at beinn edair; and shadow-shapes at loch lein and drom cleib and loch liath, and a serpent and a cat in ath cliath. chapter xiv. the pigs of angus angus og, son of the dagda, made a feast one time at brugh na boinne for finn and the fianna of the gael. ten hundred of them were in it, and they wearing green clothing and crimson cloaks; and as to the people of angus' house, it is clothing of red silk they had. and finn was sitting beside angus in the beautiful house, and it is long since the like of those two were seen in ireland. and any stranger would wonder to see the way the golden cups were going from hand to hand. and angus said out in a loud voice that every one could hear: "it is a better life this is than to be hunting." there was anger on finn then, and he said: "it is a worse life than hunting to be here, without hounds, without horses, without battalions, without the shouting of armies." "why are you talking like that, finn?" said angus, "for as to the hounds you have," he said, "they would not kill so much as one pig." "you have not yourself," said finn, "and the whole host of the tuatha de danaan have not a pig that ever went on dry land that bran and sceolan would not kill." "i will send you a pig," said angus, "that will go from you and your hounds, and that will kill them in the end." the steward of the house called out then in a loud voice: "let every one go now to his bed, before the lightness of drunkenness comes on you." but finn said to his people: "let us make ready and leave this; for we are but a few," he said, "among the men of dea." so they set out and went westward till they came to slieve fuad where the fianna were at that time. and through the whole length of a year after that, the tuatha de danaan were boasting how they would get the better of the fianna, and the fianna were thinking how they could do best in the hunt. and at the end of that time angus sent messengers to finn, asking him with great respect if he was ready to keep his word. and finn said he was, and the hounds were brought out, and he himself was holding bran and sceolan, one in each hand, and caoilte had adhnuall, and oisin had ablach, and merry bran beag had lonn, and diarmuid was holding eachtach, and osgar was holding mac an truim, and garraidh was held by faolan, and rith fada, of the long run, by hungry conan. and they were not long there with their hounds till they saw on the plain to the east a terrible herd of great pigs, every one of them the height of a deer. and there was one pig out in front of the rest was blacker than a smith's coal, and the bristles on its head were like a thicket of thorn-trees. then caoilte let out adhnuall, and she was the first to kill a pig of the herd. and then bran made away from the leash that finn was holding, and the pigs ran their best, but she came up with them, and took hold of a pig of them. and at that angus said: "o bran, fosterling of fair-haired fergus, it is not a right thing you are doing, to kill my own son." but when bran heard that, her ways changed and it was like an enemy she took hold of the pig, and did not let it go, and held her breath back and kept it for the fianna. and it was over slieve cua the hunt went, and slieve crot, and from magh cobha to cruachan, and to fionnabraic and to finnias. and at evening when the hunt was over, there was not one pig of the whole herd without a hurt, and there were but a hundred and ten pigs left living. but if the hunt brought destruction on angus, it brought losses on the fianna as well, for there were ten hundred of their men missing besides serving-lads and dogs. "let us go to brugh na boinne and get satisfaction for our people," said oisin then. "that is the advice of a man without sense," said finn; "for if we leave these pigs the way they are, they will come to life again. and let us burn them," he said, "and throw their ashes in the sea." then the seven battalions of the fianna made seven fires to every battalion; but for all they could do, they could not set fire to one pig. then bran, that had great sense and knowledge, went away, and she came back bringing three logs along with her, but no one knows what wood it was they came from. and when the logs were put on the fire they lit up like a candle, and it is with them the pigs were burned; and after that their ashes were thrown into the sea. then oisin said again: "let us go now to brugh na boinne and avenge the death of our people." so the whole of the fianna set out for brugh na boinne, and every step they made could surely be heard through the whole of the skies. and angus sent out messengers to where finn was, offering any one thing to him if he would spare his people. "i will take no gift at all from you, angus of the slender body," said finn, "so long as there is a room left in your house, north or east, without being burned." but angus said: "although you think bad of the loss of your fine people that you have the sway over, yet, o finn, father of oisin, it is sorrowful to me the loss of my own good son is. for as to the black pig that came before you on the plain," he said, "it was no common pig was in it, but my own son. and there fell along with him," he said, "the son of the king of the narrow sea, and the son of the king of the sea of gulls, and the son of ilbhrec, son of manannan, and seven score of the comely sons of kings and queens. and it is what destroyed my strength and my respect entirely, they to have been burned away from me in a far place. and it is a pity for you, sweet daring bran," he said, "fosterling of fergus of the thirty woods and plains, that you did not do something worth praise before killing your own foster-brother. and i will put a curse on you, bran," he said, "beyond every hound in ireland, that you will never see with your eyes any deer you may ever kill." there was anger on finn when he heard that, and he said: "if you put a curse on bran, angus, there will not be a room left, east or west, in the whole of your great house without being burned." "if you do that," said angus, "i will put trees and stones in front of you in every battle; and i will know what number of men you have in your armies," he said, "looking at them through my ring." then oisin, that was wise, said: "it is best for you to agree between yourselves now; and let us be helpful to one another," he said, "and pay whatever fines are due." so they agreed to that, and they made peace, and gave children to be fostered by one another: a son of finn's to angus, and son of angus og to the fianna. but for all that, it is not very friendly to finn angus was afterwards, at the time he was following after diarmuid and grania through the whole length of ireland. chapter xv. the hunt of slieve cuilinn finn was one time out on the green of almhuin, and he saw what had the appearance of a grey fawn running across the plain. he called and whistled to his hounds then, but neither hound nor man heard him or came to him, but only bran and sceolan. he set them after the fawn, and near as they kept to her, he himself kept nearer to them, till at last they reached to slieve cuilinn in the province of ulster. but they were no sooner at the hill than the fawn vanished from them, and they did not know where was she gone, and finn went looking for her eastward, and the two hounds went towards the west. it was not long till finn came to a lake, and there was sitting on the brink of it a young girl, the most beautiful he had ever seen, having hair of the colour of gold, and a skin as white as lime, and eyes like the stars in time of frost; but she seemed to be some way sorrowful and downhearted. finn asked her did she see his hounds pass that way. "i did not see them," she said; "and it is little i am thinking of your hounds or your hunting, but of the cause of my own trouble." "what is it ails you, woman of the white hands?" said finn; "and is there any help i can give you?" he said. "it is what i am fretting after," said she, "a ring of red gold i lost off my finger in the lake. and i put you under bonds, finn of the fianna," she said, "to bring it back to me out of the lake." with that finn stripped off his clothes and went into the lake at the bidding of the woman, and he went three times round the whole lake and did not leave any part of it without searching, till he brought back the ring. he handed it up to her then out of the water, and no sooner had he done that than she gave a leap into the water and vanished. and when finn came up on the bank of the lake, he could not so much as reach to where his clothes were; for on the moment he, the head and the leader of the fianna of ireland, was but a grey old man, weak and withered. bran and sceolan came up to him then, but they did not know him, and they went on round the lake, searching after their master. in almhuin, now, when he was missed, caoilte began asking after him. "where is finn," he said, "of the gentle rule and of the spears?" but no one knew where was he gone, and there was grief on the fianna when they could not find him. but it is what conan said: "i never heard music pleased me better than to hear the son of cumhal is missing. and that he may be so through the whole year," he said, "and i myself will be king over you all." and downhearted as they were, it is hardly they could keep from laughing when they heard conan saying that. caoilte and the rest of the chief men of the fianna set out then looking for finn, and they got word of him; and at last they came to slieve cuilinn, and there they saw a withered old man sitting beside the lake, and they thought him to be a fisherman. "tell us, old man," said caoilte, "did you see a fawn go by, and two hounds after her, and a tall fair-faced man along with them?" "i did see them," he said, "and it is not long since they left me." "tell us where are they now?" said caoilte. but finn made no answer, for he had not the courage to say to them that he himself was finn their leader, being as he was an ailing, downhearted old man, without leaping, without running, without walk, grey and sorrowful. caoilte took out his sword from the sheath then, and he said: "it is short till you will have knowledge of death unless you will tell us what happened those three." then finn told them the whole story; and when the seven battalions of the fianna heard him, and knew it was finn that was in it, they gave three loud sorrowful cries. and to the lake they gave the name of loch doghra, the lake of sorrow. but conan of the sharp tongue began abusing finn and all the fianna by turns. "you never gave me right praise for my deeds, finn, son of cumhal," he said, "and you were always the enemy of the sons of morna; but we are living in spite of you," he said, "and i have but the one fault to find with your shape, and that is, that it was not put on the whole of the fianna the same as on yourself." caoilte made at him then; "bald, senseless conan," he said, "i will break your mouth to the bone." but conan ran in then among the rest of the fianna and asked protection from them, and peace was made again. and as to finn, they asked him was there any cure to be found for him. "there is," he said; "for i know well the enchantment was put on me by a woman of the sidhe, miluchradh, daughter of cuilinn, through jealousy of her sister aine. and bring me to the hill that belongs to cuilinn of cuailgne," he said, "for he is the only one can give me my shape again." they came around him then, and raised him up gently on their shields, and brought him on their shoulders to the hill of the sidhe in cuailgne, but no one came out to meet them. then the seven battalions began digging and rooting up the whole hill, and they went on digging through the length of three nights and three days. and at the end of that time cuilinn of cuailgne, that some say was manannan, son of lir, came out of the hill, holding in his hand a vessel of red gold, and he gave the vessel into finn's hand. and no sooner did finn drink what was in the vessel than his own shape and his appearance came back to him. but only his hair, that used to be so fair and so beautiful, like the hair of a woman, never got its own colour again, for the lake that cuilinn's daughter had made for finn would have turned all the men of the whole world grey if they had gone into it. and when finn had drunk all that was in the vessel it slipped from his hand into the earth, that was loosened with the digging, and he saw it no more. but in the place where it went into the earth, a tree grew up, and any one that would look at the branches of that tree in the morning, fasting, would have knowledge of all that was to happen on that day. that, now, is the way finn came by his grey hair, through the jealousy of miluchradh of the sidhe, because he had not given his love to her, but to her sister aine. book five: oisin's children now as to oisin, that was so brave and so comely, and that could overtake a deer at its greatest speed, and see a thistle thorn on the darkest night, the wife he took was eibhir of the plaited yellow hair, that was the foreign sweetheart of the high king of ireland. it is beyond the sea she lived, in a very sunny place; and her father's name was lunsa, and her sunny house was thatched with the feathers of birds, and the doorposts were of gold, and the doors of ribbed grass. and oisin went there looking for her, and he fought for her against the high king and against an army of the firbolgs he had helping him; and he got the better of them all, and brought away eibhir of the yellow hair to ireland. and he had a daughter that married the son of oiliol, son of eoghan, and of beara, daughter of the king of spain. it was that eoghan was driven out of ireland one time, and it is to spain he went for safety. and beara, that was daughter of the king of spain, was very shining and beautiful, and her father had a mind to know who would be her husband, and he sent for his druid and asked the question of him. "i can tell you that," said the druid, "for the man that is to be her husband will come to land in spain this very night. and let your daughter go eastward to the river eibhear," he said, "and she will find a crimson-spotted salmon in that river, having shining clothing on him from head to tail. and let her strip that clothing off him," he said, "and make with it a shining shirt for her husband." so beara went to the river eibhear, and found the golden salmon as the druid had said, and she stripped him of his crimson clothing and made a shining shirt of it. and as to eoghan, the waves of the shore put a welcome before him, and he came the same night to the king's house. and the king gave him a friendly welcome; and it is what all the people said, that there was never seen a comelier man than eoghan, or a woman more beautiful than beara, and that it was fitting for them to come together. and eoghan's own people said they would not be sorry for being sent away out of ireland, if only eoghan could get her for his wife. and after a while the king sent his druid to ask eoghan why he did not ask for beara. "i will tell you that," said eoghan; "it would not be fitting for me to be refused a wife, and i am but an exile in this country, and i have brought no treasures or goods with me out of ireland for giving to learned men and to poets. but for all that," he said, "the king's daughter is dear to me, and i think i have the friendship of the king." the druid went back with that message. "that is the answer of a king," said the king of spain; "and bid my daughter to sit at eoghan's right hand," he said, "and i will give her to him this very night." and when beara, the king's daughter, heard that, she sent out her serving-maid to bring the shirt she had made for eoghan, and he put it on him over his armour, and its shining was seen in every place; and it was from wearing that shirt he got the name of eoghan the bright. and oiliol was the first son they had; it was he that had his ear bitten off by aine of the sidhe in revenge for her brother, and it was his son married oisin's daughter afterwards. and as to osgar, that was oisin's son, of all the young men of the fianna he was the best in battle. and when he was but a young child he was made much of by the whole of the fianna, and it is for him they used to keep the marrow bones, and they did not like to put any hardship on him. and he grew up tall and idle, and no one thought he would turn out so strong as he did. and one day there was an attack made on a troop of the fianna, and all that were in it went out to fight, but they left osgar after them. and when he knew the fight was going on, he took a log of wood that was the first thing he could find, and attacked the enemy and made a great slaughter, and they gave way and ran before him. and from that out there was no battle he did not go into; and he was said to be the strongest of all the fianna, though the people of connacht said that goll was the strongest. and he and diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, were comrades and dear friends; and it was diarmuid taught him feats of arms and of skill, and chess-playing. and oisin his father took great pride in him, and his grandfather finn. and one time finn was holding a feast at almhuin, and he asked the chief men of the fianna that were there what was the music they thought the best. "to be playing at games," said conan, "that is the best music i ever heard;" for though conan was a good hand against an enemy, there never was a man had less sense. "the music i like the best is to be talking with a woman," said diarmuid. "my music is the outcry of my hounds, and they putting a deer to its last stand," said lugaidh's son. "the music of the woods is best to me," said oisin; "the sound of the wind and of the cuckoo and the blackbird, and the sweet silence of the crane." and then osgar was asked, and he said: "the best music is the striking of swords in a battle." and it is likely he took after finn in that, for in spite of all the sweet sounds he gave an account of the time he was at conan's house, at ceann slieve, it used to be said by the fianna that the music that was best with finn was what happened. this now is the way osgar met with his wife. one time finn and his men came to slieve crot, and they saw a woman waiting there before them, having a crimson fringed cloak, and a gold brooch in it, and a band of yellow gold on her forehead. finn asked her name, and where she came from. "etain of the fair hair is my name," she said, "daughter of aedh of the white breast, of the hill of the sidhe at beinn edair, son of angus og." "what is it brought you here, girl?" said finn. "to ask a man of the fianna of ireland to run a race with me." "what sort of a runner are you?" said diarmuid. "i am a good runner," said the girl; "for it is the same to me if the ground is long or short under my feet." all of the fianna that were there then set out to run with her, and they ran to the height over badhamair and on to ath cliath, and from that on to the hill of the sidhe at beinn edair. and there was a good welcome before them, and they were brought meat and wine for drinking, and water for washing their feet. and after a while they saw a nice fair-haired girl in front of the vats, and a cup of white silver in her hand, and she giving out drink to every one. "it seems to me that is the girl came asking the fianna to race against her at slieve crot," said finn. "it is not," said aedh of the white breast, "for that is the slowest woman there is among us." "who was it so?" said finn. "it was be-mannair, daughter of ainceol, woman-messenger of the tuatha de danaan. and it is she that changes herself into all shapes; and she will take the shape of a fly, and of a true lover, and every one leaves their secret with her. and it was she outran you coming from the east," he said, "and not this other girl that was drinking and making merry here in the hall." "what is her name?" said finn. "etain of the fair hair," he said; "a daughter of my own, and a darling of the tuatha de danaan. and it is the way with her, she has a lover of the men of the fianna." "that is well," said finn; "and who is that lover?" "it is osgar, son of oisin," said aedh; "and it is she herself sent her messenger for you," he said, "in her own shape, to slieve crot in the south. and the son of the high king of ireland has offered a great bride-price to the men of dea for her," he said, "three hundreds of the land nearest to bregia and to midhe, and to put himself and his weight of gold into a balance, and to give it all to her. but we did not take it," he said, "since she had no mind or wish for it herself, and so we made no dealing or agreement about her." "well," said finn, "and what conditions will you ask of osgar?" "never to leave me for anything at all but my own fault," said the girl. "i will make that agreement with you indeed," said osgar. "give me sureties for it," said she; "give me the sureties of goll for the sons of morna, and of finn, son of cumhal, for the fianna of ireland." so they gave those sureties, and the wedding-feast was made, and they stopped there for twenty nights. and at the end of that time osgar asked finn where would he bring his wife. "bring her to wide almhuin for the first seven years," said finn. but a while after that, in a great battle at beinn edair, osgar got so heavy a wound that finn and the fianna were as if they had lost their wits. and when etain of the fair hair came to the bed where osgar was lying, and saw the way he was, and that the great kinglike shape he had was gone from him, greyness and darkness came on her, and she raised pitiful cries, and she went to her bed and her heart broke in her like a nut; and she died of grief for her husband and her first love. but it was not at that time osgar got his death, but afterwards in the battle of gabhra. book six: diarmuid. chapter i. birth of diarmuid diarmuid, now, was son of bonn, son of duibhne of the fianna, and his mother was crochnuit, that was near in blood to finn. and at the time he was born, bonn was banished from the fianna because of some quarrel they had with him, and angus og took the child from him to rear him up at brugh na boinne. and after a while crochnuit bore another son to roc diocain, that was head steward to angus. roc diocain went then to donn, and asked would he rear up his son for him, the way angus was rearing donn's son. but donn said he would not take the son of a common man into his house, and it would be best for angus to take him. so angus took the child into brugh na boinne, and he and diarmuid were reared up together. and one day finn was on the great hill at almhuin of leinster, and no one with him but donn and a few of the poets and learned men of the fianna, and their hounds and dogs, and bran beag came in and asked did he remember there were bonds on him, not to stop in almhuin for ten nights together. finn asked the people about him then where would he go and be entertained for that night, and donn said: "i will bring you to the house of angus, son of the dagda, where my young son is being reared." so they went together to the house of angus at brugh na boinne, and the child diarmuid was there, and it is great love angus had for him. and the steward's son was with him that night, and the people of the household made as much of him as angus made of diarmuid; and there was great vexation on donn when he saw that. it chanced after a while a great fight rose between two of finn's hounds about some broken meat that was thrown to them; and the women and the common people of the place ran from them, and the others rose up to part them from one another. and in running away, the steward's child ran between the knees of donn, and donn gave the child a strong squeeze between his two knees that killed him on the moment, and he threw him under the feet of the hounds. and when the steward came after that and found his son dead, he gave a long very pitiful cry, and he said to finn: "there is not a man in the house to-night has suffered more than myself from this uproar, for i had but one son only, and he has been killed; and what satisfaction will i get from you for that, finn?" he said. "try can you find the mark of a tooth or of a nail of one of the hounds on him," said finn, "and if you can, i will give you satisfaction for him." so they looked at the child, and there was no scratch or mark of a tooth on him at all. then the steward put finn under the destroying bonds of the druid cave of cruachan, to give him knowledge of who it was killed his son. and finn asked for a chess-board, and for water to be brought to him, in a basin of pale gold, and he searched, and it was shown to him truly that it was donn had killed the steward's son between his two knees. when finn knew that, he said he would take the fine on himself; but the steward would not consent to that, but forced him to tell who was it had done him the wrong. and when he knew it was donn had killed the child, he said: "there is no man in the house it is easier to get satisfaction from than from him, for his own son is here, and i have but to put him between my two knees, and if i let him go from me safe, i will forgive the death of my son." angus was vexed at what the steward said, and as to donn, he thought to strike his head off till finn put him back from him. then the steward came again, having a druid rod with him, and he struck his own son with the rod, and he made of him a wild boar, without bristle or ear or tail, and he said: "i put you under bonds to bring diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, to his death; and your own life will be no longer than his life," he said. with that the wild boar rose up and ran out of the open door; and he was called afterwards the boar of slieve guillion, and it was by him diarmuid came to his death at the last. and when diarmuid came to his full strength he was given a place among the fianna of ireland; and all women loved him, and he did many great deeds, fighting with the enemies of the fianna and of ireland; and one time he fought a wild ox through the length of seven days and seven nights on the top of the mountain of happiness. chapter ii. how diarmuid got his love-spot diarmuid and conan and goll and osgar went one day hunting, and they went so far they could not get home in the evening, and they spent the first part of the night walking through the woods and pulling berries and eating them. and when it was about midnight they saw a light, and they went towards it, and they found a little house before them, and the light shining from it. they went in then, and they saw an old man there, and he bade them welcome, and he called them all by their names. and they saw no one in the house but the old man and a young girl and a cat. and the old man bade the girl to make food ready for the fianna of ireland, for there was great hunger on them. and when the food was ready and put on the table, there came a great wether that was fastened up in the back of the house, and he rose up on the table where they were eating, and when they saw that, they looked at one another. "rise up, conan," said goll, "and fasten that wether in the place it was before." conan rose up and took hold of it, but the wether gave itself a shake that threw conan under one of its feet. the rest were looking at that, and goll said: "let you rise up, diarmuid, and fasten up the wether." so diarmuid rose up and took hold of it, but it gave itself a shake the same way as before; and when diarmuid was down it put one of its feet on him. goll and osgar looked at one another then, and shame came on them, a wether to have done so much as that. and osgar got up, but the wether put him down under one of his feet, so that it had now the three men under him. then goll rose up and took hold of it and threw it down; but if he did, it rose up again in spite of him, and put goll under his fourth foot. "it is a great shame," said the old man then, "the like of that to be done to the fianna of ireland. and rise up now, cat," he said, "and tie the wether in the place where he was." the cat rose up then and took hold of the wether, and brought it over and tied it in its place at the end of the house. the men rose up then, but they had no mind to go on eating, for there was shame on them at what the wether had done to them. "you may go on eating," said the old man; "and when you are done i will show you that now you are the bravest men of the world." so they ate their fill then, and the old man spoke to them, and it is what he said: "goll," he said, "you are the bravest of all the men of the world, for you have wrestled with the world and you threw it down. the strength of the world is in the wether, but death will come to the world itself; and that is death," he said, showing them the cat. they were talking together then, and they had their food eaten, and the old man said their beds were ready for them that they could go to sleep. the four of them went then into the one room, and when they were in their beds the young girl came to sleep in the same room with them, and the light of her beauty was shining on the walls like as if it was the light of a candle. and when conan saw her he went over to the side of the bed where she was. now, it was youth the young girl was, and when she saw conan coming to her: "go back to your bed, conan," she said; "i belonged to you once, and i will never belong to you again." conan went back to his bed then, and osgar had a mind to go over where she was. then she said to him: "where are you going?" "i am going over to yourself for a while," said he. "go back again, osgar," she said; "i belonged to you once, and i will never belong to you again." then diarmuid rose up to go to her: "where are you going, diarmuid?" she said. "i am going over to yourself for a while," said he. "o diarmuid," she said, "that cannot be; i belonged to you once, and i can never belong to you again; but come over here to me, diarmuid," she said, "and i will put a love-spot on you, that no woman will ever see without giving you her love." so diarmuid went over to her, and she put her hand on his forehead, and she left the love-spot there, and no woman that ever saw him after that was able to refuse him her love. chapter iii. the daughter of king under-wave one snowy night of winter the fianna were come into the house after their hunting. and about midnight they heard a knocking at the door, and there came in a woman very wild and ugly, and her hair hanging to her heels. she went to the place finn was lying, and she asked him to let her in under the border of his covering. but when he saw her so strange and so ugly and so wild-looking he would not let her in. she gave a great cry then, and she went to where oisin was, and asked him to let her shelter under the border of his covering. but oisin refused her the same way. then she gave another great scream, and she went over where diarmuid was. "let me in," she said, "under the border of your covering." diarmuid looked at her, and he said: "you are strange-looking and wild and ugly, and your hair is down to your heels. but come in for all that," he said. so she came in under the border of his covering. "o diarmuid," she said then, "i have been travelling over sea and ocean through the length of seven years, and in all that time i never got shelter any night till this night. and let me to the warmth of the fire now," she said. so diarmuid brought her over to the fire, and all the fianna that were sitting there went away from it seeing her so ugly and so dreadful to look at. and she was not long at the fire when she said: "let me go under the warmth of the covering with you now." "it is asking too much you are," said diarmuid; "first it was to come under the border you asked, and then to come to the fire, and now it is under the bed-covering with me you want to be. but for all that you may come," he said. so she came in under the covering, and he turned a fold of it between them. but it was not long till he looked at her, and what he saw was a beautiful young woman beside him, and she asleep. he called to the others then to come over, and he said: "is not this the most beautiful woman that ever was seen?" "she is that," they said, and they covered her up and did not awaken her. but after a while she stirred, and she said: "are you awake, diarmuid?" "i am awake," he said. "where would you like to see the best house built that ever was built?" she said. "up there on the hillside, if i had my choice," said he, and with that he fell asleep. and in the morning two men of the fianna came in, and they said they were after seeing a great house up on the hill, where there was not a house before. "rise up, diarmuid," said the strange woman then; "do not be lying there any longer, but go up to your house, and look out now and see it," she said. so he looked out and he saw the great house that was ready, and he said: "i will go to it, if you will come along with me." "i will do that," she said, "if you will make me a promise not to say to me three times what way i was when i came to you." "i will never say it to you for ever," said diarmuid. they went up then to the house, and it was ready for them, with food and servants; and everything they could wish for they had it. they stopped there for three days, and when the three days were ended, she said: "you are getting to be sorrowful because you are away from your comrades of the fianna." "i am not sorrowful indeed," said diarmuid. "it will be best for you to go to them; and your food and your drink will be no worse when you come back than they are now," said she. "who will take care of my greyhound bitch and her three pups if i go?" said diarmuid. "there is no fear for them," said she. so when he heard that, he took leave of her and went back to the fianna, and there was a great welcome before him. but for all that they were not well pleased but were someway envious, diarmuid to have got that grand house and her love from the woman they themselves had turned away. now as to the woman, she was outside the house for a while after diarmuid going away, and she saw finn, son of cumhal, coming towards her, and she bade him welcome. "you are vexed with me, queen?" he said. "i am not indeed," she said; "and come in now and take a drink of wine from me." "i will go in if i get my request," said finn. "what request is there that you would not get?" said she. "it is what i am asking, one of the pups of diarmuid's greyhound bitch." "that is no great thing to ask," she said; "and whichever one you choose of them you may bring it away." so he got the pup, and he brought it away with him. at the fall of night diarmuid came back to the house, and the greyhound met him at the door and gave a yell when she saw him, and he looked for the pups, and one of them was gone. there was anger on him then, and he said to the woman: "if you had brought to mind the way you were when i let you in, and your hair hanging, you would not have let the pup be brought away from me." "you ought not to say that, diarmuid," said she. "i ask your pardon for saying it," said diarmuid. and they forgave one another, and he spent the night in the house. on the morrow diarmuid went back again to his comrades, and the woman stopped at the house, and after a while she saw oisin coming towards her. she gave him a welcome, and asked him into the house, and he said he would come if he would get his request. and what he asked was another of the pups of the greyhound. so she gave him that, and he went away bringing the pup with him. and when diarmuid came back that night the greyhound met him, and she cried out twice. and he knew that another of the pups was gone, and he said to the greyhound, and the woman standing there: "if she had remembered the way she was when she came to me, she would not have let the pup be brought away." the next day he went back again to the fianna, and when he was gone, the woman saw caoilte coming towards her, and he would not come in to take a drink from her till he had got the promise of one of the pups the same as the others. and when diarmuid came back that night the greyhound met him and gave three yells, the most terrible that ever were heard. there was great anger on him then, when he saw all the pups gone, and he said the third time: "if this woman remembered the way she was when i found her, and her hair down to her heels, she would not have let the pup go." "o diarmuid, what is it you are after saying?" she said. he asked forgiveness of her then, and he thought to go into the house, but it was gone and the woman was gone on the moment, and it was on the bare ground he awoke on the morrow. there was great sorrow on him then, and he said he would search in every place till he would find her again. so he set out through the lonely valleys, and the first thing he saw was the greyhound lying dead, and he put her on his shoulder and would not leave her because of the love he had for her. and after a while he met with a cowherd, and he asked him did he see a woman going the way. "i saw a woman early in the morning of yesterday, and she walking hard," said the cowherd. "what way was she going?" said diarmuid. "down that path below to the strand, and i saw her no more after that," he said. so he followed the path she took down to the strand till he could go no farther, and then he saw a ship, and he leaned on the handle of his spear and made a light leap on to the ship, and it went on till it came to land, and then he got out and lay down on the side of a hill and fell asleep, and when he awoke there was no ship to be seen. "it is a pity for me to be here," he said, "for i see no way of getting from it again." but after a while he saw a boat coming, and a man in the boat rowing it, and he went down and got into the boat, and brought the greyhound with him. and the boat went out over the sea, and then down below it; and diarmuid, when he went down, found himself on a plain. and he went walking along it, and it was not long before he met with a drop of blood. he took it up and put it in a napkin. "it is the greyhound lost this," he said. and after a while he met with another drop of blood, and then with a third, and he put them in the napkin. and after that again he saw a woman, and she gathering rushes as if she had lost her wits. he went towards her and asked her what news had she. "i cannot tell it till i gather the rushes," she said. "be telling it while you are gathering them," said diarmuid. "there is great haste on me," she said. "what is this place where we are?" said diarmuid. "it is land-under-wave," said she. "and what use have you for the rushes when they are gathered?" "the daughter of king under-wave is come home," she said, "and she was for seven years under enchantment, and there is sickness on her now, and all the physicians are gathered together and none of them can do her any good, and a bed of rushes is what she finds the wholesomest." "will you show me where the king's daughter is?" said diarmuid. "i will do that," said the woman; "i will put you in the sheaf of rushes, and i will put the rushes under you and over you, and i will carry you to her on my back." "that is a thing you cannot do," said diarmuid. but she put the rushes about him, and lifted him on her back, and when she got to the room she let down the bundle. "o come here to me," said the daughter of king under-wave, and diarmuid went over to her, and they took one another's hands, and were very joyful at that meeting. "three parts of my sickness is gone from me now," she said then; "but i am not well yet, and i never will be, for every time i thought of you, diarmuid, on my journey, i lost a drop of the blood of my heart." "i have got those three drops here in this napkin," said diarmuid, "and take them now in a drink and you will be healed of your sickness." "they would do nothing for me," she said, "since i have not the one thing in the world that i want, and that is the thing i will never get," she said. "what thing is that?" said diarmuid. "it is the thing you will never get, nor any man in the world," she said, "for it is a long time they have failed to get it." "if it is in any place on the whole ridge of the world i will get it," said diarmuid. "it is three draughts from the cup of the king of magh an ionganaidh, the plain of wonder," she said, "and no man ever got it or ever will get it." "tell me where that cup is to be found," said diarmuid, "for there are not as many men as will keep it from me on the whole ridge of the world." "that country is not far from the boundary of my father's country," she said; "but there is a little river between, and you would be sailing on that river in a ship, having the wind behind it, for a year and a day before you would reach to the plain of wonder." diarmuid set out then, and he came to the little river, and he was a good while walking beside it, and he saw no way to cross it. but at last he saw a low-sized, reddish man that was standing in the middle of the river. "you are in straits, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne," he said; "and come here and put your foot in the palm of my hand and i will bring you through." diarmuid did as he bade him, and put his foot in the red man's palm, and he brought him across the river. "it is going to the king of the plain of wonder you are," he said, "to bring away his cup from him; and i myself will go with you." they went on then till they came to the king's dun, and diarmuid called out that the cup should be sent out to him, or else champions to fight with him should be sent out. it was not the cup was sent out, but twice eight hundred fighting men; and in three hours there was not one of them left to stand against him. then twice nine hundred better fighters again were sent out against him, and within four hours there was not one of them left to stand against him. then the king himself came out, and he stood in the great door, and he said: "where did the man come from that has brought destruction on the whole of my kingdom?" "i will tell you that," said he; "i am diarmuid, a man of the fianna of ireland." "it is a pity you not to have sent a messenger telling me that," said the king, "and i would not have spent my men upon you; for seven years before you were born it was put in the prophecy that you would come to destroy them. and what is it you are asking now?" he said. "it is the cup of healing from your own hand i am asking," said diarmuid. "no man ever got that cup from me but yourself," said the king, "but it is easy for me to give it to you, whether or not there is healing in it." then the king of the plain of wonder gave diarmuid the cup, and they parted from one another; and diarmuid went on till he came to the river, and it was then he thought of the red man, that he had given no thought to while he was at the king's house. but he was there before him, and took his foot in the palm of his hand and brought him over the river. "i know where it is you are going, diarmuid," he said then; "it is to heal the daughter of king under-wave that you have given your love to. and it is to a well i will give you the signs of you should go," he said, "and bring a share of the water of that well with you. and when you come where the woman is, it is what you have to do, to put that water in the cup, and one of the drops of blood in it, and she will drink it, and the same with the second drop and the third, and her sickness will be gone from her from that time. but there is another thing will be gone along with it," he said, "and that is the love you have for her." "that will not go from me," said diarmuid. "it will go from you," said the man; "and it will be best for you make no secret of it, for she will know, and the king will know, that you think no more of her then than of any other woman. and king under-wave will come to you," he said, "and will offer you great riches for healing his daughter. but take nothing from him," he said, "but ask only a ship to bring you home again to ireland. and do you know who am i myself?" he said. "i do not know," said diarmuid. "i am the messenger from beyond the world," he said; "and i came to your help because your own heart is hot to come to the help of another." so diarmuid did as he bade him, and he brought the water and the cup and the drops of blood to the woman, and she drank them, and at the third draught she was healed. and no sooner was she healed than the love he had for her was gone, and he turned away from her. "o diarmuid," she said, "your love is gone from me." "o, it is gone indeed," said he. then there was music made in the whole place, and the lamenting was stopped, because of the healing of the king's daughter. and as to diarmuid, he would take no reward and he would not stop there, but he asked for a ship to bring him home to ireland, to finn and the fianna. and when he came where they were, there was a joyful welcome before him. chapter iv. the hard servant the fianna went hunting one time in the two proud provinces of munster. they went out from almhuin by the nearest paths till they came to the brosna river in slieve bladhma, and from there to the twelve mountains of eiblinne, and on to aine cliach, the harp of aine. they scattered themselves then and hunted through the borders of the forest that is called magh breogain, through blind trackless places and through broken lands, over beautiful level plains and the high hills of desmumum, under pleasant slieve crot and smooth slieve na muc, along the level banks of the blue siuir and over the green plain of feman and the rough plain of eithne, and the dark woods of belach gabrain. and finn was at the side of a hill, and the chief men of the fianna along with him, to watch the hunting; for they liked to be listening to the outcry of the hounds and the hurried cries of the boys, and the noise and the whistling and the shouts of the strong men. finn asked then which of the men that were with him would go and keep watch on the side of the hill where they were. and finnbane, son of bresel, said he would go. and he went on to the top of the hill, where he could see about him on all sides. and he was not long there till he saw coming from the east a very big man, ugly and gloomy and deformed; and it is how he was, a dark-coloured shield on his back, a wide sword on his crooked left thigh, two spears on his shoulder, a torn loose cloak over his limbs, that were as black as a quenched coal. a sulky horse he had with him that had no good appearance, bony and thin as to body, and weak in the legs, and he leading it with a rough iron halter; and it was a great wonder the head was not pulled from the horse's body, or the arms pulled out of his owner, with the sudden stands and stops and the jerks it made. and the big man was striking blows on the horse with an iron cudgel to try and knock some going out of him, and the sound of the blows was like the breaking of strong waves. and when finnbane saw all that, he thought to himself it would not be right to let the like of that stranger go up unknown to finn and the fianna, and he ran back in haste to where they were and told them all he had seen. and when he had told his story, they saw the big man coming towards them; but as short as he was from them he was long in coming, from the badness of his walk and his going. and when he came into finn's presence he saluted him, and bowed his head and bent his knee, making signs of humility. finn raised his hand over his head then, and asked news of him, and if he was of the noble or of the mean blood of the great world. he answered that he had no knowledge who he came from, but only that he was a man of the fomor, travelling in search of wages to the kings of the earth, "and i heard," he said, "that finn never refused wages to any man." "i never did indeed," said finn, "and i will not refuse you. but why is it," he said, "you are without a boy to mind your horse?" "i have a good reason for that," said the big man; "there is nothing in the world is worse to me than a boy to be with me; for it is a hundred men's share of food," he said, "that serves me for one day, and it is little enough i think it, and i would begrudge a boy to be sharing it with me." "what is the name you have?" said finn. "the name i have is the gilla decair, the hard servant," said he. "why did you get that name?" said finn. "there is a good reason for that," said the big man, "for there is nothing in the world is harder to me than to do anything at all for my master, or whatever person i am with. and tell me this, conan, son of morna," he said, "who gets the best wages, a horseman or a man afoot?" "a horseman gets twice as much," said conan. "then i call you to witness, conan," he said, "that i am a horseman, and that it was as a horseman i came to the fianna. and give me your guarantee now, finn, son of cumhal, and the guarantee of the fianna, and i will turn out my horse with your horses." "let him out then," said finn. the big man pulled off the iron halter then from his horse, and it made off as hard as it could go, till it came where the horses of the fianna were; and it began to tear and to kick and to bite at them, killing and maiming. "take your horse out of that, big man," said conan; "and by the earth and the sky," he said, "only it was on the guarantee of finn and the fianna you took the halter off him, i would let out his brains through the windows of his head; and many as is the bad prize finn has found in ireland," he said, "he never got one as bad as yourself." "and i swear by earth and sky as well as yourself," said the big man, "i will never bring him out of that; for i have no serving-boy to do it for me, and it is not work for me to be leading my horse by the hand." conan, son of morna, rose up then and took the halter and put it on the horse, and led it back to where finn was, and held it with his hand. "you would never have done a horse-boy's service, conan," said finn, "to any one of the fianna, however far he might be beyond this fomor. and if you will do what i advise," he said, "you will get up on the horse now, and search out with him all the hills and hollows and flowery plains of ireland, till his heart is broken in his body in payment for the way he destroyed the horses of the fianna." conan made a leap then on to the horse, and struck his heels hard into him, but with all that the horse would not stir. "i know what ails him," said finn, "he will not stir till he has the same weight of horsemen on him as the weight of the big man." on that thirteen men of the fianna went up behind conan, and the horse lay down with them and rose up again. "i think that you are mocking at my horse and at myself," said the big man; "and it is a pity for me to be spending the rest of the year with you, after all the humbugging i saw in you to-day, finn. and i know well," he said, "that all i heard about you was nothing but lies, and there was no cause for the great name you have through the world. and i will quit you now, finn," he said. with that he went from them, slow and weak, dragging himself along till he had put a little hill between himself and the fianna. and as soon as he was on the other side of it, he tucked up his cloak to his waist, and away with him, as if with the quickness of a swallow or a deer, and the rush of his going was like a blast of loud wind going over plains and mountains in spring-time. when the horse saw his master going from him, he could not bear with it, but great as his load was he set out at full gallop following after him. and when finn and the fianna saw the thirteen men behind conan, son of morna, on the horse, and he starting off, they shouted with mocking laughter. and when conan found that he was not able to come down off the horse, he screeched and shouted to them not to let him be brought away with the big man they knew nothing of, and he began abusing and reproaching them. "a cloud of death over water on you, finn," he said, "and that some son of a slave or a robber of the bad blood, one that is a worse son of a father and mother even than yourself, may take all that might protect your life, and your head along with that, unless you follow us to whatever place or island the big man will carry us to, and unless you bring us back to ireland again." finn and the fianna rose up then, and they followed the gilla decair over every bald hill, and through every valley and every river, on to pleasant slieve luachra, into the borders of corca duibhne; and the big man, that was up on the horse then along with conan and the rest, faced towards the deep sea. and liagan luath of luachar took hold of the horse's tail with his two hands, thinking to drag him back by the hair of it; but the horse gave a great tug, and away with him over the sea, and liagan along with him, holding on to his tail. it was a heavy care to finn, those fourteen men of his people to be brought away from him, and he himself under bonds to bring them back. "what can we do now?" oisin asked him. "what should we do, but to follow our people to whatever place or island the big man has brought them, and, whatever way we do it, to bring them back to ireland again." "what can we do, having neither a ship or any kind of boat?" said oisin. "we have this," said finn, "the tuatha de danaan left as a gift to the children of the gael, that whoever might have to leave ireland for a while, had but to go to beinn edair, and however many would go along with him, they would find a ship that would hold them all." finn looked towards the sea then, and he saw two strong armed men coming towards him. the first one had on his back a shield ribbed and of many colours, having shapes of strange, wonderful beasts engraved on it, and a heavy sword at his side, and two thick spears on his shoulders; a cloak of lasting crimson about him, with a gold brooch on the breast; a band of white bronze on his head, gold under each of his feet; and the other was dressed in the same way. they made no delay till they came to where finn was, and they bowed their heads and bent their knees before him, and finn raised his hand over their heads, and bade them to give an account of themselves. "we are sons of the king of the eastern world," they said, "and we are come to ireland asking to be taken into the service of finn; for we heard there was not a man in all ireland," they said, "would be better than yourself to judge of the skill we have." "what is your name, and what skill is that?" said finn. "my name is feradach, the very brave," he said; "and i have a carpenter's axe and a sling, and if there were so many as thirty hundred of the men of ireland along with me in one spot, with three blows of the axe on the sling-stick i could get a ship that would hold them all. and i would ask no more help of them," he said, "than to bow down their heads while i was striking those three blows." "that is a good art," said finn. "and tell me now," he said, "what can the other man do?" "i can do this," he said, "i can follow the track of the teal over nine ridges and nine furrows until i come on her in her bed; and it is the same to me to do it on sea as on land," he said. "that is a good art," said finn; "and it would be a good help to us if you would come following a track with us now." "what is gone from you?" said one of the men. finn told them then the whole story of the hard servant. then feradach, the very brave, struck three blows on his sling-stick with the axe that he had, and the whole of the fianna bowed their heads, and on the moment the whole of the bay and of the harbour was filled with ships and with fast boats. "what will we do with that many ships?" said finn. "we will do away with all you make no use of," he said. caoilte rose up then and let out three great shouts, and all the fianna of ireland, in whatever places they were, heard them, and they thought finn and his people to be in some kind of danger from men from beyond the sea. they came then in small companies as they chanced to be, till they came to the stepping-stones of the cat's head in the western part of corca duibhne. and they asked news of finn, what had happened that he called them away from their hunting, and finn told them all that had happened. then finn and oisin went into council together, and it is what they agreed; that as but fifteen of his people were brought away from finn, he himself with fifteen others would go on their track; oisin to be left at the head of the fianna to guard ireland. and they said farewell to one another, and a grand ship was made ready for finn and his people, and there was food put in it for using and gold for giving away. the young men and the heroes took to their seats then, and took hold of the oars, and they set out over the restless hills and the dark valleys of the great sea. and the sea rose up and bellowed, and there was madness on the broken green waters; but to finn and his people it was a call in the morning and a sleepy time at night to be listening to the roaring and the crooning that was ever and always about the sides of the ship. they went on like that for three days and three nights, and saw no country or island. but at the end of that time a man of them went up into the head of the ship, and he saw out before them a great, rough grey cliff. they went on towards it then, and they saw on the edge of the cliff a high rock, round-shaped, having sides more slippery than an eel's back. and they found the track of the hard servant as far as to the foot of the rock. fergus of the true lips said then to diarmuid: "it is no brave thing you are doing, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, to hold back like this, for it was with manannan the powerful, son of lir, you were reared and got your learning, in the land of promise and in the coasts of the harbours, and with angus og, the dagda's son. and are you without any share of their skill and their daring now," he said, "that would bring finn and his people up this rock?" diarmuid's face reddened when he heard those words, and he took hold of manannan's staves of power that were with him, and he reddened again, and he rose on the staves and gave a leap, and got a standing-place for his two feet on the overhanging rock. he looked down from that on finn and his people, but whatever wish he had to bring them up to where he was, he was not able to do it. he left the rock behind him then, and he was not gone far when he saw a wild tangled place before him, with thick woods that were of all he had ever walked the most leafy and the fullest of the sounds of wind and streams and birds, and of the humming of bees. he went on walking the plain, and as he was looking about him, he saw a great tree with many twigs and branches, and a rock beside it, and a smooth-pointed drinking-horn on it, and a beautiful fresh well at its foot. and there was a great drouth on diarmuid after the sea-journey, and he had a mind to drink a hornful of the water. but when he stooped to it he heard a great noise coming towards him, and he knew then there was enchantment in the water. "i will drink my fill of it for all that," he said. and it was not long after that till he saw a man of enchantments coming towards him armed, having no friendly look. and it was in no friendly way he spoke to diarmuid when he came up to him, but he gave him great abuse. "it is no right thing," he said, "to be walking through my thickets and to be drinking up my share of water." with that they faced one another angrily, and they fought till the end of the day. the enchanter thought it well to leave off fighting then, and he made a leap into the bottom of the well away from him, but there was vexation on diarmuid to be left like that. he looked around him then, and he saw a herd of deer coming through the scrub, and he went towards them, and threw a spear that went through the nearest stag and drove the bowels out of him. he kindled a fire then, and he cut thin bits of the flesh and put them on spits of white hazel, and that night he had his fill of meat and of the water of the well. he rose up early on the morrow, and he found the enchanter at the well before him. "it seems to me, grandson of duibhne," he said, "that it is not enough for you to be walking my scrub and my woods without killing my deer as well." with that they started again, giving one another blow for blow, thrust for thrust, and wound for wound till the end of the day came on them. and diarmuid killed another great deer that night, and in the morning the fight began again. but in the evening, when the enchanter was making his leap into the well, diarmuid threw his arms about his neck, thinking to stop him, but it is what happened, he fell in himself. and when he was at the bottom of the well the enchanter left him. diarmuid went then following after the enchanter, and he found before him a beautiful wide flowery plain, and a comely royal city in the plain, and on the green before the dun he saw a great army; and when they saw diarmuid following after the enchanter, they left a way and a royal road for the enchanter to pass through till he got inside the dun. and then they shut the gates, and the whole army turned on diarmuid. but that put no fear or cowardice on him, but he went through them and over them like a hawk would go through little birds, or a wild dog through a flock of sheep, killing all before him, till some of them made away to the woods and wastes, and another share of them through the gates of the dun, and they shut them, and the gates of the city after them. and diarmuid, all full of hurts and wounds after the hard fight, lay down on the plain. a very strong daring champion came then and kicked at him from behind, and at that diarmuid roused himself up, and put out his brave ready hand for his weapons. "wait a while, grandson of duibhne," the champion said then; "it is not to do you any hurt or harm i am come, but to say to you it is a bad sleeping-place for you to have, and it on your ill-wisher's lawn. and come now with me," he said, "and i will give you a better resting-place." diarmuid followed him then, and they went a long, long way from that, till they came to a high-topped city, and three times fifty brave champions in it, three times fifty modest women, and another young woman on a bench, with blushes in her cheeks, and delicate hands, and having a silken cloak about her, and a dress sewed with gold threads, and on her head the flowing veil of a queen. there was a good welcome before diarmuid for his own sake and the sake of his people, and he was put in a house of healing that was in the city, and good herbs were put to his hurts till he was smooth and sound again. and a feast was made then, and the tables and the benches were set, and no high person was put in the place of the mean, or mean in the place of the high, but every one in his own place, according to his nobility, or his descent, or his art. plenty of good food was brought to them then, and well-tasting strong drinks, and they spent the first part of the night in drinking, and the second part with music and delight and rejoicing of the mind, and the third part in sound sleep that lasted till the sun rose over the heavy sodded earth on the morrow. three days and three nights diarmuid stopped in that city, and the best feast he ever found was given to him all through. and at the end of that time he asked what was the place he was in, and who was head of it. and the champion that brought him there told him it was land-under-wave, and that the man that had fought with him was its king. "and he is an enemy of the red hand to me," he said. "and as to myself," he said, "i was one time getting wages from finn, son of cumhal, in ireland, and i never put a year over me that pleased me better. and tell me now," he said, "what is the journey or the work that is before you?" and diarmuid told him the story of the hard servant then from beginning to end. now, as to finn and his people, when they thought diarmuid was too long away from them, they made ladders of the cords of the ship and put them against the rock, looking for him. and after a while they found the leavings of the meat he had eaten, for diarmuid never ate meat without leaving some after him. finn looked then on every side, and he saw a rider coming towards him over the plain on a dark-coloured beautiful horse, having a bridle of red gold. finn saluted him when he came up, and the rider stooped his head and gave finn three kisses, and asked him to go with him. they went on a long way till they came to a wide, large dwelling-place full of arms, and a great troop of armed men on the green before the fort. three nights and three days finn and his people stopped in the dun, and the best feast they ever got was served out to them. at the end of that time finn asked what country was he in, and the man that brought him there told him it was the land of sorcha, and that he himself was its king. "and i was with yourself one time, finn, son of cumhal," he said, "taking your wages through the length of a year in ireland." then finn and the king of sorcha called a great gathering of the people and a great meeting. and when it was going on they saw a woman-messenger coming to them through the crowd, and the king asked news of her. "i have news indeed," she said; "the whole of the bay and the harbour is full of ships and of boats, and there are armies all through the country robbing all before them." "i know well," said the king, "it is the high king of greece is in it, for he has a mind to put the entire world under him, and to get hold of this country like every other." the king of sorcha looked at finn then, and finn understood it was help from him he was asking, and it is what he said: "i take the protection of this country on myself so long as i am in it." he and his people rose up then, and the king of sorcha along with them, and they went looking for the strange army. and when they came up with it they made great slaughter of its champions, and those they did not kill ran before them, and made no better stand than a flock of frightened birds, till there were hardly enough of them left to tell the story. the high king spoke then, and it is what he said: "who is it has done this great slaughter of my people? and i never heard before," he said, "any talk of the courage or of the doings of the men of ireland either at this time or in the old times. but from this out," he said, "i will banish the sons of the gael for ever to the very ends of the earth." but finn and the king of sorcha raised a green tent in view of the ships of the greeks. the king of the greeks called then for help against finn and the king of sorcha, to get satisfaction for the shame that was put on his people. and the sons of kings of the eastern and southern world came to his help, but they could make no stand against finn and osgar and oisin and goll, son of morna. and at the last the king of greece brought all his people back home, the way no more of them would be put an end to. and then finn and the king of sorcha called another great gathering. and while it was going on, they saw coming towards them a great troop of champions, bearing flags of many-coloured silk, and grey swords at their sides and high spears reared up over their heads. and in the front of them was diarmuid, grandson of duibhne. when finn saw him, he sent fergus of the true lips to ask news of him, and they told one another all that had happened. and it would take too long to tell, and it would tire the hearers, how finn made the hard servant bring home his fifteen men that he had brought away. and when he had brought them back to ireland, the whole of the fianna were watching to see him ride away again, himself and his long-legged horse. but while they were watching him, he vanished from them, and all they could see was a mist, and it stretching out towards the sea. and that is the story of the hard servant, and of diarmuid's adventures on the island under-wave. chapter v. the house of the quicken trees and it is often the fianna would have been badly off without the help of diarmuid. it was he came to their help the time miodac, the son of the king of lochlann, brought them into the enchanted house of the quicken trees. it was by treachery he brought them in, giving himself out to be a poet, and making poems for finn to make out the meaning of. a verse he made about a great army that he saw riding over the plains to victory, and robbing all before it, and the riders of it having no horses but plants and branches. "i understand that," said finn, "it was an army of bees you saw, that was gathering riches from the flowers as it went." and another verse miodac made was about a woman in ireland that was swifter than the swiftest horse. "i know that," said finn, "that woman is the river boinn; and if she goes slow itself, she is swifter in the end than the swiftest horse, for her going never stops." and other verses he made about angus' house at brugh na boinn, but finn made them all out. and after that he said he had a feast ready for them, and he bade them go into his house of the quicken trees till he would bring it. and they did that, and went in, and it was a beautiful house, having walls of every colour, and foreign coverings of every colour on the floor, and a fire that gave out a very pleasant smoke. and they sat down there, and after a while finn said: "it is a wonder such a beautiful house to be here." "there is a greater wonder than that," said goll; "that fire that was so pleasant when we came in is giving out now the worst stench in the world." "there is a greater wonder than that," said glas; "the walls that were of all colours are now but rough boards joined together." "there is a greater wonder than that," said fiacha; "where there were seven high doors to the house there is now but one little door, and it shut." "indeed, there is a more wonderful thing than that," said conan; "for we sat down on beautiful coverings, and now there is nothing between us and the bare ground, and it as cold as the snow of one night." and he tried to rise up, but he could not stir, or any of the rest of them, for there was enchantment that kept them where they were. and it was the treachery of miodac, and the spells of the three kings of the island of the floods that had brought them into that danger. and finn knew by his divination that their enemies were gathering to make an end of them, and he said to his people there was no use in making complaints, but to sound the music of the dord fiann. and some of the fianna that were waiting for him not far off heard that sorrowful music, and came fighting against miodac and his armies, and they fought well, but they could not stand against them. and at the last it was diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, that made an end of miodac that was so treacherous, and of the three kings of the island of the floods, and took the enchantment off the floor of the house of the rowan trees with their blood. and when he was freeing the fianna, conan called out, asking him to bring him a share of the feast miodac had made ready for his own friends, for there was hunger on him. and when diarmuid took no heed of him, he said: "if it was a comely woman was speaking to you, diarmuid, you would not refuse to listen." for if many women loved diarmuid, there were many he himself gave his love to; and if he was often called diarmuid the brave, or the hardy, or the comely, or the hawk of ess ruadh, it is often he was called as well the friend and the coaxer of women, diarmuid-na-man. book seven: diarmuid and grania. chapter i. the flight from teamhair finn rose up one morning early in almhuin of leinster, and he sat out alone on the green lawn without a boy or a servant being with him. and oisin followed him there, and diorraing the druid. "what is the cause of your early rising, finn?" said oisin. "it is not without cause, indeed, i rise early," said finn, "for i am without a wife or a companion since maighneis, daughter of black garraidh, died from me; for quiet sleep is not used to come to a man that is without a fitting wife." "why would you be like that?" said oisin, "for there is not a woman in all green ireland you would throw a look on but we would bring her to you, willing or unwilling." "i myself could find a wife would be fitting for you," said diorraing. "who is that?" said finn. "it is grania, daughter of the high king of ireland," said diorraing; "and she is the woman of the best make and shape and the best speech of the women of the whole world." "by my word, diorraing," said finn, "there is strife and disagreement between the high king and myself this long time, and it would not be pleasing to me to get a refusal from him. and it is best for you two to go together," he said, "and to ask his daughter for me in marriage; the way that if he gives a refusal, it will be to you and not to myself he will give it." "we will go," said oisin, "even if it is little profit we will get by it. and let no one at all know of our going," he said, "until such time as we are come back again." after that the two bade farewell to finn, and set out, and it is not told what they did till they came to teamhair. the king of ireland was holding a gathering at that time on the green of teamhair, and the chief nobles of his people were with him. and there was a friendly welcome given to oisin and to diorraing, and the king put off the gathering till the next day, for he was sure it was some pressing thing had brought these two men of the fianna to teamhair. and oisin went aside with him, and told him it was to ask his daughter grania in marriage they were come from finn, head of the fianna of ireland. the king spoke, and it is what he said: "there is not a son of a king or of a great prince, there is not a champion in ireland my daughter has not given a refusal to, and it is on me they all lay the blame of that. and i will give you no answer at all," he said, "till you go to herself; for it is better for you to get her own answer, than to be displeased with me." so they went together to the sunny house of the women, and the king sat down at the head of the high seat beside grania, and he said: "here, grania, are two of the people of finn, son of cumhal, come to ask you as a wife for him, and what answer have you a mind to give them?" and it is what grania said: "if he is a fitting son-in-law for you, why would he not be a fitting husband for me?" they were satisfied then, and there was a feast made for them that night in grania's sunny house, and the king settled for a meeting a fortnight from that time between himself and finn at teamhair. so oisin and diorraing went back again to almhuin, and told finn their story from beginning to end. and as everything wears away, so did that time of delay. and then finn gathered together the seven battalions of the fianna from every part where they were to almhuin. and they set out in great bands and troops till they came to teamhair. the king was out on the green before them, and the great people of the men of ireland, and there was a great welcome before finn and the fianna. but when grania saw grey-haired finn, she said: "it is a great wonder it was not for oisin finn asked me, for he would be more fitting for me than a man that is older than my father." but they talked together for a while, and finn was putting questions to grania, for she had the name of being very quick with answers. "what is whiter than snow?" he said. "the truth," said grania. "what is the best colour?" said finn. "the colour of childhood," said she. "what is hotter than fire?" "the face of a hospitable man when he sees a stranger coming in, and the house empty." "what has a taste more bitter than poison?" "the reproach of an enemy." "what is best for a champion?" "his doings to be high, and his pride to be low." "what is the best of jewels?" "a knife." "what is sharper than a sword?" "the wit of a woman between two men." "what is quicker than the wind?" said finn then. "a woman's mind," said grania. and indeed she was telling no lie when she said that. and for all their talk together she had no liking for finn, and she felt the blood in her heart to be rising against him. and the wedding-feast was made ready then, and they all went into the king's feasting-house in the middle court. and the king sat down to take his share of drinking and pleasure, and his wife at his left side, and grania beside her again; and finn, son of cumhal, at the right hand of the king, and oisin at the other side, and every other one according to his nobility and his birth. then daire of the poems stood up before grania, and sang the songs and good poems of her fathers to her. and there was sitting near to grania a knowledgeable man, a druid of finn's people, and it was not long until they began to talk together. "tell me now," said grania, "who is that man on the right hand of oisin?" "that is goll, son of morna," said the druid, "the ready fighter." "who is that beside goll?" said grania. "osgar, son of oisin," said the druid. "and who is that thin-legged man beside osgar?" "that is caoilte, son of ronan." "who is that proud, hasty man beside caoilte?" "lugaidh's son of the strong hand." "who is that sweet-worded man," she said then, "with the dark hair, and cheeks like the rowan berry, on the left side of oisin, son of finn?" "that is diarmuid, grandson of duibhne," said the druid, "that is the best lover of women in the whole world." "that is a good company," said grania. and after the feast had gone on a while, their own feast was made for the dogs outside. and the dogs began to fight with one another, and the noise was heard in the hall, and the chief men of the fianna went to drive them away from one another. now diarmuid was used to keep his cap always over the love-spot the woman had left on his forehead, for no woman could see that spot but she would give him her love. and it chanced, while he was driving the dogs apart, the cap fell from him, and grania was looking cut at him as it fell, and great love for him came on her there and then. and she called her serving-maid to her, and bade her bring the great golden cup that held drink for nine times nine men from the sunny house. and when the serving-maid brought the cup, she filled it with wine that had enchantment in it, and she said: "give the cup first to finn, and bid him take a drink from it, and tell him it is i myself sent it to him." so the serving-maid did that, and finn took the cup and drank out of it, and no sooner did he drink than he fell into a deep sleep. and then the cup was given to the king, and the queen, and the sons of kings, and the whole company, but only oisin and osgar and caoilte and diarmuid, and diorraing the druid. and all that drank of it fell into the same heavy sleep. and when they were all in their sleep, grania rose up softly from the seat where she was, and she turned her face to diarmuid, and she said: "will you take my love, diarmuid, son of duibhne, and will you bring me away out of this house to-night?" "i will not," said diarmuid; "i will not meddle with the woman that is promised to finn." "if that is so," said grania, "i put you under druid bonds, to bring me out of this house to-night before the awaking of finn and of the king of ireland from their sleep." "it is under bad bonds you are putting me, grania," said diarmuid. "and why is it," he said, "that you put them on me more than on the great men and sons of kings that are in the middle court to-night? for there is not one of them all but is as well worthy of a woman's love as myself." "by my hand, diarmuid, it is not without cause i laid those bonds on you," said grania; "for i was at the door a while ago when you were parting the dogs," she said, "and my eyes fell on you, and i gave you the love there and then that i never gave to any other, and never will give for ever." "it is a wonder you to give that love to me, and not to finn," said diarmuid, "for there is not in ireland a man is a better lover of a woman than himself. and do you know this, grania," he said, "the night finn is in teamhair it is he himself is the keeper of its gates. and as that is so, we cannot leave the town." "there is a side door of escape at my sunny house," said grania, "and we will go out by it." "it is a thing i will never do," said diarmuid, "to go out by any side door of escape at all." "that may be so," said grania, "but i heard it said that every fighting man has leave to pass over the walls of any dun and of any strong place at all by the shafts of his spears. and i will go out through the door," she said, "and let you follow me like that." with that she went out, and diarmuid spoke to his people, and it is what he said, "o oisin, son of finn, what must i do with these bonds that are laid on me?" "you are not guilty if the bonds were laid on you," said oisin; "and i tell you to follow grania, and to keep yourself well out of the hands of finn." "osgar, son of oisin," he said then, "what must i do with these bonds that are put on me?" "i tell you to follow grania," said osgar, "for it is a pitiful man that would break his bonds." "what advice do you give me, caoilte?" said diarmuid. "it is what i say," said caoilte, "that i myself have a fitting wife; and that it would be better to me than all the riches of the world grania to have given me that love." "what advice do you give me, diorraing?" "i tell you to follow grania," said diorraing, "although you will get your death by it, and that is bad to me." "is that the advice you all give me?" said diarmuid. "it is," said oisin, and all the rest with him. with that diarmuid stood up and stretched out his hand for his weapons, and he said farewell to oisin and the others, and every tear he shed was of the size of a mountain berry. he went out then to the wall of the dun, and he put the shafts of his two spears under him, and he rose with a light leap and he came down on the grassy earth outside, and grania met him there. then diarmuid said: "it is a bad journey you are come on, grania. for it would be better for you to have finn, son of cumhal, as a lover than myself, for i do not know any part or any western corner of ireland that will hide you. and if i do bring you with me," he said, "it is not as a wife i will bring you, but i will keep my faith to finn. and turn back now to the town," he said, "and finn will never get news of what you are after doing." "it is certain i will not turn back," said grania, "and i will never part with you till death parts us." "if that is so, let us go on, grania," said diarmuid. they went on then, and they were not gone far out from the town when grania said: "i am getting tired, indeed." "it is a good time to be tired," said diarmuid, "and go now back again to your own house. for i swear by the word of a true champion," he said, "i will never carry yourself or any other woman to the end of life and time." "that is not what you have to do," said grania, "for my father's horses are in a grass field by themselves, and chariots with them; and turn back now, and bring two horses of them, and i will wait in this place till you come to me again." diarmuid went back then for the horses, and we have no knowledge of their journey till they reached to the ford on the sionnan, that is called now ath-luain. and diarmuid said then to grania: "it is easier to finn to follow our track, the horses being with us." "if that is so," said grania: "leave the horses here, and i will go on foot from this out." diarmuid went down to the river then, and he brought a horse with him over the ford, and left the other horse the far side of the river. and he himself and grania went a good way with the stream westward, and they went to land at the side of the province of connacht. and wherever they went, diarmuid left unbroken bread after him, as a sign to finn he had kept his faith with him. and from that they went on to doire-da-bhoth, the wood of the two huts. and diarmuid cut down the wood round about them, and he made a fence having seven doors of woven twigs, and he set out a bed of soft rushes and of the tops of the birch-tree for grania in the very middle of the wood. chapter ii. the pursuit and as to finn, son of cumhal, i will tell out his story now. all that were in teamhair rose up early in the morning of the morrow, and they found diarmuid and grania were wanting from them, and there came a scorching jealousy and a weakness on finn. he sent out his trackers then on the plain, and bade them to follow diarmuid and grania. and they followed the track as far as the ford on the sionnan, and finn and the fianna followed after them, but they were not able to carry the track across the ford. and finn gave them his word that unless they would find the track again without delay, he would hang them on each side of the ford. then the sons of neamhuin went up against the stream, and they found a horse on each side of it, and then they went on with the stream westward, and they found the track going along the side of the province of connacht, and finn and the fianna of ireland followed it on. and finn said: "i know well where we will find diarmuid and grania now; it is in doire-da-bhoth they are." oisin and osgar and caoilte and diorraing were listening when finn said those words. and osgar spoke to the others, and it is what he said: "there is danger they might be there, and it would be right for us to give them some warning; and look now, osgar, where is bran the hound, for finn himself is no dearer to him than diarmuid, and bid him go now with a warning to him." so osgar told bran, and bran understood him well, and she went to the rear of the whole troop the way finn would not see her, and she followed on the track of diarmuid and grania till she came to doire-da-bhoth, and she put her head into diarmuid's bosom, and he in his sleep. diarmuid started up out of his sleep then, and he awoke grania, and said to her: "here is bran, finn's hound, and she is come with a warning to tell us finn himself is coming." "let us take that warning, then," said grania, "and make your escape." "i will not take it," said diarmuid, "for if i cannot escape finn, i would as soon he took me now as at any other time." when grania heard that, great fear came on her. bran went away from them then, and when oisin saw her coming back, he said: "i am in dread bran found no chance to get to diarmuid, and we should send him some other warning. and look where is fearghoin," he said, "caoilte's serving-man." now it was the way with fearghoin, every shout he would give would be heard in the three nearest hundreds to him. so they made him give out three shouts the way diarmuid would hear him. and diarmuid heard him, and he said to grania: "i hear caoilte's serving-man, and it is with caoilte he is, and it is along with finn caoilte is, and those shouts were sent as a warning to me." "take that warning," said grania. "i will not take it," said diarmuid, "for finn and the fianna will come up with us before we leave the wood." and fear and great dread came on grania when she heard him say that. as for finn, he did not leave off following the track till he came to doire-da-bhoth, and he sent the sons of neamhuin to search through the wood, and they saw diarmuid, and the woman along with him. they came back then where finn was, and he asked them were diarmuid and grania in the wood? "diarmuid is in it," they said, "and there is some woman with him, but we knew diarmuid, and we do not know grania." "may no good come to the friends of diarmuid for his sake," said finn, "and he will not quit that wood till he has given me satisfaction for everything he has done to me." "it is jealousy has put you astray, finn," said oisin; "you to think diarmuid would stop here on the plain of maen mhagh, and no close place in it but doire-da-bhoth, and you following after him." "saying that will do you no good," said finn, "for i knew well when i heard the three shouts caoilte's serving-man gave out, it was you sent them to diarmuid as a warning. and another thing," he said, "it was you sent my own hound bran to him. but none of those things you have done will serve you, for he will not leave doire-da-bhoth till he gives me satisfaction for everything he has done to me, and every disgrace he has put on me." "it is great foolishness for you, finn," said osgar then, "to be thinking diarmuid would stop in the middle of this plain and you waiting here to strike the head off him." "who but himself cut the wood this way," said finn, "and made this close sheltered place with seven woven narrow doors to it. and o diarmuid," he said out then, "which of us is the truth with, myself or oisin?" "you never failed from your good judgment, finn," said diarmuid, "and indeed i myself and grania are here." then finn called to his men to go around diarmuid and grania, and to take them. now it was shown at this time to angus og, at brugh na boinne, the great danger diarmuid was in, that was his pupil at one time, and his dear foster-son. he set out then with the clear cold wind, and did not stop in any place till he came to doire-da-bhoth. and he went unknown to finn or the fianna into the place where diarmuid and grania were, and he spoke kind words to diarmuid, and he said: "what is the thing you have done, grandson of duibhne?" "it is," said diarmuid, "the daughter of the king of ireland that has made her escape with me from her father and from finn, and it is not by my will she came." "let each of you come under a border of my cloak, so," said angus, "and i will bring you out of the place where you are without knowledge of finn or his people." "bring grania with you," said diarmuid, "but i will never go with you; but if i am alive i will follow you before long. and if i do not," he said, "give grania to her father, and he will do well or ill to her." with that angus put grania under the border of his cloak, and brought her out unknown to finn or the fianna, and there is no news told of them till they came to ros-da-shoileach, the headland of the two sallows. and as to diarmuid, after angus and grania going from him, he stood up as straight as a pillar and put on his armour and his arms, and after that he went to a door of the seven doors he had made, and he asked who was at it. "there is no enemy to you here," they said, "for there are here oisin and osgar and the best men of the sons of baiscne along with us. and come out to us now, and no one will have the daring to do any harm or hurt on you." "i will not go out to you," said diarmuid, "till i see at what door finn himself is." he went then to another door of the seven and asked who was at it. "caoilte, son of ronan, and the rest of the sons of ronan along with him; and come out to us now, and we will give ourselves for your sake." "i will not go out to you," said diarmuid, "for i will not put you under finn's anger for any well-doing to myself." he went on to another door then and asked who was at it. "there is conan, son of morna, and the rest of the sons of morna along with him; and it is enemies to finn we are, and you are a great deal more to us than he is, and you may come out and no one will dare lay a hand on you." "i will not indeed," said diarmuid, "for finn would be better pleased to see the death of every one of you than to let me escape." he went then to another door and asked who was at it. "a friend and a comrade of your own, fionn, son of cuadan, head of the fianna of munster, and his men along with him; and we are of the one country and the one soil, and we will give our bodies and our lives for your sake." "i will not go out to you," said diarmuid, "for i would not like finn to have a grudge against you for any good you did to me." he went then to another door and asked who was at it. "it is fionn, son of glor, head of the fianna of ulster, and his men along him; and come out now to us and there is no one will dare hurt or harm you." "i will not go out to you," said diarmuid, "for you are a friend to me, and your father along with you, and i would not like the unfriendliness of finn to be put on you for my sake." he went then to another door, and he asked who was at it. "there is no friend of yours here," they said, "for there is here aodh beag the little from eamhuin, and aodh fada the long from eamhuin, and caol crodha the fierce, and goineach the wounder, and gothan the white-fingered, and aoife his daughter, and cuadan the tracker from eamhuin; and we are unfriendly people to you, and if you come out to us we will not spare you at all, but will make an end of you." "it is a bad troop is in it," said diarmuid; "you of the lies and of the tracking and of the one shoe, and it is not fear of your hands is upon me, but because i am your enemy i will not go out." he went then to the last of the seven doors and asked who was at it. "no friend of yours," they said, "but it is finn, son of cumhal, and four hundred paid fighting men along with him; and if you will come out to us we will make opened marrow of you." "i give you my word, finn," said diarmuid, "that the door you are at yourself is the first door i will pass out of." when finn heard that, he warned his battalions on pain of lasting death not to let diarmuid past them unknown. but when diarmuid heard what he said, he rose on the staves of his spears and he went with a very high, light leap on far beyond finn and his people, without their knowledge. he looked back at them then, and called out that he had gone past them, and he put his shield on his back and went straight on towards the west, and it was not long before he was out of sight of finn and the fianna. then when he did not see any one coming after him, he turned back to where he saw angus and grania going out of the wood, and he followed on their track till he came to ros-da-shoileach. he found angus and grania there in a sheltered, well-lighted cabin, and a great blazing fire kindled in it, and the half of a wild boar on spits. diarmuid greeted them, and the life of grania all to went out of her with joy before him. diarmuid told them his news from beginning to end, and they ate their share that night, and they went to sleep till the coming of the day and of the full light on the morrow. and angus rose up early, and he said to diarmuid: "i am going from you now, grandson of duibhne; and i leave this advice with you," he said, "not to go into a tree with one trunk, and you flying before finn, and not to be going into a cave of the earth that has but one door, and not to be going to an island of the sea that has but one harbour. and in whatever place you cook your share of food," he said, "do not eat it there; and in whatever place you eat it, do not lie down there; and in whatever place you lie down, do not rise up there on the morrow." he said farewell to them after that, and went his way. chapter iii. the green champions then diarmuid and grania went along the right bank of the sionnan westward till they came to garbh-abha-na-fiann, the rough river of the fianna. and diarmuid killed a salmon on the brink of the river, and put it to the fire on a spit. then he himself and grania went across the stream to eat it, as angus bade them; and then they went westward to sleep. they rose up early on the morrow, and they travelled straight westward till they came to the marsh of finnliath. and on the marsh they met with a young man, having a good shape and appearance, but without fitting dress or arms. diarmuid greeted the young man, and asked news of him. "a fighting lad i am, looking for a master," he said, "and muadhan is my name." "what would you do for me, young man?" said diarmuid. "i would be a servant to you in the day, and watch for you in the night," he said. "i tell you to keep that young man," said grania, "for you cannot be always without people." then they made an agreement with him, and bound one another, and they went on together westward till they reached the carrthach river. and then muadhan bade diarmuid and grania to go up on his back till he would carry them over the stream. "that would be a big load for you," said grania. but he put them upon his back and carried them over. then they went on till they came to the beith, and muadhan brought them over on his back the same way. and they went into a cave at the side of currach cinn adhmuid, the woody headland of the bog, over tonn toime, and muadhan made ready beds of soft rushes and tops of the birch for them in the far end of the cave. and he went himself into the scrub that was near, and took a straight long rod of a quicken-tree, and he put a hair and a hook on the rod, and a holly berry on the hook, and he went up the stream, and he took a salmon with the first cast. then he put on a second berry and killed another fish, and he put on a third berry and killed the third fish. then he put the hook and the hair under his belt, and struck the rod into the earth, and he brought the three salmon where diarmuid and grania were, and put them on spits. when they were done, muadhan said: "i give the dividing of the fish to you, diarmuid." "i would sooner you to divide it than myself," said diarmuid. "i will give the dividing of the fish to you, so, grania," said he. "i am better satisfied you to divide it," said grania. "if it was you that divided the fish, diarmuid," said muadhan, "you would have given the best share to grania; and if it was grania divided it, she would have given you the best share; and as it is myself is dividing it, let you have the biggest fish, diarmuid, and let grania have the second biggest, and i myself will have the one is smallest." they spent the night there, and diarmuid and grania slept in the far part of the cave, and muadhan kept watch for them until the rising of the day and the full light of the morrow. diarmuid rose up early, and he bade grania keep watch for muadhan, and that he himself would go and take a walk around the country. he went out then, and he went up on a hill that was near, and he was looking about him, east and west, north and south. he was not long there till he saw a great fleet of ships coming from the west, straight to the bottom of the hill where he was. and when they were come to land, nine times nine of the chief men of the ships came on shore, and diarmuid went down and greeted them, and asked news of them, and to what country they belonged. "three kings we are of the green champions of muir-na-locht," said they; "and finn, son of cumhal, sent looking for us by cause of a thief of the woods, and an enemy of his own that has gone hiding from him; and it is to hinder him we are come. and we are twenty hundred good fighting men, and every one of us is a match for a hundred, and besides that," he said, "we have three deadly hounds with us; fire will not burn them, and water will not drown them, and arms will not redden on them, and we will lay them on his track, and it will be short till we get news of him. and tell us who you are yourself?" they said, "and have you any word of the grandson of duibhne?" "i saw him yesterday," said diarmuid; "and i myself," he said, "am but a fighting man, walking the world by the strength of my hand and by the hardness of my sword. and by my word," he said, "you will know diarmuid's hand when you will meet it." "well, we found no one up to this," said they. "what are your own names?" said diarmuid. "dubh-chosach, the black-footed, fionn-chosach, the fair-footed, and treun-chosach, the strong-footed," they said. "is there wine in your ships?" said diarmuid. "there is," said they. "if you have a mind to bring out a tun of wine," said diarmuid, "i will do a trick for you." they sent men to get the tun, and when it came diarmuid took it between his two hands and drank a drink out of it, and the others drank what was left of it. diarmuid took up the tun after that, and brought it to the top of the hill, and he went up himself on the tun, and let it go down the steep of the hill till it was at the bottom. and then he brought the tun up the hill again, and he himself on it coming and going, and he did that trick three times before the strangers. but they said he was a man had never seen a good trick when he called that a trick; and with that a man of them went up on the tun, but diarmuid gave a stroke of his foot at it and the young man fell from it before it began to move, and it rolled over him and crushed him, that he died. and another man went on it, and another after him again, till fifty of them were killed trying to do diarmuid's trick, and as many of them as were not killed went back to their ships that night. diarmuid went back then to where he left grania; and muadhan put the hair and the hook on the rod till he killed three salmon; and they ate their meal that night, and he kept watch for them the same way he did before. diarmuid went out early the next day again to the hill, and it was not long till he saw the three strangers coming towards him, and he asked them would they like to see any more tricks. they said they would sooner get news of the grandson of duibhne. "i saw a man that saw him yesterday," said diarmuid. and with that he put off his arms and his clothes, all but the shirt that was next his skin, and he struck the crann buidhe, the spear of manannan, into the earth with the point upwards. and then he rose with a leap and lit on the point of the spear as light as a bird, and came down off it again without a wound on him. then a young man of the green champions said: "it is a man has never seen feats that would call that a feat"; and he put off his clothing and made a leap, and if he did he came down heavily on the point of the spear, and it went through his heart, and he fell to the ground. the next day diarmuid came again, and he brought two forked poles out of the wood and put them standing upright on the hill, and he put the sword of angus og, the mor-alltach, the big-fierce one, between the two forks on its edge. then he raised himself lightly over it, and walked on the sword three times from the hilt to the point, and he came down and asked was there a man of them could do that feat. "that is a foolish question," said a man of them then, "for there was never any feat done in ireland but a man of our own would do it." and with that he rose up to walk on the sword; but it is what happened, he came down heavily on it the way he was cut in two halves. the rest of the champions bade him take away his sword then, before any more of their people would fall by it; and they asked him had he any word of the grandson of duibhne. "i saw a man that saw him to-day," said diarmuid, "and i will go ask news of him to-night." he went back then to where grania was, and muadhan killed three salmon for their supper, and kept a watch for them through the night. and diarmuid rose up at the early break of day, and he put his battle clothes on him, that no weapon could go through, and he took the sword of angus, that left no leavings after it, at his left side, and his two thick-handled spears, the gae buidhe and the gae dearg, the yellow and the red, that gave wounds there was no healing for. and then he wakened grania, and he bade her to keep watch for muadhan, and he himself would go out and take a look around. when grania saw him looking so brave, and dressed in his clothes of anger and of battle, great fear took hold of her, and she asked what was he going to do. "it is for fear of meeting my enemies i am like this," said he. that quieted grania, and then diarmuid went out to meet the green champions. they came to land then, and they asked had he news of the grandson of duibhne. "i saw him not long ago," said diarmuid. "if that is so, let us know where is he," said they, "till we bring his head to finn, son of cumhal." "i would be keeping bad watch for him if i did that," said diarmuid, "for his life and his body are under the protection of my valour, and by reason of that i will do no treachery on him." "is that true?" said they. "it is true indeed," said diarmuid. "let you yourself quit this place, so," they said, "or we will bring your head to finn since you are an enemy to him." "it is in bonds i would be," said diarmuid, "the time i would leave my head with you." and with that he drew his sword the mor-alltach out of its sheath, and he made a fierce blow at the head nearest him that put it in two halves. then he made an attack on the whole host of the green champions, and began to destroy them, cutting through the beautiful shining armour of the men of muir-na-locht till there was hardly a man but got shortening of life and the sorrow of death, or that could go back to give news of the fight, but only the three kings and a few of their people that made their escape back to their ships. diarmuid turned back then without wound or hurt on him, and he went to where crania and muadhan were. they bade him welcome, and grania asked him did he hear any news of finn and the fianna of ireland, and he said he did not, and they ate their food and spent the night there. he rose up again with the early light of the morrow and went back to the hill, and when he got there he struck a great blow on his shield that set the strand shaking with the sound. and dubh-chosach heard it, and he said he himself would go fight with diarmuid, and he went on shore there and then. and he and diarmuid threw the arms out of their hands and rushed on one another like wrestlers, straining their arms and their sinews, knotting their hands on one another's backs, fighting like bulls in madness, or like two daring hawks on the edge of a cliff. but at the last diarmuid raised up dubh-chosach on his shoulder and threw his body to the ground, and bound him fast and firm on the spot. and fionn-chosach and treun-chosach came one after the other to fight with him then, and he put the same binding on them; and he said he would strike the heads off them, only he thought it a worse punishment to leave them in those bonds. "for there is no one can free you," he said. and he left them there, worn out and sorrowful. the next morning after that, diarmuid told grania the whole story of the strangers from beginning to end, and of all he had done to them, and how on the fifth day he had put their kings in bonds. "and they have three fierce hounds in a chain ready to hunt me," he said. "did you take the heads off those three kings?" said grania, "i did not," said diarmuid, "for there is no man of the heroes of ireland can loosen those bonds but four only, oisin, son of finn, and osgar, son of oisin, and lugaidh's son of the strong hand, and conan, son of morna; and i know well," he said, "none of those four will do it. but all the same, it is short till finn will get news of them, and it is best for us to be going from this cave, or finn and the three hounds might come on us." after that they left the cave, and they went on till they came to the bog of finnliath. grania began to fall behind them, and muadhan put her on his back and carried her till they came to the great slieve luachra. then diarmuid sat down on the brink of the stream that was flowing through the heart of the mountain, and grania was washing her hands, and she asked his knife from him to cut her nails with. as to the strangers, as many of them as were alive yet, they came to the hill where their three leaders were bound, and they thought to loose them; but it is the way those bonds were, all they did by meddling with them was to draw them tighter. and they were not long there till they saw a woman coming towards them with the quickness of a swallow or a weasel or a blast of wind over bare mountain-tops. and she asked them who was it had done that great slaughter on them. "who are you that is asking that?" said they. "i am the woman of the black mountain, the woman-messenger of finn, son of cumhal," she said; "and it is looking for you finn sent me." "indeed we do not know who it was did this slaughter," they said, "but we will tell you his appearance. a young man he was, having dark curling hair and ruddy cheeks. and it is worse again to us," they said, "our three leaders to be bound this way, and we not able to loose them." "what way did that young man go from you?" said the woman. "it was late last night he left us," they said, "and we do not know where is he gone." "i give you my word," she said, "it was diarmuid himself that was in it; and take your hounds now and lay them on his track, and i will send finn and the fianna of ireland to you." they left a woman-druid then attending on the three champions that were bound, and they brought their three hounds out of the ship and laid them on diarmuid's track, and followed them till they came to the opening of the cave, and they went into the far part of it and found the beds where diarmuid and crania had slept. then they went on westward till they came to the carrthach river, and to the bog of finnliath, and so on to the great slieve luachra. but diarmuid did not know they were after him till he got sight of them with their banners of soft silk and their three wicked hounds in the front of the troop and three strong champions holding them in chains. and when he saw them coming like that he was filled with great hatred of them. there was one of them had a well-coloured green cloak on him, and he came out far beyond the others, and grania gave the knife back to diarmuid. "i think you have not much love for that young man of the green cloak, grania," said diarmuid. "i have not indeed," said grania; "and it would be better if i had never given love to any man at all to this day." diarmuid put the knife in the sheath then, and went on; and muadhan put grania on his back and carried her on into the mountain. it was not long till a hound of the three hounds was loosed after diarmuid, and muadhan said to him to follow grania, and he himself would check the hound. then muadhan turned back, and he took a whelp out of his belt, and put it on the flat of his hand. and when the whelp saw the hound rushing towards him, and its jaws open, he rose up and made a leap from muadhan's hand into the throat of the hound, and came out of its side, bringing the heart with it, and he leaped back again to muadhan's hand, and left the hound dead after him. muadhan went on then after diarmuid and grania, and he took up grania again and carried her a bit of the way into the mountain. then another hound was loosened after them, and diarmuid said to muadhan: "i often heard there is nothing can stand against weapons of druid wounding, and the throat of no beast can be made safe from them. and will you stand now," he said, "till i put the gae dearg, the red spear, through that hound." then muadhan and grania stopped to see the cast. and diarmuid made a cast at the hound, and the spear went through its body and brought out its bowels; and he took up the spear again, and they went forward. it was not long after that the third hound was loosed. and grania said then: "this is the one is fiercest of them, and there is great fear on me, and mind yourself now, diarmuid." it was not long till the hound overtook them, and the place he overtook them was lic dhubhain, the flag-stone of dubhan, on slieve luachra. he rose with a light leap over diarmuid, as if he had a mind to seize on grania, but diarmuid took him by the two hind legs, and struck a blow of his carcase against the side of the rock was nearest, till he had let out his brains through the openings of his head and of his ears. and then diarmuid took up his arms and his battle clothes, and put his narrow-topped finger into the silken string of the gae dearg, and he made a good cast at the young man of the green cloak that was at the head of the troop that killed him. then he made another cast at the second man and killed him, and the third man in the same way. and as it is not the custom to stand after leaders are fallen, the strangers when they saw what had happened took to flight. and diarmuid followed after them, killing and scattering, so that unless any man of them got away over the forests, or into the green earth, or under the waters, there was not a man or messenger of them left to tell the news, but only the woman-messenger of the black mountain, that kept moving around about when diarmuid was putting down the strangers. and it was not long till finn saw her coming towards him where he was, her legs failing, and her tongue muttering, and her eyes drooping, and he asked news of her. "it is very bad news i have to tell you," she said; "and it is what i think, that it is a person without a lord i am." then she told finn the whole story from beginning to end, of the destruction diarmuid had done, and how the three deadly hounds had fallen by him. "and it is hardly i myself got away," she said. "what place did the grandson of duibhne go to?" said finn. "i do not know that," she said. and when finn heard of the kings of the green champions that were bound by diarmuid, he called his men to him, and they went by every short way and every straight path till they reached the hill, and it was torment to the heart of finn to see the way they were. then he said: "oisin," he said, "loosen those three kings for me." "i will not loosen them," said oisin, "for diarmuid put bonds on me not to loosen any man he would bind." "loosen them, osgar," said finn then. "i give my word," said osgar, "it is more bonds i would wish to put on them sooner than to loosen them." neither would conan help them, or lugaidh's son. and any way, they were not long talking about it till the three kings died under the hardness of the bonds that were on them. then finn made three wide-sodded graves for them, and a flag-stone was put over them, and another stone raised over that again, and their names were written in branching ogham, and it is tired and heavy-hearted finn was after that; and he and his people went back to almhuin of leinster. chapter iv. the wood of dubhros and as to diarmuid and grania and muadhan, they went on through ui chonaill gabhra, and left-hand ways to ros-da-shoileach, and diarmuid killed a wild deer that night, and they had their fill of meat and of pure water, and they slept till the morning of the morrow. and muadhan rose up early, and spoke to diarmuid, and it is what he said, that he himself was going away. "it is not right for you to do that," said diarmuid, "for everything i promised you i fulfilled it, without any dispute." but he could not hinder him, and muadhan said farewell to them and left them there and then, and it is sorrowful and downhearted diarmuid and grania were after him. after that they travelled on straight to the north, to slieve echtge, and from that to the hundred of ui fiachrach; and when they got there grania was tired out, but she took courage and went on walking beside diarmuid till they came to the wood of dubhros. now, there was a wonderful quicken-tree in that wood, and the way it came to be there is this: there rose a dispute one time between two women of the tuatha de danaan, aine and aoife, daughters of manannan, son of lir, for aoife had given her love to lugaidh's son, and aine had given her love to a man of her own race, and each of them said her own man was a better hurler than the other. and it came from that dispute that there was a great hurling match settled between the men of dea and the fianna of ireland, and the place it was to be played was on a beautiful plain near loch lein. they all came together there, and the highest men and the most daring of the tuatha de danaan were there, the three garbhs of slieve mis, and the three mases of slieve luachra, and the three yellow-haired murchadhs, and the three eochaidhs of aine, and the three fionns of the white house, and the three sgals of brugh na boinne, and the three ronans of ath na riogh, and the suirgheach suairc, the pleasant wooer from lionan, and the man of sweet speech from the boinn, and ilbrec, the many-coloured, son of manannan, and neamhanach, son of angus og, and bodb dearg, son of the dagda, and manannan, son of lir. they themselves and the fianna were playing the match through the length of three days and three nights, from leamhain to the valley of the fleisg, that is called the crooked valley of the fianna, and neither of them winning a goal. and when the tuatha de danaan that were watching the game on each side of leamhain saw it was so hard for their hurlers to win a goal against the fianna, they thought it as well to go away again without playing out the game. now the provision the men of dea had brought with them from the land of promise was crimson nuts, and apples, and sweet-smelling rowan berries. and as they were passing through the district of ui fiachrach by the muaidh, a berry of the rowan berries fell from them, and a tree grew up from it. and there was virtue in its berries, and no sickness or disease would ever come on any person that would eat them, and those that would eat them would feel the liveliness of wine and the satisfaction of mead in them, and any old person of a hundred years that would eat them would go back to be young again, and any young girl that would eat them would grow to be a flower of beauty. and it happened one time after the tree was grown, there were messengers of the tuatha de danaan going through the wood of dubhros. and they heard a great noise of birds and of bees, and they went where the noise was, and they saw the beautiful druid tree. they went back then and told what they had seen, and all the chief men of the tuatha de danaan when they heard it knew the tree must have grown from a berry of the land of the ever-living living ones. and they enquired among all their people, till they knew it was a young man of them, that was a musician, had dropped the berry. and it is what they agreed, to send him in search of a man of lochlann that would guard the tree by day and sleep in it by night. and the women of the sidhe were very downhearted to see him going from them, for there was no harper could play half so sweetly on his harp as he could play on an ivy leaf. he went on then till he came to lochlann, and he sat down on a bank and sleep came on him. and he slept till the rising of the sun on the morrow; and when he awoke he saw a very big man coming towards him, that asked him who was he. "i am a messenger from the men of dea," he said; "and i am come looking for some very strong man that would be willing to guard a druid tree that is in the wood of dubhros. and here are some of the berries he will be eating from morning to night," he said. and when the big man had tasted the berries, he said: "i will go and guard all the trees of the wood to get those berries." and his name was the searbhan lochlannach, the surly one of lochlann. very black and ugly he was, having crooked teeth, and one eye only in the middle of his forehead. and he had a thick collar of iron around his body, and it was in the prophecy that he would never die till there would be three strokes of the iron club he had, struck upon himself. and he slept in the tree by night and stopped near it in the daytime, and he made a wilderness of the whole district about him, and none of the fianna dared go hunt there because of the dread of him that was on them. but when diarmuid came to the wood of dubhros, he went into it to where the surly one was, and he made bonds of agreement with him, and got leave from him to go hunting in the wood, so long as he would not touch the berries of the tree. and he made a cabin then for himself and for grania in the wood. as for finn and his people, they were not long at almhuin till they saw fifty armed men coming towards them, and two that were taller and handsomer than the rest in the front of them. finn asked did any of his people know them. "we do not know them," they said, "but maybe you yourself know them, finn." "i do not," he said; "but it seems to be they are enemies to myself." the troop of armed men came up to them then and they greeted him, and finn asked news of them, and from what country they came. "i am aonghus, son of art og of the children of morna," one of them said, "and this is aodh, son of andela; and we are enemies of your own, and our fathers were at the killing of your father, and they themselves died for that deed. and it is to ask peace we are come now to you," they said. "where were you the time my father was killed?" "in our mothers' wombs," said they; "and our mothers were two women of the tuatha de danaan, and it is time for us now to get our father's place among the fianna." "i will give you that," said finn, "but i must put a fine on you first in satisfaction for my father's death." "we have neither gold or silver or goods or cattle to give you, finn," said they. "do not put a fine on them, finn," said oisin, "beyond the death of their fathers for your father." "it is what i think," said finn, "if any one killed myself, oisin, it would be easy to pay the fine you would ask. and there will no one come among the fianna," he said, "without giving what i ask in satisfaction for my father's death." "what is it you are asking of us?" said aonghus, son of art og. "i am asking but the head of a champion, or the full of a fist of the berries of the quicken-tree at dubhros." "i will give you a good advice, children of morna," said oisin, "to go back to the place you were reared, and not to ask peace of finn through the length of your lives. for it is not an easy thing finn is asking of you; and do you know whose head he is asking you to bring him?" "we do not," said they. "the head of diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, is the head he is asking of you. and if you were twenty hundred men in their full strength, diarmuid would not let you take that head." "and what are the berries finn is asking of us?" they said then. "there is nothing is harder for you to get than those berries," said oisin. he told them then the whole story of the tree, and of the searbhan, the surly one of lochlann, that was put to mind it by the tuatha de danaan. but aodh, son of andela, spoke then, and it is what he said, that he would sooner get his death looking for those berries than to go home again to his mother's country. and he said to oisin to care his people till he would come back again, and if anything should happen himself and his brother in their journey, to send them back again to the land of promise. and the two said farewell then to oisin and to the chief men of the fianna, and they went forward till they reached dubhros. and they went along the wood till they found a track, and they followed it to the door of the hunting-cabin where diarmuid and grania were. diarmuid heard them coming, and he put his hand on his weapons and asked who was at the door. "we are of the children of morna," they said, "aodh, son of andela, and aonghus, son of art og." "what brings you to this wood?" said diarmuid. "finn, son of cumhal, that put us looking for your head, if you are diarmuid, grandson of duibhne," said they. "i am indeed," said diarmuid. "if that is so," they said, "finn will take nothing from us but your head, or a fistful of the berries of the quicken-tree of dubhros as satisfaction for the death of his father." "it is not easy for you to get either of those things," said diarmuid, "and it is a pity for any one to be under the power of that man. and besides that," he said, "i know it was he himself made an end of your fathers, and that was enough satisfaction for him to get; and if you do bring him what he asks, it is likely he will not make peace with you in the end." "is it not enough for you," said aodh, "to have brought his wife away from finn without speaking ill of him?" "it is not for the sake of speaking ill of him i said that," said diarmuid, "but to save yourselves from the danger he has sent you into." "what are those berries finn is asking?" said grania, "that they cannot be got for him?" diarmuid told her then the whole story of the berry the tuatha de danaan had lost, and of the tree that had sprung up from it, and of the man of lochlann that was keeping the tree. "and at the time finn sent me hiding here and became my enemy," he said, "i got leave from the surly one to hunt, but he bade me never to meddle with the berries. and now, sons of morna," he said, "there is your choice, to fight with me for my head, or to go asking the berries of the surly one." "i swear by the blood of my people," said each of them, "i will fight with yourself first." with that the two young men made ready for the fight. and it is what they chose, to fight with the strength of their hands alone. and diarmuid put them down and bound the two of them there and then. "that is a good fight you made," said grania. "but, by my word," she said, "although the children of morna do not go looking for those berries, i will not lie in a bed for ever till i get a share of them; and i will not live if i do not get them," she said. "do not make me break my peace with the surly one," said diarmuid, "for he will not let me take them." "loose these tyings from us," said the two young men, "and we will go with you, and we will give ourselves for your sake." "you must not come with me," said diarmuid; "for if you got the full of your eyes of that terrible one, you would be more likely to die than to live." "well, do us this kindness," they said then; "loosen these bonds on us, and give us time to go by ourselves and see the fight before you strike off our heads." so diarmuid did that for them. then diarmuid went to the surly one, and he chanced to be asleep before him, and he gave him a stroke of his foot the way he lifted his head and looked up at him, and he said: "have you a mind to break our peace, grandson of duibhne?" "that is not what i want," said diarmuid; "but it is grania, daughter of the high king," he said, "has a desire to taste those berries, and it is to ask a handful of them i am come." "i give my word," said he, "if she is to die for it, she will never taste a berry of those berries." "i would not do treachery on you," said diarmuid; "and so i tell you, willing or unwilling, i will take those berries from you." when the surly one heard that, he rose up on his feet and lifted his club and struck three great blows on diarmuid, that gave him some little hurt in spite of his shield. but when diarmuid saw him not minding himself, he threw down his weapons, and made a great leap and took hold of the club with his two hands. and when he had a hold of the club he struck three great blows on him that put his brains out through his head. and the two young men of the sons of morna were looking at the whole fight; and when they saw the surly one was killed they came out. and diarmuid sat down, for he was spent with the dint of the fight, and he bid the young men to bury the body under the thickets of the wood, the way grania would not see it. "and after that," he said, "let you go back to her and bring her here." so they dragged away the body and buried it, and they went then for grania and brought her to diarmuid. "there are the berries you were asking, grania," he said, "and you may take what you like of them now." "i give my word," said grania, "i will not taste a berry of those berries but the one your own hand will pluck, diarmuid." diarmuid rose up then and plucked the berries for grania, and for the children of morna, and they ate their fill of them. and he said then to the young men: "take all you can of these berries, and bring them with you to finn, and tell him it was yourselves made an end of the surly one of lochlann." "we give you our word," said they, "we begrudge giving any of them to finn." but diarmuid plucked a load of the berries for them, and they gave him great thanks for all he had done; and they went back to where finn was with the fianna. and diarmuid and grania went up into the top of the tree where the bed of the surly one was. and the berries below were but bitter berries beside the ones above in the tree. and when the two young men came to finn, he asked news of them. "we have killed the surly one of lochlann," they said; "and we have brought you berries from the quicken-tree of dubhros, in satisfaction for your father, that we may get peace from you." they gave the berries then into finn's hand, and he knew them, and he said to the young men: "i give you my word," he said, "it was diarmuid himself plucked those berries, for i know the smell of his hand on them; and i know well it was he killed the surly one, and i will go now and see is he himself alive at the quicken-tree." after that he called for the seven battalions of the fianna, and he set out and went forward to dubhros. and they followed the track of diarmuid to the foot of the quicken-tree, and they found the berries without protection, so they ate their fill of them. and the great heat of the day came on them, and finn said they would stop where they were till the heat would be past; "for i know well," he said, "diarmuid is up in the quicken-tree." "it is a great sign of jealousy in you, finn," said oisin, "to think that diarmuid would stop there up in the quicken-tree and he knowing you are wanting to kill him." finn asked for a chess-board after that, and he said to oisin: "i will play a game with you now on this." they sat down then, oisin and osgar and lugaidh's son and diorraing on the one side of the board, and finn on the other side. and they were playing that game with great skill and knowledge, and finn pressed oisin so hard that he had no move to make but the one, and finn said: "there is one move would win the game for you, oisin, and i defy all that are with you to show you that move." then diarmuid said up in the tree where he was, and no one heard him but grania: "it is a pity you be in straits, and without myself to show you that move." "it is worse off you are yourself," said grania, "to be in the bed of the surly one of lochlann in the top of the quicken-tree, and the seven battalions of the fianna round about it to take your life." but diarmuid took a berry of the tree, and aimed at the one of the chessmen that ought to be moved, and oisin moved it and turned the game against finn by that move. it was not long before the game was going against oisin the second time, and when diarmuid saw that he threw another berry at the chessman it was right to move, and oisin moved it and turned the game against finn in the same way. and the third time finn was getting the game from oisin, and diarmuid threw the third berry on the man that would give the game to oisin, and the fianna gave a great shout when the game was won. finn spoke then, and it is what he said: "it is no wonder you to win the game, oisin, and you having the help of osgar, and the watchfulness of diorraing, and the skill of lugaidh's son, and the teaching of the grandson of duibhne with you." "that is a great sign of jealousy in you, finn," said osgar, "to think diarmuid would stop in this tree, and you so near him." "which of us has the truth, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne," finn said out then, "myself or osgar?" "you never lost your good judgment, finn," said diarmuid then; "and i myself and grania are here, in the bed of the surly one of lochlann." then diarmuid rose up and gave three kisses to grania in the sight of finn and the fianna. and a scorching jealousy and a weakness came on finn when he saw that, and he said: "it was worse to me, diarmuid, the seven battalions of the fianna to see what you did at teamhair, taking away grania the night you were yourself my guard. but for all that," he said, "you will give your head for the sake of those three kisses." with that finn called to the four hundred paid fighting men that were with him that they might make an end of diarmuid; and he put their hands into one another's hands around that quicken-tree, and bade them, if they would not lose their lives, not to let diarmuid pass out through them. and he said that to whatever man would take diarmuid, he would give his arms and his armour, and a place among the fianna of ireland. then one of the fianna, garbh of slieve cua, said it was diarmuid had killed his own father, and he would avenge him now, and he went up the quicken-tree to make an end of him. now, about that time it was made known to angus og, in brugh na boinne, the danger diarmuid was in, and he came to his help, unknown to the fianna. and when garbh of slieve cua was coming up the tree, diarmuid gave him a kick of his foot, and he fell down among the hired men, and they struck off his head, for angus og had put the appearance of diarmuid on him. but after he was killed, his own shape came on him again, and the fianna knew that it was garbh was killed. then garbh of slieve crot said it was diarmuid had killed his father, and he went up to avenge him, and the same thing happened. and in the end all the nine garbhs, of slieve guaire, and slieve muice, and slieve mor, and slieve lugha, and ath fraoch, and slieve mis and drom-mor, went trying to take diarmuid's life and lost their own lives, every one of them having the shape and appearance of diarmuid when he died. and finn was very sorry and discouraged when he saw that these nine men had come to their death. then angus said he would bring away grania with him. "do so," said diarmuid; "and if i am living at evening i will follow you." then angus said farewell to diarmuid, and he put his druid cloak about grania and about himself, and they went away in the safety of the cloak, unknown to finn and the fianna, till they came to brugh na boinne. then diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, spoke, and it is what he said: "i will come down to you, finn, and to the fianna. and i will do death and destruction on you and on your people, for i am certain your mind is made up to give me no rest, but to bring me to my death in some place. and i have nowhere to go from this danger," he said, "for i have no friend or comrade under whose protection i could go in any far part of the great world, for it is often i fought against the men of the great world for love of you. for there never came battle or fight, danger or trouble on you, but i would go into it for your sake and the sake of the fianna; and not only that, but i would fight before you and after you. and i give my word, finn," he said, "you will pay hard for me, and you will not get me as a free gift." "it is the truth diarmuid is speaking," said osgar, "and give him forgiveness now, and peace." "i will not do that," said finn, "to the end of life and time; and he will not get peace or rest for ever till i get satisfaction from him for every reproach he has put on me." "it is a great shame and a great sign of jealousy you to say that," said osgar. "and i give the word of a true champion," he said, "that unless the skies come down upon me, or the earth opens under my feet, i will not let you or any one of the fianna of ireland give him cut or wound; and i take his body and his life under the protection of my valour, and i will keep him safe against all the men of ireland." "those are big words you have, osgar," said goll then, "to say you would bring a man away in spite of all the men of ireland." "it is not you will raise them up against me, goll," said osgar, "for none of them would mind what you would say." "if that is what you are saying, you champion of great fights," said goll, "let us see now what you can do." "you will have to go through with the fight you have taken on yourself," said corrioll, son of goll, in a loud voice. and osgar answered him fiercely: "if i do i will shorten your bones, and your father's bones along with them. and come down now, diarmuid," he said, "since finn has no mind to leave you in peace, and i promise on my body and my life there will no harm be done to you to-day." then diarmuid stood up on a high bough of the boughs of the tree, and he rose with a light leap by the shaft of his spear, and lit on the grass far beyond finn and the fianna. and he himself and osgar went towards one another, in spite of the fianna that went between them, and diarmuid struck down those that were in his way; and as to osgar, the throwing of his spears as he scattered the fianna was like the sound of the wind going through a valley, or water falling over flag-stones. and conan, that was always bitter, said: "let the sons of baiscne go on killing one another." but finn, when he saw diarmuid was gone from him, bade them put their weapons up, and turn back again to almhuin. and he sent those of his men that could be healed to places of healing, and the nine garbhs, and the others of his men that were killed, he put into wide-sodded graves. and it is tired and downhearted and sorrowful he was after that, and he made an oath he would take no great rest till he would have avenged on diarmuid all that he had done. chapter v. the quarrel and as to osgar and diarmuid, they went on, and no cut or wound on them, to where angus and grania were at brugh na boinne; and there was a good welcome before them, and diarmuid told them the whole story from beginning to end, and it is much that grania did not die then and there, hearing all he had gone through. and then she and diarmuid set out again, and they went and stopped for a while in a cave that was near the sea. and one night while they were there a great storm came on, so that they went into the far part of the cave. but bad as the night was, a man of the fomor, ciach, the fierce one, his name was, came over the western ocean in a currach, with two oars, and he drew it into the cave for shelter. and diarmuid bade him welcome, and they sat down to play chess together. and he got the best of the game, and what he asked as his winnings was grania to be his wife, and he put his arms about her as if to bring her away. and grania said: "i am this long time going with the third best man of the fianna, and he never came as near as that to me." and diarmuid took his sword to kill ciach, and there was anger on grania when she saw that, and she had a knife in her hand and she struck it into diarmuid's thigh. and diarmuid made an end of the fomor, and he said no word to grania, but ran out and away through the storm. and grania went following after him, and calling to him, but there was great anger on him and he would not answer her. and at last at the break of day she overtook him, and after a while they heard the cry of a heron, and she asked him what was it made the heron cry out. "tell me that," she said, "grandson of duibhne, to whom i gave my love." and diarmuid said: "o grania, daughter of the high king, woman who never took a step aright, it is because she was frozen to the rocks she gave that cry." and grania was asking forgiveness of him, and he was reproaching her, and it is what he said: "o grania of the beautiful hair, though you are more beautiful than the green tree under blossom, your love passes away as quickly as the cold cloud at break of day. and you are asking a hard thing of me now," he said, "and it is a pity what you said to me, grania, for it was you brought me away from the house of my lord, that i am banished from it to this day; and now i am troubled through the night, fretting after its delight in every place. "i am like a wild deer, or a beast that is astray, going ever and always through the long valleys; there is great longing on me to see one of my kindred from the host. "i left my own people that were brighter than lime or snow; their heart was full of generosity to me, like the sun that is high above us; but now they follow me angrily, to every harbour and every strand. "i lost my people by you, and my lord, and my large bright ships on every sea; i lost my treasure and my gold; it is hunger you gave me through your love. "i lost my country and my kindred; my men that were used to serve me; i lost quietness and affection; i lost the men of ireland and the fianna entirely. "i lost delight and music; i lost my own right doing and my honour; i lost the fianna of ireland, my great kinsmen, for the sake of the love you gave me. "o grania, white as snow, it would have been a better choice for you to have given hatred to me, or gentleness to the head of the fianna." and grania said: "o diarmuid of the face like snow, or like the down of the mountains, the sound of your voice was dearer to me than all the riches of the leader of the fianna. "your blue eye is dearer to me than his strength, and his gold and his great hall; the love-spot on your forehead is better to me than honey in streams; the time i first looked on it, it was more to me than the whole host of the king of ireland. "my heart fell down there and then before your high beauty; when you came beside me, it was like the whole of life in one day. "o diarmuid of the beautiful hands, take me now the same as before; it was with me the fault was entirely; give me your promise not to leave me." but diarmuid said: "how can i take you again, you are a woman too fond of words; one day you give up the head of the fianna, and the next day myself, and no lie in it. "it is you parted me from finn, the way i fell under sorrow and grief; and then you left me yourself, the time i was full of affection." and grania said: "do not leave me now this way, and my love for you ever growing like the fresh branches of the tree with the kind long heat of the day." but diarmuid would not give in to her, and he said: "you are a woman full of words, and it is you have put me under sorrow. i took you with myself, and you struck at me for the sake of the man of the fomor." they came then to a place where there was a cave, and water running by it, and they stopped to rest; and grania said: "have you a mind to eat bread and meat now, diarmuid?" "i would eat it indeed if i had it," said diarmuid. "give me a knife, so," she said, "till i cut it." "look for the knife in the sheath where you put it yourself," said diarmuid. she saw then that the knife was in his thigh where she had struck it, for he would not draw it out himself. so she drew it out then; and that was the greatest shame that ever came upon her. they stopped then in the cave. and the next day when they went on again, diarmuid did not leave unbroken bread like he had left every other day as a sign to finn that he had kept his faith with him, but it was broken bread he left after him. chapter vi. the wanderers and they went on wandering after that, all through ireland, hiding from finn in every place, sleeping under the cromlechs, or with no shelter at all, and there was no place they would dare to stop long in. and wherever they went finn would follow them, for he knew by his divination where they went. but one time he made out they were on a mountain, for he saw them with heather under them; and it was beside the sea they were, asleep on heather that diarmuid had brought down from the hills for their bed; and so he went searching the hills and did not find them. and grania would be watching over diarmuid while he slept, and she would make a sleepy song for him, and it is what she would be saying: "sleep a little, a little little, for there is nothing at all to fear, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne; sleep here soundly, soundly, diarmuid, to whom i have given my love. "it is i will keep watch for you, grandchild of shapely duibhne; sleep a little, a blessing on you, beside the well of the strong field; my lamb from above the lake, from the banks of the strong streams. "let your sleep be like the sleep in the south, of dedidach of the high poets, the time he took away old morann's daughter, for all conall could do against him. "let your sleep be like the sleep in the north, of fair comely fionnchadh of ess ruadh, the time he took slaine with bravery as we think, in spite of failbhe of the hard head. "let your sleep be like the sleep in the west, of aine, daughter of gailian, the time she went on a journey in the night with dubhthach from doirinis, by the light of torches. "let your sleep be like the sleep in the east, of deaghadh the proud, the brave fighter, the time he took coincheann, daughter of binn, in spite of fierce decheall of duibhreann. "o heart of the valour of the lands to the west of greece, my heart will go near to breaking if i do not see you every day. the parting of us two will be the parting of two children of the one house; it will be the parting of life from the body, diarmuid, hero of the bright lake of carman." and then to rouse him she would make another song, and it is what she would say: "caoinche will be loosed on your track; it is not slow the running of caoilte will be; do not let death reach to you, do not give yourself to sleep for ever. "the stag to the east is not asleep, he does not cease from bellowing; though he is in the woods of the blackbirds, sleep is not in his mind; the hornless doe is not asleep, crying after her speckled fawn; she is going over the bushes, she does not sleep in her home. "the cuckoo is not asleep, the thrush is not asleep, the tops of the trees are a noisy place; the duck is not asleep, she is made ready for good swimming; the bog lark is not asleep to-night on the high stormy bogs; the sound of her clear voice is sweet; she is not sleeping between the streams." one time they were in a cave of beinn edair, and there was an old woman befriending them and helping them to keep a watch. and one day she chanced to go up to the top of beinn edair, and she saw an armed man coming towards her, and she did now know him to be finn; and when he was come near she asked what was he looking for. "it is looking for a woman i am come," he said, "and for a woman's love. and will you do all i will ask you?" he said. "i will do that," she said; for she thought it was her own love he was asking. "tell me then," he said, "where is diarmuid, grandson of duibhne?" so she told him where he was hiding, and he bade her to keep him in the cave till such time as he would come back with his men. the old woman went back then, and it is what she did, she dipped her cloak in the sea-water before she went into the cave; and diarmuid asked her why was her cloak so wet. "it is," she said, "that i never saw or never heard of the like of this day for cold and for storms. there is frost on every hillside," she said, "and there is not a smooth plain in all elga where there is not a long rushing river between every two ridges. and there is not a deer or a crow in the whole of ireland can find a shelter in any place." and she was shaking the wet off her cloak, and she was making a complaint against the cold, and it is what she said: "cold, cold, cold to-night is the wide plain of lurg; the snow is higher than the mountains, the deer cannot get at their share of food. "cold for ever; the storm is spread over all; every furrow on the hillside is a river, every ford is a full pool, every full loch is a great sea; every pool is a full loch; horses cannot go through the ford of ross any more than a man on his two feet. "the fishes of inisfail are going astray; there is no strand or no pen against the waves; there are no dwellings in the country, there is no bell heard, no crane is calling. "the hounds of the wood of cuan find no rest or no sleep in their dwelling-place; the little wren cannot find shelter in her nest on the slope of lon. "a sharp wind and cold ice have come on the little company of birds; the blackbird cannot get a ridge to her liking or shelter for her side in the woods of cuan. "it is steady our great pot hangs from its hook; it is broken the cabin is on the slope of lon; the snow has made the woods smooth, it is hard to climb to the ridge of bennait bo. "the ancient bird of glen ride gets grief from the bitter wind; it is great is her misery and her pain, the ice will be in her mouth. "mind well not to rise up from coverings and from down, mind this well; there would be no good sense in it. ice is heaped up in every ford; it is for that i am saying and ever saying 'cold.'" the old woman went out after that, and when she was gone, grania took hold of the cloak she had left there and she put her tongue to it, and found the taste of salt water on it. "my grief, diarmuid," she said then, "the old woman has betrayed us. and rise up now," she said, "and put your fighting suit upon you." so diarmuid did that, and he went out, and grania along with him. and no sooner were they outside than they saw finn and the fianna of ireland coming towards them. then diarmuid looked around him and he saw a little boat at hand in the shelter of the harbour, and he himself and grania went into it. and there was a man before them in the boat having beautiful clothes on him, and a wide embroidered golden-yellow cloak over his shoulders behind. and they knew it was angus was in it, that had come again to help them to escape from finn, and they went back with him for a while to brugh na boinne, and osgar came to them there. chapter vii. fighting and peace and after a while finn bade his people to make his ship ready, and to put a store of food and of drink in it. they did that, and he himself and a thousand of his men went into the ship; and they were nine days between sailing and rowing till they came to harbour in the north of alban. they bound the ship to the posts of the harbour then, and finn with five of his people went to the dun of the king of alban, and finn struck a blow with the hand-wood on the door, and the door-keeper asked who was in it, and they told him it was finn, son of cumhal. "let him in," said the king. then finn and his people went in, and the king made them welcome, and he bade finn to sit down in his own place, and they were given strong pleasant drinks, and the king sent for the rest of finn's people and bade them welcome to the dun. then finn told what it was brought him there, and that it was to ask help and advice against the grandson of duibhne he was come. "and you have a right to give me your help," he said, "for it was he that killed your father and your two brothers, and many of your best men along with them." "that is true," said the king; "and i will give you my own two sons and a thousand men with each of them." finn was glad when he heard that, and he and his men took leave of the king and of his household, and left wishes for life and health with them, and the king did the same by them. and it was near brugh na boinne finn and his people came to land, and finn sent messengers to the house of angus to give out a challenge of battle against diarmuid, grandson of duibhne. "what should i do about this, osgar?" said diarmuid. "we will both go out and make a stand against them, and we will not let a serving-man of them escape, but we will make an end of them all," said osgar. so they rose up on the morning of the morrow and they put their suits of battle on their comely bodies; and it would be a pity for those, be they many or few, that would meet those two men, and their anger on them. and they bound the rims of their shields together the way they would not be parted from one another in the right. and the sons of the king of alban said that they themselves and their people would go first to meet them. so they came to shore, and made a rush to meet diarmuid and osgar. but the two fought so well that they beat them back and scattered them, and made a great slaughter, and put great terror on them, so that at the last there was not a man left to stand against them. and after that, finn went out again on the sea, and his people with him, and there is no word of them till they came to the land of promise where finn's nurse was. and when she saw finn coming she was very joyful before him. and finn told her the whole story from beginning to end, and the cause of his quarrel with diarmuid; and he said it was to ask an advice from her he was come, and that it was not possible to put him down by any strength of an army, unless enchantment would put him down. "i will go with you," said the old woman, "and i will do enchantment on him." finn was very glad when he heard that, and he stopped there that night, and they set out for ireland on the morrow. and when they came to brugh na boinne, the nurse put a druid mist around finn and the fianna, the way no one could know they were there. now the day before that, osgar had parted from diarmuid, and diarmuid was out hunting by himself. that was shown to the hag, and she took a drowned leaf having a hole in it, like the quern of a mill, and she rose with that by her enchantments on a blast of druid wind over diarmuid, and began to aim at him through the hole with deadly spears, till she had done him great harm, for all his arms and his clothing, and he could not make away he was so hard pressed. and every danger he was ever in was little beside that danger. and it is what he thought, that unless he could strike the old woman through the hole that was in the leaf, she would give him his death there and then. and he lay down on his back, and the gae dearg, the red spear, in his hand, and he made a great cast of the spear, that it went through the hole, and the hag fell dead on the spot. and he struck off her head and brought it back with him to angus og. and the next morning early, angus rose up, and he went where finn was, and he asked would he make peace with diarmuid, and finn said he would. and then he went to the king of ireland to ask peace for diarmuid, and he said he would agree to it. and then he went back to where diarmuid and grania were, and asked him would he make peace with the high king and with finn. "i am willing," said diarmuid, "if they will give the conditions i will ask." "what conditions are those?" said angus. "the district my father had," said diarmuid, "that is, the district of ui duibhne, without right of hunting to finn, and without rent or tribute to the king of ireland, and with that the district of dumhais in leinster, for they are the best in ireland, and the district of ceis corainn from the king of ireland as a marriage portion with his daughter; and those are the conditions on which i will make peace with them." "would you be peaceable if you got those conditions?" said angus. "it would go easier with me to make peace if i got them," said diarmuid. then angus went with that news to where the king of ireland was with finn. and they gave him all those conditions, and they forgave him all he had done through the whole of the time he had been in his hiding, that was sixteen years. and the place diarmuid and grania settled in was rath grania, in the district of ceis corainn, far away from finn and from teamhair. and grania bore him children there, four sons and one daughter. and they lived there in peace, and the people used to be saying there was not a man living at the same time was richer as to gold and to silver, as to cattle and to sheep, than diarmuid. chapter viii. the boar of beinn gulbain but at last one day grania spoke to diarmuid, and it is what she said, that it was a shame on them, with all the people and the household they had, and all their riches, the two best men in ireland never to have come to the house, the high king, her father, and finn, son of cumhal. "why do you say that, grania," said diarmuid, "and they being enemies to me?" "it is what i would wish," said grania, "to give them a feast, the way you would get their affection." "i give leave for that," said diarmuid. so grania was making ready a great feast through the length of a year, and messengers were sent for the high king of ireland, and for finn and the seven battalions of the fianna; and they came, and they were using the feast from day to day through the length of a year. and on the last night of the year, diarmuid was in his sleep at rath grania; and in the night he heard the voice of hounds through his sleep, and he started up, and grania caught him and put her two arms about him, and asked what had startled him. "the voice of a hound i heard," said he; "and it is a wonder to me to hear that in the night." "safe keeping on you," said grania, "for it is the tuatha de danaan are doing that on you, on account of angus of brugh na boinn, and lie down on the bed again." but for all that no sleep came to him, and he heard the voice of the hound again, and he started up a second time to follow after it. but grania caught hold of him the second time and bade him to lie down, and she said it was no fitting thing to go after the voice of a hound in the night. so he lay down again, and he fell asleep, but the voice of the hound awakened him the third time. and the day was come with its full light that time, and he said: "i will go after the voice of the hound now, since the day is here." "if that is so," said grania, "bring the mor-alltach, the great fierce one, the sword of manannan, with you, and the gae dearg." "i will not," he said; "but i will take the beag-alltach, the little fierce one, and the gae buidhe in the one hand, and the hound mac an chuill, the son of the hazel, in the other hand." then diarmuid went out of rath grania, and made no delay till he came to the top of beinn gulbain, and he found finn before him there, without any one at all in his company. diarmuid gave him no greeting, but asked him was it he was making that hunt. finn said it was not a hunt he was making, but that he and some of the fianna had gone out after midnight; "and one of our hounds that was loose beside us, came on the track of a wild boar," he said, "and they were not able to bring him back yet. and there is no use following that boar he is after," he said, "for it is many a time the fianna hunted him, and he went away from them every time till now, and he has killed thirty of them this morning. and he is coming up the mountain towards us," he said, "and let us leave this hill to him now." "i will not leave the hill through fear of him," said diarmuid. "it would be best for you, diarmuid," said finn, "for it is the earless green boar of beinn gulbain is in it, and it is by him you will come to your death, and angus knew that well when he put bonds on you not to go hunting pigs." "i never knew of those bonds," said diarmuid; "but however it is, i will not quit this through fear of him. and let you leave bran with me now," he said, "along with mac an chuill." "i will not," said finn, "for it is often he met this boar before and could do nothing against him." he went away then and left diarmuid alone on the top of the hill. "i give my word," said diarmuid, "you made this hunt for my death, finn; and if it is here i am to find my death," he said, "i have no use in going aside from it now." the boar came up the face of the mountain then, and the fianna after him. diarmuid loosed mac an chuill from his leash then, but that did not serve him, for he did not wait for the boar, but ran from him. "it is a pity not to follow the advice of a good woman," said diarmuid, "for grania bade me this morning to bring the mor-alltach and the gae dearg with me." then he put his finger into the silken string of the gae buidhe, and took a straight aim at the boar and hit him full in the face; but if he did, the spear did not so much as give him a scratch. diarmuid was discouraged by that, but he drew the beag-alltach, and made a full stroke at the back of the boar, but neither did that make a wound on him, but it made two halves of the sword. then the boar made a brave charge at diarmuid, that cut the sod from under his feet and brought him down; but diarmuid caught hold of the boar on rising, and held on to him, having one of his legs on each side of him, and his face to his hinder parts. and the boar made away headlong down the hill, but he could not rid himself of diarmuid; and he went on after that to ess ruadh, and when he came to the red stream he gave three high leaps over it, backwards and forwards, but he could not put him from his back, and he went back by the same path till he went up the height of the mountain again. and at last on the top of the mountain he freed himself, and diarmuid fell on the ground. and then the boar made a rush at him, and ripped him open, that his bowels came out about his feet. but if he did, diarmuid made a cast at him with the hilt of his sword that was in his hand yet, and dashed out his brains, so that he fell dead there and then. and rath na h-amhrann, the rath of the sword hilt, is the name of that place to this day. it was not long till finn and the fianna of ireland came to the place, and the pains of death were coming on diarmuid at that time. "it is well pleased i am to see you that way, diarmuid," said finn; "and it is a pity all the women of ireland not to be looking at you now, for your great beauty is turned to ugliness, and your comely shape to uncomeliness." "for all that, you have power to heal me, finn," said diarmuid, "if you had a mind to do it." "what way could i heal you?" said finn. "easy enough," said diarmuid, "for the time you were given the great gift of knowledge at the boinn, you got this gift with it, that any one you would give a drink to out of the palms of your hands would be young and well again from any sickness after it." "you are not deserving of that drink from me," said finn. "that is not true," said diarmuid; "it is well i deserve it from you; for the time you went to the house of dearc, son of donnarthadh, and your chief men with you for a feast, your enemies came round the house, and gave out three great shouts against you, and threw fire and firebrands into it. and you rose up and would have gone out, but i bade you to stop there at drinking and pleasure, for that i myself would go out and put them down. and i went out, and put out the flames, and made three red rushes round the house, and i killed fifty in every rush, and i came in again without a wound. and it is glad and merry and in good courage you were that night, finn," he said, "and if it was that night i had asked a drink of you, you would have given it; and it would be right for you to give it to me now." "that is not so," said finn; "it is badly you have earned a drink or any good thing from me; for the night you went to teamhair with me, you took grania away from me in the presence of all the men of ireland, and you being my own guard over her that night." "do not blame me for that, finn," said diarmuid, "for what did i ever do against you, east or west, but that one thing; and you know well grania put bonds on me, and i would not fail in my bonds for the gold of the whole world. and you will know it is well i have earned a drink from you, if you bring to mind the night the feast was made in the house of the quicken tree, and how you and all your men were bound there till i heard of it, and came fighting and joyful, and loosed you with my own blood, and with the blood of the three kings of the island of the floods; and if i had asked a drink of you that night, finn, you would not have refused it. and i was with you in the smiting of lon, son of liobhan, and you are the man that should not forsake me beyond any other man. and many is the strait has overtaken yourself and the fianna of ireland since i came among you, and i was ready every time to put my body and my life in danger for your sake, and you ought not to do this unkindness on me now. and besides that," he said, "there has many a good champion fallen through the things you yourself have done, and there is not an end of them yet; and there will soon come great misfortunes on the fianna, and it is few of their seed will be left after them. and it is not for yourself i am fretting, finn," he said, "but for oisin and osgar, and the rest of my dear comrades, and as for you, oisin, you will be left lamenting after the fianna. and it is greatly you will feel the want of me yet, finn," he said; "and if the women of the fianna knew i was lying in my wounds on this ridge, it is sorrowful their faces would be at this time." and osgar said then: "although i am nearer in blood to you, finn, than to diarmuid, grandson of duibhne, i will not let you refuse him this drink; and by my word," he said, "if any prince in the world would do the same unkindness to diarmuid that you have done, it is only the one of us that has the strongest hand would escape alive. and give him a drink now without delay," he said. "i do not know of any well at all on this mountain," said finn. "that is not so," said diarmuid, "for there is not nine footsteps from you the well that has the best fresh water that can be found in the world." then finn went to the well, and he took the full of his two hands of the water. but when he was no more than half-way back, the thought of grania came on him, and he let the water slip through his hands, and he said he was not able to bring it. "i give my word," said diarmuid, "it was of your own will you let it from you." then finn went back the second time to get the water, but coming back he let it through his hands again at the thought of grania. and diarmuid gave a pitiful sigh of anguish when he saw that. "i swear by my sword and by my spear," said osgar, "that if you do not bring the water without any more delay, finn, there will not leave this hill but yourself or myself." finn went back the third time to the well after what osgar said, and he brought the water to diarmuid, but as he reached him the life went out of his body. then the whole company of the fianna that were there gave three great heavy shouts, keening for diarmuid. and osgar looked very fiercely at finn, and it is what he said, that it was a greater pity diarmuid to be dead than if he himself had died. and the fianna of ireland had lost their yoke of battle by him, he said. "let us leave this hill," said finn then, "before angus and the tuatha de danaan come upon us, for although we have no share in the death of diarmuid, he would not believe the truth from us." "i give my word," said osgar, "if i had thought it was against diarmuid you made the hunt of beinn gulbain, you would never have made it" then finn and the fianna went away from the hill, and finn leading diarmuid's hound mac an chuill. but oisin and osgar and caoilte and lugaidh's son turned back again and put their four cloaks over diarmuid, and then they went after the rest of the fianna. and when they came to the rath, grania was out on the wall looking for news of diarmuid; and she saw finn and the fianna of ireland coming towards her. then she said: "if diarmuid was living, it is not led by finn that mac an chuill would be coming home." and she was at that time heavy with child, and her strength went from her and she fell down from the wall. and when oisin saw the way she was he bade finn and the others to go on from her, but she lifted up her head and she asked finn to leave mac an chuill with her. and he said he would not, and that he did not think it too much for him to inherit from diarmuid, grandson of duibhne. when oisin heard that, he snatched the hound out of finn's hand and gave it to grania, and then he followed after his people. then when grania was certain of diarmuid's death she gave out a long very pitiful cry that was heard through the whole place, and her women and her people came to her, and asked what ailed her to give a cry like that. and she told them how diarmuid had come to his death by the boar of beinn gulbain in the hunt finn had made. "and there is grief in my very heart," she said, "i not to be able to fight myself with finn, and i would not have let him go safe out of this place." when her people heard of the death of diarmuid they gave three great heavy cries in the same way, that were heard in the clouds and the waste places of the sky. and then grania bade the five hundred that she had for household to go to beinn gulbain for the body of diarmuid. and when they were bringing it back, she went out to meet them, and they put down the body of diarmuid, and it is what she said: "i am your wife, beautiful diarmuid, the man i would do no hurt to; it is sorrowful i am after you to-night. "i am looking at the hawk and the hound my secret love used to be hunting with; she that loved the three, let her be put in the grave with diarmuid. "let us be glad to-night, let us make all welcome to-night, let us be open-handed to-night, since we are sitting by the body of a king. "and o diarmuid," she said, "it is a hard bed finn has given you, to be lying on the stones and to be wet with the rain. ochone!" she said, "your blue eyes to be without sight, you that were friendly and generous and pursuing. o love! o diarmuid! it is a pity it is he sent you to your death. "you were a champion of the men of ireland, their prop in the middle of the fight; you were the head of every battle; your ways were glad and pleasant. "it is sorrowful i am, without mirth, without light, but only sadness and grief and long dying; your harp used to be sweet to me, it wakened my heart to gladness. now my courage is fallen down, i not to hear you but to be always remembering your ways. och! my grief is going through me. "a thousand curses on the day when grania gave you her love, that put finn of the princes from his wits; it is a sorrowful story your death is to-day. "many heroes were great and strong about me in the beautiful plain; their hands were good at wrestling and at battle; ochone! that i did not follow them. "you were the man was best of the fianna, beautiful diarmuid, that women loved. it is dark your dwelling-place is under the sod, it is mournful and cold your bed is; it is pleasant your laugh was to-day; you were my happiness, diarmuid." and she went back then into the rath, and bade her people to bring the body to her there. now just at this time, it was showed to angus at brugh na boinne that diarmuid was dead on beinn gulbain, for he had kept no watch over him the night before. and he went on the cold wind towards beinn gulbain, and his people with him, and on the way they met with grania's people that were bringing the body to the rath. and when they saw him they held out the wrong sides of their shields as a sign of peace, and angus knew them; and he and his people gave three great terrible cries over the body of diarmuid. and angus spoke then, and it is what he said: "i was never one night since the time i brought you to brugh na boinne, being nine months old, without keeping watch and protection over you till last night, diarmuid, grandson of duibhne; and now your blood has been shed and you have been cut off sharply, and the boar of beinn gulbain has put you down, diarmuid of the bright face and the bright sword. and it is a pity finn to have done this treachery," he said, "and you at peace with him. "and lift up his body now," he said, "and bring it to the brugh in the lasting rocks. and if i cannot bring him back to life," he said, "i will put life into him the way he can be talking with me every day." then they put his body on a golden bier, and his spears over it pointed upwards, and they went on till they came to brugh na boinne. and grania's people went to her and told her how angus would not let them bring the body into the rath, but brought it away himself to brugh na boinne. and grania said she had no power over him. and she sent out then for her four sons that were being reared in the district of corca ui duibhne. and when they came she gave them a loving welcome, and they came into the rath and sat down there according to their age. and grania spoke to them with a very loud, clear voice, and it is what she said: "my dear children, your father has been killed by finn, son of cumhal, against his own bond and agreement of peace, and let you avenge it well upon him. and here is your share of the inheritance of your father," she said, "his arms and his armour, and his feats of valour and power; and i will share these arms among you myself," she said, "and that they may bring you victory in every battle. here is the sword for donnchadh," she said, "the best son diarmuid had; and the gae dearg for eochaidh; and here is the armour for ollann, for it will keep the body it is put on in safety; and the shield for connla. and make no delay now," she said, "but go and learn every sort of skill in fighting, till such time as you will come to your full strength to avenge your father." so they took leave of her then, and of their household. and some of their people said: "what must we do now, since our lords will be going into danger against finn and the fianna of ireland?" and donnchadh, son of diarmuid, bade them stop in their own places; "for if we make peace with finn," he said, "there need be no fear on you, and if not, you can make your choice between ourselves and him." and with that they set out on their journey. but after a while finn went secretly and unknown to the fianna to the place where grania was, and he got to see her in spite of all her high talk, and he spoke gently to her. and she would not listen to him, but bade him to get out of her sight, and whatever hard thing her tongue could say, she said it. but all the same, he went on giving her gentle talk and loving words, till in the end he brought her to his own will. and there is no news told of them, until such time as they came to where the seven battalions of the fianna were waiting for finn. and when they saw him coming, and grania with him, like any new wife with her husband, they gave a great shout of laughter and of mockery, and grania bowed down her head with shame, "by my word, finn," said oisin, "you will keep a good watch on grania from this out." and some said the change had come on her because the mind of a woman changes like the water of a running stream; but some said it was finn that had put enchantment on her. and as to the sons of diarmuid, they came back at the end of seven years, after learning all that was to be learned of valour in the far countries of the world. and when they came back to rath grania they were told their mother was gone away with finn, son of cumhal, without leaving any word for themselves or for the king of ireland. and they said if that was so, there was nothing for them to do. but after that they said they would make an attack on finn, and they went forward to almhuin, and they would take no offers, but made a great slaughter of every troop that came out against them. but at last grania made an agreement of peace between themselves and finn, and they got their father's place among the fianna; and that was little good to them, for they lost their lives with the rest in the battle of gabhra. and as to finn and grania, they stopped with one another to the end. book eight: cnoc-an-air. chapter i. tailc, son of treon one time the fianna were all gathered together doing feats and casting stones. and after a while the druid of teamhair that was with them said: "i am in dread, finn of the fianna, that there is some trouble near at hand; and look now at those dark clouds of blood," he said, "that are threatening us side by side overhead. and there is fear on me," he said, "that there is some destruction coming on the fianna." finn looked up then, and he saw the great cloud of blood, and he called osgar to look at it. "that need not knock a start from you," said osgar, "with all the strength there is in your arms, and in the men that are with you." then all the fianna looked up at the cloud, and some of them were glad and cheerful and some were downhearted. then the druid bade finn to call all his battalions together and to divide them into two halves, that they could be watching for the coming of the enemy. so finn sounded the dord fiann, and they answered with a shout, every one hurrying to be the first. and finn bade osgar and goll and faolan to keep watch through the night, and he bade conan the bald to stop in the darkness of the cave of liath ard. "for it is you can shout loudest," he said, "to warn us if you see the enemy coming." "that i may be pierced through the middle of my body," said conan, "if i will go watching for troubles or for armies alone, without some more of the fianna being with me." "it is not fitting for you to refuse finn," said lugaidh's son; "and it is you can shout the loudest," he said, "if the enemies come near the height." "do not be speaking to me any more," said conan, "for i will not go there alone, through the length of my days, for finn and the whole of the fianna." "go then, conan," said osgar, "and aodh beag will go with you, and you can bring dogs with you, bran and sceolan and fuaim and fearagan; and let you go now without begrudging it," he said. so conan went then to liath ard, and aodh beag and finn's hounds along with him. and as to finn, he lay down to sleep, and it was not long till he saw through his sleep aodh beag his son, and he without his head. and after that he saw goll fighting with a very strong man. and he awoke from his sleep, and called the druid of the fianna to him, and asked him the meaning of what he saw. "i am in dread there is some destruction coming on the fianna," said the druid; "but aodh beag will not be wounded in the fight, or goll," he said. and it was not long till finn heard a great shout, and he sounded the dord fiann, and then he saw conan running, and the hounds after him. and finn sounded the dord fiann again before conan came up, and when he came, osgar asked him where was aodh beag. "he was at the door of the cave when i left it," said conan, "but i did not look behind me since then," he said; "and it was not aodh beag was troubling me." "what was troubling you then?" said osgar. "nothing troubles me but myself," said conan; "although i am well pleased at any good that comes to you," he said. osgar went then running hard, till he came to the cave, and there he found aodh beag with no fear or trouble on him at all, stopping there till he would hear the noise of the shields. and osgar brought him back to where the fianna were, and they saw a great army coming as if in search of them. and a beautiful woman, having a crimson cloak, came to them over the plain, and she spoke to finn, and her voice was as sweet as music. and finn asked her who was she, and who did she come looking for. "i am the daughter of garraidh, son of dolar dian, the fierce," she said; "and my curse upon the king of greece that bound me to the man that is following after me, and that i am going from, tailc, son of treon." "tell me why are you shunning him, and i will protect you in spite of him," said finn. "it is not without reason i hate him," said she, "for he has no good appearance, and his skin is of the colour of coal, and he has the head and the tail of a cat. and i have walked the world three times," she said, "and i did not leave a king or a great man without asking help from him, and i never got it yet." "i will give you protection," said finn, "or the seven battalions of the fianna will fall for your sake." with that they saw the big strange man, tailc, son of treon, coming towards them, and he said no word at all of greeting to finn, but he called for a battle on account of his wife. so a thousand of the fianna went out to meet him and his men; and if they did they all fell, and not one of them came back again. and then another thousand of the best men of the fianna, having blue and green shields, went out under caoilte, son of ronan, and they were worsted by tailc and his people. and then osgar asked leave of finn to go out and fight the big man. "i will give you leave," said finn, "although i am sure you will fall by him." so osgar went out, and he himself and tailc, son of treon, were fighting through the length of five days and five nights without food or drink or sleep. and at the end of that time, osgar made an end of tailc, and struck his head off. and when the fianna saw that, they gave a shout of lamentation for those they had lost of the fianna, and two shouts of joy for the death of tailc. and as to the young woman, when she saw all the slaughter that had been done on account of her, shame reddened her face, and she fell dead there and then. and to see her die like that, after all she had gone through, preyed more on the fianna than any other thing. chapter ii. meargach's wife and while the fianna were gathered yet on the hill where tailc, son of treon, had been put down, they saw a very great champion coming towards them, having an army behind him. he took no notice of any one more than another, but he asked in a very rough voice where was finn, the head of the fianna. and aodh beag, that had a quiet heart, asked him who was he, and what was he come for. "i will tell you nothing at all, child," said the big man, "for it is short your years are, and i will tell nothing at all to any one but finn." so aodh beag brought him to where finn was, and finn asked him his name. "meargach of the green spears is my name," he said; "and arms were never reddened yet on my body, and no one ever boasted of driving me backwards. and was it you, finn," he said, "put down tailc, son of treon?" "it was not by me he fell," said finn, "but by osgar of the strong hand." "was it not a great shame for you, finn," said meargach then, "to let the queen-woman that had such a great name come to her death by the fianna?" "it was not by myself or by any of the fianna she got her death," said finn; "it was seeing the army lost that brought her to her death. but if it is satisfaction for her death or the death of tailc you want," he said, "you can get it from a man of the fianna, or you can go quietly from this place." then meargach said he would fight with any man they would bring against him, to avenge tailc, son of treon. and it was osgar stood up against him, and they fought a very hard fight through the length of three days, and at one time the fianna thought it was osgar was worsted, and they gave a great sorrowful shout. but in the end osgar put down meargach and struck his head off, and at that the seven battalions of the fianna gave a shout of victory, and the army of meargach keened him very sorrowfully. and after that, the two sons of meargach, ciardan the swift and liagan the nimble, came up and asked who would come against them, hand to hand, that they might get satisfaction for their father. and it was goll stood up against ciardan, and it was not long till he put him down; and conan came out against liagan, and liagan mocked at him and said: "it is foolishness your coming is, bald man!" but conan made a quick blow and struck his head off before the fight was begun at all. and faolan said that was a shameful thing to do, not to stand his ground and make a fair fight. but conan said: "if i could make an end of the whole army by one blow, i would do it, and i would not be ashamed, and the whole of the fianna could not shelter them from me." then the two armies came towards each other, and they were making ready for the attack. and they saw a beautiful golden-haired woman coming towards them, and she crying and ever crying, and the battle was given up on both sides, waiting for her to come; and the army of meargach knew it was their queen, ailne of the bright face, and they raised a great cry of grief; and the fianna were looking at her, and said no word. and she asked where was her husband, and where were her two sons. "high queen," said finn then, "for all they were so complete and quick and strong, the three you are asking for fell in fight." and when the queen-woman heard that, she cried out aloud, and she went to the place where her husband and her two sons were lying, and she stood over their bodies, and her golden hair hanging, and she keened them there. and her own people raised a sharp lamentation listening to her, and the fianna themselves were under grief. and it is what she said: "o meargach," she said, "of the sharp green spears, it is many a fight and many a heavy battle your hard hand fought in the gathering of the armies or alone. "i never knew any wound to be on your body after them; and it is full sure i am, it was not strength but treachery got the upper hand of you now. "it is long your journey was from far off, from your own kind country to inisfail, to come to finn and the fianna, that put my three to death through treachery. "my grief! to have lost my husband, my head, by the treachery of the fianna; my two sons, my two men that were rough in the fight. "my grief! my food and my drink; my grief! my teaching everywhere; my grief! my journey from far off, and i to have lost my high heroes. "my grief! my house thrown down; my grief! my shelter and my shield; my grief! meargach and ciardan; my grief! liagan of the wide chest. "my grief! my protection and my shelter; my grief! my strength and my power; my grief! there is darkness come from this thing; my grief to-night you to be in your weakness. "my grief! my gladness and my pleasure; my grief! my desire in every place; my grief! my courage is gone and my strength; my grief from this night out for ever. "my grief! my guide and my going; my grief! my desire to the day of my death; my grief! my store and my sway; my grief! my heroes that were open-handed. "my grief! my bed and my sleep; my grief! my journey and my coming; my grief! my teacher and my share; my sorrowful grief! my three men. "my grief! my beauty and my ornaments; my grief! my jewels and my riches; my grief! my treasures and my goods; my grief! my three candles of valour. "my grief! my friends and my kindred; my grief! my people and my friends. my grief! my father and my mother; my grief and my trouble! you to be dead. "my grief my portion and my welcome; my grief! my health at every time; my grief! my increase and my light; my sore trouble, you to be without strength. "my grief! your spear and your sword; my grief! your gentleness and your love; my grief! your country and your home; my grief! you to be parted from my reach. "my grief! my coasts and my harbours; my grief! my wealth and my prosperity; my grief! my greatness and my kingdom; my grief and my crying are until death. "my grief! my luck altogether; my grief for you in time of battle; my grief! my gathering of armies; my grief! my three proud lions. "my grief! my games and my drinking; my grief! my music and my delight; my grief! my sunny house and my women; my crying grief, you to be under defeat. "my grief! my lands and my hunting; my grief! my three sure fighters; och! my grief! they are my sorrow, to fall far off by the fianna. "i knew by the great host of the sidhe that were fighting over the dun, giving battle to one another in the valleys of the air, that destruction would put down my three. "i knew by the noise of the voices of the sidhe coming into my ears, that a story of new sorrow was not far from me; it is your death it was foretelling. "i knew at the beginning of the day when my three good men went from me, when i saw tears of blood on their cheeks, that they would not come back to me as winners. "i knew by the voice of the battle-crow over your dun every evening, since you went from me comely and terrible, that misfortune and grief were at hand. "it is well i remember, my three strong ones, how often i used to be telling you that if you would go to ireland, i would not see the joy of victory on your faces. "i knew by the voice of the raven every morning since you went from me, that your fall was sure and certain; that you would never come back to your own country. "i knew, my three great ones, by your forgetting the thongs of your hounds, that you would not gain the day or escape from the treachery of the fianna. "i knew, candles of valour, by the stream near the dun turning to blood when you set out, that there would be treachery in finn. "i knew by the eagle coming every evening over the dun, that it would not be long till i would hear a story of bad news of my three. "i knew by the withering of the tree before the dun, that you would never come back as conquerors from the treachery of finn, son of cumhal." when grania, now, heard what the woman was saying, there was anger on her, and she said: "do not be speaking against finn or the fianna, queen, for it was not by any treachery or any deceit your three men were brought to their end." but ailne made her no answer and gave no heed to her, but she went on with her complaint, and she crying and ever crying. "i knew, looking after you the day you went out from the dun, by the flight of the raven before you, there was no good sign of your coming back again. "i knew by ciardan's hounds that were howling mournfully every evening, that it would not be long till i would have bad news of you. "i knew by my sleep that went from me, by my tears through every lasting night, that there was no luck before you. "i knew by the sorrowful vision that showed myself in danger, my head and my hands cut off, that it was yourselves were without sway. "i knew by the voice of uaithnin, the hound that is dearest to liagan, howling early every morning, that death was certain for my three. "i knew when i saw in a vision a lake of blood in the place of the dun, that my three were put down by the deceit that was always with finn." "do not be faulting finn," said grania then, "however vexed your heart may be. and leave off now," she said, "speaking against the fianna and against himself; for if your men had stopped in their own country," she said, "without coming to avenge the son of treon, there would no harm have happened them." "i would not put any reproach on the fianna, grania," said ailne, "if my three men had been put down in fair battle, but they are not living to bear witness to me," she said; "and it is likely they were put under druid spells at the first, or they would never have given in." "if they were living, queen," said grania, "they would not be running down the fianna, but they would tell you it was by bravery and the strong hand they fell." "i do not believe you or the fianna when you say that," said ailne; "for no one that came to meet them ever got the sway over them by the right of the sword." "if you do not believe what i am saying, beautiful ailne," said grania, "i tell you more of your great army will fall by the fianna, and that not by treachery." "that is not so," said ailne, "but i have good hopes that my own army will do destruction on the fianna, for the sake of the men that are dead." "well, ailne," said grania, "i know it is a far journey you have come. and come now and eat and drink," she said, "with myself and with the fianna." but ailne would not do that, but she said it would not be fitting for her to take food from people that did such deeds, and what she wanted was satisfaction for the death of her husband and her two sons. and first it was settled for two men of each side to go out against one another; and then ailne said that there should be thirty men on each side, and then she said she would not be satisfied to go back to her own country till she brought the head of finn with her, or till the last of his men had fallen. and there was a great battle fought in the end, and it is seldom the fianna fought so hard a battle as that. and it would be too long to tell, and it would tire the hearers, how many good men were killed on each side. but in the end ailne of the bright face was worsted, and she went back with what were left of her men to their own country, and no one knew where they went. and the hill in the west those battles were fought on got the name of cnoc-an-air, the hill of slaughter. chapter iii. ailne's revenge one day finn and his people were hunting on slieve fuad, and a stag stood against them for a while and fought with his great rough horns, and then he turned and ran, and the fianna followed after him till they came to the green hill of liadhas, and from that to rocky cairgin. and there they lost him again for a while, till sceolan started him again, and he went back towards slieve fuad, and the fianna after him. but finn and daire of the songs, that were together, went astray and lost the rest of their people, and they did not know was it east or west they were going. finn sounded the dord fiann then, and daire played some sorrowful music to let their people know where they were. but when the fianna heard the music, it seemed to be a long way off; and sometimes they thought it was in the north it was, and sometimes in the east, and then it changed to the west, the way they did not know in the wide world where was it coming from. and as to finn and daire, a druid mist came about them, and they did not know what way they were going. and after a while they met with a young woman, comely and pleasant, and they asked who was she, and what brought her there. "glanluadh is my name," she said, "and my husband is lobharan; and we were travelling over the plain together a while ago, and we heard the cry of hounds, and he left me and went after the hunt, and i do not know where is he, or what way did he go." "come on then with us," said finn, "and we will take care of you, for we ourselves do not know what way the hunt is gone, east or west." so they went on, and before long they came to a hill, and they heard sleepy music of the sidhe beside them. and after that there came shouts and noises, and then the music began again, and heavy sleep came on finn and daire. and when they awoke from their sleep they saw a very large lighted house before them, and a stormy blue sea around it. then they saw a very big grey man coming through the waves, and he took hold of finn and of daire, and all their strength went from them, and he brought them across the waves and into the house, and he shut the door of the house with iron hooks. "my welcome to you, finn of the great name," he said then in a very harsh voice; "it is long we are waiting here for you." they sat down then on the hard side of a bed, and the woman of the house came to them, and they knew her to be ailne, wife of meargach. "it is long i am looking for you, finn," she said, "to get satisfaction for the treachery you did on meargach and on my two comely young sons, and on tailc, son of treon, and all his people. and do you remember that, finn?" she said. "i remember well," said finn, "that they fell by the swords of the fianna, not by treachery but in fighting." "it was by treachery they fell," said the grey man then; "and it is our witness to it, pleasant ailne to be the way she is, and many a strong army under grief on account of her." "what is ailne to you, man of the rough voice?" said finn. "i am her own brother," said the man. with that he put bonds on the three, finn and daire and glanluadh, and he put them down into some deep shut place. they were very sorrowful then, and they stopped there to the end of five days and five nights, without food, without drink, without music. and ailne went to see them then, and finn said to her: "o ailne," he said, "bring to mind the time you come to cnoc-an-air, and the way the fianna treated you with generosity; and it is not fitting for you," he said, "to keep us now under shame and weakness and in danger of death." "i know well i got kind treatment from grania," said ailne in a sorrowful voice; "but for all that, finn," she said, "if all the fianna were in that prison along with you under hard bonds, it would please me well, and i would not pity their case. and what is it set you following after finn," she said then to glanluadh, "for that is not a fitting thing for you to do, and his own kind wife living yet." then glanluadh told her the whole story, and how she was walking the plain with lobharan her husband, and he followed the hunt, and the mist came about her that she did not know east from west, and how she met then with finn that she never saw before that time. "if that is so," said ailne, "it is not right for you to be under punishment without cause." she called then to her brother the grey man, and bade him take the spells off glanluadh. and when she was set free it is sorry she was to leave daire in bonds, and finn. and when she had bidden them farewell she went out with ailne, and there was food brought to her, but a cloud of weakness came on her of a sudden, that it was a pity to see the way she was. and when ailne saw that, she brought out an enchanted cup of the sidhe and gave her a drink from it. and no sooner did glanluadh drink from the cup than her strength and her own appearance came back to her again; but for all that, she was fretting after finn and daire in their bonds. "it seems to me, glanluadh, you are fretting after those two men," said ailne. "i am sorry indeed," said glanluadh, "the like of those men to be shut up without food or drink." "if it is pleasing to you to give them food you may give it," said ailne, "for i will not make an end of them till i see can i get the rest of the fianna into bonds along with them." the two women brought food and drink then to finn, and to daire; and glanluadh gave her blessing to finn, and she cried when she saw the way he was; but as to ailne, she had no pity at all for the king of the fianna. now as to the grey man, he heard them talking of the fianna, and they were saying that daire had a great name for the sweetness of his music. "i have a mind to hear that sweet music," said he. so he went to the place where they were, and he bade daire to let him hear what sort of music he could make. "my music pleased the fianna well," said daire; "but i think it likely it would not please you." "play it for me now, till i know if the report i heard of you is true," said the grey man. "indeed, i have no mind for music," said daire, "being weak and downhearted the way i am, through your spells that put down my courage." "i will take my spells off you for so long as you play for me," said the grey man. "i could never make music seeing finn in bonds the way he is," said daire; "for it is worse to me, he to be under trouble than myself." "i will take the power of my spells off finn till you play for me," said the grey man. he weakened the spells then, and gave them food and drink, and it pleased him greatly the way daire played the music, and he called to glanluadh and to ailne to come and to listen to the sweetness of it. and they were well pleased with it, and it is glad glanluadh was, seeing them not so discouraged as they were. now as to the fianna, they were searching for finn and for daire in every place they had ever stopped in. and when they came to this place they could hear daire's sweet music; and at first they were glad when they heard it, and then when they knew the way he himself and finn were, they made an attack on ailne's dun to release them. but the grey man heard their shouts, and he put the full power of his spells again on finn and on daire. and the fianna heard the music as if stammering, and then they heard a great noise like the loud roaring of waves, and when they heard that, there was not one of them but fell into a sleep and clouds of death, under those sorrowful spells. and then the grey man and ailne came out quietly from where they were, and they brought the whole of the men of the fianna that were there into the dun. and they put hard bonds on them, and put them where finn and daire were. and there was great grief on finn and daire when they saw them, and they were all left there together for a while. then glanluadh said to the grey man: "if daire's music is pleasing to you, let him play it to us now." "if you have a mind for music," said the grey man, "daire must play it for us, and for finn and his army as well." they went then to where they were, and bade daire to play. "i could never play sweet music," said daire, "the time the fianna are in any trouble; for when they are in trouble, i myself am in trouble, and i could not sound any sweet string," he said, "while there is trouble on any man of them." the grey man weakened the spells then on them all, and daire played first the strings of sweetness, and of the noise of shouting, and then he sang his own grief and the grief of all the fianna. and at that the grey man said it would not be long before he would put the whole of the fianna to death; and then daire played a tune of heavy shouts of lamentation. and then at finn's bidding he played the music of sweet strings for the fianna. they were kept, now, a long time in that prison, and they got very hard treatment; and sometimes ailne's brother would come in and strike the heads off some of them, for none of them could rise up from the seats they were sitting on through his enchantments. but one time he was going to strike the bald head off conan, and conan made a great leap from the seat; but if he did, he left strips of his skin hanging to it, that his back was left bare. and then he came round the grey man with his pitiful words: "stop your hand now," he said, "for that is enough for this time; and do not send me to my death yet awhile, and heal me of my wounds first," he said, "before you make an end of me." and the reason he said that was because he knew ailne to have an enchanted cup in the dun, that had cured glanluadh. and the grey man took pity on his case, and he brought him out and bade ailne to bring the cup to him and to cure his wounds. "i will not bring it," said ailne, "for it would be best give no time at all to him or to the fianna, but to make an end of them." "it is not to be saved from death i am asking, bright-faced ailne," said conan, "but only not to go to my death stripped bare the way i am." when ailne heard that, she brought a sheepskin and she put it on conan's back, and it fitted and grew to him, and covered his wounds. "i will not put you to death, conan," said the grey man then, "but you can stop with myself to the end of your life." "you will never be without grief and danger and the fear of treachery if you keep him with you," said ailne; "for there is treachery in his heart the same as there is in the rest of them." "there is no fear of that," said her brother, "or i will make no delay until i put the whole of the fianna to death." and with that he brought conan to where the enchanted cup was, and he put it in his hand. and just at that moment they heard daire playing very sweet sorrowful music, and the grey man went to listen to it, very quick and proud. and conan followed him there, and after a while the grey man asked him what did he do with the enchanted cup. "i left it where i found it, full of power," said conan. the grey man hurried back then to the place where the treasures of the dun were. but no sooner was he gone than conan took out the cup that he had hidden, and he gave a drink from it to finn and to osgar and to the rest of the fianna. and they that were withered and shaking, without strength, without courage, got back their own appearance and their strength again on the moment. and when the grey man came back from looking for the cup, and saw what had happened, he took his sword and made a stroke at conan. but conan called to osgar to defend him, and osgar attacked the grey man, and it was not long till he made him acquainted with death. and when ailne saw that, with the grief and the dread that came on her, she fell dead then and there. then all the fianna made a feast with what they found of food and of drink, and they were very joyful and merry. but when they rose up in the morning, there was no trace or tidings of the dun, but it was on the bare grass they were lying. but as to conan, the sheepskin never left him; and the wool used to grow on it every year, the same as it would on any other skin. book nine: the wearing away of the fianna. chapter i. the quarrel with the sons of morna one time when the fianna were gone here and there hunting, black garraidh and caoilte were sitting beside finn, and they were talking of the battle where finn's father was killed. and finn said then to garraidh: "tell me now, since you were there yourself, what way was it you brought my father cumhal to his death?" "i will tell you that since you ask me," said garraidh; "it was my own hand and the hands of the rest of the sons of morna that made an end of him." "that is cold friendship from my followers the sons of morna," said finn. "if it is cold friendship," said garraidh, "put away the liking you are letting on to have for us, and show us the hatred you have for us all the while." "if i were to lift my hand against you now, sons of morna," said finn, "i would be well able for you all without the help of any man." "it was by his arts cumhal got the upper hand of us," said garraidh; "and when he got power over us," he said, "he banished us to every far country; a share of us he sent to alban, and a share of us to dark lochlann, and a share of us to bright greece, parting us from one another; and for sixteen years we were away from ireland, and it was no small thing to us to be without seeing one another through that time. and the first day we came back to ireland," he said, "we killed sixteen hundred men, and no lie in it, and not a man of them but would be keened by a hundred. and we took their duns after that," he said, "and we went on till we were all around one house in munster of the red walls. but so great was the bravery of the man in that house, that was your father, that it was easier to find him than to kill him. and we killed all that were of his race out on the hill, and then we made a quick rush at the house where cumhal was, and every man of us made a wound on his body with his spear. and i myself was in it, and it was i gave him the first wound. and avenge it on me now, finn, if you have a mind to," he said. * * * * * it was not long after that, finn gave a feast at almhuin for all his chief men, and there came to it two sons of the king of alban, and sons of the kings of the great world. and when they were all sitting at the feast, the serving-men rose up and took drinking-horns worked by skilled men, and having shining stones in them, and they poured out strong drink for the champions; and it is then mirth rose up in their young men, and courage in their fighting men, and kindness and gentleness in their women, and knowledge and foreknowledge in their poets. and then a crier rose up and shook a rough iron chain to silence the clowns and the common lads and idlers, and then he shook a chain of old silver to silence the high lords and chief men of the fianna, and the learned men, and they all listened and were silent. and fergus of the true lips rose up and sang before finn the songs and the good poems of his forefathers; and finn and oisin and lugaidh's son rewarded him with every good thing. and then he went on to goll, son of morna, and told the fights and the destructions and the cattle-drivings and the courtings of his fathers; and it is well-pleased and high-minded the sons of morna were, listening to that. and goll said then: "where is my woman-messenger?" "i am here, king of the fianna," said she. "have you brought me my hand-tribute from the men of lochlann?" "i have brought it surely," said she. and with that she rose up and laid on the floor of the hall before goll a load of pure gold, the size of a good pig, and that would be a heavy load for a strong man. and goll loosened the covering that was about it, and he gave fergus a good reward from it as he was used to do; for there never was a wise, sharp-worded poet, or a sweet harp-player, or any learned man of ireland or of alban, but goll would give him gold or silver or some good thing. and when finn saw that, he said: "how long is it, goll, you have this rent on the men of lochlann, and my own rent being on them always with it, and one of my own men, ciaran son of latharne, and ten hundred men of his household, guarding it and guarding my right of hunting?" and goll saw there was anger on finn, and he said: "it is a long time, finn, i have that rent on the men of lochlann, from the time your father put war and quarrels on me, and the king of ireland joined with him, and i was made to quit ireland by them. and i went into britain," he said, "and i took the country and killed the king himself and did destruction on his people, but cumhal put me out of it; and from that i went to fionnlochlann, and the king fell by me, and his household, and cumhal put me out of it; and i went from that to the country of the saxons, and the king and his household fell by me, and cumhal put me out of it. but i came back then to ireland, and i fought a battle against your father, and he fell by me there. and it was at that time i put this rent upon the men of lochlann. and, finn," he said, "it is not a rent of the strong hand you have put on them, but it is a tribute for having the protection of the fianna of ireland, and i do not lessen that. and you need not begrudge that tribute to me," he said, "for if i had more than that again, it is to you and to the men of ireland i would give it." there was great anger on finn then, and he said: "you tell me, goll," he said, "by your own story, that you came from the city of beirbhe to fight against my father, and that you killed him in the battle; and it is a bold thing you to tell that to me." "by your own hand," said goll, "if you were to give me the same treatment your father gave me, i would pay you the same way as i paid him." "it would be hard for you to do that," said finn, "for there are a hundred men in my household against every man there is in your household." "that was the same with your father," said goll, "and i avenged my disgrace on him; and i would do the same on yourself if you earned it," he said. then cairell of the white skin, son of finn, said: "it is many a man of finn's household you have put down, goll!" and bald conan when he heard that said: "i swear by my arms, goll was never without having a hundred men in his household, every one of them able to get the better of yourself." "and is it to them you belong, crooked-speaking, bare-headed conan?" said cairell. "it is to them i belong, you black, feeble, nail-scratching, rough-skinned cairell; and i will make you know it was finn was in the wrong," said conan. with that cairell rose up and gave a furious blow of his fist to conan, and conan took it with no great patience, but gave him back a blow in his teeth, and from that they went on to worse blows again. and the two sons of goll rose up to help conan, and osgar went to the help of cairell, and it was not long till many of the chief men of the fianna were fighting on the one side or the other, on the side of finn or on the side of the sons of morna. but then fergus of the true lips rose up, and the rest of the poets of the fianna along with him, and they sang their songs and their poems to check and to quiet them. and they left off their fighting at the sound of the poets' songs, and they let their weapons fall on the floor, and the poets took them up, and made peace between the fighters; and they put bonds on finn and on goll to keep the peace for a while, till they could ask for a judgment from the high king of ireland. and that was the end for that time of the little quarrel at almhuin. but it broke out again, one time there was a falling out between finn and goll as to the dividing of a pig of the pigs of manannan. and at daire tardha, the oak wood of bulls, in the province of connacht, there was a great fight between finn's men and the sons of morna. and the sons of morna were worsted, and fifteen of their men were killed; and they made their mind up that from that time they would set themselves against any friends of finn or of his people. and it was conan the bald gave them that advice, for he was always bitter, and a maker of quarrels and of mischief in every place. and they kept to their word, and spared no one. there was a yellow-haired queen that finn loved, berach brec her name was, and she was wise and comely and worthy of any good man, and she had her house full of treasures, and never refused the asking of any. and any one that came to her house at samhain time might stay till beltaine, and have his choice then to go or to stay. and the sons of morna had fostered her, and they went where she was and bade her to give up finn and she need be in no dread of them. but she said she would not give up her kind lover to please them; and she was going away from them to her ship, and art, son of morna, made a cast of his spear that went through her body, that she died, and her people brought her up from the strand and buried her. and as to goll, he took a little hound that finn thought a great deal of, conbeg its name was, and he drowned it in the sea; and its body was brought up to shore by a wave afterwards, and it was buried under a little green hill by the fianna. and caoilte made a complaint over it, and he said how swift the little hound was after deer, or wild pigs, and how good at killing them, and that it was a pity it to have died, out on the cold green waves. and about that time, nine women of the tuatha de danaan came to meet with nine men of the fianna, and the sons of morna saw them coming and made an end of them. and when caoilte met with goll, he made a cast of his spear at him that struck the golden helmet off his head and a piece of his flesh along with it. but goll took it very proudly, and put on the helmet again and took up his weapons, and called out to his brothers that he was no way ashamed. and finn went looking for the sons of morna in every place to do vengeance on them. they were doing robbery and destruction one time in slieve echtge, that got its name from echtge, daughter of nuada of the silver hand, and finn and the fianna were to the west, at slieve cairn in the district of corcomruadh. and finn was in doubt if the sons of morna were gone southward into munster or north into connacht. so he sent aedan and cahal, two sons of the king of ulster, and two hundred righting men with them, into the beautiful pleasant province of connacht, and every day they used to go looking for the sons of morna from place to place. but after a while the three battalions of the fianna that were in corcomruadh saw the track of a troop of men, and they thought it to be the track of the sons of morna; and they closed round them at night, and made an end of them all. but when the full light came on the morrow, they knew them to be their own people, that were with the king of ulster's sons, and they gave three great heavy cries, keening the friends they had killed in mistake. and caoilte and oisin went to rath medba and brought a great stone and put it over the king's sons, and it was called lia an imracail, the stone of the mistake. and the place where goll brought his men the time he parted from finn in anger got the name of druimscarha, the parting hill of heroes. chapter ii. death of goll and at last it chanced that goll and cairell, son of finn, met with one another, and said sharp words, and they fought in the sea near the strand, and cairell got his death by goll. and there was great anger and great grief on finn, seeing his son, that was so strong and comely, lying dead and grey, like a blighted branch. and as to goll, he went away to a cave that was in a point stretching out into the sea; and he thought to stop there till finn's anger would have passed. and osgar knew where he was, and he went to see him, that had been his comrade in so many battles. but goll thought it was as an enemy he came, and he made a cast of his spear at him, and though osgar got no wound by it, it struck his shield and crushed it. and finn took notice of the way the shield was, and when he knew that goll had made a cast at osgar there was greater anger again on him. and he sent out his men and bade them to watch every path and every gap that led to the cave where goll was, the way they would make an end of him. and when goll knew finn to be watching for his life that way, he made no attempt to escape, but stopped where he was, without food, without drink, and he blinded with the sand that was blowing into his eyes. and his wife came to a rock where she could speak with him, and she called to him to come to her. "come over to me," she said; "and it is a pity you to be blinded where you are, on the rocks of the waste sea, with no drink but the salt water, a man that was first in every fight. and come now to be sleeping beside me," she said; "and in place of the hard sea-water i will nourish you from my own breast, and it is i will do your healing. and the gold of your hair is my desire for ever," she said, "and do not stop withering there like an herb in the winter-time, and my heart black with grief within me." but goll would not leave the spot where he was for all she could say. "it is best as it is," he said, "and i never took the advice of a woman east or west, and i never will take it. and o sweet-voiced queen," he said, "what ails you to be fretting after me; and remember now your silver and your gold, and your silks and stuffs, and remember the seven hounds i gave you at cruadh ceirrge, and every one of them without slackness till he has killed the deer. and do not be crying tears after me, queen with the white hands," he said; "but remember your constant lover, aodh, the son of the best woman of the world, that came out from spain asking for you, and that i fought at corcar-an-deirg; and go to him now," he said, "for it is bad when a woman is in want of a good man." and he lay down on the rocks, and at the end of twelve days he died. and his wife keened him there, and made a great lamentation for her husband that had such a great name, and that was the second best of the fianna of ireland. and when conan heard of the death of goll his brother, there was great anger on him, and he went to garraidh, and asked him to go with him to finn to ask satisfaction for goll. "i am not willing to go," said garraidh, "since we could get no satisfaction for the great son of morna." "whether you have a mind to go or not, i will go," said conan; "and i will make an end of every man i meet with, for the sake of yellow-haired goll; i will have the life of oisin, finn's great son, and of osgar and of caoilte and of daire of the songs; i will have no forgiveness for them; we must show no respect for finn, although we may die in the fight, having no help from goll. and let us take that work in hand, and make no delay," he said; "for if finn is there, his strength will be there, until we put him under his flag-stone." but it is not likely garraidh went with him, and he after speaking such foolish words. and what happened conan in the end is not known. but there is a cairn of stones on a hill of burren, near to corcomruadh, and the people of connacht say it is there he is buried, and that there was a stone found there one time, having on it in the old writing: "conan the swift-footed, the bare-footed." but the munster people say it is on their own side of burren he is buried. chapter iii. the battle of gabhra now, with one thing and another, the high king of ireland had got to be someway bitter against finn and the fianna; and one time that he had a gathering of his people he spoke out to them, and he bade them to remember all the harm that had been done them through the fianna, and all their pride, and the tribute they asked. "and as to myself," he said, "i would sooner die fighting the fianna, if i could bring them down along with me, than live with ireland under them the way it is now." all his people were of the same mind, and they said they would make no delay, but would attack the fianna and make an end of them. "and we will have good days of joy and of feasting," they said, "when once almhuin is clear of them." and the high king began to make plans against finn; and he sent to all the men of ireland to come and help him. and when all was ready, he sent and bade osgar to come to a feast he was making at teamhair. and osgar, that never was afraid before any enemy, set out for teamhair, and three hundred of his men with him. and on the way they saw a woman of the sidhe washing clothes at a river, and there was the colour of blood on the water where she was washing them. and osgar said to her: "there is red on the clothes you are washing; and it is for the dead you are washing them." and the woman answered him, and it is what she said: "it is not long till the ravens will be croaking over your own head after the battle." "is there any weakness in our eyes," said osgar, "that a little story like that would set us crying? and do another foretelling for us now," he said, "and tell us will any man of our enemies fall by us before we ourselves are made an end of?" "there will nine hundred fall by yourself," she said; "and the high king himself will get his death-wound from you." osgar and his men went on then to the king's house at teamhair, and they got good treatment, and the feast was made ready, and they were three days at pleasure and at drinking. and on the last day of the drinking, the high king called out with a loud voice, and he asked osgar would he make an exchange of spears with him. "why do you ask that exchange," said osgar, "when i myself and my spear were often with yourself in time of battle? and you would not ask it of me," he said, "if finn and the fianna were with me now." "i would ask it from any fighting man among you," said the king, "and for rent and tribute along with it." "any gold or any treasure you might ask of us, we would give it to you," said osgar, "but it is not right for you to ask my spear." there were very high words between them then, and they threatened one another, and at the last the high king said: "i will put my spear of the seven spells out through your body." "and i give my word against that," said osgar, "i will put my spear of the nine spells between the meeting of your hair and your beard." with that he and his men rose up and went out of teamhair, and they stopped to rest beside a river, and there they heard the sound of a very sorrowful tune, that was like keening, played on a harp. and there was great anger on osgar when he heard that, and he rose up and took his arms and roused his people, and they went on again to where finn was. and there came after them a messenger from the high king, and the message he brought was this, that he never would pay tribute to the fianna or bear with them at all from that time. and when finn heard that, he sent a challenge of battle, and he gathered together all the fianna that were left to him. but as to the sons of morna, it was to the high king of ireland they gathered. and it was at the hill of gabhra the two armies met, and there were twenty men with the king of ireland for every man that was with finn. and it is a very hard battle was fought that day, and there were great deeds done on both sides; and there never was a greater battle fought in ireland than that one. and as to osgar, it would be hard to tell all he killed on that day; five score of the sons of the gael, and five score fighting men from the country of snow, and seven score of the men of green swords that never went a step backward, and four hundred from the country of the lion, and five score of the sons of kings; and the shame was for the king of ireland. but as to osgar himself, that began the day so swift and so strong, at the last he was like leaves on a strong wind, or like an aspen-tree that is falling. but when he saw the high king near him, he made for him like a wave breaking on the strand; and the king saw him coming, and shook his greedy spear, and made a cast of it, and it went through his body and brought him down on his right knee, and that was the first grief of the fianna. but osgar himself was no way daunted, but he made a cast of his spear of the nine spells that went into the high king at the meeting of the hair and the beard, and gave him his death. and when the men nearest to the high king saw that, they put the king's helmet up on a pillar, the way his people would think he was living yet. but osgar saw it, and he lifted a thin bit of a slab-stone that was on the ground beside him, and he made a cast of it that broke the helmet where it was; and then he himself fell like a king. and there fell in that battle the seven sons of caoilte, and the son of the king of lochlann that had come to give them his help, and it would be hard to count the number of the fianna that fell in that battle. and when it was ended, those that were left of them went looking for their dead. and caoilte stooped down over his seven brave sons, and every living man of the fianna stooped over his own dear friends. and it was a lasting grief to see all that were stretched in that place, but the fianna would not have taken it to heart the way they did, but for being as they were, a beaten race. and as to oisin, he went looking for osgar, and it is the way he found him, lying stretched, and resting on his left arm and his broken shield beside him, and his sword in his hand yet, and his blood about him on every side. and he put out his hand to oisin, and oisin took it and gave out a very hard cry. and osgar said: "it is glad i am to see you safe, my father." and oisin had no answer to give him. and just then caoilte came where they were, and he looked at osgar. "what way are you now, my darling?" he said. "the way you would like me to be," said osgar. then caoilte searched the wound, and when he saw how the spear had torn its way through to the back, he cried out, and a cloud came over him and his strength failed him. "o osgar," he said, "you are parted from the fianna, and they themselves must be parted from battle from this out," he said, "and they must pay their tribute to the king of ireland." then caoilte and oisin raised up osgar on their shields and brought him to a smooth green hill till they would take his dress off. and there was not a hands-breadth of his white body that was without a wound. and when the rest of the fianna saw what way osgar was, there was not a man of them that keened his own son or his brother, but every one of them came keening osgar. and after a while, at noonday, they saw finn coming towards them, and what was left of the sun-banner raised on a spear-shaft. all of them saluted finn then, but he made no answer, and he came up to the hill where osgar was. and when osgar saw him coming he saluted him, and he said: "i have got my desire in death, finn of the sharp arms." and finn said: "it is worse the way you were, my son, on the day of the battle at beinn edair when the wild geese could swim on your breast, and it was my hand that gave you healing." "there can no healing be done for me now for ever," said osgar, "since the king of ireland put the spear of seven spells through my body." and finn said: "it is a pity it was not i myself fell in sunny scarce gabhra, and you going east and west at the head of the fianna." "and if it was yourself fell in the battle," said osgar, "you would not hear me keening after you; for no man ever knew any heart in me," he said, "but a heart of twisted horn, and it covered with iron. but the howling of the dogs beside me," he said, "and the keening of the old righting men, and the crying of the women one after another, those are the things that are vexing me." and finn said: "child of my child, calf of my calf, white and slender, it is a pity the way you are. and my heart is starting like a deer," he said, "and i am weak after you and after the fianna of ireland. and misfortune has followed us," he said; "and farewell now to battles and to a great name, and farewell to taking tributes; for every good thing i ever had is gone from me now," he said. and when osgar heard those words he stretched out his hands, and his eyelids closed. and finn turned away from the rest, and he cried tears down; and he never shed a tear through the whole length of his lifetime but only for osgar and for bran. and all that were left of the fianna gave three gorrowful cries after osgar, for there was not one of the fianna beyond him, unless it might be finn or oisin. and it is many of the fianna were left dead in gabhra, and graves were made for them. and as to lugaidh's son, that was so tall a man and so good a fighter, they made a very wide grave for him, as was fitting for a king. and the whole length of the rath at gabhra, from end to end, it is that was the grave of osgar, son of oisin, son of finn. and as to finn himself, he never had peace or pleasure again from that day. book ten: the end of the fianna. chapter i. death of bran one day finn was hunting, and bran went following after a fawn. and they were coming towards finn, and the fawn called out, and it said: "if i go into the sea below i will never come back again; and if i go up into the air above me, it will not save me from bran." for bran would overtake the wild geese, she was that swift. "go out through my legs," said finn then. so the fawn did that, and bran followed her; and as bran went under him, finn squeezed his two knees on her, that she died on the moment. and there was great grief on him after that, and he cried tears down the same as he did when osgar died. and some said it was finn's mother the fawn was, and that it was to save his mother he killed bran. but that is not likely, for his mother was beautiful muirne, daughter of tadg, son of nuada of the tuatha de danaan, and it was never heard that she was changed into a fawn. it is more likely it was oisin's mother was in it. but some say bran and sceolan are still seen to start at night out of the thicket on the hill of almhuin. chapter ii. the call of oisin one misty morning, what were left of the fianna were gathered together to finn, and it is sorrowful and downhearted they were after the loss of so many of their comrades. and they went hunting near the borders of loch lein, where the bushes were in blossom and the birds were singing; and they were waking up the deer that were as joyful as the leaves of a tree in summer-time. and it was not long till they saw coming towards them from the west a beautiful young woman, riding on a very fast slender white horse. a queen's crown she had on her head, and a dark cloak of silk down to the ground, having stars of red gold on it; and her eyes were blue and as clear as the dew on the grass, and a gold ring hanging down from every golden lock of her hair; and her cheeks redder than the rose, and her skin whiter than the swan upon the wave, and her lips as sweet as honey that is mixed through red wine. and in her hand she was holding a bridle having a golden bit, and there was a saddle worked with red gold under her. and as to the horse, he had a wide smooth cloak over him, and a silver crown on the back of his head, and he was shod with shining gold. she came to where finn was, and she spoke with a very kind, gentle voice, and she said: "it is long my journey was, king of the fianna." and finn asked who was she, and what was her country and the cause of her coming. "niamh of the golden head is my name," she said; "and i have a name beyond all the women of the world, for i am the daughter of the king of the country of the young." "what was it brought you to us from over the sea, queen?" said finn then. "is it that your husband is gone from you, or what is the trouble that is on you?" "my husband is not gone from me," she said, "for i never went yet to any man. but o king of the fianna," she said, "i have given my love and my affection to your own son, oisin of the strong hands." "why did you give your love to him beyond all the troops of high princes that are under the sun?" said finn. "it was by reason of his great name, and of the report i heard of his bravery and of his comeliness," she said. "and though there is many a king's son and high prince gave me his love, i never consented to any till i set my love on oisin." when oisin heard what she was saying, there was not a limb of his body that was not in love with beautiful niamh; and he took her hand in his hand, and he said: "a true welcome before you to this country, young queen. it is you are the shining one," he said; "it is you are the nicest and the comeliest; it is you are better to me than any other woman; it is you are my star and my choice beyond the women of the entire world." "i put on you the bonds of a true hero," said niamh then, "you to come away with me now to the country of the young." and it is what she said: "it is the country is most delightful of all that are under the sun; the trees are stooping down with fruit and with leaves and with blossom. "honey and wine are plentiful there, and everything the eye has ever seen; no wasting will come on you with the wasting away of time; you will never see death or lessening. "you will get feasts, playing and drinking; you will get sweet music on the strings; you will get silver and gold and many jewels. "you will get, and no lie in it, a hundred swords; a hundred cloaks of the dearest silk; a hundred horses, the quickest in battle; a hundred willing hounds. "you will get the royal crown of the king of the young that he never gave to any one under the sun. it will be a shelter to you night and day in every rough fight and in every battle. "you will get a right suit of armour; a sword, gold-hilted, apt for striking; no one that ever saw it got away alive from it. "a hundred coats of armour and shirts of satin; a hundred cows and a hundred calves; a hundred sheep having golden fleeces; a hundred jewels that are not of this world. "a hundred glad young girls shining like the sun, their voices sweeter than the music of birds; a hundred armed men strong in battle, apt at feats, waiting on you, if you will come with me to the country of the young. "you will get everything i have said to you, and delights beyond them, that i have no leave to tell; you will get beauty, strength and power, and i myself will be with you as a wife." and after she had made that song, oisin said: "o pleasant golden-haired queen, you are my choice beyond the women of the world; and i will go with you willingly," he said. and with that he kissed finn his father and bade him farewell, and he bade farewell to the rest of the fianna, and he went up then on the horse with niamh. and the horse set out gladly, and when he came to the strand he shook himself and he neighed three times, and then he made for the sea. and when finn and the fianna saw oisin facing the wide sea, they gave three great sorrowful shouts. and as to finn, he said: "it is my grief to see you going from me; and i am without a hope," he said, "ever to see you coming back to me again." chapter iii. the last of the great men and indeed that was the last time finn and oisin and the rest of the fianna of ireland were gathered together, for hunting, for battle, for chess-playing, for drinking or for music; for they all wore away after that, one after another. as to caoilte, that was old and had lost his sons, he used to be fretting and lonesome after the old times. and one day that there was very heavy snow on the ground, he made this complaint:-- "it is cold the winter is; the wind is risen; the fierce high-couraged stag rises up; it is cold the whole mountain is to-night, yet the fierce stag is calling. the deer of slievecarn of the gatherings does not lay his side to the ground; he no less than the stag of the top of cold echtge hears the music of the wolves. "i, caoilte, and brown-haired diarmuid and pleasant light-footed osgar, we used to be listening to the music of the wolves through the end of the cold night. it is well the brown deer sleeps with its hide to the hollow, hidden as if in the earth, through the end of the cold night. "to-day i am in my age, and i know but a few men; i used to shake my spear bravely in the ice-cold morning. it is often i put silence on a great army that is very cold to-night." and after a while he went into a hill of the sidhe to be healed of his old wounds. and whether he came back from there or not is not known; and there are some that say he used to be talking with patrick of the bells the same time oisin was with him. but that is not likely, or oisin would not have made complaints about his loneliness the way he did. but a long time after that again, there was a king of ireland making a journey. and he and his people missed their way, and when night-time came on, they were in a dark wood, and no path before them. and there came to them a very tall man, that was shining like a burning flame, and he took hold of the bridle of the king's horse, and led him through the wood till they came to the right road. and the king of ireland asked him who was he, and first he said: "i am your candlestick"; and then he said: "i was with finn one time." and the king knew it was caoilte, son of ronan, was in it. and three times nine of the rest of the fianna came out of the west one time to teamhair. and they took notice that now they were wanting their full strength and their great name, no one took notice of them or came to speak with them at all. and when they saw that, they lay down on the side of the hill at teamhair, and put their lips to the earth and died. and for three days and a month and a year from the time of the destruction of the fianna of ireland, loch dearg was under mists. * * * * * and as to finn, there are some say he died by the hand of a fisherman; but it is likely that is not true, for that would be no death for so great a man as finn, son of cumhal. and there are some say he never died, but is alive in some place yet. and one time a smith made his way into a cave he saw, that had a door to it, and he made a key that opened it. and when he went in he saw a very wide place, and very big men lying on the floor. and one that was bigger than the rest was lying in the middle, and the dord fiann beside him; and he knew it was finn and the fianna were in it. and the smith took hold of the dord fiann, and it is hardly he could lift it to his mouth, and he blew a very strong blast on it, and the sound it made was so great, it is much the rocks did not come down on him. and at the sound, the big men lying on the ground shook from head to foot. he gave another blast then, and they all turned on their elbows. and great dread came on him when he saw that, and he threw down the dord fiann and ran from the caye and locked the door after him, and threw the key into the lake. and he heard them crying after him, "you left us worse than you found us." and the cave was not found again since that time. but some say the day will come when the dord fiann will be sounded three times, and that at the sound of it the fianna will rise up as strong and as well as ever they were. and there are some say finn, son of cumhal, has been on the earth now and again since the old times, in the shape of one of the heroes of ireland. and as to the great things he and his men did when they were together, it is well they have been kept in mind through the poets of ireland and of alban. and one night there were two men minding sheep in a valley, and they were saying the poems of the fianna while they were there. and they saw two very tall shapes on the two hills on each side of the valley, and one of the tall shapes said to the other: "do you hear that man down below? i was the second doorpost of battle at gabhra, and that man knows all about it better than myself." book eleven: oisin and patrick. chapter i. oisin's story as to oisin, it was a long time after he was brought away by niamh that he came back again to ireland. some say it was hundreds of years he was in the country of the young, and some say it was thousands of years he was in it; but whatever time it was, it seemed short to him. and whatever happened him through the time he was away, it is a withered old man he was found after coming back to ireland, and his white horse going away from him, and he lying on the ground. and it was s. patrick had power at that time, and it was to him oisin was brought; and he kept him in his house, and used to be teaching him and questioning him. and oisin was no way pleased with the way ireland was then, but he used to be talking of the old times, and fretting after the fianna. and patrick bade him to tell what happened him the time he left finn and the fianna and went away with niamh. and it is the story oisin told:--"the time i went away with golden-haired niamh, we turned our backs to the land, and our faces westward, and the sea was going away before us, and filling up in waves after us. and we saw wonderful things on our journey," he said, "cities and courts and duns and lime-white houses, and shining sunny-houses and palaces. and one time we saw beside us a hornless deer running hard, and an eager white red-eared hound following after it. and another time we saw a young girl on a horse and having a golden apple in her right hand, and she going over the tops of the waves; and there was following after her a young man riding a white horse, and having a crimson cloak and a gold-hilted sword in his right hand." "follow on with your story, pleasant oisin," said patrick, "for you did not tell us yet what was the country you went to." "the country of the young, the country of victory, it was," said oisin. "and o patrick," he said, "there is no lie in that name; and if there are grandeurs in your heaven the same as there are there, i would give my friendship to god. "we turned our backs then to the dun," he said, "and the horse under us was quicker than the spring wind on the backs of the mountains. and it was not long till the sky darkened, and the wind rose in every part, and the sea was as if on fire, and there was nothing to be seen of the sun. "but after we were looking at the clouds and the stars for a while the wind went down, and the storm, and the sun brightened. and we saw before us a very delightful country under full blossom, and smooth plains in it, and a king's dun that was very grand, and that had every colour in it, and sunny-houses beside it, and palaces of shining stones, made by skilled men. and we saw coming out to meet us three fifties of armed men, very lively and handsome. and i asked niamh was this the country of the young, and she said it was. 'and indeed, oisin,' she said, 'i told you no lie about it, and you will see all i promised you before you for ever.' "and there came out after that a hundred beautiful young girls, having cloaks of silk worked with gold, and they gave me a welcome to their own country. and after that there came a great shining army, and with it a strong beautiful king, having a shirt of yellow silk and a golden cloak over it, and a very bright crown on his head. and there was following after him a young queen, and fifty young girls along with her. "and when all were come to the one spot, the king took me by the hand, and he said out before them all: 'a hundred thousand welcomes before you, oisin, son of finn. and as to this country you are come to,' he said, 'i will tell you news of it without a lie. it is long and lasting your life will be in it, and you yourself will be young for ever. and there is no delight the heart ever thought of,' he said, 'but it is here against your coming. and you can believe my words, oisin,' he said, 'for i myself am the king of the country of the young, and this is its comely queen, and it was golden-headed niamh our daughter that went over the sea looking for you to be her husband for ever.' i gave thanks to him then, and i stooped myself down before the queen, and we went forward to the royal house, and all the high nobles came out to meet us, both men and women, and there was a great feast made there through the length of ten days and ten nights. "and that is the way i married niamh of the golden hair, and that is the way i went to the country of the young, although it is sorrowful to me to be telling it now, o patrick from rome," said oisin. "follow on with your story, oisin of the destroying arms," said patrick, "and tell me what way did you leave the country of the young, for it is long to me till i hear that; and tell us now had you any children by niamh, and was it long you were in that place." "two beautiful children i had by niamh," said oisin, "two young sons and a comely daughter. and niamh gave the two sons the name of finn and of osgar, and the name i gave to the daughter was the flower. "and i did not feel the time passing, and it was a long time i stopped there," he said, "till the desire came on me to see finn and my comrades again. and i asked leave of the king and of niamh to go back to ireland. 'you will get leave from me,' said niamh; 'but for all that,' she said, 'it is bad news you are giving me, for i am in dread you will never come back here again through the length of your days.' but i bade her have no fear, since the white horse would bring me safe back again from ireland. 'bear this in mind, oisin,' she said then, 'if you once get off the horse while you are away, or if you once put your foot to ground, you will never come back here again. and o oisin,' she said, 'i tell it to you now for the third time, if you once get down from the horse, you will be an old man, blind and withered, without liveliness, without mirth, without running, without leaping. and it is a grief to me, oisin,' she said, 'you ever to go back to green ireland; and it is not now as it used to be, and you will not see finn and his people, for there is not now in the whole of ireland but a father of orders and armies of saints; and here is my kiss for you, pleasant oisin,' she said, 'for you will never come back any more to the country of the young.' "and that is my story, patrick, and i have told you no lie in it," said oisin. "and o patrick," he said, "if i was the same the day i came here as i was that day, i would have made an end of all your clerks, and there would not be a head left on a neck after me." "go on with your story," said patrick, "and you will get the same good treatment from me you got from finn, for the sound of your voice is pleasing to me." so oisin went on with his story, and it is what he said: "i have nothing to tell of my journey till i came back into green ireland, and i looked about me then on all sides, but there were no tidings to be got of finn. and it was not long till i saw a great troop of riders, men and women, coming towards me from the west. and when they came near they wished me good health; and there was wonder on them all when they looked at me, seeing me so unlike themselves, and so big and so tall. "i asked them then did they hear if finn was still living, or any other one of the fianna, or what had happened them. 'we often heard of finn that lived long ago,' said they, 'and that there never was his equal for strength or bravery or a great name; and there is many a book written down,' they said, 'by the sweet poets of the gael, about his doings and the doings of the fianna, and it would be hard for us to tell you all of them. and we heard finn had a son,' they said, 'that was beautiful and shining, and that there came a young girl looking for him, and he went away with her to the country of the young.' "and when i knew by their talk that finn was not living or any of the fianna, it is downhearted i was, and tired, and very sorrowful after them. and i made no delay, but i turned my face and went on to almhuin of leinster. and there was great wonder on me when i came there to see no sign at all of finn's great dun, and his great hall, and nothing in the place where it was but weeds and nettles." and there was grief on oisin then, and he said: "och, patrick! och, ochone, my grief! it is a bad journey that was to me; and to be without tidings of finn or the fianna has left me under pain through my lifetime." "leave off fretting, oisin," said patrick, "and shed your tears to the god of grace. finn and the fianna are slack enough now, and they will get no help for ever." "it is a great pity that would be," said oisin, "finn to be in pain for ever; and who was it gained the victory over him, when his own hand had made an end of so many a hard fighter?" "it is god gained the victory over finn," said patrick, "and not the strong hand of an enemy; and as to the fianna, they are condemned to hell along with him, and tormented for ever." "o patrick," said oisin, "show me the place where finn and his people are, and there is not a hell or a heaven there but i will put it down. and if osgar, my own son, is there," he said, "the hero that was bravest in heavy battles, there is not in hell or in the heaven of god a troop so great that he could not destroy it." "let us leave off quarrelling on each side now," said patrick; "and go on, oisin, with your story. what happened you after you knew the fianna to be at an end?" "i will tell you that, patrick," said oisin. "i was turning to go away, and i saw the stone trough that the fianna used to be putting their hands in, and it full of water. and when i saw it i had such a wish and such a feeling for it that i forgot what i was told, and i got off the horse. and in the minute all the years came on me, and i was lying on the ground, and the horse took fright and went away and left me there, an old man, weak and spent, without sight, without shape, without comeliness, without strength or understanding, without respect. "there, patrick, is my story for you now," said oisin, "and no lie in it, of all that happened me going away and coming back again from the country of the young." chapter ii. oisin in patrick's house and oisin stopped on with s. patrick, but he was not very well content with the way he was treated. and one time he said: "they say i am getting food, but god knows i am not, or drink; and i oisin, son of finn, under a yoke, drawing stones." "it is my opinion you are getting enough," said s. patrick then, "and you getting a quarter of beef and a churn of butter and a griddle of bread every day." "i often saw a quarter of a blackbird bigger than your quarter of beef," said oisin, "and a rowan berry as big as your churn of butter, and an ivy leaf as big as your griddle of bread." s, patrick was vexed when he heard that, and he said to oisin that he had told a lie. there was great anger on oisin then, and he went where there was a litter of pups, and he bade a serving-boy to nail up the hide of a freshly killed bullock to the wall, and to throw the pups against it one by one. and every one that he threw fell down from the hide till it came to the last, and he held on to it with his teeth and his nails. "rear that one," said oisin, "and drown all the rest." then he bade the boy to keep the pup in a dark place, and to care it well, and never to let it taste blood or see the daylight. and at the end of a year, oisin was so well pleased with the pup, that he gave it the name of bran og, young bran. and one day he called to the serving-boy to come on a journey with him, and to bring the pup in a chain. and they set out and passed by slieve-nam-ban, where the witches of the sidhe do be spinning with their spinning-wheels; and then they turned eastward into gleann-na-smol. and oisin raised a rock that was there, and he bade the lad take from under it three things, a great sounding horn of the fianna, and a ball of iron they had for throwing, and a very sharp sword. and when oisin saw those things, he took them in his hands, and he said: "my thousand farewells to the day when you were put here!" he bade the lad to clean them well then; and when he had done that, he bade him to sound a blast on the horn. so the boy did that, and oisin asked him did he see anything strange. "i did not," said the boy. "sound it again as loud as you can," said oisin. "that is as hard as i can sound it, and i can see nothing yet," said the boy when he had done that. then oisin took the horn himself, and he put it to his mouth, and blew three great blasts on it. "what do you see now?" he said. "i see three great clouds coming," he said, "and they are settling down in the valley; and the first cloud is a flight of very big birds, and the second cloud is a flight of birds that are bigger again, and the third flight is of the biggest and the blackest birds the world ever saw." "what is the dog doing?" said oisin. "the eyes are starting from his head, and there is not a rib of hair on him but is standing up." "let him loose now," said oisin. the dog rushed down to the valley then, and he made an attack on one of the birds, that was the biggest of all, and that had a shadow like a cloud. and they fought a very fierce fight, but at last bran og made an end of the big bird, and lapped its blood. but if he did, madness came on him, and he came rushing back towards oisin, his jaws open and his eyes like fire. "there is dread on me, oisin," said the boy, "for the dog is making for us, mad and raging." "take this iron ball and make a cast at him when he comes near," said oisin. "i am in dread to do that," said the boy. "put it in my hand, and turn it towards him," said oisin. the boy did that, and oisin made a cast of the ball that went into the mouth and the throat of the dog, and choked him, and he fell down the slope, twisting and foaming. then they went where the great bird was left dead, and oisin bade the lad to cut a quarter off it with the sword, and he did so. and then he bade him cut open the body, and in it he found a rowan berry, the biggest he had ever seen, and an ivy leaf that was bigger than the biggest griddle. so oisin turned back then, and went to where s. patrick was, and he showed him the quarter of the bird that was bigger than any quarter of a bullock, and the rowan berry that was bigger than a churning of butter, and the leaf. "and you know now, patrick of the bells," he said, "that i told no lie; and it is what kept us all through our lifetime," he said, "truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our arms, and fulfilment in our tongues." "you told no lie indeed," said patrick. and when oisin had no sight left at all, he used every night to put up one of the serving-men on his shoulders, and to bring him out to see how were the cattle doing. and one night the servants had no mind to go, and they agreed together to tell him it was a very bad night. and it is what the first of them said; "it is outside there is a heavy sound with the heavy water dropping from the tops of trees; the sound of the waves is not to be heard for the loud splashing of the rain." and then the next one said: "the trees of the wood are shivering, and the birch is turning black; the snow is killing the birds; that is the story outside." and the third said: "it is to the east they have turned their face, the white snow and the dark rain; it is what is making the plain so cold is the snow that is dripping and getting hard." but there was a serving-girl in the house, and she said: "rise up, oisin, and go out to the white-headed cows, since the cold wind is plucking the trees from the hills." oisin went out then, and the serving-man on his shoulders; but it is what the serving-man did, he brought a vessel of water and a birch broom with him, and he was dashing water in oisin's face, the way he would think it was rain. but when they came to the pen where the cattle were, oisin found the night was quiet, and after that he asked no more news of the weather from the servants. chapter iii. the arguments and s. patrick took in hand to convert oisin, and to bring him to baptism; but it was no easy work he had to do, and everything he would say, oisin would have an answer for it. and it is the way they used to be talking and arguing with one another, as it was put down afterwards by the poets of ireland:-- patrick. "oisin, it is long your sleep is. rise up and listen to the psalm. your strength and your readiness are gone from you, though you used to be going into rough fights and battles." olsin. "my readiness and my strength are gone from me since finn has no armies living; i have no liking for clerks, their music is not sweet to me after his." patrick. "you never heard music so good from the beginning of the world to this day; it is well you would serve an army on a hill, you that are old and silly and grey." olsin. "i used to serve an army on a hill, patrick of the closed-up mind; it is a pity you to be faulting me; there was never shame put on me till now. "i have heard music was sweeter than your music, however much you are praising your clerks: the song of the blackbird in leiter laoi, and the sound of the dord fiann; the very sweet thrush of the valley of the shadow, or the sound of the boats striking the strand. the cry of the hounds was better to me than the noise of your schools, patrick. "little nut, little nut of my heart, the little dwarf that was with finn, when he would make tunes and songs he would put us all into deep sleep. "the twelve hounds that belonged to finn, the time they would be let loose facing out from the siuir, their cry was sweeter than harps and than pipes. "i have a little story about finn; we were but fifteen men; we took the king of the saxons of the feats, and we won a battle against the king of greece. "we fought nine battles in spain, and nine times twenty battles in ireland; from lochlann and from the eastern world there was a share of gold coming to finn. "my grief! i to be stopping after him, and without delight in games or in music; to be withering away after my comrades; my grief it is to be living. i and the clerks of the mass books are two that can never agree. "if finn and the fianna were living, i would leave the clerks and the bells; i would follow the deer through the valleys, i would like to be close on his track. "ask heaven of god, patrick, for finn of the fianna and his race; make prayers for the great man; you never heard of his like." patrick. "i will not ask heaven for finn, man of good wit that my anger is rising against, since his delight was to be living in valleys with the noise of hunts." oisin. "if you had been in company with the fianna, patrick of the joyless clerks and of the bells, you would not be attending on schools or giving heed to god." patrick. "i would not part from the son of god for all that have lived east or west; o oisin, o shaking poet, there will harm come on you in satisfaction for the priests." oisin. "it was a delight to finn the cry of his hounds on the mountains, the wild dogs leaving their harbours, the pride of his armies, those were his delights." patrick. "there was many a thing finn took delight in, and there is not much heed given to it after him; finn and his hounds are not living now, and you yourself will not always be living, oisin." oisin. "there is a greater story of finn than of us, or of any that have lived in our time; all that are gone and all that are living, finn was better to give out gold than themselves." patrick. "all the gold you and finn used to be giving out, it is little it does for you now; he is in hell in bonds because he did treachery and oppression." oisin. "it is little i believe of your truth, man from rome with the white books, finn the open-handed head of the fianna to be in the hands of devils or demons." patrick. "finn is in bonds in hell, the pleasant man that gave out gold; in satisfaction for his disrespect to god, he is under grief in the house of pain." oisin. "if the sons of morna were within it, or the strong men of the sons of baiscne, they would take finn out of it, or they would have the house for themselves." patrick. "if the five provinces of ireland were within it, or the strong seven battalions of the fianna, they would not be able to bring finn out of it, however great their strength might be." oisin. "if faolan and goll were living, and brown-haired diarmuid and brave osgar, finn of the fianna could not be held in any house that was made by god or devils." patrick. "if faolan and goll were living, and all the fianna that ever were, they could not bring out finn from the house where he is in pain." oisin. "what did finn do against god but to be attending on schools and on armies? giving gold through a great part of his time, and for another while trying his hounds." patrick. "in payment for thinking of his hounds and for serving the schools of the poets, and because he gave no heed to god, finn of the fianna is held down." oisin. "you say, patrick of the psalms, that the fianna could not take out finn, or the five provinces of ireland along with them. "i have a little story about finn. we were but fifteen men when we took the king of britain of the feasts by the strength of our spears and our own strength. "we took magnus the great, the son of the king of lochlann of the speckled ships; we came back no way sorry or tired, we put our rent on far places. "o patrick, the story is pitiful, the king of the fianna to be under locks; a heart without envy, without hatred, a heart hard in earning victory. "it is an injustice, god to be unwilling to give food and riches; finn never refused strong or poor, although cold hell is now his dwelling-place. "it is what finn had a mind for, to be listening to the sound of druim dearg; to sleep at the stream of ess ruadh, to be hunting the deer of gallimh of the bays. "the cries of the blackbird of leiter laoi, the wave of rudraighe beating the strand, the bellowing of the ox of magh maoin, the lowing of the calf of gleann da mhail. "the noise of the hunt on slieve crot, the sound of the fawns round slieve cua, the scream of the sea-gulls there beyond on iorrus, the screech of the crows over the battle. "the waves vexing the breasts of the boats, the howling of the hounds at druim lis; the voice of bran on cnoc-an-air, the outcry of the streams about slieve mis. "the call of osgar going to the hunt; the voice of the hounds on the road of the fianna, to be listening to them and to the poets, that was always his desire. "a desire of the desires of osgar was to listen to the striking of shields; to be hacking at bones in a battle, it is what he had a mind for always. "we went westward one time to hunt at formaid of the fianna, to see the first running of our hounds. "it was finn was holding bran, and it is with myself sceolan was; diarmuid of the women had fearan, and osgar had lucky adhnuall. "conan the bald had searc; caoilte, son of ronan, had daol; lugaidh's son and goll were holding fuaim and fothran. "that was the first day we loosed out a share of our hounds to a hunting; and och! patrick, of all that were in it, there is not one left living but myself. "o patrick, it is a pity the way i am now, a spent old man without sway, without quickness, without strength, going to mass at the altar. "without the great deer of slieve luchra; without the hares of slieve cuilinn; without going into fights with finn; without listening to the poets. "without battles, without taking of spoils; without playing at nimble feats; without going courting or hunting, two trades that were my delight." patrick. "leave off, old man, leave your foolishness; let what you have done be enough for you from this out. think on the pains that are before you; the fianna are gone, and you yourself will be going." oisin. "if i go, may yourself not be left after me, patrick of the hindering heart; if conan, the least of the fianna, were living, your buzzing would not be left long to you." "or if this was the day i gave ten hundred cows to the headless woman that came to the valley of the two oxen; the birds of the air brought away the ring i gave her, i never knew where she went herself from me." patrick. "that is little to trouble you, oisin; it was but for a while she was with you; it is better for you to be as you are than to be among them again." oisin. "o son of calphurn of the friendly talk, it is a pity for him that gives respect to clerks and bells; i and caoilte my friend, we were not poor when we were together. "the music that put finn to his sleep was the cackling of the ducks from the lake of the three narrows; the scolding talk of the blackbird of doire an cairn, the bellowing of the ox from the valley of the berries. "the whistle of the eagle from the valley of victories, or from the rough branches of the ridge by the stream; the grouse of the heather of cruachan; the call of the otter of druim-re-coir. "the song of the blackbird of doire an cairn indeed i never heard sweeter music, if i could be under its nest. "my grief that i ever took baptism; it is little credit i got by it, being without food, without drink, doing fasting and praying." patrick. "in my opinion it did not harm you, old man; you will get nine score cakes of bread, wine and meat to put a taste on it; it is bad talk you are giving." oisin. "this mouth that is talking with you, may it never confess to a priest, if i would not sooner have the leavings of finn's house than a share of your own meals." patrick. "he got but what he gathered from the banks, or whatever he could kill on the rough hills; he got hell at the last because of his unbelief." oisin. "that was not the way with us at all, but our fill of wine and of meat; justice and a right beginning at the feasts, sweet drinks and every one drinking them. "it is fretting after diarmuid and goll i am, and after fergus of the true lips, the time you will not let me be speaking of them, o new patrick from rome." patrick. "we would give you leave to be speaking of them, but first you should give heed to god. since you are now at the end of your days, leave your foolishness, weak old man." oisin. "o patrick, tell me as a secret, since it is you have the best knowledge, will my dog or my hound be let in with me to the court of the king of grace?" patrick. "old man in your foolishness that i cannot put any bounds to, your dog or your hound will not be let in with you to the court of the king of power." oisin. "if i had acquaintance with god, and my hound to be at hand, i would make whoever gave food to myself give a share to my hound as well. "one strong champion that was with the fianna of ireland would be better than the lord of piety, and than you yourself, patrick." patrick. "o oisin of the sharp blades, it is mad words you are saying. god is better for one day than the whole of the fianna of ireland." oisin. "though i am now without sway and my life is spent to the end, do not put abuse, patrick, on the great men of the sons of baiscne. "if i had conan with me, the man that used to be running down the fianna, it is he would break your head within among your clerks and your priests." patrick. "it is a silly thing, old man, to be talking always of the fianna; remember your end is come, and take the son of god to help you." oisin. "i used to sleep out on the mountain under the grey dew; i was never used to go to bed without food, while there was a deer on the hill beyond." patrick. "you are astray at the end of your life between the straight way and the crooked. keep out from the crooked path of pains, and the angels of god will come beneath your head." oisin. "if myself and open-handed fergus and diarmuid were together now on this spot, we would go in every path we ever went in, and ask no leave of the priests." patrick. "leave off, oisin; do not be speaking against the priests that are telling the word of god in every place. unless you leave off your daring talk, it is great pain you will have in the end." oisin. "when myself and the leader of the fianna were looking for a boar in a valley, it was worse to me not to see it than all your clerks to be without their heads." patrick. "it is pitiful seeing you without sense; that is worse to you than your blindness; if you were to get sight within you, it is great your desire would be for heaven." oisin. "it is little good it would be to me to be sitting in that city, without caoilte, without osgar, without my father being with me. "the leap of the buck would be better to me, or the sight of badgers between two valleys, than all your mouth is promising me, and all the delights i could get in heaven." patrick. "your thoughts are foolish, they will come to nothing; your pleasure and your mirth are gone. unless you will take my advice to-night, you will not get leave on this side or that." oisin. "if myself and the fianna were on the top of a hill to-day drawing our spear-heads, we would have our choice of being here or there in spite of books and priests and bells." patrick. "you were like the smoke of a wisp, or like a stream in a valley, or like a whirling wind on the top of a hill, every tribe of you that ever lived." oisin. "if i was in company with the people of strong arms, the way i was at bearna da coill, i would sooner be looking at them than at this troop of the crooked croziers. "if i had scolb sceine with me, or osgar, that was smart in battles, i would not be without meat to-night at the sound of the bell of the seven tolls." patrick. "oisin, since your wits are gone from you be glad at what i say; it is certain to me you will leave the fianna and that you will receive the god of the stars." oisin. "there is wonder on me at your hasty talk, priest that has travelled in every part, to say that i would part from the fianna, a generous people, never niggardly." patrick. "if you saw the people of god, the way they are settled at feasts, every good thing is more plentiful with them than with finn's people, however great their name was. "finn and the fianna are lying now very sorrowful on the flag-stone of pain; take the son of god in their place; make your repentance and do not lose heaven." oisin. "i do not believe your talk now. o patrick of the crooked staves, finn and the fianna to be there within, unless they find pleasure being in it." patrick. "make right repentance now, before you know when your end is coming; god is better for one hour than the whole of the fianna of ireland." oisin. "that is a daring answer to make to me, patrick of the crooked crozier; your crozier would be in little bits if i had osgar with me now. "if my son osgar and god were hand to hand on the hill of the fianna, if i saw my son put down, i would say that god was a strong man. "how could it be that god or his priests could be better men than finn, the king of the fianna, a generous man without crookedness. "if there was a place above or below better than the heaven of god, it is there finn would go, and all that are with him of his people. "you say that a generous man never goes to the hell of pain; there was not one among the fianna that was not generous to all. "ask of god, patrick, does he remember when the fianna were alive, or has he seen east or west any man better than themselves in their fighting. "the fianna used not to be saying treachery; we never had the name of telling lies. by truth and the strength of our hands we came safe out of every battle. "there never sat a priest in a church, though you think it sweet to be singing psalms, was better to his word than the fianna, or more generous than finn himself. "if my comrades were living to-night, i would take no pleasure in your crooning in the church; as they are not living now, the rough voice of the bells has deafened me. "och! in the place of battles and heavy fights, where i used to have my place and to take my pleasure, the crozier of patrick being carried, and his clerks at their quarrelling. "och! slothful, cheerless conan, it is great abuse i used to be giving you; why do you not come to see me now? you would get leave for making fun and reviling through the whole of the niggardly clerks. "och! where are the strong men gone that they do not come together to help me! o osgar of the sharp sword of victory, come and free your father from his bonds! "where is the strong son of lugaidh? och! diarmuid of all the women! och! caoilte, son of ronan, think of our love, and travel to me!" patrick. "stop your talk, you withered, witless old man; it is my king that made the heavens, it is he that gives blossom to the trees, it is he made the moon and the sun, the fields and the grass." oisin. "it was not in shaping fields and grass that my king took his delight, but in overthrowing fighting men, and defending countries, and bringing his name into every part. "in courting, in playing, in hunting, in baring his banner at the first of a fight; in playing at chess, at swimming, in looking around him at the drinking-hall. "o patrick, where was your god when the two came over the sea that brought away the queen of lochlann of the ships? where was he when dearg came, the son of the king of lochlann of the golden shields? why did not the king of heaven protect them from the blows of the big man? "or when tailc, son of treon, came, the man that did great slaughter on the fianna; it was not by god that champion fell, but by osgar, in the sight of all. "many a battle and many a victory was gained by the fianna of ireland; i never heard any great deed was done by the king of saints, or that he ever reddened his hand. "it would be a great shame for god not to take the locks of pain off finn; if god himself were in bonds, my king would fight for his sake. "finn left no one in pain or in danger without freeing him by silver or gold, or by fighting till he got the victory. "for the strength of your love, patrick, do not forsake the great men; bring in the fianna unknown to the king of heaven. "it is a good claim i have on your god, to be among his clerks the way i am; without food, without clothing, without music, without giving rewards to poets. "without the cry of the hounds or the horns, without guarding coasts, without courting generous women; for all that i have suffered by the want of food, i forgive the king of heaven in my will." oisin said: "my story is sorrowful. the sound of your voice is not pleasant to me. i will cry my fill, but not for god, but because finn and the fianna are not living." chapter iv. oisin's laments and oisin used to be making laments, and sometimes he would be making praises of the old times and of finn; and these are some of them that are remembered yet:-- i saw the household of finn; it was not the household of a soft race; i had a vision of that man yesterday. i saw the household of the high king, he with the brown, sweet-voiced son; i never saw a better man. i saw the household of finn; no one saw it as i saw it; i saw finn with the sword, mac an luin. och! it was sorrowful to see it. i cannot tell out every harm that is on my head; free us from our trouble for ever; i have seen the household of finn. it is a week from yesterday i last saw finn; i never saw a braver man. a king of heavy blows; my law, my adviser, my sense and my wisdom, prince and poet, braver than kings, king of the fianna, brave in all countries; golden salmon of the sea, clean hawk of the air, rightly taught, avoiding lies; strong in his doings, a right judge, ready in courage, a high messenger in bravery and in music. his skin lime-white, his hair golden; ready to work, gentle to women. his great green vessels full of rough sharp wine, it is rich the king was, the head of his people. seven sides finn's house had, and seven score shields on every side. fifty fighting men he had about him having woollen cloaks; ten bright drinking-cups in his hall; ten blue vessels, ten golden horns. it is a good household finn had, without grudging, without lust, without vain boasting, without chattering, without any slur on any one of the fianna. finn never refused any man; he never put away any one that came to his house. if the brown leaves falling in the woods were gold, if the white waves were silver, finn would have given away the whole of it. blackbird of doire an chairn, your voice is sweet; i never heard on any height of the world music was sweeter than your voice, and you at the foot of your nest. the music is sweetest in the world, it is a pity not to be listening to it for a while, o son of calphurn of the sweet bells, and you would overtake your nones again. if you knew the story of the bird the way i know it, you would be crying lasting tears, and you would give no heed to your god for a while. in the country of lochlann of the blue streams, finn, son of cumhal, of the red-gold cups, found that bird you hear now; i will tell you its story truly. doire an chairn, that wood there to the west, where the fianna used to be delaying, it is there they put the blackbird, in the beauty of the pleasant trees. the stag of the heather of quiet cruachan, the sorrowful croak from the ridge of the two lakes; the voice of the eagle of the valley of the shapes, the voice of the cuckoo on the hill of brambles. the voice of the hounds in the pleasant valley; the scream of the eagle on the edge of the wood; the early outcry of the hounds going over the strand of the red stones. the time finn lived and the fianna, it was sweet to them to be listening to the whistle of the blackbird; the voice of the bells would not have been sweet to them. there was no one of the fianna without his fine silken shirt and his soft coat, without bright armour, without shining stones on his head, two spears in his hand, and a shield that brought victory. if you were to search the world you would not find a harder man, best of blood, best in battle; no one got the upper hand of him. when he went out trying his white hound, which of us could be put beside finn? one time we went hunting on slieve-nam-ban; the sun was beautiful overhead, the voice of the hounds went east and west, from hill to hill. finn and bran sat for a while on the hill, every man was jealous for the hunt. we let out three thousand hounds from their golden chains; every hound of them brought down two deer. patrick of the true crozier, did you ever see, east or west, a greater hunt than that hunt of finn and the fianna? o son of calphurn of the bells, that day was better to me than to be listening to your lamentations in the church. * * * * * there is no strength in my hands to-night, there is no power within me; it is no wonder i to be sorowful, being thrown down in the sorrow of old age. everything is a grief to me beyond any other man on the face of the earth, to be dragging stones along to the church and the hill of the priests. i have a little story of our people. one time finn had a mind to make a dun on the bald hill of cuailgne, and he put it on the fianna of ireland to bring stones for building it; a third on the sons of morna, a third on myself, and a third on the sons of baiscne. i gave an answer to finn, son of cumhal; i said i would be under his sway no longer, and that i would obey him no more. when finn heard that, he was silent a long time, the man without a he, without fear. and he said to me then: "you yourself will be dragging stones before your death comes to you." i rose up then with anger on me, and there followed me the fourth of the brave battalions of the fianna. i gave my own judgments, there were many of the fianna with me. now my strength is gone from me, i that was adviser to the fianna; my whole body is tired to-night, my hands, my feet, and my head, tired, tired, tired. it is bad the way i am after finn of the fianna; since he is gone away, every good is behind me. without great people, without mannerly ways; it is sorrowful i am after our king that is gone. i am a shaking tree, my leaves gone from me; an empty nut, a horse without a bridle; a people without a dwelling-place, i oisin, son of finn. * * * * * it is long the clouds are over me to-night! it is long last night was; although this day is long, yesterday was longer again to me; every day that comes is long to me! that is not the way i used to be, without fighting, without battles, without learning feats, without young girls, without music, without harps, without bruising bones, without great deeds; without increase of learning, without generosity, without drinking at feasts, without courting, without hunting, the two trades i was used to; without going out to battle, ochone! the want of them is sorrowful to me. no hunting of deer or stag, it is not like that i would wish to be; no leashes for our hounds, no hounds; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! without rising up to do bravery as we were used, without playing as we had a mind; without swimming of our fighting men in the lake; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! there is no one at all in the world the way i am; it is a pity the way i am; an old man dragging stones; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! i am the last of the fianna, great oisin, son of finn, listening to the voice of bells; it is long the clouds are over me to-night! notes i. the apology the irish text of the greater number of the stories in this book has been published, and from this text i have worked, making my own translation as far as my scholarship goes, and when it fails, taking the meaning given by better scholars. in some cases the irish text has not been printed, and i have had to work by comparing and piecing together various translations. i have had to put a connecting sentence of my own here and there, and i have fused different versions together, and condensed many passages, and i have left out many, using the choice that is a perpetual refusing, in trying to get some clear outline of the doings of the heroes. i have found it more natural to tell the stories in the manner of the thatched houses, where i have heard so many legends of finn and his friends, and oisin and patrick, and the ever-living ones, and the country of the young, rather than in the manner of the slated houses, where i have not heard them. four years ago, dr atkinson, a professor of trinity college, dublin, in his evidence before the commission of intermediate education, said of the old literature of ireland:--"it has scarcely been touched by the movements of the great literatures; it is the untrained popular feeling. therefore it is almost intolerably low in tone--i do not mean naughty, but low; and every now and then, when the circumstance occasions it, it goes down lower than low ... if i read the books in the greek, the latin or the french course, in almost every one of them there is something with an ideal ring about it--something that i can read with positive pleasure--something that has what the child might take with him as a [greek: ktêma eis dei]--a perpetual treasure; but if i read the irish books, i see nothing ideal in them, and my astonishment is that through the whole range of irish literature that i have read (and i have read an enormous range of it), the smallness of the element of idealism is most noticeable ... and as there is very little idealism there is very little imagination ... the irish tales as a rule are devoid of it fundamentally." dr atkinson is an englishman, but unfortunately not only fellow-professors in trinity but undergraduates there have been influenced by his opinion, that irish literature is a thing to be despised. i do not quote his words to draw attention to a battle that is still being fought, but to explain my own object in working, as i have worked ever since that evidence was given, to make a part of irish literature accessible to many, especially among my young countrymen, who have not opportunity to read the translations of the chief scholars, scattered here and there in learned periodicals, or patience and time to disentangle overlapping and contradictory versions, that they may judge for themselves as to its "lowness" and "want of imagination," and the other well-known charges brought against it before the same commission. i believe that those who have once learned to care for the story of cuchulain of muirthemne, and of finn and lugh and etain, and to recognise the enduring belief in an invisible world and an immortal life behind the visible and the mortal, will not be content with my redaction, but will go, first to the fuller versions of the best scholars, and then to the manuscripts themselves. i believe the forty students of old irish lately called together by professor kuno meyer will not rest satisfied until they have explored the scores and scores of uncatalogued and untranslated manuscripts in trinity college library, and that the enthusiasm which the gaelic league has given birth to will lead to much fine scholarship. a day or two ago i had a letter from one of the best greek scholars and translators in england, who says of my "cuchulain": "it opened up a great world of beautiful legend which, though accounting myself as an irishman, i had never known at all. i am sending out copies to irish friends in australia who, i am sure, will receive the same sort of impression, almost an impression of pride in the beauty of the irish mind, as i received myself." and president roosevelt wrote to me a little time ago that after he had read "cuchulain of muirthemne," he had sent for all the other translations from the irish he could get, to take on his journey to the western states. i give these appreciative words not, i think, from vanity, for they are not for me but for my material, to show the effect our old literature has on those who come fresh to it, and that they do not complain of its "want of imagination." i am, of course, very proud and glad in having had the opportunity of helping to make it known, and the task has been pleasant, although toil-some. just now, indeed, on the th october, i am tired enough, and i think with sympathy of the old highland piper, who complained that he was "withered with yelping the seven fenian battalions." ii. the age and origin of the stories of the fianna mr alfred nutt says in _ossian and the ossianic literature,_ no. of his excellent series of sixpenny pamphlets, _popular studies in mythology, romance, and folklore_:-- "the body of gaelic literature connected with the name of ossian is of very considerable extent and of respectable antiquity. the oldest texts, prose for the most part, but also in verse, are preserved in irish mss. of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and go back to a period from one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty years older at least. the bulk of ossianic literature is, however, of later date as far as the form under which it has come down to us is concerned. a number of important texts, prose for the most part, are preserved in mss. of the fourteenth century, but were probably redacted in the thirteenth and twelfth centuries. but by far the largest mass consists of narrative poems, as a rule dramatic in structure. these have come down to us in mss. written in scotland from the end of the fifteenth to the middle of the seventeenth century, in ireland from the sixteenth down to the middle of the nineteenth century. the gaelic-speaking peasantry, alike in ireland and scotland, have preserved orally a large number of these ballads, as also a great mass of prose narratives, the heroes of which are ossian and his comrades. "were all ossianic texts preserved in mss. older than the present century to be printed, they would fill some eight to ten thousand octavo pages. the mere bulk of the literature, even if we allow for considerable repetition of incident, arrests attention. if we further recall that for the last five hundred years this body of romance has formed the chief imaginative recreation of gaeldom, alike in ireland and scotland, and that a peasantry unable to read or write has yet preserved it almost entire, its claims to consideration and study will appear manifest." he then goes on to discuss how far the incidents in the stories can be accepted as they were accepted by irish historical writers of the eleventh century as authentic history:-- "fortunately there is little need for me to discuss the credibility or otherwise of the historic records concerning finn, his family, and his band of warriors. they may be accepted or rejected according to individual bent of mind without really modifying our view of the literature. for when we turn to the romances, whether in prose or verse, we find that, although the history is professedly the same as that of the annals, firstly, we are transported to a world entirely romantic, in which divine and semi-divine beings, ungainly monsters and giants, play a prominent part, in which men and women change shapes with animals, in which the lives of the heroes are miraculously prolonged--in short, we find ourselves in a land of faery; secondly, we find that the historic conditions in which the heroes are represented as living do not, for the most part, answer to anything we know or can surmise of the third century. for finn and his warriors are perpetually on the watch to guard ireland against the attacks of over-sea raiders, styled lochlannac by the narrators, and by them undoubtedly thought of as norsemen. but the latter, as is well known, only came to ireland at the close of the eighth century, and the heroic period of their invasions extended for about a century, from to ; to be followed by a period of comparative settlement during the tenth century, until at the opening of the eleventh century the battle of clontarf, fought by brian, the great south irish chieftain, marked the break-up of the separate teutonic organisations and the absorption of the teutons into the fabric of irish life. in these pages then we may disregard the otherwise interesting question of historic credibility in the ossianic romances: firstly, because they have their being in a land unaffected by fact; secondly, because if they ever did reflect the history of the third century the reflection was distorted in after-times, and a pseudo-history based upon events of the ninth and tenth centuries was substituted for it. what the historian seeks for in legend is far more a picture of the society in which it took rise than a record of the events which it commemorates." in a later part of the pamphlet mr nutt discusses such questions as whether we may look for examples of third-century customs in the stories, what part of the stories first found their way into writing, whether the oisin and patrick dialogues were written under the influence of actual pagan feeling persisting from pagan times, or whether "a change came over the feeling of gaeldom during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries," when the oisin and patrick dialogues in their present form began to be written. his final summing-up is that "well-nigh the same stories that were told of finn and his warrior braves by the gael of the eleventh century are told in well-nigh the same way by his descendant to-day." mr nutt does not enquire how long the stories may have been told before the first story was written down. larminie, however, whose early death was the first great loss of our intellectual movement, pushes them backward for untold ages in the introduction to his _west irish folk tales and romances_. he builds up a detailed and careful argument, for which i must refer readers to his book, to prove that the scottish highlands and ireland have received their folk-lore both from "aryan and non-aryan sources," and that in the highlands there is more non-aryan influence and more non-aryan blood than in ireland. he argues that nothing is more improbable than that all folk-tales are aryan, as has sometimes been supposed, and sums up as follows:-- "they bear the stamp of the genius of more than one race. the pure and placid but often cold imagination of the aryan has been at work on some. in others we trace the more picturesque fancy, the fierceness and sensuality, the greater sense of artistic elegance belonging to races whom the aryan, in spite of his occasional faults of hardness and coarseness, has, on the whole, left behind him. but as the greatest results in the realm of the highest art have always been achieved in the case of certain blends of aryan with other blood, i should hardly deem it extravagant if it were asserted that in the humbler regions of the folk-tale we might trace the working of the same law. the process which has gone on may in part have been as follows:--every race which has acquired very definite characteristics must have been for a long time isolated. the aryans during their period of isolation probably developed many of their folk-germs into their larger myths, owing to the greater constructiveness of their imagination, and thus, in a way, they used up part of their material. afterwards, when they became blended with other races less advanced, they acquired fresh material to work on. we have in ireland an instance to hand, of which a brief discussion may help to illustrate the whole race theory. "the larger irish legendary literature divides itself into three cycles--the divine, the heroic, the fenian. of these three the last is so well-known orally in scotland that it has been a matter of dispute to which country it really belongs. it belongs, in fact, to both. here, however, comes in a strange contrast with the other cycles. the first is, so far as i am aware, wholly unknown in scotland, the second comparatively unknown. what is the explanation? professor zimmer not having established his late-historical view as regards finn, and the general opinion among scholars having tended of recent years towards the mythical view, we want to know why there is so much more community in one case than in the other. mr o'grady long since seeing this difficulty, and then believing finn to be historical, was induced to place the latter in point of time before cuchulain and his compeers. but this view is of course inadmissible when finn is seen not to be historical at all. there remains but one explanation. the various bodies of legend in question are, so far as ireland is concerned, only earlier or later, as they came into the island with the various races to which they belonged. the wider prevalence, then, of the finn saga would indicate that it belonged to an early race occupying both ireland and scotland. then entered the aryan gael, and for him henceforth, as the ruler of the island, his own gods and heroes were sung by his own bards. his legends became the subject of what i may call the court poetry, the aristocratic literature. when he conquered scotland, he took with him his own gods and heroes; but in the latter country the bardic system never became established, and hence we find but feeble echoes of the heroic cycle among the mountains of the north. that this is the explanation is shown by what took place in ireland. here the heroic cycle has been handed down in remembrance almost solely by the bardic literature. the popular memory retains but few traces of it. its essentially aristocratic character is shown by the fact that the people have all but forgotten it, if they ever knew it. but the fenian cycle has not been forgotten. prevailing everywhere, still cherished by the conquered peoples, it held its ground in scotland and ireland alike, forcing its way in the latter country even into the written literature, and so securing a twofold lease of existence ... the fenian cycle, in a word, is non-aryan folk-literature partially subjected to aryan treatment." the whole problem is extremely complex, and several other writers have written upon it. mr borlase, for instance, has argued in his big book on the dolmens that the cromlechs, and presumably the diarmuid and crania legend, is connected with old religious rites of an erotic nature coming down from a very primitive state of society. i have come to my own conclusion not so much because of any weight of argument, as because i found it impossible to arrange the stories in a coherent form so long as i considered them a part of history. i tried to work on the foundation of the annalists, and fit the fianna into a definite historical epoch, but the whole story seemed trivial and incoherent until i began to think of them as almost contemporaneous with the battle of magh tuireadh, which even the annalists put back into mythical ages. in this i have only followed some of the story-tellers, who have made the mother of lugh of the long hand the grandmother of finn, and given him a shield soaked with the blood of balor. i cannot think of any of the stories as having had a modern origin, or that the century in which each was written down gives any evidence as to its age. "how diarmuid got his love-spot," for instance, which was taken down only a few years ago from some old man's recitation by dr hyde, may well be as old as "finn and the phantoms," which is in one of the earliest manuscripts. it seems to me that one cannot choose any definite period either from the vast living mass of folk-lore in the country or from the written text, and that there is as good evidence of finn being of the blood of the gods as of his being, as some of the people tell me, "the son of an o'shaughnessy who lived at kiltartan cross." dr douglas hyde, although he placed the fenian after the cuchulain cycle in his _history of irish literature_, has allowed me to print this note:-- "while believing in the real objective existence of the fenians as a body of janissaries who actually lived, ruled, and hunted in king cormac's time, i think it equally certain that hundreds of stories, traits, and legends far older and more primitive than any to which they themselves could have given rise, have clustered about them. there is probably as large a bulk of primitive mythology to be found in the finn legend as in that of the red branch itself. the story of the fenians was a kind of nucleus to which a vast amount of the flotsam and jetsam of a far older period attached itself, and has thus been preserved." as i found it impossible to give that historical date to the stories, i, while not adding in anything to support my theory, left out such names as those of cormac and art, and such more or less historical personages, substituting "the high king." and in the "battle of the white strand," i left out the name of caelur, tadg's wife, because i had already followed another chronicler in giving him ethlinn for a wife. in the earlier part i have given back to angus og the name of "the disturber," which had, as i believe, strayed from him to the saint of the same name. iii. the authorities the following is a list of the authorities i have been chiefly helped by in putting these stories together and in translation of the text. but i cannot make it quite accurate, for i have sometimes transferred a mere phrase, sometimes a whole passage from one story to another, where it seemed to fit better. i have sometimes, in the second part of the book, used stories preserved in the scottish gaelic, as will be seen by my references. i am obliged to write these notes away from libraries, and cannot verify them, but i think they are fairly correct. part one. books one, two, and three the coming of the tuatha de danaan, and lugh of the long hand, and the coming of the gael.-- o'curry, _manners and customs of the ancient irish_; _mss. materials_; _atlantis_; de jubainville, _cycle mythologique_; hennessy, _chronicum scotorum_; atkinson, _book of leinster_; _annals of the four masters_; nennius, _hist, brit._ (irish version); zimmer, _glossae hibernacae_; whitley stokes, _three irish glossaries_; _revue celtique_ and _irische texte_; _gaedelica_; nutt, _voyage of bran_; _proceedings ossianic societ_; o'beirne crowe, _amra columcille_; dean of lismore's book; windisch, _irische texte_; hennessy and others in _revue celtique_; _kilkenny archaeological journal_; keatinge's _history_; _ogyia_; curtin's _folk tales_; _proceedings royal irish academy_, mss. series; dr sigerson, _bards of gael and gall_; miscellanies, _celtic society_. book four the ever-living living ones i have used many of the above, and for separate stories, i may give these authorities:-- midhir and etain.-- o'curry, _manners and customs_; whitley stokes, _dinnsenchus_; müller, _revue celtique_; nutt, _voyage of bran_; de jubainville, _epopée celtique_; standish hayes o'grady, ms. lent me by him. manannan at play.-- s. hayes o'grady, _silva gaedelica_. his call to bran.-- professor kuno meyer in nutt's _voyage of bran_; s. hayes o'grady, _silva gaedelica_; de jubainville, _cycle mythologique_. his three calls to cormac.-- whitley stokes, _irische texte_. cliodna's wave.-- s. hayes o'grady, _silva gaedelica_; whitley stokes, _dinnsenchus_. his call to connla.-- o'beirne crowe, _kilkenny arch. journal_; windisch, _irische texte_. tadg in the islands.-- s. hayes o'grady, _silva gaedelica_. laegaire in the happy plain.-- s.h. o'grady, _silva gaedelica_; kuno meyer in nutt's _voyage of bran_. fate of the children of lir.-- o'curry, _atlantis_. part two. the fianna the coming of finn, and finn's household.-- _proceedings ossianic society_; kuno meyer, _four songs of summer and winter_; _revue celtique_; s. hayes o'grady, _silva gaedelica_; curtin's _folk tales_. birth of bran.-- _proc. ossianic society_. oisin's mother.-- kennedy, _legendary fictions irish celts_; mac innis; _leabhar na feinne_. best men of the fianna.-- dean of lismore's book; _silva gaedelica; leabhar na feinne_. lad of the skins.-- _waifs and strays of celtic tradition_; larminie's _folk tales_; curtin's _tales_. the hound.-- _silva gaedelica_; whitley stokes, _dinnsenchus_. red ridge.-- _silva gaedelica_. battle of the white strand.-- kuno meyer, _anec. oxonienses_; hanmer's _chronicle_; dean of lismore; curtin's _tales_; _silva gaedelica_. king of britain's son.-- _silva gaedelica_. the cave of ceiscoran.-- _silva gaedelica_. donn, son of midhir.-- _silva gaedelica_. hospitality of cuanna's house.-- _proc. ossianic society_. cat-heads and dog-heads.-- dean of lismore; _leabhar na feinne_; campbell's _popular tales of the western highlands_. lomna's head.-- o'curry, _orc. treith_, o'donovan, ed. stokes. ilbrec of ess ruadh.-- _silva gaedelica_. cave of cruachan.-- stokes, _irische texts._ wedding at ceann slieve.-- _proc. ossianic society_. the shadowy one.-- o'curry. finn's madness.-- _silva gaedelica_. the red woman.-- hyde, _sgealuidhe gaedhealach_. finn and the phantoms.-- kuno meyer, _revue celtique_. the pigs of angus.-- _proc. ossianic society_. hunt of slieve cuilinn.-- _proc. ossianic society_. oisin's children.-- o'curry; _leabhar na feinne_; campbell's _popular tales of the western highlands_; stokes, _irische texte_; dean of lismore; _celtic magazine_; _waifs and strays of celtic tradition_. birth of diarmuid.-- _pursuit of diarmuid and grania_ (society for preservation of the irish language); campbell's _popular tales_. how diarmuid got his love-spot.-- hyde, _sgealuidhe gaedhealach_. daughter of king under-wave.-- campbell's _popular tales_. the hard servant.-- _silva gaedelica_. house of the quicken trees.-- mss. in royal irish academy, and in dr hyde's possession. diarmuid and grania.-- text published by s. hayes o'grady, _proc. ossianic society_, and re-edited by n. o'duffey for society for preservation of the irish language; kuno meyer, _revue celtique_, and _four songs_; _leabhar na feinne_; campbell's _popular tales_; _kilkenny arch. journal_; _folk lore_, vol. vii., ; dean of lismore; nutt, _waifs and strays of celtic tradition_. cnoc-an-air, etc.-- _proc. ossianic society_. wearing away of the fianna.-- _silva gaedelica_; dean of lismore; _leabhar na feinne_; campbell's _popular tales_; _proc. ossianic society_; o'curry; _waifs and strays of celtic tradition_; stokes, _irische texte_. the end of the fianna.-- hyde, _sgealuidhe gaedhealach_; _proc. ossianic society_; _silva gaedelica_; miss brooke's _reliques_; _annals of the four masters_; _celtic magazine_. oisin and patrick, and oisin's laments.-- _proc. ossianic society_; dean of lismore; _kilkenny arch, fournal_; curtin's _tales_. i have taken grania's sleepy song, and the description of finn's shield and of cumhal's treasure-bag, and the fact of finn's descent from ethlinn, from _duanaire finn_, now being edited for the irish texts society by mr john macneill, the proofs of which i have been kindly allowed to see. and i have used sometimes parts of stories, or comments on them gathered directly from the people, who have kept these heroes so much in mind. the story of caoilte coming to the help of the king of ireland in a dark wood is the only one i have given without either a literary or a folk ancestry. it was heard or read by mr yeats, he cannot remember where, but he had, with it in his mind, written of "caoilte's burning hair" in one of his poems. i and my readers owe special thanks to those good workers in the discovery of irish literature, professor kuno meyer and mr whitley stokes, translators of so many manuscripts; and to my friend and kinsman standish hayes o'grady, for what i have taken from that wonderful treasure-house, his _silva gaedelica_. iv. the pronunciation this is the approximate pronunciation of some of the more difficult names: adhnuall ai-noo-al. ailbhe. alva. almhuin all-oon, _or_ alvin. aobh aev, _or_ eev. aodh ae (rhyming to "day"). aoibhill evill. aoife eefa. badb bibe. beltaine, or bealtaine bal-tinna. bladhma bly-ma. bodb dearg bove darrig. caoilte cweeltia. cam ruidhe corn rwee. ciabhan kee-a-van. cliodna cleevna. coincheann kun-kann. crann buidhe cran bwee. credhe crae-a. cumhal coo-al. deaghadh d'ya-a. dubhthach duffach. duibhreann dhiv-ran. duibhrium dhiv-rinn. dun doon. eimher aevir. emhain avvin. eochaid eohee. eoghan owen. fionnchad finn-ach-a. fodhla fóla. fodla fola. gallimh gol-yiv. glas gaibhnenn glos gov-nan. leith laeig leh laeg. loch dairbhreach loch darvragh. lugaidh loo-ee, _or_ lewy. lugh loo. magh an ionganaidh moy-in-eean-ee. magh cuillean moy cullin. magh feabhail moy fowl. magh macraimhe moy mucrivva. magh mell moy mal. magh rein moy raen. magh tuireadh moytirra. manannan mananaun. midhe mee. midhna mec-na. mochaomhog mo-cwecv-og. muadhan moo-aun. murchadh murachu. nemhnain now-nin. niamh nee-av. og og. rath medba, or meadhbha ra maev-a. rudraighe rury. samhain sow-in. scathniamh scau-nee-av. sceolan skolaun. searbhan sharavaun. sidhe shee. slieve echtge sleev acht-ga. tadg teig. teamhair t'yower, _or_ tavvir. tuatha de danaan too-a-ha dae donnan. tuathmumhain too-moon. i have not followed a fixed rule as to the spelling of irish names; i have taken the spelling i give from various good authorities, but they vary so much that, complete accuracy not being easy, i sometimes look to custom and convenience. i use, for instance, "slieve" for "sliabh," because it comes so often, and a mispronunciation would spoil so many names. i have treated "inbhir" (a river mouth) in the same way, spelling it "inver," and even adopting it as an english word, because it is so useful. the forty scholars of the new school of old irish will do us good service if they work at the question both of spelling and of pronunciation of the old names and settle them as far as is possible. v. the place names accuill achill, co. mayo. aine cliach cnoc aine, co. limerick. almhuin near kildare. ath cliath dublin. athluain athlone. ath na riogh athenry. badhamain cahir, co. tipperary. baile cronin barony of imokilty, co. cork. banna the bann. beare berehaven. bearna na eadargana roscommon. bearnas mor co. donegal. beinn gulbain benbulban, co. sligo. beire do bhunadas berehaven. bel-atha senaig ballyshannon. belgata in connemara. benna boirde source of the bann and mourne mountains. berramain near tralee. bhas river bush. boinn river boyne. bri leith co. longford. cairbre carbury. cairgin three miles south of londonderry. carrthach river river carra, near dunkerrin mountains. ceanntaile kinsale. ceiscorainn co. sligo. cill dolun killaloe, co. clare. cliodna's wave at glandore, co. cork. cluantarbh clontarf. cnoc aine co. limerick. cnoc-an-air co. kerry. cnoc na righ co. sligo. corca duibhne corcaguiny, co. kerry. corrslieve carlow mountains. crotta cliach galtee mountains. cruachan co. roscommon. cruachan aigle croagh patrick. doire a cairn derrycarn, co. meath. doire-da-bhoth in slieve echtge. druim cleibh co. sligo. druim lis near loch gill. druimscarha near river arighis, co. cork. dun sobairce dunsevenh, co. antrim. durlas thurles. ess dara near sligo. ess ruadh assaroe, co. donegal. fidh gaible fergill, co. sligo. finntraighe ventry. fionn the finn. fionnabraic kilfenna, co. clare. fionntutach co. limerick. fleisge co. kerry. gabhra near tara. gaibh atha na fiann river leamhar, flows from killarney. gairech and ilgairech hills near mullingar. gallimh galway. gleann na caor co. cork. gullach dollairb barony of rathconrath. hill of bairnech near killarney. hill of uisnech co. westmeath. inver cechmaine east coast of ulster. inver colpa drogheda. inver slane n.e. of leinster. irrus domnann erris, co. mayo. island of toraig tory island, co. donegal. laoi river lee. leith laoi leitrim. linn feic near slaney. loch bel sead co. tipperary. loch cé co. roscommon. loch dairbhreach loch derryvaragh, co. westmeath. loch deirg dheirc loch derg on the shannon. loch eirne loch erne. loch feabhail loch foyle. loch lein killarney. loch orbson loch corrib. loch na-n ean in co. roscommon. lough neatach loch neagh. luimneach limerick. maev mhagh plain about loughrea. magh cobha iveagh, co. down. magh cuilenn moycullen, co. galway. magh femen co. tipperary. magh larg co. roscommon. magh leine king's county. magh luirg co. roscommon. magh maini co. wexford. magh mucraimhe near athenry. magh nia same as magh tuireadh. magh rein co. leitrim. magh tuireadh moytura near sligo, scene of great battle, and moytura, near cong, scene of first battle. march of finnliath river lee, near tralee. midhe meath, west of ardagh. mis geadh in bay of erris. muaid river moy. muc-inis muckinish, off connemara. nas naas. nem the nem. oenach clochan morristown, co. limerick. osraige ossory. paps of dana co. kerry. portlairge waterford. river maigh co. limerick. ros da shioleach limerick. ruirlech liffey. samair r. cumhair, runs through bruff. sionnan river shannon. siuir river suir, co. tipperary. siuir and beoir suir and nore and barrow. and berba slieve baisne co. roscommon. slieve bladmai slieve bloom. slieve buane slieve banne, co. roscommon. slieve conaill border of leitrim and donegal. slieve crot co. tipperary. slieve cua co. waterford. slieve cua and slieve crot in galtee mountains. slieve cuailgne co. louth. slieve echtge co. galway. slieve fuad co. armagh. slieve guaire co. cavan. slieve luchra co. kerry. slieve lugha co. mayo. slieve mis co. kerry. slieve muice co. tipperary. slieve-nam-ban co. tipperary sligach sligo. srub bruin in west kerry. sruth na maoile mull of cantire. tailltin telltown. teamhair tara, co. meath. teunhair luchra near castle island, co. kerry. the beith river behy, barony of dunkerrin. the beoir the berba. the islands of mod in clew bay. the lemain river laune, co. kerry. the muaidh river moy, co. sligo. tonn toime toines, near killarney. traigh eothaile near ballisodare. tuathmumain thomond. ui chonaill gabhra co. limerick. ui fiachraih, fiachraig co. mayo. wave of rudraighe bay of dundrum. the cattle-raid of cualnge (tain bo cuailnge) an old irish prose-epic translated for the first time from leabhar na h-uidhri and the yellow book of lecan by l. winifred faraday, m. a. london published by david nutt at the sign of the phoenix long acre contents introduction the cattle-raid of cualnge (from leabhar na h-uidhri) cuchulainn's boyish deeds the death of fraech the death of orlam the death of the meic garach the death of the squirrel the death of lethan the death of lochu the harrying of cualnge (first version) the harrying of cualnge (second version) mac roth's embassy the death of etarcomol the death of nadcrantail the finding of the bull the death of redg the meeting of cuchulainn and findabair the combat of munremar and curoi the death of the boys (first version) the woman-fight of rochad the death of the princes the death of cur the number of the feats the death of ferbaeth the combat of larine mac nois the conversation of the morrigan with cuchulainn the death of long mac emonis the healing of the morrigan the coming of lug mac ethlend the death of the boys (second version) the arming of cuchulainn continuation (from the yellow book of lecan) the combat of fer diad and cuchulainn the long warning of sualtaim the muster of the ulstermen the vision of dubthach the march of the companies the muster of the men of ireland the battle on garach and irgarach the meeting of the bulls the peace introduction the cattle-raid of cualnge [note: pronounce _cooley_] is the chief story belonging to the heroic cycle of ulster, which had its centre in the deeds of the ulster king, conchobar mac nessa, and his nephew and chief warrior, cuchulainn mac sualtaim. tradition places their date at the beginning of the christian era. the events leading up to this tale, the most famous of irish mythical stories, may be shortly summarised here from the book of leinster introduction to the _tain_, and from the other tales belonging to the ulster cycle. it is elsewhere narrated that the dun bull of cualnge, for whose sake ailill and medb [note: pronounce _maive_.], the king and queen of connaught, undertook this expedition, was one of two bulls in whom two rival swineherds, belonging to the supernatural race known as the people of the _sid_, or fairy-mounds, were re-incarnated, after passing through various other forms. the other bull, findbennach, the white-horned, was in the herd of medb at cruachan ai, the connaught capital, but left it to join ailill's herd. this caused ailill's possessions to exceed medb's, and to equalise matters she determined to secure the great dun bull, who alone equalled the white-horned. an embassy to the owner of the dun bull failed, and ailill and medb therefore began preparations for an invasion of ulster, in which province (then ruled by conchobar mac nessa) cualnge was situated. a number of smaller _tana_, or cattle-raids, prefatory to the great _tain bo cuailnge_, relate some of their efforts to procure allies and provisions. medb chose for the expedition the time when conchobar and all the warriors of ulster, except cuchulainn and sualtaim, were at their capital, emain macha, in a sickness which fell on them periodically, making them powerless for action; another story relates the cause of this sickness, the effect of a curse laid on them by a fairy woman. ulster was therefore defended only by the seventeen-year-old cuchulainn, for sualtaim's appearance is only spasmodic. cuchulainn (culann's hound) was the son of dechtire, the king's sister, his father being, in different accounts, either sualtaim, an ulster warrior; lug mac ethlend, one of the divine heroes from the _sid_, or fairy-mound; or conchobar himself. the two former both appear as cuchulainn's father in the present narrative. cuchulainn is accompanied, throughout the adventures here told, by his charioteer, loeg mac riangabra. in medb's force were several ulster heroes, including cormac condlongas, son of conchobar, conall cernach, dubthach doeltenga, fiacha mac firfebe, and fergus mac roich. these were exiled from ulster through a bitter quarrel with conchobar, who had caused the betrayal and murder of the sons of uisnech, when they had come to ulster under the sworn protection of fergus, as told in the _exile of the sons of uisnech_. [note: text in windisch and stokes's _irische texte_; english translation in miss hull's _cuchullin saga_.] the ulster mischief-maker, bricriu of the poison-tongue, was also with the connaught army. though fighting for connaught, the exiles have a friendly feeling for their former comrades, and a keen jealousy for the credit of ulster. there is a constant interchange of courtesies between them and their old pupil, cuchulainn, whom they do not scruple to exhort to fresh efforts for ulster's honour. an equally half-hearted warrior is lugaid mac nois, king of munster, who was bound in friendship to the ulstermen. other characters who play an important part in the story are findabair, daughter of ailill and medb, who is held out as a bribe to various heroes to induce them to fight cuchulainn, and is on one occasion offered to the latter in fraud on condition that he will give up his opposition to the host; and the war-goddess, variously styled the nemain, the badb (scald-crow), and the morrigan (great queen), who takes part against cuchulainn in one of his chief fights. findabair is the bait which induces several old comrades of cuchulainn's, who had been his fellow-pupils under the sorceress scathach, to fight him in single combat. the tale may be divided into:-- . introduction: fedelm's prophecy. . cuchulainn's first feats against the host, and the several _geis_, or taboos, which he lays on them. . the narration of cuchulainn's boyish deeds, by the ulster exiles to the connaught host. . cuchulainn's harassing of the host. . the bargain and series of single combats, interrupted by breaches of the agreement on the part of connaught. . the visit of lug mac ethlend. . the fight with fer diad. . the end: the muster of the ulstermen. the mss. the _tain bo cuailnge_ survives, in whole or in part, in a considerable number of mss., most of which are, however, late. the most important are three in number:-- ( ) leabhar na h-uidhri (lu), 'the book of the dun cow,' a ms. dating from about . the version here given is an old one, though with some late additions, in later language. the chief of these are the piece coming between the death of the herd forgemen and the fight with cur mac dalath (including cuchulainn's meeting with findabair, and the 'womanfight' of rochad), and the whole of what follows the healing of the morrigan. the tale is, like others in this ms., unfinished, the ms. being imperfect. ( ) the yellow book of lecan (ybl), a late fourteenth-century ms. the _tain_ in this is substantially the same as in lu. the beginning is missing, but the end is given. some of the late additions of lu are not found here; and ybl, late as it is, often gives an older and better text than the earlier ms. ( ) the book of leinster (ll), before . the _tain_ here is longer, fuller, and later in both style and language than in lu or ybl. it is essentially a literary attempt to give a complete and consistent narrative, and is much less interesting than the older lu-ybl recension. in the present version, i have collated lu, as far as it goes, with ybl, adding from the latter the concluding parts of the story, from the fight with fer diad to the end. after the fight with fer diad, ybl breaks off abruptly, leaving nearly a page blank; then follow several pages containing lists, alternative versions of some episodes given in lu (rochad's woman-fight, the warning to conchobar), and one or two episodes which are narrated in ll. i omit about one page, where the narrative is broken and confused. the pages which follow the healing of the morrigan in lu are altogether different in style from the rest of the story as told in lu, and are out of keeping with its simplicity. this whole portion is in the later manner of ll, with which, for the most part, it is in verbal agreement. further, it is in part repetition of material already given (i.e. the coming of the boy-host of ulster, and cuchulainn's displaying himself to the connaught troops). comparison of the versions a german translation of the leinster text of the _tain bo cuailnge_ will soon be accessible to all in dr. windisch's promised edition of the text. it is therefore unnecessary to compare the two versions in detail. some of the main differences may be pointed out, however. of our three copies none is the direct ancestor of any other. lu and ybl are from a common source, though the latter ms. is from an older copy; ll is independent. the two types differ entirely in aim and method. the writers of lu and ybl aimed at accuracy; the leinster man, at presenting an intelligible version. hence, where the two former reproduce obscurities and corruptions, the latter omits, paraphrases, or expands. the unfortunate result is that ll rarely, if ever, helps to clear up textual obscurities in the older copy. on the other hand, it offers explanations of certain episodes not clearly stated in lu. thus, for example, where lu, in the story of the sons of nechta scene, simply mentions 'the withe that was on the pillar,' ll explains that the withe had been placed there by the sons of nechta scene (as cuchulainn placed a similar with in the path of the connaught host), with an ogam inscription forbidding any to pass without combat; hence its removal was an insult and a breach of _geis_. again, the various embassies to cuchulainn, and the terms made with him (that he should not harass the host if he were supplied daily with food, and with a champion to meet him in single combat), are more clearly described in ll. some of the episodes given in lu are not told in the leinster version. of the boyish deeds of cuchulainn, ll tells only three: his first appearance at emain (told by fergus), culann's feast (by cormac), and the feats following cuchulainn's taking of arms (by fiacha). in the main narrative, the chief episodes omitted in ll are the fight with fraech, the fergus and medb episode, and the meeting of findabair and cuchulainn. the meeting with the morrigan is missing, owing to the loss of a leaf. other episodes are differently placed in ll: e.g. the rochad story (an entirely different account), the fight of amairgen and curoi with stones, and the warning to conchobar, all follow the fight with fer diad. a peculiarity of the lu-ybl version is the number of passages which it has in common with the _dinnsenchas_, an eleventh-century compilation of place-legends. the existing collections of _dinnsenchas_ contain over fifty entries derived from the _tain_ cycle, some corresponding with, others differing from those in lu. this version has also embodied a considerable number of glosses in the text. as many of these are common to lu and ybl, they must go back to the common original, which must therefore have been a harmony of previously existing versions, since many of these passages give variants of incidents. age of the versions there is no doubt that the version here translated is a very old one. the language in lu is almost uniformly middle irish, not more than a century earlier than the date of the ms.; thus it shows the post-thetic _he_, _iat_, etc. as object, the adverb with _co_, the confusion of _ar_ and _for_, the extension of the _b_-future, etc. but ybl preserves forms as old as the glosses:-- ( ) the correct use of the infixed relative, e.g. _rombith_, 'with which he struck.' (lu, _robith_, a, .) ( ) the infixed accusative pronoun, e.g. _nachndiusced_, 'that he should not wake him.' (lu, _nach diusced_, a, .) ( ) _no_ with a secondary tense, e.g. _nolinad_, 'he used to fill.' (lu, _rolinad_, b, .) ( ) very frequently ybl keeps the right aspirated or non-aspirated consonant, where lu shows a general confusion, etc. ll has no very archaic forms, though it cultivates a pseudo-archaic style; and it is unlikely that the leinster version goes back much earlier than . the latter part of the lu _tain_ shows that a version of the leinster type was known to the compiler. the style of this part, with its piling-up of epithets, is that of eleventh-century narrative, as exemplified in texts like the _cath ruis na rig_ and the _cogadh gaidhil_; long strings of alliterative epithets, introduced for sound rather than sense, are characteristic of the period. the descriptions of chariots and horses in the fer diad episode in ybl are similar, and evidently belong to the same rescension. the inferences from the facts noted in the foregoing sections may be stated as follows: a version of the _tain_ goes back to the early eighth, or seventh century, and is preserved under the ybl text; an opinion based on linguistic evidence, but coinciding with the tradition which ascribes the 'recovery of the _tain_' to senchan torpeist, a bard of the later seventh century. this version continued to be copied down to the eleventh century, gradually changing as the language changed. meanwhile, varying accounts of parts of the story came into existence, and some time in the eleventh century a new redaction was made, the oldest representative of which is the ll text. parts of this were embodied in or added to the older version; hence the interpolations in lu. the fer diad episode there is much difference between the two versions of this episode. in ybl, the introductory portion is long and full, the actual fight very short, while in ll the fight is long-drawn-out, and much more stress is laid on the pathetic aspect of the situation. hence it is generally assumed that ll preserves an old version of the episode, and that the scribe of the yellow book has compressed the latter part. it is not, however, usual, in primitive story-telling, to linger over scenes of pathos. such lingering is, like the painted tears of late italian masters, invariably a sign of decadence. it is one of the marks of romance, which recognises tragedy only when it is voluble, and prodigal of lamentation. the older version of the _tain_ is throughout singularly free from pathos of the feebler sort; the humorous side is always uppermost, and the tragic suggestions interwoven with it. but it is still a matter of question whether the whole fer diad episode may not be late. professor zimmer thinks it is; but even the greatest scholar, with a theory to prove, is not quite free. it will of course be noticed, on this side, that the chief motives of the fer diad episode all appear previously in other episodes (e.g. the fights with ferbaeth and with loch). further, the account even in ybl is not marked by old linguistic forms as are other parts of the tale, while much of it is in the bombastic descriptive style of ll. in the condition in which we have the tale, however, this adventure is treated as the climax of the story. its motive is to remove cuchulainn from the field, in order to give the rest of ulster a chance. but in the account of the final great fight in ybl, cuchulainn's absence is said to be due to his having been wounded in a combat against odds (_crechtnugud i n-ecomlund_). considering, therefore, that even in ybl the fer diad episode is late in language, it seems possible that it may have replaced some earlier account in which cuchulainn was so severely wounded that he was obliged to retire from the field. previous work on the '_tain_' up to the present time the _tain_ has never been either printed or translated, though the lu version has been for thirty years easily accessible in facsimile. dr. windisch's promised edition will shortly be out, containing the ll and lu texts, with a german translation of the former. the most useful piece of work done hitherto for the _tain_ is the analysis by professor zimmer of the lu text (conclusion from the book of leinster), in the fifth of his _keltische studien (zeitschrift für vergl. sprachforschung_, xxviii.). another analysis of the story, by mr. s. h. o'grady, appeared in miss eleanor hull's _the cuchullin saga_; it is based on a late paper ms. in the british museum, giving substantially the same version as ll. this work contains also a map of ancient ireland, showing the route of the connaught forces; but a careful working-out of the topography of the _tain_ is much needed, many names being still unidentified. several of the small introductory _tana_ have been published in windisch and stokes's _irische texte_; and separate episodes from the great _tain_ have been printed and translated from time to time. the fight with fer diad (ll) was printed with translation by o'curry in the _manners and customs of the ancient irish_. the story of the two swineherds, with their successive reincarnations until they became the dun bull and the white-horned (an introductory story to the _tain_ ), is edited with translation in _irische texte_, and mr. nutt printed an abridged english version in the _voyage of bran_. the leinster version seems to have been the favourite with modern workers, probably because it is complete and consistent; possibly its more sentimental style has also served to commend it. aim of this translation it is perhaps unnecessary to say that the present version is intended for those who cannot read the tale in the original; it is therefore inadvisable to overload the volume with notes, variant readings, or explanations of the readings adopted, which might repel the readers to whom it is offered. at the present time, an enthusiasm for irish literature is not always accompanied by a knowledge of the irish language. it seems therefore to be the translator's duty, if any true estimate of this literature is to be formed, to keep fairly close to the original, since nothing is to be gained by attributing beauties which it does not possess, while obscuring its true merits, which are not few. for the same reason, while keeping the irish second person singular in verses and formal speech, i have in ordinary dialogue substituted the pronoun _you_, which suggests the colloquial style of the original better than the obsolete _thou_. the so-called rhetorics are omitted in translating; they are passages known in irish as _rosc_, often partly alliterative, but not measured. they are usually meaningless strings of words, with occasional intelligible phrases. in all probability the passages aimed at sound, with only a general suggestion of the drift. any other omissions are marked where they occur; many obscure words in the long descriptive passages are of necessity left untranslated. in two places i have made slight verbal changes without altering the sense, a liberty which is very rarely necessary in irish. of the headings, those printed in capitals are in the text in the ms.; those italicised are marginal. i have bracketed obvious scribal glosses which have crept into the text. some of the marginal glosses are translated in the footnotes. geographical names as a considerable part of the _tain_ is occupied by connecting episodes with place-names, an explanation of some of the commonest elements in these may be of use to those who know no irish: ath=a ford; e.g. ath gabla (ford of the fork), ath traiged (ford of the foot), ath carpat (ford of chariots), ath fraich (fraech's ford), etc. belat=cross-roads; e.g. belat alioin. bernas=a pass, or gap; e.g. _bernas bo ulad_ or _bernas bo cuailnge_ (pass of the cows of ulster, or of cualnge). clithar=a shelter; e.g. clithar bo ulad (shelter of the cows of ulster). cul=a corner; e.g. cul airthir (eastern corner). dun= a fort; e.g. dun sobairche. fid=a wood; e.g. fid mor drualle (great wood of the sword-sheath). glass=a brook, stream; e.g. glass chrau (the stream of blood), glass cruind, glass gatlaig (gatt=a withe, laig=a calf). glenn=a glen; e.g. glenn gatt (glen of the withe), glenn firbaith (ferbaeth's glen), glenn gatlaig. grellach=a bog; e.g. grellach doluid. guala=a hill-shoulder; e.g. gulo mulchai (mulcha's shoulder). loch=a lake; e.g. loch reoin, loch echtra. mag=a plain; e.g. mag ai, mag murthemne, mag breg, mag clochair (cloch=a stone). methe, explained as if from meth (death); methe togmaill (death of the squirrel), methe n-eoin (death of the bird). reid, gen. rede=a plain; e.g. ath rede locha (ford of locha's plain). sid=a fairy mound; e.g. sid fraich (fraech's mound). sliab=a mountain; e.g. sliab fuait. i need perhaps hardly say that many of the etymologies given in irish sources are pure invention, stories being often made up to account for the names, the real meaning of which was unknown to the mediaeval story-teller or scribe. in conclusion, i have to express my most sincere thanks to professor strachan, whose pupil i am proud to be. i have had the advantage of his wide knowledge and experience in dealing with many obscurities in the text, and he has also read the proofs. i am indebted also to mr. e. gwynn, who has collated at trinity college, dublin, a number of passages in the yellow book of lecan, which are illegible or incorrect in the facsimile; and to dr. whitley stokes for notes and suggestions on many obscure words. llandaff, november . this is the cattle-raid of cualnge i a great hosting was brought together by the connaughtmen, that is, by ailill and medb; and they sent to the three other provinces. and messengers were sent by ailill to the seven sons of magach: ailill, anluan, mocorb, cet, en, bascall, and doche; a cantred with each of them. and to cormac condlongas mac conchobair with his three hundred, who was billeted in connaught. then they all come to cruachan ai. now cormac had three troops which came to cruachan. the first troop had many-coloured cloaks folded round them; hair like a mantle (?); the tunic falling(?) to the knee, and long(?) shields; and a broad grey spearhead on a slender shaft in the hand of each man. the second troop wore dark grey cloaks, and tunics with red ornamentation down to their calves, and long hair hanging behind from their heads, and white shields (?), and five-pronged spears were in their hands. 'this is not cormac yet,' said medb. then comes the third troop; and they wore purple cloaks and hooded tunics with red ornamentation down to their feet, hair smooth to their shoulders, and round shields with engraved edges, and the pillars [note: i.e. spears as large as pillars, etc.] of a palace in the hand of each man. 'this is cormac now,' said medb. then the four provinces of ireland were assembled, till they were in cruachan ai. and their poets and their druids did not let them go thence till the end of a fortnight, for waiting for a good omen. medb said then to her charioteer the day that they set out: 'every one who parts here to-day from his love or his friend will curse me,' said she, 'for it is i who have gathered this hosting.' 'wait then,' said the charioteer, 'till i turn the chariot with the sun, and till there come the power of a good omen that we may come back again.' then the charioteer turned the chariot, and they set forth. then they saw a full-grown maiden before them. she had yellow hair, and a cloak of many colours, and a golden pin in it; and a hooded tunic with red embroidery. she wore two shoes with buckles of gold. her face was narrow below and broad above. very black were her two eyebrows; her black delicate eyelashes cast a shadow into the middle of her two cheeks. you would think it was with _partaing_ [note: exact meaning unknown. it is always used in this connection.] her lips were adorned. you would think it was a shower of pearls that was in her mouth, that is, her teeth. she had three tresses: two tresses round her head above, and a tress behind, so that it struck her two thighs behind her. a shuttle [note: literally, a beam used for making fringe.] of white metal, with an inlaying of gold, was in her hand. each of her two eyes had three pupils. the maiden was armed, and there were two black horses to her chariot. 'what is your name?' said medb to the maiden. 'fedelm, the prophetess of connaught, is my name,' said the maiden. 'whence do you come?' said medb. 'from scotland, after learning the art of prophecy,' said the maiden. 'have you the inspiration(?) which illumines?' [note: ir. _imbas forasnai_, the name of a kind of divination.] said medb. 'yes, indeed,' said the maiden. 'look for me how it will be with my hosting,' said medb. then the maiden looked for it; and medb said: 'o fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou the host?' fedelm answered and said: 'i see very red, i see red.' 'that is not true,' said medb; 'for conchobar is in his sickness at emain and the ulstermen with him, with all the best [note: conjectural; some letters missing. for the ulster sickness, see introduction.] of their warriors; and my messengers have come and brought me tidings thence. 'fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' said medb. 'i see red,' said the maiden. 'that is not true,' said medb; 'for celtchar mac uithichair is in dun lethglaise, and a third of the ulstermen with him; and fergus, son of roich, son of eochaid, is here with us, in exile, and a cantred with him. 'fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' said medb. 'i see very red, i see red,' said the maiden. 'that matters not,' said medb; 'for there are mutual angers, and quarrels, and wounds very red in every host and in every assembly of a great army. look again for us then, and tell us the truth. 'fedelm the prophetess, how seest thou our host?' 'i see very red, i see red,' said fedelm. 'i see a fair man who will make play with a number of wounds(?) on his girdle; [note: unless this is an allusion to the custom of carrying an enemy's head at the girdle, the meaning is obscure. ll has quite a different reading. the language of this poem is late.] a hero's flame over his head, his forehead a meeting-place of victory. 'there are seven gems of a hero of valour in the middle of his two irises; there is ---- on his cloak, he wears a red clasped tunic. 'he has a face that is noble, which causes amazement to women. a young man who is fair of hue comes ---- [note: five syllables missing.] 'like is the nature of his valour to cuchulainn of murthemne. i do not know whose is the hound of culann, whose fame is the fairest. but i know that it is thus that the host is very red from him. 'i see a great man on the plain he gives battle to the hosts; four little swords of feats there are in each of his two hands. 'two _gae-bolga_, he carries them, [note: the gae-bolga was a special kind of spear, which only cuchulainn could use.] besides an ivory-hilted sword and spear; ---- [note: three syllables missing] he wields to the host; different is the deed for which each arm goes from him. 'a man in a battle-girdle (?), of a red cloak, he puts ---- every plain. he smites them, over left chariot wheel (?); the _riastartha_ wounds them. [note: the riastartha ('distorted one') was a name given to cuchulainn because of the contortion, described later, which came over him.] the form that appeared to me on him hitherto, i see that his form has been changed. 'he has moved forward to the battle, if heed is not taken of him it will be treachery. i think it likely it is he who seeks you: cuchulainn mac sualtaim. 'he will strike on whole hosts, he will make dense slaughters of you, ye will leave with him many thousands of heads. the prophetess fedelm conceals not. 'blood will rain from warriors' wounds at the hand of a warrior--'twill be full harm. he will slay warriors, men will wander of the descendants of deda mac sin. corpses will be cut off, women will lament through the hound of the smith that i see.' the monday after samain [note: samain, 'summer-end,' about the beginning of november.] they set forth, and this is the way they took: south-east from cruachan ai, i.e. by muicc cruimb, by teloch teora crich, by tuaim mona, by cul sibrinne, by fid, by bolga, by coltain, by glune-gabair, by mag trego, by north tethba, by south tethba, by tiarthechta, by ord, by slais southwards, by indiuind, by carnd, by ochtrach, by midi, by findglassa assail, by deilt, by delind, by sailig, by slaibre, by slechta selgatar, by cul sibrinne, by ochaind southwards, by uatu northwards, by dub, by comur southwards, by tromma, by othromma eastwards, by slane, by gortslane, by druim licce southwards, by ath gabla, by ard achad, by feraind northwards, by findabair, by assi southwards, by druim salfind, by druim cain, by druim mac n-dega, by eodond mor, by eodond bec, by methe togmaill, by methe eoin, by druim caemtechta, by scuaip, by imscuaip, by cend ferna, by baile, by aile, by bail scena, by dail scena, by fertse, by ross lochad, by sale, by lochmach, by anmag, by deind, by deilt, by dubglaiss, by fid mor, by colbtha, by cronn, to cualnge. from findabair cuailnge, it is thence the hosts of ireland were divided over the province to seek the bull. for it is past these places that they came, till they reached findabair. (here ends the title; and the story begins as follows:-- this is the story in order when they had come on their first journey from cruachan as far as cul sibrinne, medb told her charioteer to get ready her nine chariots for her, that she might make a circuit in the camp, to see who disliked and who liked the expedition. now his tent was pitched for ailill, and the furniture was arranged, both beds and coverings. fergus mac roich in his tent was next to ailill; cormac condlongas mac conchobair beside him; conall cernach by him; fiacha mac fir-febe, the son of conchobar's daughter, by him. medb, daughter of eochaid fedlech, was on ailill's other side; next to her, findabair, daughter of ailill and medb. that was besides servants and attendants. medb came, after looking at the host, and she said it were folly for the rest to go on the hosting, if the cantred of the leinstermen went. 'why do you blame the men?' said ailill. 'we do not blame them,' said medb; 'splendid are the warriors. when the rest were making their huts, they had finished thatching their huts and cooking their food; when the rest were at dinner, they had finished dinner, and their harpers were playing to them. it is folly for them to go,' said medb; 'it is to their credit the victory of the hosts will be.' 'it is for us they fight,' said ailill. 'they shall not come with us,' said medb. 'let them stay then,' said ailill. 'they shall not stay,' said medb. 'they will come on us after we have gone,' said she, 'and seize our land against us.' 'what is to be done to them?' said ailill; 'will you have them neither stay nor go?' 'to kill them,' said medb. 'we will not hide that this is a woman's plan,' said ailill; 'what you say is not good!' 'with this folk,' said fergus, 'it shall not happen thus (for it is a folk bound by ties to us ulstermen), unless we are all killed.' 'even that we could do,' said medb; 'for i am here with my retinue of two cantreds,' said she, 'and there are the seven manes, that is, my seven sons, with seven cantreds; their luck can protect them,' (?) said she; 'that is mane-mathramail, and mane-athramail, and mane-morgor, and mane-mingor, and mane-moepert (and he is mane-milscothach), mane-andoe, and mane-who-got-everything: he got the form of his mother and of his father, and the dignity of both.' 'it would not be so,' said fergus. 'there are seven kings of munster here, and a cantred with each of them, in friendship with us ulstermen. i will give battle to you,' said fergus, 'in the middle of the host in which we are, with these seven cantreds, and with my own cantred, and with the cantred of the leinstermen. but i will not urge that,' said fergus, 'we will provide for the warriors otherwise, so that they shall not prevail over the host. seventeen cantreds for us,' said fergus, 'that is the number of our army, besides our rabble, and our women (for with each king there is his queen, in medb's company), and besides our striplings. this is the eighteenth cantred, the cantred of the leinstermen. let them be distributed among the rest of the host.' 'i do not care,' said medb, 'provided they are not gathered as they are.' then this was done; the leinstermen were distributed among the host. they set out next morning to moin choiltrae, where eight score deer fell in with them in one herd. they surrounded them and killed them then; wherever there was a man of the leinstermen, it was he who got them, except five deer that all the rest of the host got. then they came to mag trego, and stopped there and prepared their food. they say that it is there that dubthach sang this song: 'grant what you have not heard hitherto, listening to the fight of dubthach. a hosting very black is before you, against findbend of the wife of ailill. [note: findbennach, the whitehorned; i.e. the other of the two bulls in whom the rival swineherds were reincarnated.] 'the man of expeditions will come who will defend (?) murthemne. ravens will drink milk of ---- [note: some kenning for blood?] from the friendship of the swineherds. 'the turfy cronn will resist them; [note: i.e. the river cronn. this line is a corruption of a reference which occurs later, in the account of the flooding of the cronn, as professor strachan first pointed out to me.] he will not let them into murthemne until the work of warriors is over in sliab tuad ochaine. '"quickly," said ailill to cormac, "go that you may ---- your son. the cattle do not come from the fields that the din of the host may not terrify them(?). '"this will be a battle in its time for medb with a third of the host. there will be flesh of men therefrom if the riastartha comes to you."' then the nemain attacked them, and that was not the quietest of nights for them, with the uproar of the churl (i.e. dubthach) through their sleep. the host started up at once, and a great number of the host were in confusion, till medb came to reprove him. then they went and spent the night in granard tethba tuascirt, after the host had been led astray over bogs and over streams. a warning was sent from fergus to the ulstermen here, for friendship. they were now in the weakness, except cuchulainn and his father sualtaim. cuchulainn and his father went, after the coming of the warning from fergus, till they were in iraird cuillend, watching the host there. 'i think of the host to-night,' said cuchulainn to his father. 'go from us with a warning to the ulstermen. i am forced to go to a tryst with fedelm noichride, [note: gloss incorporated in the text: that is, with her servant,' etc.] from my own pledge that went out to her.' he made a spancel-withe [this was a twig twisted in the form of two rings, joined by one straight piece, as used for hobbling horses and cattle.] then before he went, and wrote an ogam on its ----, and threw it on the top of the pillar. the leadership of the way before the army was given to fergus. then fergus went far astray to the south, till ulster should have completed the collection of an army; he did this for friendship. ailill and medb perceived it; it was then medb said: 'o fergus, this is strange, what kind of way do we go? straying south or north we go over every other folk. 'ailill of ai with his hosting fears that you will betray them. you have not given your mind hitherto to the leading of the way. 'if it is in friendship that you do it, do not lead the horses peradventure another may be found to lead the way.' fergus replied: 'o medb, what troubles you? this is not like treachery. it belongs to the ulstermen, o woman, the land across which i am leading you. 'it is not for the disadvantage of the host that i go on each wandering in its turn; it is to avoid the great man who protects mag murthemne. 'not that my mind is not distressed on account of the straying on which i go, but if perchance i may avoid even afterwards cuchulainn mac sualtaim.' then they went till they were in iraird cuillend. eirr and indell, foich and foclam (their two charioteers), the four sons of iraird mac anchinne, [marginal gloss: 'or the four sons of nera mac nuado mac taccain, as it is found in other books.'] it is they who were before the host, to protect their brooches and their cushions and their cloaks, that the dust of the host might not soil them. they found the withe that cuchulainn threw, and perceived the grazing that the horses had grazed. for sualtaim's two horses had eaten the grass with its roots from the earth; cuchulainn's two horses had licked the earth as far as the stones beneath the grass. they sit down then, until the host came, and the musicians play to them. they give the withe into the hands of fergus mac roich; he read the ogam that was on it. when medb came, she asked, 'why are you waiting here?' 'we wait,' said fergus,' because of the withe yonder. there is an ogam on its ----, and this is what is in it: "let no one go past till a man is found to throw a like withe with his one hand, and let it be one twig of which it is made; and i except my friend fergus." truly,' said fergus, 'cuchulainn has thrown it, and they are his horses that grazed the plain.' and he put it in the hands of the druids; and fergus sang this song: 'here is a withe, what does the withe declare to us? what is its mystery? what number threw it? few or many? 'will it cause injury to the host, if they go a journey from it? find out, ye druids, something therefore for what the withe has been left. '---- of heroes the hero who has thrown it, full misfortune on warriors; a delay of princes, wrathful is the matter, one man has thrown it with one hand. 'is not the king's host at the will of him, unless it breaks fair play? until one man only of you throw it, as one man has thrown it. i do not know anything save that for which the withe should have been put. here is a withe.' then fergus said to them: 'if you outrage this withe,' said he, 'or if you go past it, though he be in the custody of a man, or in a house under a lock, the ---- of the man who wrote the ogam on it will reach him, and will slay a goodly slaughter of you before morning, unless one of you throw a like withe.' 'it does not please us, indeed, that one of us should be slain at once,' said ailill. 'we will go by the neck of the great wood yonder, south of us, and we will not go over it at all.' the troops hewed down then the wood before the chariots. this is the name of that place, slechta. it is there that partraige is. (according to others, the conversation between medb and fedelm the prophetess took place there, as we told before; and then it is after the answer she gave to medb that the wood was cut down; i.e. 'look for me,' said medb, 'how my hosting will be.' 'it is difficult to me,' said the maiden; 'i cannot cast my eye over them in the wood.' 'it is ploughland (?) there shall be,' said medb; 'we will cut down the wood.' then this was done, so that slechta was the name of the place.) they spent the night then in cul sibrille; a great snowstorm fell on them, to the girdles of the men and the wheels of the chariots. the rising was early next morning. and it was not the most peaceful of nights for them, with the snow; and they had not prepared food that night. but it was not early when cuchulainn came from his tryst; he waited to wash and bathe. then he came on the track of the host. 'would that we had not gone there,' said cuchulainn, 'nor betrayed the ulstermen; we have let the host go to them unawares. make us an estimation of the host,' said cuchulainn to loeg, 'that we may know the number of the host.' loeg did this, and said to cuchulainn: 'i am confused,' said he, 'i cannot attain this.' 'it would not be confusion that i see, if only i come,' said cuchulainn. 'get into the chariot then,' said loeg. cuchulainn got into the chariot, and put a reckoning over the host for a long time. 'even you,' said loeg, 'you do not find it easy.' 'it is easier indeed to me than to you,' said cuchulainn; 'for i have three gifts, the gifts of eye, and of mind, and of reckoning. i have put a reckoning [marginal gloss: 'this is one of the three severest and most difficult reckonings made in ireland; i.e. cuchulainn's reckoning of the men of ireland on the _tain_; and ug's reckoning of the fomorian hosts at the battle of mag tured; and ingcel's reckoning of the hosts at the bruiden da derga.'] on this,' said he; 'there are eighteen cantreds,' said he, 'for their number; only that the eighteenth cantred is distributed among all the host, so that their number is not clear; that is, the cantred of the leinstermen.' then cuchulainn went round the host till he was at ath gabla. [note: lu has ath grena.] he cuts a fork [note: i.e. fork of a tree.] there with one blow of his sword, and put it on the middle of the stream, so that a chariot could not pass it on this side or that. eirr and indell, foich and fochlam (their two charioteers) came upon him thereat. he strikes their four heads off, and throws them on to the four points of the fork. hence is ath gabla. then the horses of the four went to meet the host, and their cushions very red on them. they supposed it was a battalion that was before them at the ford. a troop went from them to look at the ford; they saw nothing there but the track of one chariot and the fork with the four heads, and a name in ogam written on the side. all the host came then. 'are the heads yonder from our people?' said medb. 'they are from our people and from our choice warriors,' said ailill. one of them read the ogam that was on the side of the fork; that is: 'a man has thrown the fork with his one hand; and you shall not go past it till one of you, except fergus, has thrown it with one hand.' 'it is a marvel,' said ailill, 'the quickness with which the four were struck.' it was not that that was a marvel,' said fergus; 'it was the striking of the fork from the trunk with one blow; and if the end was [cut] with one blow, [note: lit. 'if its end was one cutting.'] it is the fairer for it, and that it was thrust in in this manner; for it is not a hole that has been dug for it, but it is from the back of the chariot it has been thrown with one hand.' 'avert this strait from us, o fergus,' said medb. bring me a chariot then,' said fergus, 'that i may take it out, that you may see whether its end was hewn with one blow.' fergus broke then fourteen chariots of his chariots, so that it was from his own chariot that he took it out of the ground, and he saw that the end was hewn with one blow. 'heed must be taken to the character of the tribe to which we are going,' said ailill. 'let each of you prepare his food; you had no rest last night for the snow. and something shall be told to us of the adventures and stories of the tribe to which we are going.' it is then that the adventures of cuchulainn were related to them. ailill asked: 'is it conchobar who has done this?' 'not he,' said fergus; 'he would not have come to the border of the country without the number of a battalion round him.' 'was it celtchar mac uithidir?' 'not he; he would not have come to the border of the country without the number of a battalion round him.' 'was it eogan mac durtacht?' 'not he,' said fergus; 'he would not have come over the border of the country without thirty chariots two-pointed (?) round him. this is the man who would have done the deed,' said fergus, 'cuchulainn; it is he who would have cut the tree at one blow from the trunk, and who would have killed the four yonder as quickly as they were killed, and who would have come to the boundary with his charioteer.' 'what kind of man,' said ailill, 'is this hound of whom we have heard among the ulstermen? what age is this youth who is famous?' 'an easy question, truly,' said fergus. 'in his fifth year he went to the boys at emain macha to play; in his sixth year he went to learn arms and feats with scathach. in his seventh year he took arms. he is now seventeen years old at this time.' 'is it he who is hardest to deal with among the ulstermen?' said medb. 'over every one of them,' said fergus. 'you will not find before you a warrior who is harder to deal with, nor a point that is sharper or keener or swifter, nor a hero who is fiercer, nor a raven that is more flesh-loving, nor a match of his age that can equal him as far as a third; nor a lion that is fiercer, nor a fence(?) of battle, nor a hammer of destruction, nor a door of battle, nor judgment on hosts, nor preventing of a great host that is more worthy. you will not find there a man who would reach his age, and his growth, and his dress, and his terror, his speech, his splendour, his fame, his voice, his form, his power, his hardness, his accomplishment, his valour, his striking, his rage, his anger, his victory, his doom-giving, his violence, his estimation, his hero-triumph, his speed, his pride, his madness, with the feat of nine men on every point, like cuchulainn!' 'i don't care for that,' said medb; 'he is in one body; he endures wounding; he is not above capturing. therewith his age is that of a grown-up girl, and his manly deeds have not come yet.' 'not so,' said fergus. 'it would be no wonder if he were to do a good deed to-day; for even when he was younger his deeds were manly.' here are his boyish deeds 'he was brought up,' said fergus, 'by his mother and father at the ---- in mag murthemne. the stories of the boys in emain were related to him; for there are three fifties of boys there,' said fergus, 'at play. it is thus that conchobar enjoys his sovereignty: a third of the day watching the boys; another third playing chess; [note: _fidchill_, usually so translated, but the exact nature of the game is uncertain.] another third drinking beer till sleep seizes him therefrom. although we are in exile, there is not in ireland a warrior who is more wonderful,' said fergus. 'cuchulainn asked his mother then to let him go to the boys. '"you shall not go," said his mother, "until you have company of warriors." '"i deem it too long to wait for it," said cuchulainn. "show me on which side emain is." '"northwards so," said his mother; "and the journey is hard," said she, "sliab fuait is between you." '"i will find it out," said cuchulainn. 'he goes forth then, and his shield of lath with him, and his toy-spear, and his playing-club, and his ball. he kept throwing his staff before him, so that he took it by the point before the end fell on the ground. 'he goes then to the boys without binding them to protect him. for no one used to go to them in their play-field till his protection was guaranteed. he did not know this. '"the boy insults us," said follomon mac conchobair, "besides we know he is of the ulstermen. ... throw at him!" 'they throw their three fifties of toy-spears at him, and they all remained standing in his shield of lath. then they throw all the balls at him; and he takes them, each single ball, in his bosom. then they throw their three fifties of hurling-clubs at him; he warded them off so that they did not touch him, and he took a bundle of them on his back. then contortion seized him. you would have thought that it was a hammering wherewith each little hair had been driven into his head, with the arising with which he arose. you would have thought there was a spark of fire on every single hair. he shut one of his eyes so that it was not wider than the eye of a needle. he opened the other so that it was as large as the mouth of a meadcup. he laid bare from his jawbone to his ear; he opened his mouth to his jaw [note: conjectured from the later description of cuchulainn's distortion.] so that his gullet was visible. the hero's light rose from his head. then he strikes at the boys. he overthrows fifty of them before they reached the door of emain. nine of them came over me and conchobar as we were playing chess. then he springs over the chessboard after the nine. conchobar caught his elbow. '"the boys are not well treated," said conchobar. '"lawful for me, o friend conchobar," said he. "i came to them from my home to play, from my mother and father; and they have not been good to me." '"what is your name?" said conchobar. '"setanta mac sualtaim am i," said he, "and the son of dechtere, your sister. it was not fitting to hurt me here." '"why were the boys not bound to protect you?" said conchobar. '"i did not know this," said cuchulainn. "undertake my protection against them then." '"i recognise it," said conchobar. 'then he turned aside on [note: i.e. to attack them.] the boys throughout the house. '"what ails you at them now?" said conchobar. '"that i may be bound to protect them," said cuchulainn. '"undertake it," said conchobar. '"i recognise it," said cuchulainn. 'then they all went into the play-field, and those boys who had been struck down there arose. their foster-mothers and foster-fathers helped them. 'once,' said fergus, 'when he was a youth, he used not to sleep in emain macha till morning. '"tell me," said conchobar to him, "why you do not sleep?" '"i do not do it," said cuchulainn, "unless it is equally high at my head and my feet." 'then a stone pillar was put by conchobar at his head, and another at his feet, and a bed was made for him separately between them. 'another time a certain man went to awaken him, and he struck him with his fist in his forehead, so that it took the front of his forehead on to the brain, and so that he overthrew the pillar with his arm.' 'it is known,' said ailill, 'that it was the fist of a warrior and that it was the arm of a hero.' 'from that time,' said fergus, 'no one dared to waken him till he awoke of himself. 'another time he was playing ball in the play-field east of emain; he alone apart against the three fifties of boys; he used to defeat them in every game in this way always. the boys lay hold of him therewith, and he plied his fist upon them until fifty of them were killed. he took to flight then, till he was under the pillow of conchobar's bed. all the ulstermen rise round him, and i rise, and conchobar himself. then he rose under the bed, and put the bed from him, with the thirty heroes who were on it, till it was in the middle of the house. the ulstermen sit round him in the house. we arrange and make peace then,' said fergus, 'between the boys and him. 'there was contention between ulster and eogan mac durtacht. the ulstermen went to the battle. he was left asleep. the ulstermen were defeated. conchobar was left [on the field], and cuscraid mend macha, and many more beside. their lament awoke cuchulainn. he stretched himself then, so that the two stones that were about him broke; in the presence of bricriu yonder it was done,' said fergus. 'then he arose. i met him in the door of the fort, and i wounded. '"alas! god save you, friend fergus," said he, "where is conchobar?" '"i do not know," said i. 'then he went forth. the night was dark. he made for the battlefield. he saw a man before him, with half his head on, and half of another man on his back. '"help me, o cuchulainn," said he; "i have been wounded and i have brought half of my brother on my back. carry it for me a while." '"i will not carry it," said he. 'then he throws the burden to him; he throws it from him; they wrestle; cuchulainn was overthrown. i heard something, the badb from the corpses: "ill the stuff of a hero that is under the feet of a phantom." then cuchulainn rose against him, and strikes his head off with his playing-club, and begins to drive his ball before him across the plain. '"is my friend conchobar in this battlefield?" 'he answered him. he goes to him, till he sees him in the trench, and there was the earth round him on every side to hide him. '"why have you come into the battlefield," said conchobar, "that you may swoon there?" 'he lifts him out of the trench then; six of the strong men of ulster with us would not have brought him out more bravely. '"go before us to the house yonder," said conchobar; "if a roast pig came to me, i should live." '"i will go and bring it," said cuchulainn. 'he goes then, and saw a man at a cooking-hearth in the middle of the wood; one of his two hands had his weapons in it, the other was cooking the pig. 'the hideousness of the man was great; nevertheless he attacked him and took his head and his pig with him. conchobar ate the pig then. '"let us go to our house," said conchobar. 'they met cuscraid mac conchobair. there were sure wounds on him; cuchulainn took him on his back. the three of them went then to emain macha. 'another time the ulstermen were in their weakness. there was not among us,' said fergus, 'weakness on women and boys, nor on any one who was outside the country of the ulstermen, nor on cuchulainn and his father. and so no one dared to shed their blood; for the suffering springs on him who wounds them. [gloss incorporated in text: 'or their decay, or their shortness of life.'] 'three times nine men came to us from the isles of faiche. they went over our back court when we were in our weakness. the women screamed in the court. the boys were in the play-field; they come at the cries. when the boys saw the dark, black men, they all take to flight except cuchulainn alone. he plies hand-stones and his playing-club on them. he kills nine of them, and they leave fifty wounds on him, and they go forth besides. a man who did these deeds when his five years were not full, it would be no wonder that he should have come to the edge of the boundary and that he should have cut off the heads of yonder four.' 'we know him indeed, this boy,' said conall cernach, 'and we know him none the worse that he is a fosterling of ours. it was not long after the deed that fcrgus has just related, when he did another deed. when culann the smith served a feast to conchobar, culann said that it was not a multitude that should be brought to him, for the preparation which he had made was not from land or country, but from the fruit of his two hands and his pincers. then conchobar went, and fifty chariots with him, of those who were noblest and most eminent of the heroes. now conchobar visited then his play-field. it was always his custom to visit and revisit them at going and coming, to seek a greeting of the boys. he saw then cuchulainn driving his ball against the three fifties of boys, and he gets the victory over them. when it was hole-driving that they did, he filled the hole with his balls and they could not ward him off. when they were all throwing into the hole, he warded them off alone, so that not a single ball would go in it. when it was wrestling they were doing, he overthrew the three fifties of boys by himself, and there did not meet round him a number that could overthrow him. when it was stripping that they did, he stripped them all so that they were quite naked, and they could not take from him even his brooch out of his cloak. 'conchobar thought this wonderful. he said "would he bring his deeds to completion, provided the age of manhood came to them?" every one said: "he would bring them to completion." conchobar said to cuchulainn: "come with me," said he, "to the feast to which we are going, because you are a guest." '"i have not had enough of play yet, o friend conchobar," said the boy; "i will come after you." 'when they had all come to the feast, culann said to conchobar: "do you expect any one to follow you?" said he. '"no," said conchobar. he did not remember the appointment with his foster-son who was following him. '"i'll have a watch-dog," said culann; "there are three chains on him, and three men to each chain. [gloss incorporated in text: 'he was brought from spain.'] let him be let slip because of our cattle and stock, and let the court be shut." 'then the boy comes. the dog attacks him. he went on with his play still: he threw his ball, and threw his club after it, so that it struck the ball. one stroke was not greater than another; and he threw his toy-spear after them, and he caught it before falling; and it did not hinder his play, though the dog was approaching him. conchobar and his retinue ---- this, so that they could not move; they thought they would not find him alive when they came, even though the court were open. now when the dog came to him, he threw away his ball and his club, and seized the dog with his two hands; that is, he put one of his hands to the apple of the dog's throat; and he put the other at its back; he struck it against the pillar that was beside him, so that every limb sprang apart. (according to another, it was his ball that he threw into its mouth, and brought out its entrails through it.) 'the ulstermen went towards him, some over the wall, others over the doors of the court. they put him on conchobar's knee. a great clamour arose among them, that the king's sister's son should have been almost killed. then culann comes into the house. '"welcome, boy, for the sake of your mother. would that i had not prepared a feast! my life is a life lost, and my husbandry is a husbandry without, without my dog. he had kept honour and life for me," said he, "the man of my household who has been taken from me, that is, my dog. he was defence and protection to our property and our cattle; he was the protection of every beast to us, both field and house." '"it is not a great matter," said the boy; "a whelp of the same litter shall be raised for you by me, and i will be a dog for the defence of your cattle and for your own defence now, until that dog grows, and until he is capable of action; and i will defend mag murthemne, so that there shall not be taken away from me cattle nor herd, unless i have ----." '"then your name shall be cu-chulainn," said cathbad. '"i am content that it may be my name," said cuchulainn. 'a man who did this in his seventh year, it would be no wonder that he should have done a great deed now when his seventeen years are completed,' said conall cernach. 'he did another exploit,' said fiacha mac fir-febe. 'cathbad the druid was with his son, conchobar mac nessa. a hundred active men were with him, learning magic from him. that is the number that cathbad used to teach. a certain one of his pupils asked of him for what this day would be good. cathbad said a warrior should take arms therein whose name should be over ireland for ever, for deed of valour, and his fame should continue for ever. cuchulainn heard this. he comes to conchobar to ask for arms. conchobar said, "who has instructed you?" '"my friend cathbad," said cuchulainn. '"we know indeed," said conchobar. 'he gave him spear and shield. he brandished them in the middle of the house, so that nothing remained of the fifteen sets of armour that were in store in conchobar's household against the breaking of weapons or taking of arms by any one. conchobar's own armour was given to him. that withstood him, and he brandished it, and blessed the king whose armour it was, and said, "blessing to the people and race to whom is king the man whose armour that is." 'then cathbad came to them, and said: "has the boy taken arms?" said cathbad. '"yes," said conchobar. '"this is not lucky for the son of his mother," said he. '"what, is it not you advised it?" said conchobar. '"not i, surely," said cathbad. '"what advantage to you to deceive me, wild boy?" said conchobar to cuchulainn. '"o king of heroes, it is no trick," said cuchulainn; "it is he who taught it to his pupils this morning; and i heard him, south of emain, and i came to you then." '"the day is good thus," said cathbad; "it is certain he will be famous and renowned, who shall take arms therein; but he will be short-lived only." '"a wonder of might," said cuchulainn; "provided i be famous, i am content though i were but one day in the world." 'another day a certain man asked the druids what it is for which that day was good. '"whoever shall go into a chariot therein," said cathbad, "his name shall be over ireland for ever." 'then cuchulainn heard this; he comes to conchobar and said to him: "o friend conchobar," said he, "give me a chariot." he gave him a chariot. he put his hand between the two poles [note: the _fertais_ were poles sticking out behind the chariot, as the account of the wild deer, later, shows.] of the chariot, so that the chariot broke. he broke twelve chariots in this way. then conchobar's chariot was given to him. this withstood him. he goes then in the chariot, and conchobar's charioteer with him. the charioteer (ibor was his name) turned the chariot under him. "come out of the chariot now," said the charioteer. '"the horses are fine, and i am fine, their little lad," said cuchulainn. "go forward round emain only, and you shall have a reward for it." 'so the charioteer goes, and cuchulainn forced him then that he should go on the road to greet the boys "and that the boys might bless me." 'he begged him to go on the way again. when they come, cuchulainn said to the charioteer: "ply the goad on the horses," said he. '"in what direction?" said the charioteer. '"as long as the road shall lead us," said cuchulainn. 'they come thence to sliab fuait, and find conall cernach there. it fell to conall that day to guard the province; for every hero of ulster was in sliab fuait in turn, to protect any one who should come with poetry, or to fight against a man; so that it should be there that there should be some one to encounter him, that no one should go to emain unperceived. '"may that be for prosperity," said conall; "may it be for victory and triumph." '"go to the fort, o conall, and leave me to watch here now," said cuchulainn. '"it will be enough," said conall, "if it is to protect any one with poetry; if it is to fight against a man, it is early for you yet." '"perhaps it may not be necessary at all," said cuchulainn. "let us go meanwhile," said cuchulainn, "to look upon the edge of loch echtra. heroes are wont to abide there." '"i am content," said conall. 'then they go thence. he throws a stone from his sling, so that a pole of conall cernach's chariot breaks. '"why have you thrown the stone, o boy?" said conall. "to try my hand and the straightness of my throw," said cuchulainn; "and it is the custom with you ulstermen, that you do not travel beyond your peril. go back to emain, o friend conall, and leave me here to watch." '"content, then," said conall. 'conall cernach did not go past the place after that. then cuchulainn goes forth to loch echtra, and they found no one there before them. the charioteer said to cuchulainn that they should go to emain, that they might be in time for the drinking there. '"no," said cuchulainn. "what mountain is it yonder?" said cuchulainn. '"sliab monduirn," said the charioteer. '"let us go and get there," said cuchulainn. they go then till they reach it. when they had reached the mountain, cuchulainn asked: "what is the white cairn yonder on the top of the mountain?" '"find carn," said the charioteer. '"what plain is that over there?" said cuchulainn. '"mag breg," said the charioteer. he tells him then the name of every chief fort between temair and cenandas. he tells him first their meadows and their fords, their famous places and their dwellings, their fortresses and their high hills. he shows [note: reading with ybl.] him then the fort of the three sons of nechta scene; foill, fandall, and tuachell were their names. '"is it they who say," said cuchulainn, "that there are not more of the ulstermen alive than they have slain of them?" '"it is they indeed," said the charioteer. '"let us go till we reach them," said cuchulainn. '"indeed it is peril to us," said the charioteer. '"truly it is not to avoid it that we go," said cuchulainn. 'then they go forth and unharness their horses at the meeting of the bog and the river, to the south above the fort of the others; and he threw the withe that was on the pillar as far as he could throw into the river and let it go with the stream, for this was a breach of _geis_ to the sons of nechta scene. they perceive it then, and come to them. cuchulainn goes to sleep by the pillar after throwing the withe at the stream; and he said to the charioteer: "do not waken me for few; but waken me for many." 'now the charioteer was very frightened, and he made ready their chariot and pulled its coverings and skins which were over cuchulainn; for he dared not waken him, because cuchulainn told him at first that he should not waken him for a few. 'then come the sons of nechta scene. '"who is it who is there?" said one of them. '"a little boy who has come to-day into the chariot for an expedition," said the charioteer. '"may it not be for his happiness," said the champion; "and may it not be for his prosperity, his first taking of arms. let him not be in our land, and let the horses not graze there any more," said the champion. '"their reins are in my hands," said the charioteer. '"it should not be yours to earn hatred," said ibar to the champion; "and the boy is asleep." '"i am not a boy at all," said cuchulainn; "but it is to seek battle with a man that the boy who is here has come." '"that pleases me well," said the champion. '"it will please you now in the ford yonder," said cuchulainn. '"it befits you," said the charioteer, "take heed of the man who comes against you. foill is his name," said he; "for unless you reach him in the first thrust, you will not reach him till evening." '"i swear by the god by whom my people swear, he will not ply his skill on the ulstermen again, if the broad spear of my friend conchobar should reach him from my hand. it will be an outlaw's hand to him." 'then he cast the spear at him, so that his back broke. he took with him his accoutrements and his head. '"take heed of another man," said the charioteer, "fandall [note: i.e. 'swallow.'] is his name. not more heavily does he traverse(?) the water than swan or swallow." '"i swear that he will not ply that feat again on the ulstermen," said cuchulainn. "you have seen," said he, "the way i travel the pool at emain." 'they meet then in the ford. cuchulainn kills that man, and took his head and his arms. '"take heed of another man who comes towards you," said the charioteer. "tuachell [note: i.e. 'cunning.'] is his name. it is no misname for him, for he does not fall by arms at all." '"here is the javelin for him to confuse him, so that it may make a red-sieve of him," said cuchulainn. 'he cast the spear at him, so that it reached him in his ----. then he went to him and cut off his head. cuchulainn gave his head and his accoutrements to his own charioteer. he heard then the cry of their mother, nechta scene, behind them. 'he puts their spoils and the three heads in his chariot with him, and said: "i will not leave my triumph," said he, "till i reach emain macha." 'then they set out with his triumph. 'then cuchulainn said to the charioteer: "you promised us a good run," said he, "and we need it now because of the strife and the pursuit that is behind us." they go on to sliab fuait; and such was the speed of the run that they made over breg after the spurring of the charioteer, that the horses of the chariot overtook the wind and the birds in flight, and that cuchulainn caught the throw that he sent from his sling before it reached the ground. 'when they reached sliab fuait, they found a herd of wild deer there before them. '"what are those cattle yonder so active?" said cuchulainn. '"wild deer," said the charioteer. '"which would the ulstermen think best," said cuchulainn, "to bring them dead or alive?" '"it is more wonderful alive," said the charioteer; "it is not every one who can do it so. dead, there is not one of them who cannot do it. you cannot do this, to carry off any of them alive," said the charioteer. '"i can indeed," said cuchulainn. "ply the goad on the horses into the bog." 'the charioteer does this. the horses stick in the bog. cuchulainn sprang down and seized the deer that was nearest, and that was the finest of them. he lashed the horses through the bog, and overcame the deer at once, and bound it between the two poles of the chariot. 'they saw something again before them, a flock of swans. '"which would the ulstermen think best," said cuchulainn, "to have them dead or alive?" '"all the most vigorous and finest(?) bring them alive," said the charioteer. 'then cuchulainn aims a small stone at the birds, so that he struck eight of the birds. he threw again a large stone, so that he struck twelve of them. all that was done by his return stroke. "collect the birds for us," said cuchulainn to his charioteer. "if it is i who go to take them," said he, "the wild deer will spring upon you." '"it is not easy for me to go to them," said the charioteer. "the horses have become wild so that i cannot go past them. i cannot go past the two iron tyres [interlinear gloss, _fonnod_. the _fonnod_ was some part of the rim of the wheel apparently.] of the chariot, because of their sharpness; and i cannot go past the deer, for his horn has filled all the space between the two poles of the chariot." '"step from its horn," said cuchulainn. "i swear by the god by whom the ulstermen swear, the bending with which i will bend my head on him, and the eye that i will make at him, he will not turn his head on you, and he will not dare to move." 'that was done then. cuchulainn made fast the reins, and the charioteer collects the birds. then cuchulainn bound the birds from the strings and thongs of the chariot; so that it was thus he went to emain macha: the wild deer behind his chariot, and the flock of swans flying over it, and the three heads in his chariot. then they come to emain. "a man in a chariot is coming to you," said the watchman in emain macha; "he will shed the blood of every man who is in the court, unless heed is taken, and unless naked women go to him." 'then he turned the left side of his chariot towards emain, and that was a _geis_ [note: i.e. it was an insult.] to it; and cuchulainn said: "i swear by the god by whom the ulstermen swear, unless a man is found to fight with me, i will shed the blood of every one who is in the fort." '"naked women to meet him!" said conchobar. 'then the women of emain go to meet him with mugain, the wife of conchobar mac nessa, and bare their breasts before him. "these are the warriors who will meet you to-day," said mugain. 'he covers his face; then the heroes of emain seize him and throw him into a vessel of cold water. that vessel bursts round him. the second vessel into which he was thrown boiled with bubbles as big as the fist therefrom. the third vessel into which he went, he warmed it so that its heat and its cold were rightly tempered. then he comes out; and the queen, mugain, puts a blue mantle on him, and a silver brooch therein, and a hooded tunic; and he sits at conchobar's knee, and that was his couch always after that. the man who did this in his seventh year,' said fiacha mac fir-febe, 'it were not wonderful though he should rout an overwhelming force, and though he should exhaust (?) an equal force, when his seventeen years are complete to-day.' (what follows is a separate version [note: the next episode, the death of fraech, is not given in ll.] to the death of orlam.) 'let us go forth now,' said ailill. then they reached mag mucceda. cuchulainn cut an oak before them there, and wrote an ogam in its side. it is this that was therein: that no one should go past it till a warrior should leap it with one chariot. they pitch their tents there, and come to leap over it in their chariots. there fall thereat thirty horses, and thirty chariots are broken. belach n-ane, that is the name of that place for ever. _the death of fraech_ they are there till next morning; then fraech is summoned to them. 'help us, o fraech,' said medb. 'remove from us the strait that is on us. go before cuchulainn for us, if perchance you shall fight with him.' he set out early in the morning with nine men, till he reached ath fuait. he saw the warrior bathing in the river. 'wait here,' said fraech to his retinue, 'till i come to the man yonder; not good is the water,' said he. he took off his clothes, and goes into the water to him. 'do not come to me,' said cuchulainn. 'you will die from it, and i should be sorry to kill you.' 'i shall come indeed,' said fraech, 'that we may meet in the water; and let your play with me be fair.' 'settle it as you like,' said cuchulainn. 'the hand of each of us round the other,' said fraech. they set to wrestling for a long time on the water, and fraech was submerged. cuchulainn lifted him up again. 'this time,' said cuchulainn, 'will you yield and accept your life?' [note: lit. 'will you acknowledge your saving?'] 'i will not suffer it,' said fraech. cuchulainn put him under it again, until fraech was killed. he comes to land; his retinue carry his body to the camp. ath fraich, that was the name of that ford for ever. all the host lamented fraech. they saw a troop of women in green tunics [note: fraech was descended from the people of the sid, his mother bebind being a fairy woman. her sister was boinn (the river boyne).] on the body of fraech mac idaid; they drew him from them into the mound. sid fraich was the name of that mound afterwards. fergus springs over the oak in his chariot. they go till they reach ath taiten; cuchulainn destroys six of them there: that is, the six dungals of irress. then they go on to fornocht. medb had a whelp named baiscne. cuchulainn throws a cast at him, and took his head off. druim was the name of that place henceforth. 'great is the mockery to you,' said medb, 'not to hunt the deer of misfortune yonder that is killing you.' then they start hunting him, till they broke the shafts of their chariots thereat. _the death of orlam_ they go forth then over iraird culend in the morning. cuchulainn went forward; he overtook the charioteer of orlam, son of ailill and medb, in tamlacht orlaim, a little to the north of disert lochait, cutting wood there. (according to another version, it is the shaft of cuchulainn's chariot that had broken, and it is to cut a shaft that he had gone when he met orlam's charioteer. it is the charioteer who cut the shafts according to this version.) 'it is over-bold what the ulstermen are doing, if it is they who are yonder,' said cuchulainn, 'while the host is behind them.' he goes to the charioteer to reprove him; he thought that he was of ulster, and he saw the man cutting wood, that is the chariot shaft. 'what are you doing here?' said cuchulainn. 'cutting chariot-shafts,' said the charioteer. 'we have broken our chariots hunting the wild deer cuchulainn yonder. help me,' said the charioteer. 'look only whether you are to select the shafts, or to strip them.' 'it will be to strip them indeed,' said cuchulainn. then cuchulainn stripped the shafts through his fingers in the presence of the other, so that he cleared them both of bark and knots. 'this cannot be your proper work that i put on you,' said the charioteer; he was greatly afraid. 'whence are you?' said cuchulainn. 'the charioteer of orlam, son of ailill and medb,' said he. 'and you?' said the charioteer. 'my name is cuchulainn,' said he. 'alas!' said the charioteer. 'fear nothing,' said cuchulainn. 'where is your master?' said he. 'he is in the trench yonder,' said the charioteer. 'go forth then with me,' said cuchulainn, 'for i do not kill charioteers at all.' cuchulainn goes to orlam, kills him, cuts his head off, and shakes his head before the host. then he puts the head on the charioteer's back, and said to him: 'take that with you,' said cuchulainn, 'and go to the camp thus. if you do not go thus, a stone will come to you from my sling.' when he got near the camp, he took the head from his back, and told his adventures to ailill and medb. 'this is not like taking birds,' said she. and he said, 'unless i brought it on my back to the camp, he would break my head with a stone.' _the death of the meic garach_ then the meic garach waited on their ford. these are their names: lon and ualu and diliu; and mes-ler, and mes-laech, and mes-lethan were their three charioteers. they thought it too much what cuchulainn had done: to slay two foster-sons of the king, and his son, and to shake the head before the host. they would slay cuchulainn in return for him, and would themselves remove this annoyance from the host. they cut three aspen wands for their charioteers, that the six of them should pursue combat against him. he killed them all then, because they had broken fair-play towards him. orlam's charioteer was then between ailill and medb. cuchulainn hurled a stone at him, [note: apparently because the charioteer had not carried orlam's head into the camp on his back. or an alternative version.] so that his head broke, and his brains came over his ears; fertedil was his name. (thus it is not true that cuchulainn did not kill charioteers; howbeit, he did not kill them without fault.) _the death of the squirrel_ cuchulainn threatened in methe, that wherever he should see ailill or medb afterwards he would throw a stone from his sling at them. he did this then: he threw a stone from his sling, so that he killed the squirrel that was on medb's shoulder south of the ford: hence is methe togmaill. and he killed the bird that was on ailill's shoulder north of the ford: hence is methe n-eoin. (or it is on medb's shoulder that both squirrel and bird were together, and it is their heads that were struck from them by the casts.) reoin was drowned in his lake. hence is loch reoin. 'that other is not far from you,' said ailill to the manes. they arose and looked round. when they sat down again, cuchulainn struck one of them, so that his head broke. 'it was well that you went for that: your boasting was not fitting,' said maenen the fool. 'i would have taken his head off.' cuchulainn threw a stone at him, so that his head broke. it is thus then that these were killed: orlam in the first place on his hill; the meic garach on their ford; fertedil in his ---; maenan in his hill. 'i swear by the god by whom my people swear,' said ailill, 'that man who shall make a mock of cuchulainn here, i will make two halves of him.' 'go forth for us both day and night,' said ailill, 'till we reach cualnge. that man will kill two-thirds of the host in this way.' it is there that the harpers of the _cainbili_ [note: reference obscure. they were wizards of some sort.] from ossory came to them to amuse them. they thought it was from the ulstermen to spy on them. they set to hunting them, till they went before them in the forms of deer into the stones at liac mor on the north. for they were wizards with great cunning. _the death of lethan_ lethan came on to his ford on the nith (?) in conaille. he waited himself to meet cuchulainn. it vexed him what cuchulainn had done. cuchulainn cuts off his head and left it, hence it is ath lethan on the nith. and their chariots broke in the battle on the ford by him; hence it is ath carpat. mulcha, lethan's charioteer, fell on the shoulder of the hill that is between them; hence is gulo mulchai. while the hosts were going over mag breg, he struck(?) their ---- still. [note: something apparently missing here. the passage in ll is as follows: 'it is the same day that the morrigan, daughter of ernmas, came from the sid, so that she was on the pillar in temair cuailnge, taking a warning to the dun of cualnge before the men of ireland, and she began to speak to him, and "good, o wretched one, o dun of cualnge," said the morrigan, "keep watch, for the men of ireland have reached thee, and they will take thee to their camp unless thou keepest watch"; and she began to take a warning to him thus, and uttered her words on high.' (the rhetoric follows as in lu.)] yet that was the morrigan in the form of a bird on the pillar in temair cuailnge; and she spoke to the bull: 'does the black know,' etc. [note: a rhetoric.] then the bull went, and fifty heifers with him, to sliab culind; and his keeper, forgemen by name, went after him. he threw off the three fifties of boys who used always to play on him, and he killed two-thirds of his boys, and dug a trench in tir marcceni in cualnge before he went. _the death of lochu_ cuchulainn killed no one from the saile ind orthi (?) in the conaille territory, until they reached cualnge. cuchulainn was then in cuince; he threatened then that when he saw medb he would throw a stone at her head. this was not easy to him, for it is thus that medb went and half the host about her, with their shelter of shields over her head. then a waiting-woman of medb's, lochu by name, went to get water, and a great troop of women with her. cuchulainn thought it was medb. he threw two stones from cuince, so that he slew her in her plain(?). hence is ath rede locha in cualnge. from findabair cuailnge the hosts divided, and they set the country on fire. they collect all there were of women, and boys, and maidens; and cattle, in cualnge together, so that they were all in findabair. 'you have not gone well,' said medb; 'i do not see the bull with you.' 'he is not in the province at all,' said every one. lothar the cowherd is summoned to medb. 'where is the bull?' said she. 'have you an idea?' 'i have great fear to tell it,' said the herd. 'the night,' said he, 'when the ulstermen went into their weakness, he went with three twenties of heifers with him, so that he is at the black corrie of glenn gatt.' 'go,' said medb, 'and carry a withe [note: ir. _gatt_, a withe.] between each two of you.' they do this: hence this glen is called glenn gatt. then they bring the bull to findabair. the place where he saw the herd, lothar, he attacked him, so that he brought his entrails out on his horns; and he attacked the camp with his three fifties of heifers, so that fifty warriors were killed. and that is the death of lothar on the foray. then the bull went from them out of the camp, and they knew not where he had gone from them; and they were ashamed. medb asked the herd if he had an idea where the bull was. 'i think he would be in the secret places of sliab culind.' when they returned thus after ravaging cualnge, and did not find the bull there. the river cronn rose against them to the tops of the trees; and they spent the night by it. and medb told part of her following to go across. a wonderful warrior went next day, ualu his name. he took a great stone on his back to go across the water; the stream drove him backwards with the stone on his back. his grave and his stone are on the road at the stream: lia ualand is its name. they went round the river cronn to the source, and they would have gone between the source and the mountain, only that they could not get leave from medb; she preferred to go across the mountain, that their track might remain there for ever, for an insult to the ulstermen. they waited there three days and three nights, till they dug the earth in front of them, the bernas bo cuailnge. it is there that cuchulainn killed crond and coemdele and ---- [note: obscure.]. a hundred warriors ---- [note: obscure.] died with roan and roae, the two historians of the foray. a hundred and forty-four, kings died by him at the same stream. they came then over the bernas bo cuailnge with the cattle and stock of cualnge, and spent the night in glenn dail imda in cualnge. botha is the name of this place, because they made huts over them there. they come next day to colptha. they try to cross it through heedlessness. it rose against them then, and it carries a hundred charioteers of them to the sea; this is the name of the land in which they were drowned, cluain carptech. they go round colptha then to its source, to belat alioin, and spent the night at liasa liac; that is the name of this place, because they made sheds over their calves there between cualnge and conaille. they came over glenn gatlaig, and glass gatlaig rose against them. sechaire was its name before; glass gatlaig thenceforth, because it was in withes they brought their calves; and they slept at druim fene in conaille. (those then are the wanderings from cualnge to machaire according to this version.) _this is the harrying of cualnge_ (other authors and books make it that another way was taken on their journeyings from findabair to conaille, as follows: medb said after every one had come with their booty, so that they were all in findabair cuailnge: 'let the host be divided,' said medb; 'it will be impossible to bring this expedition by one way. let ailill go with half the expedition by midluachair; fergus and i will go by bernas ulad.' [note: ybl. bernas bo n-ulad.] 'it is not fine,' said fergus, 'the half of the expedition that has fallen to us. it will be impossible to bring the cattle over the mountain without dividing it.' that was done then, so that it is from that there is bernas bo n-ulad.) it is there then that ailill said to his charioteer cuillius: 'find out for me to-day medb and fergus. i know not what has brought them to this union. i shall be pleased that a token should come to me by you.' cuillius came when they were in cluichre. the pair remained behind, and the warriors went on. cuillius came to them, and they heard not the spy. fergus' sword happened to be beside him. cuillius drew it out of its sheath, and left the sheath empty. cuillius came to ailill. 'so?' said ailill. 'so indeed,' said cuillius; 'there is a token for you.' 'it is well,' said ailill. each of them smiles at the other. 'as you thought,' said cuillius, 'it is thus that i found them, in one another's arms.' 'it is right for her,' said ailill; 'it is for help on the foray that she has done it. see that the sword is kept in good condition,' said ailill. 'put it under your seat in the chariot, and a cloth of linen around it.' fergus got up for his sword after that. 'alas!' said he. 'what is the matter with you?' said medb. 'an ill deed have i done to ailill,' said he. 'wait here, while i go into the wood,' said fergus; 'and do not wonder though it be long till i come.' it happened that medb knew not the loss of the sword. he goes thence, and takes the sword of his charioteer with him in his hand. he makes a wooden sword in the wood. hence there is fid mor drualle in ulster. 'let us go on after our comrades,' said fergus. all their hosts meet in the plain. they pitch their tents. fergus is summoned to ailill to play chess. when fergus went to the tent, ailill began to laugh at him. [note: here follows about two columns of rhetoric, consisting of a taunting dialogue between ailill, fergus and medb.] *** cuchulainn came so that he was at ath cruinn before them. 'o friend loeg,' said he to his charioteer, 'the hosts are at hand to us.' 'i swear by the gods,' said the charioteer, 'i will do a mighty feat before warriors ... on slender steeds with yokes of silver, with golden wheels ...' 'take heed, o loeg,' said cuchulainn; 'hold the reins for great victory of macha ... i beseech,' said cuchulainn, 'the waters to help me. i beseech heaven and earth, and the cronn in particular.' the (river) cronn takes to fighting against them; it will not let them into murthemne until the work of heroes be finished in sliab tuath ochaine. therewith the water rose up till it was in the tops of the trees. mane, son of ailill and medb, went before the rest. cuchulainn smites them on the ford, and thirty horsemen of mane's retinue were drowned in the water. cuchulainn overthrew two sixteens of warriors of them again by the water. they pitch their tents at that ford. lugaid mac nois, descendant of lomarc allchomach, came to speak to cuchulainn, with thirty horsemen. 'welcome, o lugaid,' said cuchulainn. 'if a flock of birds graze upon mag murthemne, you shall have a duck with half of another; if fish come to the estuaries, you shall have a salmon with half of another. you shall have the three sprigs, the sprig of watercress, and the sprig of marshwort, and the sprig of seaweed. you shall have a man in the ford in your place.' [note: this and the following speech are apparently forms of greeting. cuchulainn offers lugaid such hospitality as lies in his power. see a similar speech later to fergus.] 'i believe it,' said lugaid. 'excellence of people to the boy whom i desire.' 'your hosts are fine,' said cuchulainn. it would not be sad for you alone before them,' said lugaid. 'fair-play and valour will support me,' said cuchulainn. 'o friend lugaid, do the hosts fear me?' 'i swear by god,' said lugaid, 'one man nor two dare not go out of the camp, unless it be in twenties or thirties.' 'it will be something extra for them,' said cuchulainn, 'if i take to throwing from the sling. fitting for you will be this fellow-vassal, o lugaid, that you have among the ulstermen, if there come to me the force of every man. say what you would have,' said cuchulainn. 'that i may have a truce with you towards my host.' 'you shall have it, provided there be a token on it. and tell my friend fergus that there be a token on his host. tell the physicians, let there be a token on their host. and let them swear preservation of life to me, and let there come to me provision every night from them.' then lugaid goes from him. fergus happened to be in the tent with ailill. lugaid called him out, and told him this. something was heard, namely ailill. ... [note: rhetoric, six lines, the substance of which is, apparently, that ailill asks protection also.] 'i swear by god i cannot do it,' said lugaid, 'unless i ask the boy again.' 'help me, [note: spoken by fergus?] o lugaid, go to him to see whether ailill may come with a cantred into my troop. take an ox with bacon to him and a jar of wine.' he goes to cuchulainn then and tells him this. 'i do not mind though he go,' said cuchulainn. then their two troops join. they are there till night. cuchulainn kills thirty men of them with the sling. (or they would be twenty nights there, as some books say.) 'your journeyings are bad,' said fergus. 'the ulstermen will come to you out of their weakness, and they will grind you to earth and gravel. "the corner of battle" in which we are is bad.' he goes thence to cul airthir. it happened that cuchulainn had gone that night to speak to the ulstermen [note: in ll and y bl this incident occurs later, and the messenger is sualtaim, not cuchulainn. lu is clearly wrong here.] 'have you news?' said conchobar. 'women are captured,' said cuchulainn, 'cattle are driven away, men are slain.' 'who carries them off? who drives them away? who kills them?' '... ailill mac matae carries them off, and fergus mac roich very bold ...' [note: rhetoric.] 'it is not great profit to you,' said conchobar, 'to-day, our smiting has come to us all the same.' cuchulainn goes thence from them; he saw the hosts going forth. 'alas,' said ailill, 'i see chariots' ..., etc [note: rhetoric, five lines.] cuchulainn kills thirty men of them on ath duirn. they could not reach cul airthir then till night. he slays thirty of them there, and they pitch their tents there. ailill's charioteer, cuillius, was washing the chariot tyres [note: see previous note on the word _fonnod_; the word used here is _fonnod_.] in the ford in the morning; cuchulainn struck him with a stone and killed him. hence is ath cuillne in cul airthir. they reach druim feine in conaille and spent the night there, as we have said before. cuchulainn attacked them there; he slays a hundred men of them every night of the three nights that they were there; he took a sling to them from ochaine near them. 'our host will be short-lived through cuchulainn in this way,' said ailill. 'let an agreement be carried from us to him: that he shall have the equal of mag murthemne from mag ai, and the best chariot that is in ai, and the equipment of twelve men. offer, if it pleases him better, the plain in which he was brought up, and three sevens of cumals [note: the _cumal_ (bondmaid) was a standard of value.]; and everything that has been destroyed of his household (?) and cattle shall be made good, and he shall have full compensation (?), and let him go into my service; it is better for him than the service of a sub king.' 'who shall go for that?' 'mac roth yonder.' mac roth, the messenger of ailill and medb, went on that errand to delga: it is he who encircles ireland in one day. it is there that fergus thought that cuchulainn was, in delga. 'i see a man coming towards us,' said loeg to cuchulainn. 'he has a yellow head of hair, and a linen emblem round it; a club of fury(?) in his hand, an ivory-hilted sword at his waist; a hooded tunic with red ornamentation on him.' 'which of the warriors of the king is that?' said cuchulainn. mac roth asked loeg whose man he was. 'vassal to the man down yonder,' said loeg. cuchulainn was there in the snow up to his two thighs, without anything at all on him, examining his shirt. then mac roth asked cuchulainn whose man he was. 'vassal of conchobar mac nessa,' said cuchulainn. 'is there no clearer description?' 'that is enough,' said cuchulainn. 'where then is cuchulainn?' said mac roth. 'what would you say to him?' said cuchulainn. mac roth tells him then all the message, as we have told it. 'though cuchulainn were near, he would not do this; he will not barter the brother of his mother for another king.' he came to him again, and it was said to cuchulainn that there should be given over to him the noblest of the women and the cows that were without milk, on condition that he should not ply his sling on them at night, even if he should kill them by day. 'i will not do it,' said cuchulainn; 'if our slavewomen are taken from us, our noble women will be at the querns; and we shall be without milk if our milch-cows are taken from us.' he came to him again, and he was told that he should have the slave-women and the milch-cows. 'i will not do it,' said cuchulainn; 'the ulstermen will take their slave-women to their beds, and there will be born to them a servile offspring, and they will use their milch-cows for meat in the winter.' 'is there anything else then?' said the messenger. 'there is,' said cuchulainn; 'and i will not tell it you. it shall be agreed to, if any one tell it you.' 'i know it,' said fergus; 'i know what the man tried to suggest; and it is no advantage to you. and this is the agreement,' said fergus: 'that the ford on which takes place (?) his battle and combat with one man, the cattle shall not be taken thence a day and a night; if perchance there come to him the help of the ulstermen. and it is a marvel to me,' said fergus, 'that it is so long till they come out of their sufferings.' 'it is indeed easier for us,' said ailill, 'a man every day than a hundred every night.' _the death of etarcomol_ then fergus went on this errand; etarcomol, son of edan [note: name uncertain. ybl has eda, ll feda.] and lethrinne, foster-son of ailill and medb, followed. 'i do not want you to go,' said fergus, 'and it is not for hatred of you; but i do not like combat between you and cuchulainn. your pride and insolence, and the fierceness and hatred, pride and madness of the other, cuchulainn: there will be no good from your meeting.' 'are you not able to protect me from him?' said etarcomol. 'i can,' said fergus, 'provided only that you do not treat his, sayings with disrespect.' they go thence in two chariots to delga. cuchulainn was then playing chess [note: _buanfach_, like _fidchell_, is apparently a game something like chess or draughts.] with loeg; the back of his head was towards them, and loeg's face. 'i see two chariots coming towards us,' said loeg; 'a great dark man in the first chariot, with dark and bushy hair; a purple cloak round him, and a golden pin therein; a hooded tunic with gold embroidery on him; and a round shield with an engraved edge of white metal, and a broad spear-head, with rings from point to haft(?), in his hand. a sword as long as the rudder of a boat on his two thighs.' 'it is empty, this great rudder that is brought by my friend fergus,' said cuchulainn; 'for there is no sword in its sheath except a sword of wood. it has been told to me,' said cuchulainn; 'ailill got a chance of them as they slept, he and medb; and he took away his sword from fergus, and gave it to his charioteer to take care of, and the sword of wood was put into its sheath.' then fergus comes up. 'welcome, o friend fergus,' said cuchulainn; 'if a fish comes into the estuary, you shall have it with half of another; if a flock comes into the plain, you shall have a duck with half of another; a spray of cress or seaweed, a spray of marshwort; a drink from the sand; you shall have a going to the ford to meet a man, if it should happen to be your watch, till you have slept.' 'i believe it,' said fergus; 'it is not your provision that we have come for; we know your housekeeping here.' then cuchulainn receives the message from fergus; anti fergus goes away. etarcomol remains looking at cuchulainn. 'what are you looking at?' said cuchulainn. 'you,' said etarcomol. 'the eye soon compasses it indeed,' said cuchulainn. 'that is what i see,' said etarcomol. 'i do not know at all why you should be feared by any one. i do not see terror or fearfulness, or overwhelming of a host, in you; you are merely a fair youth with arms of wood, and with fine feats.' 'though you speak ill of me,' said cuchulainn, 'i will not kill you for the sake of fergus. but for your protection, it would have been your entrails drawn (?) and your quarters scattered, that would have gone from me to the camp behind your chariot.' 'threaten me not thus,' said etarcomol. 'the wonderful agreement that he has bound, that is, the single combat, it is i who will first meet you of the men of ireland to-morrow.' then he goes away. he turned back from methe and cethe and said to his charioteer: 'i have boasted,' said he, 'before fergus combat with cuchulainn to-morrow. it is not possible for us [note: ybl reading.] to wait for it; turn the horses back again from the hill.' loeg sees this and says to cuchulainn: 'there is the chariot back again, and it has put its left board [note: an insult.] towards us.' 'it is not a "debt of refusal,"' said cuchulainn. 'i do not wish,' said cuchulainn, 'what you demand of me.' 'this is obligatory to you,' said etarcomol. cuchulainn strikes the sod under his feet, so that he fell prostrate, and the sod behind him. 'go from me,' said cuchulainn. 'i am loath to cleanse my hands in you. i would have divided you into many parts long since but for fergus.' 'we will not part thus,' said etarcomol, 'till i have taken your head, or left my head with you.' 'it is that indeed that will be there,' said cuchulainn. cuchulainn strikes him with his sword in his two armpits, so that his clothes fell from him, and it did not wound his skin. 'go then,' said cuchulainn. 'no,' said etarcomol. then cuchulainn attacked him with the edge of his sword, and took his hair off as if it was shaved with a razor; he did not put even a scratch (?) on the surface. when the churl was troublesome then and stuck to him, he struck him on the hard part of his crown, so that he divided him down to the navel. fergus saw the chariot go past him, and the one man therein. he turned to quarrel with cuchulainn. 'ill done of you, o wild boy!' said he, 'to insult me. you would think my club [note: or 'track'?] short,' said he. 'be not angry with me, o friend fergus,' said cuchulainn ... [note: rhetoric, five lines.] 'reproach me not, o friend fergus.' he stoops down, so that fergus's chariot went past him thrice. he asked his charioteer: 'is it i who have caused it?' 'it is not you at all,' said his charioteer. 'he said,' said cuchulainn, 'he would not go till he took my head, or till he left his head with me. which would you think easier to bear, o friend fergus?' said cuchulainn. 'i think what has been done the easier truly,' said fergus, 'for it is he who was insolent.' then fergus put a spancel-withe through etarcomol's two heels and took him behind his own chariot to the camp. when they went over rocks, one-half would separate from the other; when it was smooth, they came together again. medb saw him. 'not pleasing is that treatment of a tender whelp, o fergus,' said medb. 'the dark churl should not have made fight,' said fergus, 'against the great hound whom he could not contend with (?).' his grave is dug then and his stone planted; his name is written in ogam; his lament is celebrated. cuchulainn did not molest them that night with his sling; and the women and maidens and half the cattle are taken to him; and provision continued to be brought to him by day. _the death of nadcrantail_ 'what man have you to meet cuchulainn tomorrow?' said lugaid. 'they will give it to you to-morrow,' said mane, son of ailill. 'we can find no one to meet him,' said medb. 'let us have peace with him till a man be sought for him.' they get that then. 'whither will you send,' said ailill, 'to seek that man to meet cuchulainn?' 'there is no one in ireland who could be got for him,' said medb, 'unless curoi mac dare can be brought, or nadcrantail the warrior.' there was one of curoi's followers in the tent. 'curoi will not come,' said he; 'he thinks enough of his household has come. let a message be sent to nadcrantail.' mane andoi goes to him, and they tell their tale to him. 'come with us for the sake of the honour of connaught.' 'i will not go,' said he, 'unless findabair be given to me.' he comes with them then. they bring his armour in a chariot, from the east of connaught till it was in the camp. 'you shall have findabair,' said medb, 'for going against that man yonder.' 'i will do it,' said he. lugaid comes to cuchulainn that night. 'nadcrantail is coming to meet you to-morrow; it is unlucky for you: you will not withstand him.' 'that does not matter,' said cuchulainn. ... [note: corrupt.] nadcrantail goes next morning from the camp, and he takes nine spits of holly, sharpened and burned. now cuchulainn was there catching birds, and his chariot near him. nadcrantail throws a spear at cuchulainn; cuchulainn performed a feat on to the point of that spear, and it did not hinder him from catching the birds. the same with the eight other spears. when he throws the ninth spear, the flock flies from cuchulainn, and he went after the flock. he goes on the points of the spears like a bird, from each spear to the next, pursuing the birds that they should not escape. it seemed to every one, however, that it was in flight that cuchulainn went before nadcrantail. 'your cuchulainn yonder,' said he, 'has gone in flight before me.' 'that is of course,' said medb; 'if good warriors should come to him, the wild boy would not resist ----.' this vexed fergus and the ulstermen; fiacha mac fir-febe comes from them to remonstrate with cuchulainn. 'tell him,' said fergus, 'it was noble to be before the warriors while he did brave deeds. it is more noble for him,' said fergus, 'to hide himself when he flees before one man, for it were not greater shame to him than to the rest of ulster.' 'who has boasted that?' said cuchulainn. 'nadcrantail,' said fiacha. 'though it were that that he should boast, the feat that i have done before him, it was no more shame to me,' (?) said cuchulainn. 'he would by no means have boasted it had there been a weapon in his hand. you know full well that i kill no one unarmed. let him come to-morrow,' said cuchulainn, 'till he is between ochaine and the sea, and however early he comes, he will find me there, and i shall not flee before him.' cuchulainn came then to his appointed meeting-place, and he threw the hem [of his cloak] round him after his night-watch, and he did not perceive the pillar that was near him, of equal size with himself. he embraced it under his cloak, and placed it near him. therewith nadcrantail came; his arms were brought with him in a wagon. 'where is cuchulainn?' said he. 'there he is yonder,' said fergus. 'it was not thus he appeared to me yesterday,' said nadcrantail. 'are you cuchulainn?' 'and if i am then?' said cuchulainn. 'if you are indeed,' said nadcrantail, 'i cannot bring the head of a little lamb to camp; i will not take the head of a beardless boy.' 'it is not i at all,' said cuchulainn. 'go to him round the hill.' cuchulainn comes to loeg: 'smear a false beard on me,' said he; 'i cannot get the warrior to fight me without a beard.' it was done for him. he goes to meet him on the hill. 'i think that more fitting,' said he. 'take the right way of fighting with me,' said nadcrantail. 'you shall have it if only we know it,' said cuchulainn. 'i will throw a cast at you,' said nadcrantail, 'and do not avoid it.' 'i will not avoid it except on high,' said cuchulainn. nadcrantail throws a cast at him; cuchulainn leaps on high before it. 'you do ill to avoid my cast,' said nadcrantail. 'avoid my throw then on high,' said cuchulainn. cuchulainn throws the spear at him, but it was on high, so that from above it alighted in his crown, and it went through him to the ground. 'alas! it is you are the best warrior in ireland!' said nadcrantail. 'i have twenty-four sons in the camp. i will go and tell them what hidden treasures i have, and i will come that you may behead me, for i shall die if the spear is taken out of my head.' 'good,' said cuchulainn. 'you will come back.' nadcrantail goes to the camp then. every one comes to meet him. 'where is the madman's head?' said every one. 'wait, o heroes, till i tell my tale to my sons, and go back that i may fight with cuchulainn.' he goes thence to seek cuchulainn, and throws his sword at cuchulainn. cuchulainn leaps on high, so that it struck the pillar, and the sword broke in two. then cuchulainn went mad as he had done against the boys in emain, and he springs on his shield therewith, and struck his head off. he strikes him again on the neck down to the navel. his four quarters fall to the ground. then cuchulainn said this: 'if nadcrantail has fallen, it will be an increase to the strife. alas! that i cannot fight at this time with medb with a third of the host.' here is the finding of the bull according to this version: it is then that medb went with a third of the host with her to cuib to seek the bull; and cuchulainn went after her. now on the road of midluachair she had gone to harry ulster and cruthne as far as dun sobairche. cuchulainn saw something: bude mac bain from sliab culinn with the bull, and fifteen heifers round him; and his force was sixty men of ailill's household, with a cloak folded round every man. cuchulainn comes to them. 'whence have you brought the cattle?' said cuchulainn. 'from the mountain yonder,' said the man.' 'where are their cow-herds?' said cuchulainn. 'he is as we found him,' said the man. cuchulainn made three leaps after them to seek speech with them as far as the ford. it is there he said to the leader: 'what is your name?' said he. 'one who fears you not(?) and loves you not; bude mac bain,' said he. 'this spear at bude!' said cuchulainn. he hurls at him the javelin, so that it went through his armpits, and one of the livers broke in two before the spear. he kills him on his ford; hence is ath bude. the bull is brought into the camp then. they considered then that it would not be difficult to deal with cuchulainn, provided his javelin were got from him. _the death of redg the satirist_ it is then that redg, ailill's satirist, went to him on an errand to seek the javelin, that is, cuchulainn's spear. 'give me your spear,' said the satirist. 'not so,' said cuchulainn; 'but i will give you treasure.' 'i will not take it,' said the satirist. then cuchulainn wounded the satirist, because he would not accept from him what he offered him, and the satirist said he would take away his honour unless he got the javelin. then cuchulainn threw the javelin at him, and it went right through his head. 'this gift is overpowering (?),' said the satirist. hence is ath tolam set. there was now a ford east of it, where the copper of the javelin rested; humarrith, then, is the name of that ford. it is there that cuchulainn killed all those that we have mentioned in cuib; i.e. nathcoirpthe at his trees; cruthen on his ford; the sons of the herd at their cairn; marc on his hill; meille on his hill; bodb in his tower; bogaine in his marsh (?). cuchulainn turned back to mag murthemne; he liked better to defend his own home. after he went, he killed the men of crocen (or cronech), i.e. focherd; twenty men of focherd. he overtook them taking camp: ten cup-bearers and ten fighting-men. medb turned back from the north when she had remained a fortnight ravaging the province, and when she had fought a battle against findmor, wife of celtchar mac uthidir. and after taking dun sobairche upon her, she brought fifty women into the province of dalriada. wherever medb placed a horse-switch in cuib its name is bile medba [note: i.e. tree of medb]; every ford and every hill by which she slept, its name is ath medba and dindgna medba. they all meet then at focherd, both ailill and medb and the troop that drove the bull. but their herd took their bull from them, and they drove him across into a narrow gap with their spear-shafts on their shields(?). [note: a very doubtful rendering.] so that the feet of the cattle drove him [note, i.e. forgemen.] through the ground. forgemen was the herd's name. he is there afterwards, so that that is the name of the hill, forgemen. there was no annoyance to them that night, provided a man were got toward off cuchulainn on the ford. 'let a sword-truce be asked by us from cuchulainn,' said ailill. 'let lugaid go for it,' said every one. lugaid goes then to speak to him. 'how am i now with the host?' said cuchulainn. 'great indeed is the mockery that you asked of them,' said lugaid, 'that is, your women and your maidens and half your cattle. and they think it heavier than anything to be killed and to provide you with food.' a man fell there by cuchulainn every day to the end of a week. fair-play is broken with cuchulainn: twenty are sent to attack him at one time; and he killed them all. 'go to him, o fergus,' said ailill, 'that he may allow us a change of place.' they go then to cronech. this is what fell by him in single combat at this place: two roths, two luans, two female horse messengers, [note: or 'female stealers.' (o'davoren.)] ten fools, ten cup-bearers, ten ferguses, six fedelms, six fiachras. these then were all killed by him in single combat. when they pitched their tents in cronech, they considered what they should do against cuchulainn. 'i know,' said medb, 'what is good in this case: let a message be sent from us to ask him that we may have a sword-truce from him towards the host, and he shall have half the cattle that are here.' this message is taken to him. 'i will do this,' said cuchulainn, 'provided the compact is not broken by you.' _the meeting of cuchulainn and findabair_ 'let an offer go to him,' said ailill, 'that findabair will be given to him on condition that he keeps away from the hosts.' mane athramail goes to him. he goes first to loeg. 'whose man are you?' said he. loeg does not speak to him. mane spoke to him thrice in this way. 'cuchulainn's man,' said he, 'and do not disturb me, lest i strike your head off.' 'this man is fierce,' said mane, turning from him. he goes then to speak to cuchulainn. now cuchulainn had taken off his tunic, and the snow was round him up to his waist as he sat, and the snow melted round him a cubit for the greatness of the heat of the hero. mane said to him in the same way thrice, 'whose man was he?' 'conchobar's man, and do not disturb me. if you disturb me any longer, i will strike your head from you as the head is taken from a blackbird.' 'it is not easy,' said mane, 'to speak to these two.' mane goes from them then and tells his tale to ailill and medb. 'let lugaid go to him,' said ailill, 'and offer to him the maiden.' lugaid goes then and tells cuchulainn that. 'o friend lugaid,' said cuchulainn, 'this is a snare.' 'it is the king's word that has said it,' said lugaid; 'there will be no snare therefrom.' 'let it be done so,' said cuchulainn. lugaid went from him therewith, and tells ailill and medb that answer. 'let the fool go in my form,' said ailill, 'and a king's crown on his head, and let him stand at a distance from cuchulainn lest he recognise him, and let the maiden go with him, and let him betroth her to him, and let them depart quickly in this way; and it is likely that you will play a trick on him thus, so that he will not hinder you, till he comes with the ulstermen to the battle.' then the fool goes to him, and the maiden also; and it was from a distance he spoke to cuchulainn. cuchulainn goes to meet them. it happened that he recognised by the man's speech that he was a fool. he threw a sling stone that was in his hand at him, so that it sprang into his head and brought his brains out. then he comes to the maiden, cuts her two tresses off, and thrusts a stone through her mantle and through her tunic, and thrusts a stone pillar through the middle of the fool. there are their two pillars there: the pillar of findabair, and the fool's pillar. cuchulainn left them thus. a party was sent from ailill and medb to seek out their folk, for they thought they were long; they were seen in this position. all this was heard throughout the camp. there was no truce for them with cuchulainn afterwards. _the combat of munremar and curoi_ when the hosts were there in the evening; they saw that one stone lighted on them from the east, and another from the west to meet it. they met in the air, and kept falling between fergus's camp, and ailill's, and era's. [note: or nera?] this sport and play went on from that hour to the same hour next day; and the hosts were sitting down, and their shields were over their heads to protect them against the masses of stones, till the plain was full of the stones. hence is mag clochair. it happened that curoi mac daire did this; he had come to help his comrades, and he was in cotal over against munremar mac gerrcind. he had come from emain macha to help cuchulainn, and he was in ard roich. curoi knew that there was no man in the host who could withstand munremar. so it was these two who had made this sport between them. they were asked by the host to be quiet; then munremar and curoi make peace, and curoi goes to his house and munremar to emain macha. and munremar did not come till the day of the battle; curoi did not come till the combat with fer diad. 'speak to cuchulainn,' said medb and ailill, 'that he allow us change of place.' it is granted to them then, and they change the place. the weakness of the ulstermen was over then. for when they awoke from their suffering, some of them kept coming on the host, that they might take to slaying them again. _the death of the boys_ then the boys of ulster had consulted in emain macha. 'wretched indeed,' said they, 'for our friend cuchulainn to be without help.' 'a question indeed,' said fiachna fulech mac fir-febe, own brother to fiacha fialdama mac fir-febe, 'shall i have a troop among you, and go to take help to him therefrom?' three fifties of boys go with their playing-clubs, and that was a third of the boys of ulster. the host saw them coming towards them across the plain. 'a great host is at hand to us over the plain,' said ailill. fergus goes to look at them. 'some of the boys of ulster that,' said he; 'and they come to cuchulainn's help.' 'let a troop go against them,' said ailill, 'without cuchulainn's knowledge; for if they meet him, you will not withstand them.' three fifties of warriors go to meet them. they fell by one another so that no one escaped alive of the abundance(?) of the boys at lia toll. hence it is the stone of fiachra mac fir-febe; for it is there he fell. 'make a plan,' said ailill. 'ask cuchulainn about letting you go out of this place, for you will not come beyond him by force, because his flame of valour has sprung.' for it was customary with him, when his flame of valour sprang in him, that his feet would go round behind him, and his hams before; and the balls of his calves on his shins, and one eye in his head and the other out of his head; a man's head could have gone into his mouth. every hair on him was as sharp as a thorn of hawthorn, and a drop of blood on each hair. he would not recognise comrades or friends. he would strike alike before and behind. it is from this that the men of connaught gave cuchulainn the name riastartha. _the woman-fight of rochad_ cuchulainn sent his charioteer to rochad mac fatheman of ulster, that he should come to his help. now it happened that findabair loved rochad, for he was the fairest of the warriors among the ulstermen at that time. the man goes to rochad and told him to come to help cuchulainn if he had come out of his weakness; that they should deceive the host, to get at some of them to slay them. rochad comes from the north with a hundred men. 'look at the plain for us to-day,' said ailill. 'i see a troop coming over the plain,' said the watchman, 'and a warrior of tender years among them; the men only reach up to his shoulders.' 'who is it yonder, o fergus?' said ailill. 'rochad mac fatheman,' said he, 'and it is to help cuchulainn he comes.' 'i know what you had better do with him,' said fergus. 'let a hundred men go from you with the maiden yonder to the middle of the plain, and let the maiden go before them; and let a horseman go to speak to him, that he come alone to speak with the maiden, and let hands be laid on him, and this will keep off (?) the attack of his army from us.' this is done then. rochad goes to meet the horseman. 'i have come from findabair to meet you, that you come to speak with her.' he goes then to speak with her alone. the host rushes about him from every side. he is taken, and hands are laid on him. his force breaks into flight. he is let go then, and he is bound over not to go against the host till he should come together with all ulster. it was promised to him that findabair should be given to him, and he returned from them then. so that that is rochad's woman-fight. _the death of the princes_ [note: or 'royal mercenaries.'] 'let a sword-truce be asked of cuchulainn for us,' said ailill and medb. lugaid goes on that errand, and cuchulainn grants the truce. 'put a man on the ford for me to-morrow,' said cuchulainn. there were with medb six princes, i.e. six king's heirs of the clanna dedad, the three blacks of imlech, and the three reds of sruthair. 'why should we not go against cuchulainn?' said they. they go next day, and cuchulainn slew the six of them. _the death of cur_ then cur mac dalath is besought to go against cuchulainn. he from whom he shed blood, he is dead before the ninth day. 'if he slay him,' said medb, 'it is victory; and though it be he who is slain, it is removing a load from the host: for it is not easy to be with him in regard to eating and sleeping.' then he goes forth. he did not think it good to go against a beardless wild boy. 'not so(?) indeed,' said he, 'right is the honour (?) that you give us! if i had known that it was against this man that i was sent, i would not have bestirred myself to seek him; it were enough in my opinion for a boy of his own age from my troop to go against him.' 'not so,' said cormac condlongas; 'it were a marvel for us if you yourself were to drive him off.' 'howbeit,' said he, 'since it is on myself that it is laid you shall go forth to-morrow morning; it will not delay me to kill the young deer yonder.' he goes then early in the morning to meet him; and he tells the host to get ready to take the road before them, for it was a clear road that he would make by going against cuchulainn. _this is the number of the feats_ he went on that errand then. cuchulainn was practising feats at that time, i.e. the apple-feat, the edge-feat, the supine-feat, the javelin-feat, the ropefeat, the ---- feat, the cat-feat, the hero's salmon[-leap?], the cast ----, the leap over ----, the noble champion's turn, the _gae bolga_, the ---- of swiftness, the wheel-feat, the ----, the feat on breath, the mouth-rage (?), the champion's shout, the stroke with proper adjustment, the back-stroke, the climbing a javelin with stretching of the body on its point, with the binding (?) of a noble warrior. cur was plying his weapons against him in a fence(?) of his shield till a third of the day; and not a stroke of the blow reached cuchulainn for the madness of the feats, and he did not know that a man was trying to strike him, till fiacha mac fir-febe said to him: 'beware of the man who is attacking you.' cuchulainn looked at him; he threw the feat-apple that remained in his hand, so that it went between the rim and the body of the shield, and went back through the head of the churl. it would be in imslige glendanach that cur fell according to another version. fergus returned to the army. 'if your security hold you,' said he, 'wait here till to-morrow.' 'it would not be there,' said ailill; 'we shall go back to our camp.' then lath mac dabro is asked to go against cuchulainn, as cur had been asked. he himself fell then also. fergus returns again to put his security on them. they remained there until there were slain there cur mac dalath, and lath mac dabro, and foirc, son of the three swifts, and srubgaile mac eobith. they were all slain there in single combat. _the death of ferbaeth_ 'go to the camp for us, o friend loeg' [said cuchulainn], 'and consult lugaid mac nois, descendant of lomarc, to know who is coming against me tomorrow. let it be asked diligently, and give him my greeting.' then loeg went. 'welcome,' said lugaid; 'it is unlucky for cuchulainn, the trouble in which he is, alone against the men of ireland. it is a comrade of us both, ferbaeth (ill-luck to his arms!), who goes against him to morrow. findabair is given to him for it, and the kingdom of his race.' loeg turns back to where cuchulainn is. he is not very joyful over his answer, my friend loeg,' said cuchulainn. loeg tells him all that. ferbaeth had been summoned into the tent to ailill and medb, and he is told to sit by findabair, and that she should be given to him, for he was her choice for fighting with cuchulainn. he was the man they thought worthy of them, for they had both learned the same arts with scathach. then wine is given to him, till he was intoxicated, and he is told, 'they thought that wine fine, and there had only been brought the load of fifty wagons. and it was the maiden who used to put hand to his portion therefrom.' 'i do not wish it,' said ferbaeth; 'cuchulainn is my foster-brother, and a man of perpetual covenant with me. nevertheless i will go against him to-morrow and cut off his head.' 'it will be you who would do it,' said medb. cuchulainn told loeg to go to meet lugaid, that he should come and speak with him. lugaid comes to him. 'so ferbaeth is coming against me to-morrow,' said cuchulainn. 'he indeed,' said lugaid. 'an evil day!' said cuchulainn; 'i shall not be alive therefrom. two of equal age we, two of equal deftness, two equal when we meet. o lugaid, greet him for me; tell him that it is not true valour to come against me; tell him to come to meet me to-night, to speak with me.' lugaid tells him this. when ferbaeth did not avoid it, he went that night to renounce his friendship with cuchulainn, and fiacha mac fir-febe with him. cuchulainn appealed to him by his foster-brotherhood, and scathach, the foster-mother of them both. 'i must,' said ferbaeth. 'i have promised it' 'take back (?) your bond of friendship then,' said cuchulainn. cuchulainn went from him in anger. a spear of holly was driven into cuchulainn's foot in the glen, and appeared up by his knee. he draws it out. 'go not, o ferbaeth, till you have seen the find that i have found.' 'throw it,' said ferbaeth. cuchulainn threw the spear then after ferbaeth so that it hit the hollow of his poll, and came out at his mouth in front, so that he fell back into the glen. 'that is a throw indeed,' said ferbaeth. hence is focherd murthemne. (or it is fiacha who had said, 'your throw is vigorous to-day, o cuchulainn,' said he; so that focherd murthemne is from that.) ferbaeth died at once in the glen. hence is glenn firbaith. something was heard: fergus, who said: 'o ferbaeth, foolish is thy expedition in the place in which thy grave is. ruin reached thee ... in croen corand. 'the hill is named fithi (?) for ever; croenech in murthemne, from to-day focherd will be the name of the place in which thou didst fall, o ferbaeth. o ferbaeth,' etc. 'your comrade has fallen,' said fergus. 'say will you pay for this man on the morrow?' 'i will pay indeed,' said cuchulainn. cuchulainn sends loeg again for news, to know how they are in the camp, and whether ferbaeth lived. lugaid said: 'ferbaeth is dead,' and cuchulainn comes in turn to talk with them. _the combat of larine mac nois_ 'one of you to-morrow to go readily against the other,' said lugaid. 'he will not be found at all,' said ailill, 'unless you practise trickery therein. any man who comes to you, give him wine, so that his mind may be glad, and it shall be said to him that that is all the wine that has been brought from cruachan. it grieves us that you should be on water in the camp. and findabair shall be put at his right hand, and it shall be said: "she shall come to you, if you bring us the head of the riastartha."' a messenger used to be sent to every hero on his night, and that used to be told to him; he continued to kill every man of them in. turn. no one could be got by them to meet him at last. larine mac nois, brother to lugaid, king of munster, was summoned to them the next day. great was his pride. wine is given to him, and findabair is put at his right hand. medb looked at the two. 'it pleases me, yonder pair,' said she; 'a match between them would be fitting.' 'i will not stand in your way,' said ailill; 'he shall have her if he brings me the head of the riastartha.' 'i will bring it,' said larine. then lugaid comes. 'what man have you for the ford to-morrow?' said he. 'larine goes,' said ailill. then lugaid comes to speak with cuchulainn. they meet in glenn firbaith. each gives the other welcome. 'it is for this i have come to speak to you,' said lugaid: 'there is a churl here, a fool and proud,' said he, 'a brother of mine named larine; he is befooled about the same maiden. on your friendship then, do not kill him, lest you should leave me without a brother. for it is for this that he is being sent to you, so that we two might quarrel. i should be content, however, that you should give him a sound drubbing, for it is in my despite that he comes.' larine goes next day to meet cuchulainn, and the maiden near him to encourage him. cuchulainn attacks him without arms. [note: this is apparently the sense, but the passage seems corrupt.] he takes larine's arms from him perforce. he takes him then between his two hands, and grinds and shakes him, ... and threw him till he was between lugaid's two hands ...; nevertheless, he is the only man who escaped [even] a bad escape from him, of all who met him on the tain. _the conversation of the morrigan with cuchulainn_ cuchulainn saw a young woman coming towards him, with a dress of every colour on, and her form very excellent. 'who are you?' said cuchulainn. 'daughter of buan the king,' said she. 'i have come to you; i have loved you for your reputation, and i have brought my treasures and my cattle with me.' 'the time at which you have come to us is not good. for our condition is evil, through hunger. it is not easy to me to meet a woman, while i am in this strife.' 'i will be a help to you. ... i shall be more troublesome to you,' said she, 'when i come against you when you are in combat against the men. i will come in the form of an eel about your feet in the ford, so that you shall fall.' 'i think that likelier than the daughter of a king. i will take you,' said he, 'between my toes, till your ribs are broken, and you will be in this condition till a doom of blessing comes (?) on you.' 'i will drive the cattle on the ford to you, in the form of a grey she-wolf.' 'i will throw a stone at you from my sling, so that it shall break your eye in your head; and you will be in that state till a doom of blessing comes on you.' 'i will come to you in the form of a hornless red heifer before the cattle. they will rush on you on the plains(?), and on the fords, and on the pools, and you will not see me before you.' 'i will throw a stone at you,' said he, 'so that your leg shall break under you, and you will be in this state till a doom of blessing comes on you.' therewith she goes from him. so he was a week on ath grencha, and a man used to fall every day by him in ath grencha, i.e. in ath darteisc. _the death of loch mac emonis_ then loch mac emonis was asked like the others, and there was promised to him a piece of the arable land of mag ai equal in size to mag murthemne, and the equipment of twelve warriors and a chariot worth seven cumals [note: a measure of value.]; and he did not think combat with a youth worthy. he had a brother, long mac emonis himself. the same price was given to him, both maiden and raiment and chariots and land. he goes to meet cuchulainn. cuchulainn slays him, and he was brought dead before his brother, loch. this latter said that if he only knew that it was a bearded man who slew him, he would kill him for it. 'take a battle-force to him,' said medb to her household, 'across the ford from the west, that you may go-across; and let fair-play be broken on him.' then the seven manes, warriors, go first, so that they saw him on the edge of the ford westward. he puts his feast-dress on that day. it is then that the women kept climbing on the men to look at him. 'i am sorry,' said medb; 'i cannot see the boy about whom they go there.' 'your mind will not be the gladder for it,' said lethrend, ailill's squire, 'if you could see him.' he comes to the ford then as he was. 'what man is it yonder, o fergus?' said medb. 'a boy who wards off,' etc. ... 'if it is culann's hound.' [note: rhetoric, four lines.] medb climbed on the men then to look at him. it is then that the women said to cuchulainn 'that he was laughed at in the camp because he had no beard, and no good warriors would go against him, only wild men; it were easier to make a false beard.' so this is what he did, in order to seek combat with a man; i.e. with loch. cuchulainn took a handful of grass, and said a spell over it, so that every one thought he had a beard. 'true,' said the troop of women, 'cuchulainn has a beard. it is fitting for a warrior to fight with him.' they had done this on urging loch. 'i will not make combat against him till the end of seven days from to-day,' said loch. 'it is not fitting for us to have no attack on the man for this space,' said medb. 'let us put a hero to hunt(?) him every night, if perchance we may get a chance at him.' this is done then. a hero used to come every night to hunt him, and he used to kill them all. these are the names of the men who fell there: seven conalls, seven oenguses, seven uarguses, seven celtris, eight fiacs, ten ailills, ten delbaths, ten tasachs. these are his deeds of this week in ath grencha. medb asked advice, to know what she should do to cuchulainn, for what had been killed of their hosts by him distressed her greatly. this is the plan she arrived at, to put brave, high-spirited men to attack him all at once when he should come to an appointed meeting to speak with medb. for she had an appointment the next day with cuchulainn to make a peace in fraud with him, to get hold of him. she sent messengers forth to seek him that he should come to meet her; and it was thus he should come, and he unarmed: 'for she would come only with her troop of women to meet him.' the messenger, traigtren, went to the place where cuchulainn was, and tells him medb's message. cuchulainn promised that he would do so. 'in what manner does it please you to go to meet medb to-morrow, o cuchulainn?' said loeg. 'as medb has asked me,' said cuchulainn. 'great are medb's deeds,' said the charioteer; 'i fear a hand behind the back with her.' 'how is it to be done then?' said he. 'your sword at your waist,' said the charioteer, 'that you may not be taken at an unfair advantage. for the warrior is not entitled to his honour-price if he is without arms; and it is the coward's law that he deserves in that way.' 'let it be done so then,' said cuchulainn. the meeting-place was in ard aignech, which is called fochaird to-day. now medb came to the meeting-place and set in ambush fourteen men of her own special following, of those who were of most prowess, ready for him. these are they: two glassines, the two sons of bucchridi; two ardans, the two sons of licce; two glasogmas, the two sons of crund; drucht and delt and dathen; tea and tascra and tualang; taur and glese. then cuchulainn comes to meet her. the men rise to attack him. fourteen spears are thrown at him at once. cuchulainn guards himself so that his skin or his ---- (?) is not touched. then he turns on them and kills them, the fourteen of them. so that they are the fourteen men of focherd, and they are the men of cronech, for it is in cronech at focherd that they were killed. hence cuchulainn said: 'good is my feat of heroism,' [note: _fo_, 'good'; _cherd_, 'feat.' twelve lines of rhetoric.] etc. so it is from this that the name focherd stuck to the place; that is, _focherd_, i.e. 'good is the feat of arms' that happened to cuchulainn there. so cuchulainn came, and overtook them taking camp, and there were slain two daigris and two anlis and four dungais of imlech. then medb began to urge loch there. 'great is the mockery of you,' said she, 'for the man who has killed your brother to be destroying our host, and you do not go to battle with him! for we deem it certain that the wild man, great and fierce [note: literally, 'sharpened.'], the like of him yonder, will not be able to withstand the rage and fury of a hero like you. for it is by one foster-mother and instructress that an art was built up for you both.' then loch came against cuchulainn, to avenge his brother on him, for it was shown to him that cuchulainn had a beard. 'come to the upper ford,' said loch; 'it would not be in the polluted ford that we shall meet, where long fell.' when he came then to seek the ford, the men drove the cattle across. 'it will be across your water [note: irish, _tarteisc_.] here to-day,' said gabran the poet. hence is ath darteisc, and tir mor darteisc from that time on this place. when the men met then on the ford, and when they began to fight and to strike each other there, and when each of them began to strike the other, the eel threw three folds round cuchulainn's feet, till he lay on his back athwart the ford. loch attacked him with the sword, till the ford was blood-red with his blood. 'ill indeed,' said fergus, 'is this deed before the enemy. let each of you taunt the man, o men,' said he to his following, 'that he may not fall for nothing.' bricriu poison-tongue mac carbatha rose and began inciting cuchulainn. 'your strength is gone,' said he, 'when it is a little salmon that overthrows you when the ulstermen are at hand [coming] to you out of their sickness yonder. grievous for you to undertake a hero's deed in the presence of the men of ireland and to ward off a formidable warrior in arms thus!' therewith cuchulainn arises and strikes the eel so that its ribs broke in it, and the cattle were driven over the hosts eastwards by force, so that they took the tents on their horns, with the thunder-feat that the two heroes had made in the ford. the she-wolf attacked him, and drove the cattle on him westwards. he throws a stone from his sling, so that her eye broke in her head. she goes in the form of a hornless red heifer; she rushes before the cows upon the pools and fords. it is then he said: 'i cannot see the fords for water.' he throws a stone at the hornless red heifer, so that her leg breaks under her. then he sang a song: 'i am all alone before flocks; i get them not, i let them not go; i am alone at cold hours (?) before many peoples. 'let some one say to conchobar though he should come to me it were not too soon; magu's sons have carried off their kine and divided them among them. 'there may be strife about one head only that one tree blazes not; if there were two or three their brands would blaze. [note: meaning not clear.] 'the men have almost worn me out by reason of the number of single combats; i cannot work the slaughter (?) of glorious warriors as i am all alone. i am all alone.' *** it is there then that cuchulainn did to the morrigan the three things that he had promised her in the _tain bo regamna_ [note: one of the introductory stories to the _tain bo cuailnge_, printed with translation in _irische texte_, nd series.]; and he fights loch in the ford with the gae-bolga, which the charioteer threw him along the stream. he attacked him with it, so that it went into his body's armour, for loch had a horn-skin in fighting with a man. 'give way to me,' said loch. cuchulainn gave way, so that it was on the other side that loch fell. hence is ath traiged in tir mor. cuchulainn cut off his head then. then fair-play was broken with him that day when five men came against him at one time; i.e. two cruaids, two calads, derothor; cuchulainn killed them by himself. hence is coicsius focherda, and coicer oengoirt; or it is fifteen days that cuchulainn was in focherd, and hence is coicsius focherda in the foray. cuchulainn hurled at them from delga, so that not a living thing, man or beast, could put its head past him southwards between delga and the sea. _the healing of the morrigan_ when cuchulainn was in this great weariness, the morrigan met him in the form of an old hag, and she blind and lame, milking a cow with three teats, and he asked her for a drink. she gave him milk from a teat. 'he will be whole who has brought it(?),' said cuchulainn; 'the blessings of gods and non-gods on you,' said he. (gods with them were the mighty folk [note: i.e. the dwellers in the sid. the words in brackets are a gloss incorporated in the text.]; non-gods the people of husbandry.) then her head was healed so that it was whole. she gave the milk of the second teat, and her eye was whole; and gave the milk of the third teat, and her leg was whole. so that this was what he said about each thing of them, 'a doom of blessing on you,' said he. 'you told me,' said the morrigan, 'i should not have healing from you for ever.' 'if i had known it was you,' said cuchulainn, 'i would not have healed you ever.' so that formerly cuchulainn's throng (?) on tarthesc was the name of this story in the foray. it is there that fergus claimed of his securities that faith should not be broken with cuchulainn; and it is there that cuchulainn ... [note: corrupt; one and a half lines.] i.e. delga murthemne at that time. then cuchulainn killed fota in his field; bomailce on his ford; salach in his village (?); muine in his hill; luair in leth-bera; fer-toithle in toithle; these are the names of these lands for ever, every place in which each man of them fell. cuchulainn killed also traig and dornu and dernu, col and mebul and eraise on this side of ath tire moir, at methe and cethe: these were three [note: ms. 'two.'] druids and their three wives. then medb sent a hundred men of her special retinue to kill cuchulainn. . he killed them all on ath ceit-chule. then medb said: 'it is _cuillend_ [note: interlinear gloss: 'we deem it a crime.'] to us, the slaying of our people.' hence is glass chrau and cuillend cind duin and ath ceit-chule. then the four provinces of ireland took camp and fortified post in the breslech mor in mag murthemne, and send part of their cattle and booty beyond them to the south into clithar bo ulad. cuchulainn took his post at the mound in lerga near them, and his charioteer loeg mac riangabra kindled a fire for him on the evening of that night. he saw the fiery sheen of the bright golden arms over the heads of the four provinces of ireland at the setting of the clouds of evening. fury and great rage came over him at sight of the host, at the multitude of his enemies, the abundance of his foes. he took his two spears and his shield and his sword; he shook his shield and brandished his spears and waved his sword; and he uttered his hero's shout from his throat, so that goblins and sprites and spectres of the glen and demons of the air answered, for the terror of the shout which they uttered on high. so that the nemain produced confusion on the host. the four provinces of ireland came into a tumult of weapons about the points of their own spears and weapons, so that a hundred warriors of them died of terror and of heart-burst in the middle of the camp and of the position that night. when loeg was there, he saw something: a single man who came straight across the camp of the men of ireland from the north-east straight towards him. 'a single man is coming to us now, o little hound!' said loeg. 'what kind of man is there?' said cuchulainn. 'an easy question: a man fair and tall is he, with hair cut broad, waving yellow hair; a green mantle folded round him; a brooch of white silver in the mantle on his breast; a tunic of royal silk, with red ornamentation of red gold against the white skin, to his knees. a black shield with a hard boss of white metal; a five pointed spear in his hand; a forked (?) javelin beside it. wonderful is the play and sport and exercise that he makes; but no one attacks him, and he attacks no one, as if no one saw him.' 'it is true, o fosterling,' said he; 'which of my friends from the _síd_ is that who comes to have pity on me, because they know the sore distress in which i am, alone against the four great provinces of ireland, on the cattle-foray of cualnge at this time?' that was true for cuchulainn. when the warrior had reached the place where cuchulainn was, he spoke to him, and had pity on him for it. 'this is manly, o cuchulainn,' said he. 'it is not much at all,' said cuchulainn. 'i will help you,' said the man. 'who are you at all?' said cuchulainn. 'it is i, your father from the _síd_, lug mac ethlend.' 'my wounds are heavy, it were high time that i should be healed.' 'sleep a little, o cuchulainn,' said the warrior; 'your heavy swoon (?) [note: conjectural--ms. _tromthortim_.] of sleep at the mound of lerga till the end of three days and three nights, and i will fight against the hosts for that space.' then he sings the _ferdord_ to him, and he sleeps from it. lug looked at each wound that it was clean. then lug said: 'arise, o great son of the ulstermen, whole of thy wounds. ... go into thy chariot secure. arise, arise!' [note: rhetoric.] for three days and three nights cuchulainn was asleep. it were right indeed though his sleep equalled his weariness. from the monday after the end of summer exactly to the wednesday after candlemas, for this space cuchulainn had not slept, except when he slept a little while against his spear after midday, with his head on his clenched fist, and his clenched fist on his spear, and his spear on his knee; but he was striking and cutting and attacking and slaying the four great provinces of ireland for that space. it is then that the warrior of the síd cast herbs and grasses of curing and charms of healing into the hurts and wounds and into the injuries and into the many wounds of cuchulainn, so that cuchulainn recovered in his sleep without his perceiving it at all. now it was at this time that the boys came south from emain macha: folloman mac conchobair with three fifties of kings' sons of ulster, and they gave battle thrice to the hosts, so that three times their own number fell, and all the boys fell except folloman mac conchobair. folloman boasted that he would not go back to emain for ever and ever, until he should take the head of ailill with him, with the golden crown that was above it. this was not easy to him; for the two sons of bethe mac bain, the two sons of ailill's foster-mother and foster-father, came on him, and wounded him so that he fell by them. so that that is the death of the boys of ulster and of folloman mac conchobair. cuchulainn for his part was in his deep sleep till the end of three days and three nights at the mound in lerga. cuchulainn arose then from his sleep, and put his hand over his face, and made a purple wheelbeam from head to foot, and his mind was strong in him, and he would have gone to an assembly, or a march, or a tryst, or a beer-house, or to one of the chief assemblies of ireland. 'how long have i been in this sleep now, o warrior?' said cuchulainn. 'three days and three nights,' said the warrior. 'alas for that!' said cuchulainn. 'what is the matter?' said the warrior. 'the hosts without attack for this space,' said cuchulainn. 'they are not that at all indeed,' said the warrior. 'who has come upon them?' said cuchulainn. 'the boys came from the north from emain macha; folloman mac conchobair with three fifties of boys of the kings' sons of ulster; and they gave three battles to the hosts for the space of the three days and the three nights in which you have been in your sleep now. and three times their own number fell, and the boys fell, except folloman mac conchobair. folloman boasted that he would take ailill's head, and that was not easy to him, for he was killed.' 'pity for that, that i was not in my strength! for if i had been in my strength, the boys would not have fallen as they have fallen, and folloman mac conchobair would not have fallen.' 'strive further, o little hound, it is no reproach to thy honour and no disgrace to thy valour.' 'stay here for us to-night, o warrior,' said cuchulainn, 'that we may together avenge the boys on the hosts.' 'i will not stay indeed,' said the warrior, 'for however great the contests of valour and deeds of arms any one does near thee, it is not on him there will be the renown of it or the fame or the reputation, but it is on thee; therefore i will not stay. but ply thy deed of arms thyself alone on the hosts, for not with them is there power over thy life this time.' 'the scythe-chariot, o my friend loeg!' said cuchulainn; 'can you yoke it? and is its equipment here? if you can yoke it, and if you have its equipment, yoke it; and if you have not its equipment, do not yoke it at all.' it is then that the charioteer arose, and he put on his hero's dress of charioteering. this was his hero's dress of charioteering that he put on: his soft tunic of skin, light and airy, well-turned [note: lit. 'kneaded.'], made of skin, sewn, of deer-skin, so that it did not restrain the movement of his hands outside. he put on his black (?) upper-cloak over it outside: simon magus had made it for darius, king of the romans, so that darius gave it to conchobar, and conchobar gave it to cuchulainn, and cuchulainn gave it to his charioteer. the charioteer took first then his helm, ridged, like a board (?), four-cornered, with much of every colour and every form, over the middle of his shoulders. this was well-measured (?) to him, and it was not an overweight. his hand brought the circlet of red-yellow, as though it were a plate of red-gold, of refined gold smelted over the edge of an anvil, to his brow, as a sign of his charioteering, in distinction to his master. he took the goads (?) of his horses, and his whip (?) inlaid in his right hand. he took the reins to hold back his horses in his left hand. [note: gloss incorporated in text: 'i. e. to direct his horses, in his left hand, for the great power of his charioteering.'] then he put the iron inlaid breastplates on the horses, so that they were covered from forehead to forefoot with spears and points and lances and hard points, so that every motion in this chariot was spear-near, so that every corner and every point and every end and every front of this chariot was a way of tearing. it is then that he cast a spell of covering over his horses and over his companion, so that he was not visible to any one in the camp, and so that every one in the camp was visible to them. it was proper that he should cast this, because there were the three gifts of charioteering on the charioteer that day, the leap over ----, and the straight ----, and the ----. then the hero and the champion and he who made the fold of the badb [note: the badb (scald-crow) was a war-goddess. this is an expressive term for the piled-up bodies of the slain.] of the men of the earth, cuchulainn mac sualtaim, took his battle-array of battle and contest and strife. this was his battle-array of battle and contest and strife: he put on twenty-seven skin tunics, waxed, like board, equally thick, which used to be under strings and chains and thongs, against his white skin, that he might not lose his mind nor his understanding when his rage should come. he put on his hero's battle-girdle over it outside, of hard-leather, hard, tanned, of the choice of seven ox-hides of a heifer, so that it covered him from the thin part of his sides to the thick part of his arm-pit; it used to be on him to repel spears, and points, and darts, and lances, and arrows. for they were cast from him just as if it was stone or rock or horn that they struck (?). then he put on his apron, skin like, silken, with its edge of white gold variegated, against the soft lower part of his body. he put on his dark apron of dark leather, well tanned, of the choice of four ox-hides of a heifer, with his battle-girdle of cows' skins (?) about it over his silken skin-like apron. then the royal hero took his battle-arms of battle and contest and strife. these then were his battle-arms of battle: he took his ivory-hilted, bright-faced weapon, with his eight little swords; he took his five-pointed spear, with his eight little spears [note: in the margin: 'and his quiver,' probably an interpolation.]; he took his spear of battle, with his eight little darts; he took his javelin with his eight little javelins; his eight shields of feats, with his round shield, dark red, in which a boar that would be shown at a feast would go into the boss (?), with its edge sharp, keen, very sharp, round about it, so that it would cut hairs against the stream for sharpness and keenness and great sharpness; when the warrior did the edge-feat with it, he would cut equally with his shield, and with his spear, and with his sword. then he put on his head a ridged-helmet of battle and contest and strife, from which there was uttered the shout of a hundred warriors, with along cry from every corner and every angle of it. for there used to cry from it equally goblins and sprites and ghosts of the glen and demons of the air, before and above and around, wherever he used to go before shedding the blood of warriors and enemies. there was cast over him his dress of concealment by the garment of the land of promise that was given by his foster-father in wizardry. it is then came the first contortion on cuchulainn, so that it made him horrible, many-shaped, wonderful, strange. his shanks shook like a tree before the stream, or like a rush against the stream, every limb and every joint and every end and every member, of him from head to foot. he made a ---- of rage of his body inside his skin. his feet and his shins and his knees came so that they were behind him; his heels and his calves and his hams came so that they were in front. the front-sinews of his calves came so that they were on the front of his shins, so that every huge knot of them was as great as a warrior's clenched fist. the temple-sinews of his head were stretched, so that they were on the hollow of his neck, so that every round lump of them, very great, innumerable, not to be equalled (?), measureless, was as great as the head of a month old child. then he made a red bowl of his face and of his visage on him; he swallowed one of his two eyes into his head, so that from his cheek a wild crane could hardly have reached it [to drag it] from the back of his skull. the other sprang out till it was on his cheek outside. his lips were marvellously contorted. tie drew the cheek from the jawbone, so that his gullet was visible. his lungs and his lights came so that they were flying in his mouth and in his throat. he struck a blow of the ---- of a lion with his upper palate on the roof of his skull, so that every flake of fire that came into his mouth from his throat was as large as a wether's skin. his heart was heard light-striking (?) against his ribs like the roaring of a bloodhound at its food, or like a lion going through bears. there were seen the palls of the badb, and the rain-clouds of poison, and the sparks of fire very red in clouds and in vapours over his head with the boiling of fierce rage, that rose over him. his hair curled round his head like the red branches of a thorn in the gap of atalta (?). though a royal apple-tree under royal fruit had been shaken about it, hardly would an apple have reached the ground through it, but an apple would have fixed on every single hair there, for the twisting of the rage that rose from his hair above him. the hero's light rose from his forehead, so that it was as long, and as thick, as a warrior's whet-stone, so that it was equally long with the nose, till he went mad in playing with the shields, in pressing on (?) the charioteer, in ---- the hosts. as high, as thick, as strong, as powerful, as long, as the mast of a great ship, was the straight stream of dark blood that rose straight up from the very top of his head, so that it made a dark smoke of wizardry like the smoke of a palace when the king comes to equip himself in the evening of a wintry day. after that contortion wherewith cuchulainn was contorted, then the hero of valour sprang into his scythed battle-chariot, with its iron points, with its thin edges, with its hooks, and with its hard points, with its sharp points (?) of a hero, with their pricking goads (?), with its nails of sharpness that were on shafts and thongs and cross-pieces and ropes (?) of that chariot. it was thus the chariot was, with its body thin-framed (?), dry-framed (?), feat-high, straight-shouldered (?), of a champion, on which there would have been room for eight weapons fit for a lord, with the speed of swallow or of wind or of deer across the level of the plain. the chariot was placed on two horses, swift, vehement, furious, small-headed, small-round, small-end, pointed, ----, red-breasted, ----, easy to recognise, well-yoked, ... one of these two horses was supple, swift-leaping, great of strength, great of curve, great of foot, great of length, ----. the other horse was flowing-maned, slender-footed, thin-footed, slender-heeled, ----. it is then that he threw the thunder-feat of a hundred, and the thunder-feat of four hundred, and he stopped at the thunder-feat of five hundred, for he did not think it too much for this equal number to fall by him in his first attack, and in his first contest of battle on the four provinces of ireland; and he came forth in this way to attack his enemies, and he took his chariot in a great circuit about the four great provinces of ireland, and he put the attack of an enemy among enemies on them. and a heavy course was put on his chariot, and the iron wheels of the chariot went into the ground, so that it was enough for fort and fortress, the way the iron wheels of the chariot went into the ground; for there arose alike turfs and stones and rocks and flagstones and gravel of the ground as high as the iron wheels of the chariot. the reason why he cast the circle of war round about the four great provinces of ireland, was that they might not flee from him, and that they might not scatter, that he might make sure of them, to avenge the boys on them; and he comes into the battle thus in the middle, and overthrew great fences of his enemies' corpses round about the host thrice, and puts the attack of an enemy among enemies on them, so that they fell sole to sole, and neck to neck; such was the density of the slaughter. he went round again thrice thus, so that he left a layer of six round them in the great circuit; i.e. soles of three to necks of three in the course of a circuit round the camp. so that its name in the foray is sesrech breslige, and it is one of the three not to be numbered in the foray; i.e. sesrech breslige and imslige glendamnach and the battle on garach and irgarach, except that it was alike dog and horse and man there. this is what others say, that lug mac ethlend fought along with cuchulainn the sesrech breslige. their number is not known, and it is impossible to count what number fell there of the rabble. but the chief only have been counted. these are the names of the princes and chiefs: two cruads, two calads, two cirs, two ciars, two ecells, three croms, three caurs, three combirge, four feochars, four furachars, four cass, four fotas, five caurs, five cermans, five cobthachs, six saxans, six dachs, six dares, seven rochads, seven ronans, seven rurthechs, eight roclads, eight rochtads, eight rindachs, eight corpres, eight mulachs, nine daigs, nine dares, nine damachs, ten fiachs, ten fiachas, ten fedelmids. ten kings over seven fifties did cuchulainn slay in breslech mor in mag murthemne; and an innumerable number besides of dogs and horses and women and boys and people of no consequence and rabble. for there did not escape one man out of three of the men of ireland without a thigh-bone or half his head or one eye broken, or without being marked for ever. and he came from them after giving them battle without wound or blood-stain on himself or on his servant or on either of his horses. cuchulainn came next day to survey the host and to show his soft fair form to the women and the troops of women and the girls and the maidens and the poets and the bards, for he did not hold in honour or dignity that haughty form of wizardry that had appeared to them on him the night before. therefore he came to show his soft fair form that day. fair indeed the boy who came then to show his form to the hosts, that is, cuchulainn mac sualtaim. the appearance of three heads of hair on him, dark against the skin of his head, blood-red in the middle, a crown gold-yellow which covers them. a fair arrangement of this hair so that it makes three circles round the hollow of the back of his head, so that each hair ----, dishevelled, very golden, excellent, in long curls, distinguished, fair-coloured, over his shoulders, was like gold thread. a hundred ringlets, bright purple, of red-gold, gold-flaming, round his neck; a hundred threads with mixed carbuncle round his head. four dimples in each of his two cheeks; that is, a yellow dimple, and a green dimple, and a blue dimple, and a purple dimple. seven gems of brilliance of an eye, in each of his two royal eyes. seven toes on each of his two feet, seven fingers on each of his two hands, with the grasp of a hawk's claws, with the seizure of a griffin's claws on each of them separately. then he puts on his feast-dress that day. this was his raiment on him: a fair tunic, proper; bright-purple, with a border with five folds. a white brooch of white silver with adorned gold inlaid over his white breast, as if it was a lantern full of light, that the eyes of men could not look at for its splendour and its brightness. a silken tunic of silk against his skin so that it covered him to the top of his dark apron of dark-red, soldierly, royal, silken. a dark shield; dark red, dark purple, with five chains of gold, with a rim of white metal on it. a sword gold-hilted, inlaid with ivory hilt of red-gold raised high on his girdle. a spear, long, grey-edged, with a spear-head sharp, attacking, with rivets of gold, gold-flaming by him in the chariot. nine heads in one of his two hands, and ten heads in the other hand. he shook them from him towards the hosts. so that this is the contest of a night to cuchulainn. then the women of connaught raised themselves on the hosts, and the women were climbing on the men to look at cuchulainn's form. medb hid her face and dare not show her face, but was under the shield-shelter for fear of cuchulainn. so that it is hence dubthach doeltenga of ulster said: 'if it is the riastartha, there will be corpses of men therefrom,' etc. [note: rhetoric, fifty-four lines.] fiacha fialdana from imraith (?) came to speak with the son of his mother's sister, mane andoe his name. docha mac magach went with mane andoe: dubthach doeltenga of ulster came with fiacha fialdana from imraith (?). docha threw a spear at fiacha, so that it went into dubthach. then dubthach threw a spear at mane, so that it went into docha. the mothers of dubthach and docha were two sisters. hence is imroll belaig euin. [note: i.e. the random throw of belach euin.] (or imroll belaig euin is from this: the hosts go to belach euin, their two troops wait there. diarmait mac conchobair comes from the north from ulster. 'let a horseman go from you,' said diarmait, 'that mane may come to speak with me with one man, and i will come with one man to meet him.' they meet then. i have come,' said diarmait, 'from conchobar, who says to medb and ailill, that they let the cows go, and make whole all that they have done there, and bring the bull [note: i.e. bring findbennach to meet the dun of cualnge.] from the west hither to the bull, that they may meet, because medb has promised it.' 'i will go and tell them,' said mane. he tells this then to medb and ailill. 'this cannot be got of medb,' said mane. 'let us exchange arms then, 'said diarmait, 'if you think it better.' 'i am content,' said mane. each of them throws his spear at the other, so that the two of them die, and so that the name of this place is imroll belaig euin.) their forces rush at each other: there fall three twenties of them in each of the forces. hence is ard-in-dirma. [note: the height of the troop.] ailill's folk put his king's crown on tamun the fool; ailill dare not have it on himself. cuchulainn threw a stone at him at ath tamuin, so that his head broke thereby. hence is ath tamuin and tuga-im-tamun. [note: i.e., covering about tamun.] then oengus, son of oenlam the fair, a bold warrior of ulster, turned all the host at moda loga (that is the same as lugmod) as far as ath da ferta: he did not let them go past, and he pelted them with stones, and the learned say ---- before till they should go under the sword at emain macha, if it had been in single combat that they had come against him. fair-play was broken on him, and they slew him in an unequal fight. 'let some one come from you against me,' said cuchulainn at ath da ferta. 'it will not be i, it will not be i,' said every one from his place. 'a scapegoat is not owed from my race, and if it were owed, it would not be i whom they would give in his stead for a scapegoat.' then fergus mac roich was asked to go against him. he refuses to go against his foster-son cuchulainn. wine was given to him, and he was greatly intoxicated, and he was asked about going to the combat. he goes forth then since they were urgently imploring him. then cuchulainn said: 'it is with my security that you come against me, o friend fergus,' said he, 'with no sword in its place.' for ailill had stolen it, as we said before. 'i do not care at all,' said fergus; 'though there were a sword there, it would not be plied on you. give way to me, o cuchulainn,' said fergus. 'you will give way to me in return then,' said cuchulainn. 'even so,' said fergus. then cuchulainn fled back before fergus as far as grellach doluid, that fergus might give way to him on the day of the battle. then cuchulainn sprang in to grellach doluid. 'have you his head, o fergus?' said every one. 'no,' said fergus, 'it is not like a tryst. he who is there is too lively for me. till my turn comes round again, i will not go.' then they go past him, and take camp at crich ross. then ferchu, an exile, who was in exile against ailill, hears them. he comes to meet cuchulainn. thirteen men was his number. cuchulainn kills ferchu's warriors. their thirteen stones are there. medb sent mand of muresc, son of daire, of the domnandach, to fight cuchulainn. own brothers were lie and fer diad, and two sons of one father. this mand was a man fierce and excessive in eating and sleeping, a man ill-tongued, foul-mouthed, like dubthach doeltenga of ulster. he was a man strong, active, with strength of limb like munremar mac gerrcind; a fiery warrior like triscod trenfer of conchobar's house. 'i will go, and i unarmed, and i will grind him between my hands, for i deem it no honour or dignity to ply weapons on a beardless wild boy such as he.' he went then to seek cuchulainn. he and his charioteer were there on the plain watching the host. 'one man coming towards us,' said loeg to cuchulainn. 'what kind of man?' said cuchulainn. 'a man black, dark, strong, bull-like, and he unarmed.' 'let him come past you,' said cuchulainn. he came to them therewith. to fight against you have i come,' said mand. then they begin to wrestle for a long time, and mand overthrows cuchulainn thrice, so that the charioteer urged him. 'if you had a strife for the hero's portion in emain,' said he, 'you would be mighty over the warriors of emain!' his hero's rage comes, and his warrior's fury rises, so that he overthrew mand against the pillar, so that he falls in pieces. hence is mag mand achta, that is, mand echta, that is, mand's death there. [from the yellow book of lecan] on the morrow medb sent twenty-seven men to cuchulainn's bog. fuilcarnn is the name of the bog, on this side of fer diad's ford. they threw their twenty-nine spears at him at once; i.e. gaile-dana with his twenty-seven sons and his sister's son, glas mac delgna. when then they all stretched out their hands to their swords, fiacha mac fir-febe came after them out of the camp. he gave a leap from his chariot when he saw all their hands against cuchulainn, and he strikes off the arms of the twenty-nine of them. then cuchulainn said: 'what you have done i deem help at the nick of time (?).' 'this little,' said fiacha, 'is a breach of compact for us ulstermen. if any of them reaches the camp, we will go with our cantred under the point of the sword.' 'i swear, etc., since i have emitted my breath,' said cuchulainn, 'not a man of them shall reach it alive.' cuchulainn slew then the twenty-nine men and the two sons of ficce with them, two bold warriors of ulster who came to ply their might on the host. this is that deed on the foray, when they went to the battle with cuchulainn. _this is the combat of fer diad and cuchulainn_ then they considered what man among them would be fit to ward off cuchulainn. the four provinces of ireland spoke, and confirmed, and discussed, whom it would be fitting to send to the ford against cuchulainn. all said that it was the horn-skin from irrus domnand, the weight that is not supported, the battle-stone of doom, his own dear and ardent foster-brother. for cuchulainn had not a feat that he did not possess, except it were the gae bolga alone; and they thought he could avoid it, and defend himself against it, because of the horn about him, so that neither arms nor many edges pierced it. medb sent messengers to bring fer diad. fer diad did not come with those messengers. medb sent poets and bards and satirists [note: ir. _aes glantha gemaidi_, the folk who brought blotches on the cheeks (i.e. by their lampoons).] to him, that they might satirise him and mock him and put him to ridicule, that he might not find a place for his head in the world, until he should come to the tent of medb and ailill on the foray. fer diad came with those messengers, for the fear of their bringing shame on him. findabair, the daughter of medb and ailill, was put on one side of him: it is findabair who put her hand on every goblet and on every cup of fer diad; it is she who gave him three kisses at every cup of them; it is she who distributed apples right frequent over the bosom of his tunic. this is what she said: that he, fer diad, was her darling and her chosen wooer of the men of the world. when fer diad was satisfied and happy and very joyful, medb said: 'alé! o fer diad, do you know why you have been summoned into this tent?' 'i do not know indeed,' said fer diad; 'except that the nobles of the men of ireland are there. what is there less fitting for me to be there than for any other good warrior?' 'it is not that indeed,' said medb; 'but to give you a chariot worth three sevens of cumals [see previous note about _cumal_.] and the equipment of twelve men, and the equal of mag murthemne from the arable land of mag ai; and that you should be in cruachan always, and wine to be poured for you there; and freedom of your descendants and of your race for ever without tribute or tax; my leaf-shaped brooch of gold to be given to you, in which there are ten score ounces and ten score half-ounces, and ten score _crosach_ and ten score quarters; findabair, my daughter and ailill's daughter, for your one wife, and you shall get my love if you need it over and above.' 'he does not need it,' said every, one: 'great are the rewards and gifts.' 'that is true,' said fer diad, 'they are great; and though they are great, o medb, it is with you yourself they will be left, rather than that i should go against my foster-brother to battle.' 'o men,' said she, said medb (through the right way of division and setting by the ears), 'true is the word that cuchulainn spoke,' as if she had not heard fer diad at all. 'what word is this, o medb?' said fer diad. 'he said indeed,' said she, 'that he would not think it too much that you should fall by him as the first fruits of his prowess in the province to which he should come.' 'to say that was not fitting for him. for it is not weariness or cowardice that he has ever known in me, day nor night. i swear, etc., [note: the usual oath, 'by the god by whom my people swear,' understood.] that i will be the first man who will come to-morrow morning to the ford of combat.' 'may victory and blessing come to you,' said medb. 'and i think it better that weariness or cowardice be found with you, because of friendship beyond my own men (?). why is it more fitting for him to seek the good of ulster because his mother was of them, than for you to seek the good of the province of connaught, because you are the son of a king of connaught?' it is thus they were binding their covenants and their compact, and they made a song there: 'thou shalt have a reward,' etc. there was a wonderful warrior of ulster who witnessed that bargaining, and that was fergus mac roich. fergus came to his tent. 'woe is me! the deed that is done to-morrow morning!' said fergus. 'what deed is that?' said the folk in the tent. 'my good fosterling cuchulainn to be slain.' 'good lack! who makes that boast?' 'an easy question: his own dear ardent foster-brother, fer diad mac damain. why do ye not win my blessing?' said fergus; 'and let one of you go with a warning and with compassion to cuchulainn, if perchance he would leave the ford to-morrow morning.' 'on our conscience,' said they, 'though it were you yourself who were on the ford of combat, we would not come as far as [the ford] to seek you.' 'good, my lad,' said fergus; 'get our horses for us and yoke the chariot.' the lad arose and got the horses and yoked the chariot. they came forth to the ford of combat where cuchulainn was. 'one chariot coming hither towards us, o cuchulainn!' said loeg. for it is thus the lad was, with his back towards his lord. he used to win every other game of _brandub_ [_brandub_, the name of a game; probably, like _fidchill_ and _buanfach_, of the nature of chess or draughts.] and of chess-playing from his master: the sentinel and watchman on the four quarters of ireland over and above that. 'what kind of chariot then?' said cuchulainn. 'a chariot like a huge royal fort, with its yolcs strong golden, with its great panel(?) of copper, with its shafts of bronze, with its body thin-framed (?), dry-framed (?), feat-high, scythed, sword-fair (?), of a champion, on two horses, swift, stout(?), well-yoked (?), ---- (?). one royal warrior, wide-eyed, was the combatant of the chariot. a beard curly, forked, on him, so that it reached over the soft lower part of his soft shirt, so that it would shelter (?) fifty warriors to be under the heavy ---- of the warrior's beard, on a day of storm and rain. a round shield, white, variegated, many-coloured on him, with three chains ----, so that there would be room from front to back for four troops of ten men behind the leather of the shield which is upon the ---- of the warrior. a sword, long, hard-edged, red-broad in the sheath, woven and twisted of white silver, over the skin of the bold-in-battle. a spear, strong, three-ridged, with a winding and with bands of white silver all white by him across the chariot.' 'not hard the recognition,' said cuchulainn; 'my friend fergus comes there, with a warning and with compassion to me before all the four provinces.' fergus reached them and sprang from his chariot and cuchulainn greeted him. 'welcome your coming, o my friend, o fergus,' said cuchulainn. 'i believe your welcome,' said fergus. 'you may believe it,' said cuchulainn; 'if a flock of birds come to the plain, you shall have a duck with half of another; if fish come to the estuaries, you shall have a salmon with half of another; a sprig of watercress, and a sprig of marshwort, and a sprig of seaweed, and a drink of cold sandy water after it.' 'that portion is that of an outlaw,' said fergus. 'that is true, it is an outlaw's portion that i have,' said cuchulainn, 'for i have been from the monday after samain to this time, and i have not gone for a night's entertainment, through strongly obstructing the men of ireland on the cattle-foray of cualnge at this time.' 'if it were for this we came,' said fergus, 'we should have thought it the better to leave it; and it is not for this that we have come.' 'why else have you come to me?' said cuchulainn. 'to tell you the warrior who comes against you in battle and combat to-morrow morning,' said he. 'let us find it out and let us hear it from you then,' said cuchulainn. 'your own foster-brother, fer diad mac damain.' 'on our word, we think it not best that it should be he we come to meet,'said cuchulainn, 'and it is not for fear of him but for the greatness of our love for him.' 'it is fitting to fear him,' said fergus, 'for he has a skin of horn in battle against a man, so that neither weapon nor edge will pierce it.' 'do not say that at all,' said cuchulainn, 'for i swear the oath that my people swear, that every joint and every limb of him will be as pliant as a pliant rush in the midst of a stream under the point of my sword, if he shows himself once to me on the ford.' it is thus they were speaking, and they made a song: 'o cuchulainn, a bright meeting,' etc. after that, 'why have you come, o my friend, o fergus?' said cuchulainn. 'that is my purpose,' said fergus. 'good luck and profit,' said cuchulainn, 'that no other of the men of ireland has come for this purpose, unless the four provinces of ireland all met at one time. i think nothing of a warning before a single warrior.' then fergus went to his tent. as regards the charioteer and cuchulainn: 'what shall you do to-night?' said loeg. 'what indeed?' said cuchulainn. 'it is thus that fer diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting, and washing and bathing, and the four provinces of ireland with him to look at the fight. it would please me if you went to the place where you will get the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is emer of the beautiful hair, to cairthend of cluan da dam in sliab fuait.' so cuchulainn went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife. his adventures from this time are not discussed here now. as to fer diad, he came to his tent; it was gloomy and weary that fer diad's tent-servants were that night. they thought it certain that where the two pillars of the battle of the world should meet, that both would fall; or the issue of it would be, that it would be their own lord who would fall there. for it was not easy to fight with cuchulainn on the foray. there were great cares on fer diad's mind that night, so that they did not let him sleep. one of his great anxieties was that he should let pass from him all the treasures that had been offered to him, and the maiden, by reason of combat with one man. if he did not fight with that one man, he must fight with the six warriors on the morrow. his care that was greater than this was that if he should show himself once on the ford to cuchulainn, he was certain that he himself would not have power of his head or life thereafter; and fer diad arose early on the morrow. 'good, my lad,' said he, 'get our horses for us, and harness the chariot.' 'on our word,' said the servant, 'we think it not greater praise to go this journey than not to go it.' he was talking with his charioteer, and he made this little song, inciting his charioteer: 'let us go to this meeting,' etc. the servant got the horses and yoked the chariot, and they went forth from the camp. 'my lad,' said fer diad, 'it is not fitting that we make our journey without farewell to the men of ireland. turn the horses and the chariot for us towards the men of ireland.' the servant turned the horses and the chariot thrice towards the men of ireland. ... 'does ailill sleep now?' said medb. 'not at all,' said ailill. 'do you hear your new son-in-law greeting you?' 'is that what he is doing?' said ailill. 'it is indeed,' said medb, 'and i swear by what my people swear, the man who makes the greeting yonder will not come back to you on the same feet.' 'nevertheless we have profited by(?) the good marriage connection with him,' said ailill; 'provided cuchulainn fell by him, i should not care though they both fell. but we should think it better for fer diad to escape.' fer diad came to the ford of combat. 'look, my lad,' said fer diad; 'is cuchulainn on the ford?' 'he is not, indeed,' said the servant. 'look well for us,' said fer diad. 'cuchulainn is not a little speck in hiding where he would be,' said the lad. 'it is true, o boy, until to-day cuchulainn has not heard of the coming of a good warrior [note: gloss incorporated in the text: 'or a good man.'] against him on the cattle foray of cualnge, and when he has heard of it he has left the ford.' 'a great pity to slander cuchulainn in his absence! for do you remember how when you gave battle to german garbglas above the edge-borders of the tyrrhene sea, you left your sword with the hosts, and it was cuchulainn who killed a hundred warriors in reaching it, and he brought it to you; and do you remember where we were that night?' said the lad. 'i do not know it,' said fer diad. 'at the house of scathach's steward,' said the lad, 'and you went ---- and haughtily before us into the house first. the churl gave you a blow with the three-pointed flesh-hook in the small of your back, so that it threw you out over the door like a shot. cuchulainn came into the house and gave the churl a blow with his sword, so that it made two pieces of him. it was i who was steward for you while you were in that place. if only for that day, you should not say that you are a better warrior than cuchulainn.' 'what you have done is wrong,' said fer diad, 'for i would not have come to seek the combat if you had said it to me at first. why do you not pull the cushions [note: ll _fortchai_. ybl has _feirtsi_, 'shafts.'] of the chariot under my side and my skin-cover under my head, so that i might sleep now?' 'alas!' said the lad, 'it is the sleep of a fey man before deer and hounds here.' 'what, o lad, are you not fit to keep watch and ward for me?' 'i am fit,' said the lad; 'unless men come in clouds or in mist to seek you, they will not come at all from east or west to seek you without warning and observation.' the cushions [note: ll _fortchai_. ybl has _feirtsi_, 'shafts.'] of his chariot were pulled under his side and the skin under his head. and yet he could not sleep a little. as to cuchulainn it is set forth: 'good, o my friend, o loeg, take the horses and yoke the chariot; if fer diad is waiting for us, he is thinking it long.' the boy rose and took the horses and yoked the chariot. cuchulainn stepped into his chariot and they came on to the ford. as to fer diad's servant, he had not long to watch till he heard the creaking of the chariot coming towards them. he took to waking his master, and made a song: 'i hear a chariot,' etc. (this is the description of cuchulainn's chariot: one of the three chief chariots of the narration on the cattle foray of cualnge.) 'how do you see cuchulainn?' said he, said fer diad, to his charioteer. 'i see,' said he, 'the chariot broad above, fine, of white crystal, with a yoke of gold with ---- (?), with great panels of copper, with shafts of bronze, with tyres of white metal, with its body thin-framed (?) dry-framed (?), feat-high, sword-fair (?), of a champion, on which there would be room for seven arms fit for a lord (?). a fair seat for its lord; so that this chariot, cuchulainn's chariot, would reach with the speed of a swallow or of a wild deer, over the level land of mag slebe. that is the speed and ---- which they attain, for it is towards us they go. this chariot is at hand on two horses small-headed, small-round, small-end, pointed, ----, red-breasted, ----, easy to recognise, well-yoked. ... one of the two horses is supple(?), swift-leaping, great of strength, great of foot, great of length, ----. the other horse is curly-maned, slender-footed, narrow-footed, heeled, ----. two wheels dark, black. a pole of metal adorned with red enamel, of a fair colour. two bridles golden, inlaid. there is a man with fair curly hair, broad cut (?), in the front of this chariot. there is round him a blue mantle, red-purple. a spear with wings (?), and it red, furious; in his clenched fist, red-flaming. the appearance of three heads of hair on him, i.e. dark hair against the skin of his head, hair blood-red in the middle, a crown of gold covers the third hair. 'a fair arrangement of the hair so that it makes three circles round about his shoulders down behind. i think it like gold thread, after its colour has been made over the edge of the anvil; or like the yellow of bees on which the sun shines in a summer day, is the shining of each single hair of his hair. seven toes on each of his feet, and seven fingers on each of his hands, and the shining of a very great fire round his eye, ---- (?) and the hoofs of his horses; a hero's ---- in his hands. 'the charioteer of the chariot is worthy of him in his presence: curly hair very black has he, broad-cut along his head. a cowl-dress is on him open; two very fine golden leaf-shaped switches in his hand, and a light grey mantle round him, and a goad of white silver in his hand, plying the goad on the horses, whichever way the champion of great deeds goes who was at hand in the chariot. 'he is veteran of his land (?): he and his servant think little of ireland.' 'go, o fellow,' said he, said fer diad; 'you praise too much altogether; and prepare the arms in the ford against his coming.' 'if i turned my face backwards, it seems to me the chariot would come through the back of my neck.' 'o fellow,' said he, 'too greatly do you praise cuchulainn, for it is not a reward for praising he has given you'; and it is thus he was giving his description, and he said: 'the help is timely,' etc. it is not long afterwards that they met in the middle of the ford, and fer diad said to cuchulainn: 'whence come you, o cua?' said he (for [note: an interpolation.] _cua_ was the name of squinting in old gaelic; and there were seven pupils in cuchulainn's royal eye, and two of these pupils were squinting, and the ugliness of it is no greater than its beauty on him; and if there had been a greater blemish on cuchulainn, it is that with which he reproached him; and he was proclaiming it); and he made a song, and cuchulainn answered: 'whence art thou come, o hound,' etc. then cuchulainn said to his charioteer that he was to taunt him when he was overcome, and that he was to praise him when he was victorious, in the combat against fer diad. then the charioteer said to him: 'the man goes over thee as the tail over a cat; he washes thee as foam is washed in water, he squeezes (?) thee as a loving mother her son.' then they took to the ford-play. scathach's ---- (?)came to them both. fer diad and cuchulainn performed marvellous feats. cuchulainn went and leapt into fer diad's shield; fer diad hurled him from him thrice into the ford; so that the charioteer taunted him again ---- and he swelled like breath in a bag. his size increased till he was greater than fer diad. 'give heed to the _gae bolga_,' said the charioteer; he sent it to him along the stream. cuchulainn seized it between his toes, and wielded it on fer diad, into his body's armour. it advances like one spear, so that it became twenty-four points. then fer diad turned the shield below. cuchulainn thrust at him with the spear over the shield, so that it broke the shaft of his ribs and went through fer diad's heart. [_fer diad_:] 'strong is the ash from thy right hand! the ---- rib breaks, my heart is blood. well hast thou given battle! i fall, o hound.' [_cuchulainn_:] 'alas, o golden brooch, o fer diad! ----, o fair strong striker! thy hand was victorious; our dear foster brotherhood, o delight of the eyes! thy shield with the rim of gold, thy sword was dear. thy ring of white silver round thy noble arm. thy chess-playing was worthy of a great man. thy cheek fair-purple; thy yellow curling hair was great, it was a fair treasure. thy soft folded girdle which used to be about thy side. that thou shouldst fall at cuchulainn's hands was sad, o calf! thy shield did not suffice which used to be for service. our combat with thee is not fitting, our horses and our tumult. fair was the great hero! every host used to be defeated and put under foot. alas, o golden brooch, o fer diad!' *** this is the long warning of sualtaim while the things that we have related were done, suallaith heard from rath sualtaim in mag murthemne the vexing of his son cuchulainn against twelve sons of gaile dana [note: ll, 'twenty-seven sons of calatin.' in the story as related earlier in ybl it is 'gaile dana with his twenty-seven sons.'] and his sister's son. it is then that sualtaim said: 'is it heaven that bursts, or the sea over its boundaries, or earth that is destroyed, or the shout of my son against odds?' then he comes to his son. cuchulainn was displeased that he should come to him. 'though he were slain, i should not have strength to avenge him. go to the ulstermen,' says cuchulainn, 'and let them give battle to the warriors at once; if they do not give it, they will not be avenged for ever.' when his father saw him, there was not in his chariot as much as the point of a rush would cover that was not pierced. his left hand which the shield protected, twenty wounds were in it. sualtaim came over to emain and shouted to the ulstermen: 'men are being slain, women carried off, cows driven away!' his first shout was from the side of the court; his second from the side of the fortress; the third shout was on the mound of the hostages in emain. no one answered; it was the practice of the ulstermen that none of them should speak except to conchobar; and conchobar did not speak before the three druids. 'who takes them, who steals them, who carries them off?' said the druid. ailill mac mata carries them off and steals them and takes them, through the guidance of fergus mac roich,' said sualtaim. 'your people have been enslaved as far as dun sobairce; their cows and their women and their cattle have been taken. cuchulainn did not let them into mag murthemne and into crich rois; three months of winter then, bent branches of hazel held together his dress upon him. dry wisps are on his wounds. he has been wounded so that he has been parted joint from joint.' 'fitting,' said the druid, 'were the death of the man who has spurred on the king.' 'it is fitting for him,' said conchobar. 'it is fitting for him,' said the ulstermen. 'true is what sualtaim says,' said conchobar; 'from the monday night of samain to the monday night of candlemas he has been in this foray.' sualtaim gave a leap out thereupon. he did not think sufficient the answer that he had. he falls on his shield, so that the engraved edge of the shield cut his head off. his head is brought back into emain into the house on the shield, and the head says the same word (though some say that he was asleep on the stone, and that he fell thence on to his shield in awaking). 'too great was this shout,' said conchobar. 'the sea before them, the heaven over their tops, the earth under their feet. i will bring every cow into its milking-yard, and every woman and every boy from their house, after the victory in battle.' then conchobar struck his hand on his son, findchad fer m-bend. hence he is so called because there were horns of silver on him. the muster of the ulstermen 'arise, o findchad, i will send thee to deda,' etc. [note: rhetoric, followed by a long list of names.] it was not, difficult for findchad to take his message, for they were, the whole province of conchobar, every chief of them, awaiting conchobar; every one was then east and north and west of emain. when they were there, they all came till they were at emain macha. when they were there, they beard the uprising of conchobar in emain. they went past emain southwards after the host. their first march then was from emain to irard cuillend. 'what are you waiting for here?' said conchobar. 'waiting for your sons,' said the host. 'they have gone with thirty with them to temair to seek eirc, son of coirpre niafer and fedelm noicride. till their two cantreds should come to us, we will not go from this place.' 'i will not remain indeed,' said conchobar, 'till the men of ireland know that i have awaked from the sickness in which i was.' conchobar and celtchar went with three fifties of chariots, and they brought eight twenties of heads from ath airthir midi; hence is ath fene. they were there watching the host. and eight twenties of women, that was their share of the spoil. their heads were brought there, and conchobar and celtchar sent them to the camp. it is there that celtchar said to conchobar: [note: rhetoric.] (or it was cuscraid, the stammerer of macha, son of conchobar, sang this song the night before the battle, after the song which loegaire buadach had sung, to wit, 'arise, kings of macha,' etc., and it would be in the camp it was sung.) it was in this night that the vision happened to dubthach doeltenga of ulster, when the hosts were on garach and irgarach. it is there that he said in his sleep: the vision of dubthach 'a wonder of a morning,' [note: rhetoric.] a wonder of a time, when hosts will be confused, kings will be turned, necks will break, the sun will grow red, three hosts will be routed by the track of a host about conchobar. they will strive for their women, they will chase their flocks in fight on the morning, heroes will be smitten, dogs will be checked (?), horses will be pressed (?), ---- ----, ---- will drip, from the assemblies of great peoples.' therewith they awoke through their sleep (?). the nemain threw the host into confusion there; a hundred men of them died. there is silence there then; when they heard cormac condlongas again (or it is ailill mac matae in the camp who sang this): 'the time of ailill. great his truce, the truce of cuillend,' etc. [note: rhetoric.] the march of the companies while these things were being done, the connaughtman determined to send messengers by the counsel of ailill and medb and fergus, to look at the ulstermen, to see whether they had reached the plain. it is there that ailill said: 'go, o mac roth,' said ailill, 'and look for us whether the men are all(?) in the plain of meath in which we are. if they have not come, i have carried off their spoil and their cows; let them give battle to me, if it suits them. i will not await them here any longer.' then mac roth went to look at and to watch the plain. he came back to ailill and medb and fergus the first time then that mac roth looked from the circuit of sliab fuait, he saw that all the wild beast came out of the wood, so that they were all in the plain. 'the second time,' said mac roth, 'that i surveyed the plain, i saw a heavy mist that filled the glens and the valleys, so that it made the hills between them like islands in lakes. then there appeared to me sparks of fire out of this great mist: there appeared to me a variegation of every different colour in the world. i saw then lightning and din and thunder and a great wind that almost took my hair from my head, and threw me on my back; and yet the wind of the day was not great.' 'what is it yonder, o fergus?' said ailill. 'say what it means.' [note: literally, 'is like.'] 'that is not hard; this is what it means,' said fergus: 'this is the ulstermen after coming out of their sickness. it is they who have come into the wood. the throng and the greatness and the violence of the heroes, it is that which has shaken the wood; it is before them that the wild beasts have fled into the plain. the heavy mist that you saw, which filled the valleys, was the breath of those warriors, which filled the glens so that it made the hills between them like islands in lakes. the lightning and the sparks of fire and the many colours that you saw, o mac roth,' said fergus, 'are the eyes of the warriors from their heads which have shone to you like sparks of fire. the thunder and the din and the noise(?) that you heard, was the whistling of the swords and of the ivory-hilted weapons, the clatter of arms, the creaking of the chariots, the beating of the hoofs of the horses, the strength of the warriors, the roar of the fighting-men, the noise of the soldiers, the great rage and anger and fierceness of the heroes going in madness to the battle, for the greatness of the rage and of the fury(?). they would think they would not reach it at all,' said fergus. 'we will await them,' said ailill; 'we have warriors for them.' 'you will need that,' said fergus, 'for there will not be found in all ireland, nor in the west of the world, from greece and scythia westward to the orkneys and to the pillars of hercules and to the tower of bregon and to the island of gades, any one who shall endure the ulstermen in their fury and in their rage,' said fergus. then mac roth went again to look at the march of the men of ulster, so that he was in their camp at slemon midi, and fergus; and he told them certain tidings, and mac roth said in describing them: 'a great company has come, of great fury, mighty, fierce, to the hill at slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'i think there is a cantred therein; they took off their clothing at once, and dug a mound of sods under their leader's seat. a warrior fair and tall and long and high, beautiful, the fairest of kings his form, in the front of the company. hair white-yellow has he, and it curly, neat, bushy (?), ridged, reaching to the hollow of his shoulders. a tunic curly, purple, folded round him; a brooch excellent, of red-gold, in his cloak on his breast; eyes very grey, very fair, in his head; a face proper, purple, has he, and it narrow below and broad above: a beard forked, very curly, gold-yellow he has; a shirt white, hooded, with red ornamentation, round about him; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders; a white shield with rivets(?) of gold; abroad grey spear-head on a slender shaft in his hand. the fairest of the princes of the world his march, both in host and rage and form and dress, both in face and terror and battle and triumph, both in prowess and horror and dignity. 'another company has come there,' said mac roth; 'it is next to the other in number and quarrelling and dress and terror and horror. a fair warrior, heroic, is in the front of this company. a green cloak folded round him; a brooch of gold over his arm; hair curly and yellow: an ivory-hilted sword with a hilt of ivory at his left. a shirt with ---- to his knee; a wound-giving shield with engraved edge; the candle of a palace [note: i.e. spear.] in his hand; a ring of silver about it, and it runs round along the shaft forward to the point, and again it runs to the grip. and that troop sat down on the left hand of the leader of the first troop, and it is thus they sat down, with their knees to the ground, and the rims of their shields against their chins. and i thought there was stammering in the speech of the great fierce warrior who is the leader of that company. 'another company has come there,' said mac roth; 'its appearance is vaster than a cantred; a man brave, difficult, fair, with broad head, before it. hair dark and curly on him; a beard long, with slender points, forked, has he; a cloak dark-grey, ----, folded round him; a leaf-shaped brooch of white metal over his breast; a white, hooded shirt to his knees; a hero's shield with rivets on him; a sword of white silver about his waist; a five-pointed spear in his hand. he sat down in front of the leader of the first troop.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'i know indeed,' said fergus, 'those companies. conchobar, king of a province of ireland, it is he who has sat down on the mound of sods. sencha mac aililla, the orator of ulster, it is he who has sat down before him. cuscraid, the stammerer of macha, son of conchobar, it is he who has sat down at his father's side. it is the custom for the spear that is in his hand in sport yonder before victory ---- before or after. that is a goodly folk for wounding, for essaying every conflict, that has come,' said fergus. 'they will find men to speak with them here,' said medb. 'i swear by the god by whom my people swear,' said fergus, 'there has not been born in ireland hitherto a man who would check the host of ulster.' [note: conjectural; the line is corrupt in the ms.] 'another company has come there,' said mac roth. 'greater than a cantred its number. a great warrior, brave, with horror and terror, and he mighty, fiery-faced, before it. hair dark, greyish on him, and it smooth-thin on his forehead. around shield with engraved edge on him, a spear five-pointed in his hand, a forked javelin beside him; a hard sword on the back of his head; a purple cloak folded round him; a brooch of gold on his arm; a shirt, white, hooded, to his knee.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'he is the putting of a hand on strife; he is a battle champion for fight; he is judgment against enemies who has come there; that is, eogan mac durthacht, king of fermoy is that,' said fergus. 'another company has come, great, fierce, to the hill at slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'they have put their clothing behind them. truly, it is strong, dark, they have come to the hill; heavy is the terror and great the horror which they have put upon themselves; terrible the clash of arms that they made in marching. a man thick of head, brave, like a champion, before it; and he horrible, hideous; hair light, grey on him; eyes yellow, great, in his head; a cloak yellow, with white ---- round about him. a shield, wound-giving, with engraved edge, on him, without; a broad spear, a javelin with a drop of blood along the shaft; and a spear its match with the blood of enemies along its edge in his hand; a great wound-giving sword on his shoulders.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'the man who has so come does not avoid battle or combat or strife: that is, loegaire the victorious, mac connaid meic ilech, from immail from the north,' said fergus. 'another great company has come to slemon midi to the hill,' said mac roth. 'a warrior thick-necked, fleshy, fair, before that company. hair black and curly on him, and he purple, blue-faced; eyes grey, shining, in his head; a cloak grey, lordly (?), about him; a brooch of white silver therein; a black shield with a boss of bronze on it; a spear, covered with eyes, with ---- (?), in his hand; a shirt, braided(?), with red ornamentation, about him; a sword with a hilt of ivory over his dress outside.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'he is the putting of a hand on a skirmish; he is the wave of a great sea that drowns little streams; he is a man of three shouts; he is the judgment of ---- of enemies, who so comes,' said fergus; 'that is, munremar mac gerrcind, from moduirn in the north.' 'another great company has come there to the hill to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'a company very fair, very beautiful, both in number and strife and raiment. it is fiercely that they make for the hill; the clatter of arms which they raised in going on their course shook the host. a warrior fair, excellent, before the company. most beautiful of men his form, both in hair and eyes and fear, both in raiment and form and voice and whiteness, both in dignity and size and beauty, both in weapons and knowledge and adornment, both in equipment and armour and fitness, both in honour and wisdom and race.' 'this is his description,' said fergus; 'he is the brightness of fire, the fair man, fedlimid, who so comes there; he is fierceness of warriors, he is the wave of a storm that drowns, he is might that is not endured, with triumphs out of other territories after destruction (?) of his foes; that is fedlimid ---- ---- there.' 'another company has come there to the hill to slemon midi,' said mac roth, 'which is not fewer than a warlike cantred (?). a warrior great, brave, grey, proper, ----, in front of it. hair black, curly, on him; round eyes, grey(?), very high, in his head. a man bull-like, strong, rough; a grey cloak about him, with a brooch of silver on his arm; a shirt white, hooded, round him; a sword at his side; a red shield with a hard boss of silver on it. a spear with three rivets, broad, in his hand.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'he is the fierce glow of wrath, he is a shaft (?) of every battle; he is the victory of every combat, who has so come there, connad mac mornai from callann,' said fergus. 'another company has come to the hill at slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'it is the march of an army for greatness. the leader who is in front of that company, not common is a warrior fairer both in form and attire and equipment. hair bushy, red-yellow, on him; a face proper, purple, well-proportioned; a face narrow below, broad above; lips red, thin; teeth shining, pearly; a voice clear, ringing; a face fair, purple, shapely; most beautiful of the forms of men; a purple cloak folded round him; a brooch with full adornment of gold, over his white breast; a bent shield with many-coloured rivets, with a boss of silver, at his left; a long spear, grey-edged, with a sharp javelin for attack in his hand; a sword gold-hilted, of gold, on his back; a hooded shirt with red ornamentation about him.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'we know, indeed,' said fergus. 'he is half of a combat truly,' said he, 'who so comes there; he is a fence(?) of battle, he is fierce rage of a bloodhound; rochad mac fathemain from bridamae, your son-in-law, is that, who wedded your daughter yonder, that is, findabair.' 'another company has come to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'a warrior with great calves, stout, with great thighs, big, in front of that company. each of his limbs is almost as thick as a man. truly, he is a man down to the ground,' said he. 'hair black on him; a face full of wounds, purple, has he; an eye parti-coloured, very high, in his head; a man glorious, dexterous, thus, with horror and terror, who has a wonderful apparel, both raiment and weapons and appearance and splendour and dress; he raises himself with the prowess of a warrior, with achievements of ----, with the pride of wilfulness, with a going through battle to rout overwhelming numbers, with wrath upon foes, with a marching on many hostile countries without protection. in truth, mightily have they come on their course into slemon midi.' 'he was ---- of valour and of prowess, in sooth,' said fergus; 'he was of ---- pride(?) and of haughtiness, he was ---- of strength and dignity, ---- then of armies and hosts of my own foster-brother, fergus mac leiti, king of line, point of battle of the north of ireland.' 'another company, great, fierce, has come to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'strife before it, strange dresses on them. a warrior fair, beautiful, before it; gift of every form, both hair and eye and whiteness, both size and strife and fitness; five chains of gold on him; a green cloak folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak over his arm; a shirt white, hooded, about him; the tower of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.' 'fiery is the bearing of the champion of combat who has so come there,' said fergus. 'amorgene, son of eccet salach the smith, from buais in the north is that.' 'another company has come there, to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. it is a drowning for size, it is a fire for splendour, it is a pin for sharpness, it is a battalion for number, it is a rock for greatness, it is ---- for might, it is a judgment for its ----, it is thunder for pride. a warrior rough-visaged, terrible, in front of this company, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; rough hair, a grey beard on him; and he great-nosed, red-limbed; a dark cloak about him, an iron spike on his cloak; a round shield with an engraved edge on him; a rough shirt, braided(?), about him; a great grey spear in his hand, and thirty rivets therein; a sword of seven charges of metal on his shoulders. all the host rose before him, and he overthrew multitudes of the battalion about him in going to the hill.' 'he is a head of strife who has so come,' said fergus; 'he is a half of battle, he is a warrior for valour, he is a wave of a storm which drowns, he is a sea over boundaries; that is, celtchar mac uithechair from dunlethglaisi in the north.' 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'a warrior of one whiteness in front of it, all white, both hair and eyelashes and beard and equipment; a shield with a boss of gold on him, and a sword with a hilt of ivory, and a broad spear with rings in his hand. very heroic has his march come.' 'dear is the bear, strong-striking, who has so come,' said fergus; 'the bear of great deeds against enemies, who breaks men, feradach find fechtnach from the grove of sliab fuait in the north is that.' 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'a hideous warrior in front of it, and he great-bellied, large-lipped; his lips as big as the lips of a horse; hair dark, curly, on him, and he himself ----, broad-headed, long-handed; a cloak black, hairy, about him; a chain of copper over it, a dark grey buckler over his left hand; a spear with chains in his right hand; a long sword on his shoulders.' 'he is a lion red-handed, fierce of ----, who so comes,' said fergus. 'he is high of deeds, great in battle, rough; he is a raging on the land who is unendurable, eirrgi horse-lipped from bri eirge in the north,' said fergus. 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'two warriors, fair, both alike, in front of it; yellow hair on them; two white shields with rivets of silver; they are of equal age. they lift up their feet and set them down together; it is not their manner for either of them to lift up his feet without the other. two heroes, two splendid flames, two points of battle, two warriors, two pillars of fight, two dragons, two fires, two battle-soldiers, two champions of combat, two rods (?), two bold ones, two pets of ulster about the king.' 'who are those, o fergus?' said ailill. 'fiachna and fiacha, two sons of conchobar mac nessa, two darlings of the north of ireland,' said fergus. 'another company has come to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'three warriors, fiery, noble, blue-faced, before it. three heads of hair very yellow have they; three cloaks of one colour in folds about them; three brooches of gold over their arms, three shirts ---- with red ornamentation round about them; three shields alike have they; three swords gold-hilted on their shoulders; three spears, broad-grey, in their right hands. they are of equal age.' 'three glorious champions of coba, three of great deeds of midluachair, three princes of roth, three veterans of the east of sliab fuait,' said fergus; 'the three sons of fiachna are these, after the bull; that is, rus and dairi and imchath,' said fergus. 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'a man lively, fiery, before it; eyes very red, of a champion, in his head; a many-coloured cloak about him; a chain of silver thereon; a grey shield on his left; [a sword] with a hilt of silver at his side; a spear, excellent with a striking of cruelty in his vengeful right hand; a shirt white, hooded, to his knee. a company very red, with wounds, about him, and he himself wounded and bleeding.' 'that,' said fergus, 'is the bold one, unsparing; that is the tearing; it is the boar [note: ir. _rop_, said to be a beast that wounds or gores.] of combat, it is the mad bull; it is the victorious one of baile; it is the warlike one of the gap; it is the champion of colptha, the door of war of the north of ireland: that is, menn mac salchalca from corann. to avenge his wounds upon you has that man come,' said fergus. 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth, 'and they very heroic, mutually willing. a warrior grey, great, broad, tall, before it. hair dark, curly, on him; a cloak red, woollen, about him; a shirt excellent; a brooch of gold over his arms in his cloak; a sword, excellent, with hilt of white silver on his left; a red shield has he; a spear-head broad-grey on a fair shaft [note: conjecture; the irish is obscure.] of ash in his hand. 'a man of three strong blows who has so come,' said fergus; 'a man of three roads, a man of three highways, a man of three gifts, a man of three shouts, who breaks battles on enemies in another province: fergrae mac findchoime from corann is that.' 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'its appearance is greater than a cantred. a warrior white-breasted, very fair, before it; like to ailill yonder in size and beauty and equipment and raiment. a crown of gold above his head; a cloak excellent folded about him; a brooch of gold in the cloak on his breast; a shirt with red ornamentation round about him; a shield wound-giving with rims of gold; the pillar of a palace in his hand; a sword gold-hilted on his shoulders.' 'it is a sea over rivers who has so come, truly,' said fergus; 'it is a fierce glow of fire; his rage towards foes is insupportable: furbaidi ferbend is that,' said fergus. 'another company has come there to the hill, to slemon midi,' said mac roth. 'very heroic, innumerable,' said mac roth; 'strange garments, various, about them, different from other companies. famously have they come, both in arms and raiment and dress. a great host and fierce is that company. a lad flame red before it; the most beautiful of the forms of men his form; ... a shield with white boss in his hand, the shield of gold and a rim of gold round it; a spear sharp, light, with in his hand; a cloak purple, fringed, folded about him; a brooch of silver in the cloak, on his breast; a shirt white, hooded, with red ornamentation, about him; a sword gold-hilted over his dress outside.' therewith fergus is silent. 'i do not know indeed,' said fergus, 'the like of this lad in ulster, except that i think it is the men of temair about a lad proper, wonderful, noble: with erc, son of coirpre niafer and of conchobar's daughter. they love not one another; ---- without his father's leave has that man come, to help his grandfather. it is through the combat of that lad,' said fergus, 'that you will be defeated in the battle. that lad knows not terror nor fear at coming to you among them into the midst of your battalion. it would be like men that the warriors of the men of ulster will roar in saving the calf their heart, in striking the battle. there will come to them a feeling of kinship at seeing that lad in the great battle, striking the battle before them. there will be heard the rumble of conchobar's sword like the barking of a watch-dog in saving the lad. he will throw three walls of men about the battle in seeking the lad. it will be with the affection of kinsmen that the warriors of ulster will attack the countless host,' said fergus. 'i think it long,' said mac roth, 'to be recounting all that i have seen, but i have come meanwhile (?) with tidings to you.' 'you have brought it,' said fergus. 'conall cernach has not come with his great company,' said mac roth; 'the three sons of conchobar with their three cantreds have not come; cuchulainn too has not come there after his wounding in combat against odds. unless it is a warrior with one chariot,' said mac roth, 'i think it would be he who has come there. two horses ... under his chariot; they are long-tailed, broad-hoofed, broad above, narrow beneath, high-headed, great of curve, thin-mouthed, with distended nostrils. two wheels black, ----, with tyres even, smooth-running; the body very high, clattering; the tent ... therein; the pillars carved. the warrior in that chariot four-square, purple-faced; hair cropped short on the top, curly, very black has he, down to his shoulders; ... a cloak red about him; four thirties of feat-poles (?) in each of his two arms. a sword gold-hilted on his left; shield and spear has he, and twenty-four javelins about him on strings and thongs. the charioteer in front of him; the back of the charioteer's head towards the horses, the reins grasped by his toes (?) before him; the chessboard spread between them, half the men of yellow gold, the others of white metal; the _buanfach_ [note: the name of a game; probably in the nature of chess or draughts.] under their thighs. nine feats were performed by him on high.' 'who is that, o fergus?' said ailill. 'an easy question,' said fergus. 'cuchulainn mac sualtaim from the _sid_, [note: cuchulainn was of fairy birth.] and loeg mac riangabra his charioteer. cuchulainn is that,' said fergus. 'many hundreds and thousands,' said mac roth, 'have reached the camp of ulster. many heroes and champions and fighting-men have come with a race to the assembly. many companies,' said mac roth, 'were reaching the same camp, of those who had not reached or come to the camp when i came; only,' said mac roth, 'my eye did not rest on hill or height of all that my eye reached from fer diad's ford to slemon midi, but upon horse and man.' 'you saw the household of a man truly,' said fergus. then conchobar went with his hosts and took camp near the others. conchobar asked for a truce till sunrise on the morrow from ailill, and ailill ratified it for the men of ireland and for the exiles, and conchobar ratified it for the ulstermen; and then conchobar's tents are pitched. the ground between them is a space, ----, bare, and the ulstermen came to it before sunset. then said the morrigan in the twilight between the two camps: [note: rhetoric, seven lines] *** now cuchulainn was at fedan chollna near them. food was brought to him by the hospitallers that night; and they used to come to speak to him by day. he did not kill any of them to the left of fer diad's ford. 'here is a small herd from the camp from the west to the camp to the east,' said the charioteer to cuchulainn. 'here is a troop of lads to meet them.' 'those lads shall come,' said cuchulainn. 'the little herd shall come over the plain. he who will not ---- (?) shall come to help the lads.' this was done then as cuchulainn had said. 'how do the lads of ulster fight the battle?' 'like men,' said the charioteer. 'it would be a vow for them, to fall in rescuing their herds,' said cuchulainn. 'and now?' 'the beardless striplings are fighting now,' said the charioteer. 'has a bright cloud come over the sun yet?' 'not so,' said the charioteer. 'alas, that i had not strength to go to them!' said cuchulainn. 'there will be contest without that to-day,' said the charioteer, 'at sunrise; haughty folk fight the battle now,' said the charioteer, 'save that there are not kings there, for they are still asleep.' then fachna said when the sun rose (or it is conchobar who sang in his sleep): 'arise, kings of macha, of mighty deeds, noble household, grind your weapons, fight the battle,' etc. 'who has sung this?' said every one. 'conchobar mac nessa,' said they; 'or fachtna sang it,' said they. 'sleep, sleep, save your sentinels.' loegaire the victorious was heard: 'arise, kings of macha,' etc. 'who has sung that?' said every one. 'loegaire the victorious, son of connad buide mac ilech. sleep, sleep, except your sentinels.' 'wait for it still,' said conchobar, 'till sunrise ... in the glens and heights of ireland.' when cuchulainn saw the kings from the east taking their crowns on their heads and marshalling (?) the companies, cuchulainn said to his charioteer that he should awaken the ulstermen; and the charioteer said (or it is amairgen, son of eccet the poet, who said): 'arise, kings of macha,' etc. 'i have awakened them,' said the charioteer. 'thus have they come to the battle, quite naked, except for their arms only. he, the door of whose tent is east, has come out through it west.' 'it is a "goodly help of necessity,"' said cuchulainn. the adventures of the ulstermen are not followed up here now. as for the men of ireland, badb and net's wife and nemain [note: nemain was the wife of net, the war-god, according to cormac.] called upon them that night on garach and irgarach, so that a hundred warriors of them died for terror; that was not the most peaceful of nights for them. the muster of the men of ireland here ailill mac matae sang that night before the battle, and said: 'arise, arise,' etc [note: here follows a list of names.] as for cuchulainn, this is what is told here now. 'look for us, o my friend, o loeg, how the ulstermen are fighting the battle now.' 'like men,' said the charioteer. 'though i were to go with my chariot, and oen the charioteer of conall cernach with his chariot, so that we should go from one wing to the other along the dense mass, neither hoofs nor tyres shall go through it.' 'that is the stuff for a great battle,' said cuchulainn. 'nothing must be done in the battle,' said cuchulainn to his charioteer, 'that we shall not know from you.' 'that will be true, so far as i can,' said the charioteer. 'the place where the warriors are now from the west,' said the charioteer, 'they make a breach in the battle eastwards. their first defence from the east, they make a breach in the battle westwards.' 'alas! that i am not whole!' said cuchulainn; 'my breach would be manifest like the rest.' then came the men of the bodyguard to the ford of the hosting. fine the way in which the fightingmen came to the battle on garach and irgarach. then came the nine chariot-men of the champions of iruath, three before them on foot. not more slowly did they come than the chariot-men. medb did not let them into the battle, for dragging ailill out of the battle if it is him they should defeat, or for killing conchobar if it is he who should be defeated. then his charioteer told cuchulainn that ailill and medb were asking fergus to go into the battle; and they said to him that it was only right for him to do it, for they had done him much kindness on his exile. 'if i had my sword indeed,' said fergus, 'the heads of men over shields would be more numerous with me than hailstones in the mire to which come the horses of a king after they have broken into the land (?).' then fergus made this oath: 'i swear, etc., there would be broken by me cheeks of men from their necks, necks of men with their (lower) arms, arms of men with their elbows, elbows of men with their arms, arms of men with their fists, fists of men with their fingers, fingers of men with their nails, [nails] of men with their skull-roofs, skull-roofs of men with their middle, middle of men with their thighs, thighs of men with their knees, knees of men with their calves, calves of men with their feet, feet of men with their toes, toes of men with their nails. i would make their necks whizz (?) ---- as a bee would move to and fro on a day of beauty (?).' then ailill said to his charioteer: 'let there come to me the sword which destroys skin. i swear by the god by whom my people swear, if you have its bloom worse to-day than on the day on which i gave it to you in the hillside in the boundary of ulster, though the men of ireland were protecting you from me, they should not protect you.' then his sword was brought to fergus, and ailill said: 'take thy sword,' etc. [note: rhetoric, twelve lines.] 'a pity for thee to fall on the field of battle, thick [with slain ?],' said fergus to ailill. the badb and net's wife and the nemain called on them that night on garach and irgarach; so that a hundred warriors of them died for terror. that was not the quietest of nights for them. then fergus takes his arms and turns into the battle, and clears a gap of a hundred in the battle with his sword in his two hands. then medb took the arms of fergus (?) and rushed into the battle, and she was victorious thrice, so that she was driven back by force of arms. 'i do not know,' said conchobar to his retinue who were round him, 'before whom has the battle been broken against us from the north. do you maintain the fight here, that i may go against him.' 'we will hold the place in which we are,' said the warriors, 'unless the earth bursts beneath us, or the heaven upon us from above, so that we shall break therefrom.' then conchobar came against fergus. he lifts his shield against him, i.e. conchobar's shield ochan, with three horns of gold on it, and four ----- of gold over it. fergus strikes three blows on it, so that even the rim of his shield over his head did not touch him. 'who of the ulstermen holds the shield?' said fergus. 'a man who is better than you,' said conchobar; 'and he has brought you into exile into the dwellings of wolves and foxes, and he will repel you to-day in combat in the presence of the men of ireland.' fergus aimed on him a blow of vengeance with his two hands on conchobar, so that the point of the sword touched the ground behind him. cormac condlongas put his hands upon him, and closed his two hands about his arm. '----, o my friend, o fergus,' said cormac. '... hostile is the friendship; right is your enmity; your compact has been destroyed; evil are the blows that you strike, o friend, o fergus,' said cormac. 'whom shall i smite?' said fergus. 'smite the three hills ... in some other direction over them; turn your hand; smite about you on every side, and have no consideration for them. take thought for the honour of ulster: what has not been lost shall not be lost, if it be not lost through you to-day (?). 'go in some other direction, o conchobar,' said cormac to his father; 'this man will not put out his rage on the ulstermen any more here.' fergus turned away. he slew a hundred warriors of ulster in the first combat with the sword. he met conall cernach. 'too great rage is that,' said conall cernach, 'on people and race, for a wanton.' 'what shall i do, o warriors?' said he. 'smite the hills across them and the champions (?) round them,' said conall cernach. fergus smote the hills then, so that he struck the three maela [note: i.e. flat-topped hills.] of meath with his three blows. cuchulainn heard the blows then that fergus gave on the hills or on the shield of conchobar himself. 'who strikes the three strong blows, great and distant?' said cuchulainn. ... then loeg answered and said: 'the choice of men, fergus mac roich the very bold, smites them.' ... then cuchulainn said: 'unloose quickly the hazeltwigs; blood covers men, play of swords will be made, men will be spent therefrom.' then his dry wisps spring from him on high, as far as ---- goes; and his hazel-twigs spring off, till they were in mag tuag in connaught ... and he smote the head of each of the two handmaidens against the other, so that each of them was grey from the brain of the other. they came from medb for pretended lamentation over him, that his wounds might burst forth on him; and to say that the ulstermen had been defeated, and that fergus had fallen in opposing the battle, since cuchulainn's coming into the battle had been prevented. the contortion came on him, and twenty-seven skin-tunics were given to him, that used to be about him under strings and thongs when he went into battle; and he takes his chariot on his back with its body and its two tyres, and he made for fergus round about the battle. 'turn hither, o friend fergus,' said cuchulainn; and he did not answer till the third time. 'i swear by the god by whom the ulstermen swear,' said he, 'i will wash thee as foam [note: reading with l.l.] (?) is washed in a pool, i will go over thee as the tail goes over a cat, i will smite thee as a fond mother smites her son.' 'which of the men of ireland speaks thus to me?' said fergus. 'cuchulainn mac sualtaim, sister's son to conchobar,' said cuchulainn; 'and avoid me,' said he. 'i have promised even that,' said fergus. 'your promise falls due, then,' said cuchulainn. 'good,' said fergus, '(you avoided me), when you are pierced with wounds.' then fergus went away with his cantred; the leinstermen go and the munstermen; and they left in the battle nine cantreds of medb's and ailill's and their seven sons. in the middle of the day it is that cuchulainn came into the battle; when the sun came into the leaves of the wood, it is then that he defeated the last company, so that there remained of the chariot only a handful of the ribs about the body, and a handful of the shafts about the wheel. cuchulainn overtook medb then when he went into the battle. 'protect me,' said medb. 'though i should slay thee with a slaying, it were lawful for me,' said cuchulainn. then he protected her, because he used not to slay women. he convoyed them westward, till they passed ath luain. then he stopped. he struck three blows with his sword on the stone in ath luain. their name is the maelana [note: i.e., flat-topped hills] of ath luain. when the battle was broken, then said medb to fergus: 'faults and meet here to-day, o fergus,' said she. 'it is customary,' said fergus, 'to every herd which a mare precedes; ... after a woman who has ill consulted their interest.' they take away the bull then in that morning of the battle, so that he met the white-horned at tarbga in mag ai; i.e. tarbguba or tarbgleo.[note: 'bull-sorrow or bull-fight,' etymological explanation of tarbga.] the first name of that hill was roi dedond. every one who escaped in the fight was intent on nothing but beholding the two bulls fighting. bricriu poison-tongue was in the west in his sadness after fergus had broken his head with his draughtmen [note: this story is told in the _echtra nerai_. (see _revue celtique_, vol. x. p. .)] he came with the rest then to see the combat of the bulls. the two bulls went in fighting over bricriu, so that he died therefrom. that is the death of bricriu. the foot of the dun of cualnge lighted on the horn of the other. for a day and a night he did not draw his foot towards him, till fergus incited him and plied a rod along his body. ''twere no good luck,' said fergus, 'that this conbative old calf which has been brought here should leave the honour of clan and race; and on both sides men have been left dead through you.' therewith he drew his foot to him so that his leg (?) was broken, and the horn sprang from the other and was in the mountain by him. it was sliab n-adarca [note: mountain of the horn.] afterwards. he carried them then a journey of a day and a night, till he lighted in the loch which is by cruachan, and he came to cruachan out of it with the loin and the shoulder-blade and the liver of the other on his horns. then the hosts came to kill him. fergus did not allow it, but that he should go where he pleased. he came then to his land and drank a draught in findlethe on coming. it is there that he left the shoulderblade of the other. findlethe afterwards was the name of the land. he drank another draught in ath luain; he left the loin of the other there: hence is ath luain. he gave forth his roar on iraird chuillend; it was heard through all the province. he drank a draught in tromma. there the liver of the other fell from his horns; hence is tromma. he came to etan tairb. [note: the bull's forehead.] he put his forehead against the hill at ath da ferta; hence is etan tairb in mag murthemne. then he went on the road of midluachair in cuib. there he used to be with the milkless cow of dairi, and he made a trench there. hence is gort buraig. [note: the field of the trench.] then he went till he died between ulster and iveagh at druim tairb. druim tairb is the name of that place. ailill and medb made peace with the ulstermen and with cuchulainn. for seven years after there was no wounding of men between them. findabair stayed with cuchulainn, and the connaughtmen went to their country, and the ulstermen to emain macha with their great triumph. finit, amen. note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original lovely illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) the high deeds of finn and other bardic romances of ancient ireland by t. w. rolleston with an introduction by stopford a. brooke, m.a. ll.d. and with sixteen illustrations by stephen reid new york thomas y. crowell & company publishers ar craoibh connartha na gaedhilge i ngleann fhaidhle bronnaim an leabhar seo: beannacht agus buaidh libhse go deo preface the romantic tales here retold for the english reader belong neither to the category of folk-lore nor of myth, although most of them contain elements of both. they belong, like the tales of cuchulain, which have been similarly presented by miss hull,[ ] to the bardic literature of ancient ireland, a literature written with an artistic purpose by men who possessed in the highest degree the native culture of their land and time. the aim with which these men wrote is also that which has been adopted by their present interpreter. i have not tried, in this volume, to offer to the scholar materials for the study of celtic myth or folk-lore. my aim, however i may have fulfilled it, has been artistic, not scientific. i have tried, while carefully preserving the main outline of each story, to treat it exactly as the ancient bard treated his own material, or as tennyson treated the stories of the mort d'arthur, that is to say, to present it as a fresh work of poetic imagination. in some cases, as in the story of the children of lir, or that of mac datho's boar, or the enchanting tale of king iubdan and king fergus, i have done little more than retell the bardic legend with merely a little compression; but in others a certain amount of reshaping has seemed desirable. the object in all cases has been the same, to bring out as clearly as possible for modern readers the beauty and interest which are either manifest or implicit in the gaelic original. [ ] cuchulain, the hound of ulster. by eleanor hull. for stories which are only found in mss. written in the older forms of the language, i have been largely indebted to the translations published by various scholars. chief among these (so far as the present work is concerned) must be named mr standish hayes o'grady--whose wonderful treasure-house of gaelic legend, silva gadelica, can never be mentioned by the student of these matters without an expression of admiration and of gratitude; mr a.h. leahy, author of heroic romances of ireland; dr whitly stokes, professor kuno meyer, and m. d'arbois de jubainville, whose invaluable cycle mythologique irlandais has been much in my hands, both in the original and in the excellent english translation of mr r.i. best. particulars of the source of each story will be found in the notes on the sources at the end of this volume. in the same place will also be found a pronouncing-index of proper names. i have endeavoured, in the text, to avoid or to modify any names which in their original form would baffle the english reader, but there remain some on the pronunciation of which he may be glad to have a little light. the two most conspicuous figures in ancient irish legend are cuchulain, who lived--if he has any historical reality--in the reign of conor mac nessa immediately before the christian era, and finn son of cumhal, who appears in literature as the captain of a kind of military order devoted to the service of the high king of ireland during the third century a.d. miss hull's volume has been named after cuchulain, and it is appropriate that mine should bear the name of finn, as it is mainly devoted to his period; though, as will be seen, several stories belonging to other cycles of legend, which did not fall within the scope of miss hull's work, have been included here.[ ] all the tales have been arranged roughly in chronological order. this does not mean according to the date of their composition, which in most cases is quite indiscoverable, and still less, according to the dates of the mss. in which they are contained. the order is given by the position, in real or mythical history, of the events they deal with. of course it is not practicable to dovetail them into one another with perfect accuracy. where a story, like that of the children of lir, extends over nearly a thousand years, beginning with the mythical people of dana and ending in the period of christian monasticism, one can only decide on its place by considering where it will throw most light on those which come nearest to it. in this, as in the selection and treatment of the tales, there is of course room for much difference of opinion. i can only ask the critic to believe that nothing has been done in the framing of this collection of gaelic romances without the consideration and care which the value of the material demands and which the writer's love of it has inspired. t.w. rolleston [ ] there is one important tale of the finn cycle, the _pursuit of dermot and grania_, which i have not included. i have omitted it, partly because it presents the character of finn in a light inconsistent with what is said of him elsewhere, and partly because it has in it a certain sinister and depressing element which renders it unsuitable for a collection intended largely for the young. contents introduction cois na teineadh bardic romances i. the story of the children of lir ii. the quest of the sons of turenn iii. the secret of labra iv. king iubdan and king fergus v. the carving of mac datho's boar vi. the vengeance of mesgedra vii. the story of etain and midir viii. how ethne quitted fairyland the high deeds of finn ix. the boyhood of finn mac cumhal x. the coming of finn xi. finn's chief men xii. the tale of vivionn the giantess xiii. the chase of the gilla dacar xiv. the birth of oisÍn xv. oisÍn in the land of youth the history of king cormac xvi. . the birth of cormac . the judgment of cormac . the marriage of king cormac . the instructions of the king . cormac sets up the first mill in erinn . a pleasant story of cormac's brehon . the judgment concerning cormac's sword . the disappearance of cormac . description of cormac . death and burial of cormac notes on the sources pronouncing index illustrations "finn heard far off the first notes of the fairy harp" (frontispiece) "there sat the three maidens with the queen" "they made an encampment and the swans sang to them" "bear us swiftly, boat of mananan, to the garden of the hesperides" "there dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs" "they all trooped out, lords and ladies, to view the wee man" "fergus goes down into the lake" "a mighty shout of exultation arose from the ulstermen" "they rose up in the air" "she heard her own name called again and again" "and that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut" "they ran him by hill and plain" "dermot took the horn and would have filled it" "'follow me now to the hill of allen'" "they rode up to a stately palace" "the white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist" introduction many years have passed by since, delivering the inaugural lecture of the irish literary society in london, i advocated as one of its chief aims the recasting into modern form and in literary english of the old irish legends, preserving the atmosphere of the original tales as much as possible, but clearing them from repetitions, redundant expressions, idioms interesting in irish but repellent in english, and, above all, from absurdities, such as the sensational fancy of the later editors and bards added to the simplicities of the original tales. long before i spoke of this, it had been done by p.w. joyce in his old celtic romances, and by standish o'grady for the whole story of cuchulain, but in this case with so large an imitation of the homeric manner that the celtic spirit of the story was in danger of being lost. this was the fault i had to find with that inspiring book,[ ] but it was a fault which had its own attraction. [ ] i gave this book--_the history of ireland_ (heroic period)--to burne-jones in order to interest him in irish myth and legend. "i'll try and read it," he said. a week afterwards he came and said--"it is a new world of thought and pleasure you have opened to me. i knew nothing of this, and life is quite enlarged. but now, i want to see all the originals. where can i get them?" i have only spoken of prose writing above. but in poetry (and in poetry well fitted to the tales), this work had already been done nobly, and with a fine celtic splendour of feeling and expression, by sir samuel ferguson. since then, a number of writers have translated into literary english a host of the irish tales, and have done this with a just reverence for their originals. being, in nearly every case, irish themselves, they have tried, with varying success, to make their readers realize the wild scenery of ireland, her vital union with the sea and the great ocean to the west, those changing dramatic skies, that mystic weather, the wizard woods and streams which form the constant background of these stories; nor have they failed to allure their listeners to breathe the spiritual air of ireland, to feel its pathetic, heroic, imaginative thrill. they have largely succeeded in their effort. the irish bardic tales have now become a part of english literature and belong not only to grown up persons interested in early poetry, in mythology and folk-customs, but to the children of ireland and england. our new imaginative stories are now told in nurseries, listened to at evening when the children assemble in the fire-light to hear tales from their parents, and eagerly read by boys at school. a fresh world of story-telling has been opened to the imagination of the young. this could not have been done in the right way if it had not been for the previous work of celtic scholars in ireland, and particularly on the continent, in france and germany. having mastered medieval irish, they have translated with careful accuracy many of the ancient tales, omitting and changing nothing; they have edited them critically, collating and comparing them with one another, and with other forms of the same stories. we have now in english, french, and german the exact representation of the originals with exhaustive commentaries. when this necessary work was finished--and it was absolutely necessary--it had two important results on all work of the kind mr rolleston has performed in this book--on the imaginative recasting and modernizing of the ancient tales. first, it made it lawful and easy for the modern artist--in sculpture, painting, poetry, or imaginative prose--to use the stories as he pleased in order to give pleasure to the modern world. it made it lawful because he could reply to those who objected that what he produced was not the real thing--"the real thing exists; you will find it, when you wish to see it, accurately and closely translated by critical and competent scholars. i refer you to the originals in the notes to this book. i have found the materials of my stories in these originals; and it is quite lawful for me, now that they have been reverently preserved, to use them as i please for the purpose of giving pleasure to the modern world--to make out of them fresh imaginative work, as the medieval writers did out of the original stories of arthur and his men." this is the defence any re-caster of the ancient tales might make of the _lawfulness_ of his work, and it is a just defence; having, above all, this use--that it leaves the imagination of the modern artist free, yet within recognized and ruling limits, to play in and around his subject. one of those limits is the preservation, in any remodelling of the tales, of the celtic atmosphere. to tell the irish stories in the manner of homer or apuleius, in the manner of the norse sagas, or in the manner of malory, would be to lose their very nature, their soul, their nationality. we should no longer understand the men and women who fought and loved in ireland, and whose characters were moulded by irish surroundings, customs, thoughts, and passions. we should not see or feel the landscape of ireland or its skies, the streams, the woods, the animals and birds, the mountain solitudes, as we feel and see them in the original tales. we should not hear, as we hear in their first form, the stormy seas between scotland and antrim, or the great waves which roar on the western isles, and beat on cliffs which still belong to another world than ours. the genius of ireland would desert our work. and it would be a vast pity to lose the irish atmosphere in the telling of the irish tales, because it is unique; not only distinct from that of the stories of other races, but from that of the other branches of the celtic race. it differs from the atmosphere of the stories of wales, of brittany, of the highlands and islands of scotland. it is more purely celtic, less mixed than any of them. a hundred touches in feeling, in ways of thought, in sensitiveness to beauty, in war and voyaging, and in ideals of life, separate it from that of the other celtic races. it is owing to the careful, accurate, and critical work of continental and irish scholars on the manuscript materials of irish law, history, bardic tales, and poetry; on customs, dress, furniture, architecture, ornament, on hunting and sailing; on the manners of men and women in war and peace, that the modern re-teller of the irish tales is enabled to conserve the irish atmosphere. and this conservation of the special irish atmosphere is the second result which the work of the critical scholars has established. if the re-writer of the tales does not use the immense materials made ready to his hand for illustration, expansion, ornament and description in such a way that ireland, and only ireland, lives in his work from line to line, he is greatly to be blamed. mr rolleston has fulfilled these conditions with the skill and the feeling of an artist. he has clung closely to his originals with an affectionate regard for their ancientry, their ardour and their distinction, and yet has, within this limit, used and modified them with a pleasant freedom. his love of ireland has instilled into his representation of these tales a passion akin to that which gave them birth. we feel, as we read, how deep his sympathy has been with their intensity, their love of wild nature, their desire for beauty, their interest in humanity and in character, their savagery and their tenderness, their fairy magic and strange imaginations that suddenly surprise and charm. whenever anything lovely emerges in the tale, he does not draw attention to it, but touches it with so artistic a pencil that its loveliness is enhanced. and he has put into english verse the irish poems scattered through the tales with the skill and the temper of a poet. i hope his book will win what it deserves--the glad appreciation of old and young in england, and the gratitude of ireland. the stories told in this book belong to three distinct cycles of irish story-telling. the first are mythological, and are concerned with the early races that are fabled to have dwelt and fought in ireland among these the tuatha de danaan were the final conquerors, and held the land for two hundred years they were, it is supposed, of the celtic stock, but they were not the ancestors of the present irish. these were the milesians (irish, scots or gaelic who, conquering the tuatha de danaan, ruled ireland till they were overcome by the english.) the stories which have to do with the tuatha de danaan are mythical and of a great antiquity concerning men and women, the wisest and the best of whom became gods, and who appear as divine beings in the cycle of tales which follow after them they were always at war with a fierce and savage people called fomorians, whom they finally defeated and the strife between them may mythically represent the ancient war between the good and evil principles in the world. in the next cycle we draw nearer to history, and are in the world not of myth but of legend. it is possible that some true history may be hidden underneath its sagas, that some of its personages may be historical, but we cannot tell. the events are supposed to occur about the time of the birth of christ, and seventeen hundred years after those of the mythical period. this is the cycle which collects its wars and sorrows and splendours around the dominating figure of cuchulain, and is called the heroic or the red branch or the ultonian cycle. several sagas tell of the birth, the life, and the death of cuchulain, and among them is the longest and the most important--the táin--the _cattle raid of cooley_. others are concerned with the great king conor mac nessa, and the most known and beautiful of these is the sorrowful tale of deirdré. there are many others of the various heroes and noble women who belonged to the courts of conor and of his enemy queen maev of connaght. the _carving of mac datho's boar_, the story of _etain and midir_, and the _vengeance of mesgedra_, contained in this book belong to these miscellaneous tales unconnected with the main saga of cuchulain. the second cycle is linked to the first, not by history or race, but by the fact that the great personages in the first have now become the gods who intervene in the affairs of the wars and heroes of the second. they take part in them as the gods do in the iliad and the odyssey. lugh, the long-handed, the great counsellor of the tuatha de danaan, is now a god, and is the real father of cuchulain, heals him of his wounds in the battle of the ford, warns him of his coming death, and receives him into the immortal land. the morrigan, who descends from the first cycle, is now the goddess of war, and is at first the enemy and afterwards the lover of cuchulain. angus, the dagda, mananan the sea-god, enter not only into the sagas of the second cycle, but into those of the third, of the cycle of finn. and all along to the very end of the stories, and down indeed to the present day, the tuatha de danaan appear in various forms, slowly lessening in dignity and power, until they end in the fairy folk in whom the irish peasants still believe. they are alive and still powerful in the third--the fenian--cycle of stories, some of which are contained and adorned in this book. in their continued presence is the only connexion which exists between the three cycles. no personages of the first save these of the gods appear in the heroic cycle, none of the heroic cycle appears in the fenian cycle. seventeen hundred years, according to irish annalists, separate the first from the second, more than two hundred years separate the second from the beginning of the third. the third cycle is called fenian because its legends tell, for the most part, of the great deeds of the féni or fianna, who were the militia employed by the high king to support his supremacy, to keep ireland in order, to defend the country from foreign invasion. they were, it seems, finally organized by cormac mac art, a.d.(?) the grandson of conn the hundred fighter. but they had loosely existed before in the time of conn and his son art, and like all mercenary bodies of this kind were sometimes at war with the kings who employed them. finally, at the battle of gowra, they and their power were quite destroyed. long before this destruction, they were led in the reign of cormac by finn the son of cumhal, and it is around finn and oisín the son of finn, that most of the romances of the fenian cycle are gathered. others which tell of the battles and deeds of conn and art and cormac and cairbre of the liffey, cormac's son, are more or less linked on to the fenians. on the whole, finn and his warriors, each of a distinct character, warlike skill and renown, are the main personages of the cycle, and though finn is not the greatest warrior, he is their head and master because he is the wisest; and this masterdom by knowledge is for the first time an element in irish stories. if the tales of the first cycle are mythological and of the second heroic, these are romantic. the gods have lost their dreadful, even their savage character, and have become the fairies, full often of gentleness, grace, and humour. the mysterious dwelling places of the gods in the sea, in unknown lands, in the wandering air, are now in palaces under the green hills of ireland, or by the banks of swift clear rivers, like the palace of angus near the boyne, or across the seas in tir-na-n-Óg, the land of immortal youth, whither niam brings oisín to live with her in love, as morgan le fay brought ogier the dane to her fairyland. the land of the immortals in the heroic cycle, to which, in the story of _etain and midir_ in this book, midir brings back etain after she has sojourned for a time on earth, is quite different in conception from the land of youth over the far seas where delightfulness of life and love is perfect. this, in its conception of an unknown world where is immortal youth, where stormless skies, happy hunting, strange adventure, gentle manners dwell, where love is free and time is unmarked, is pure romance. so are the adventures of finn against enchanters, as in the story of the _birth of oisín_, of _dermot in the country under the seas_, in the story of the _pursuit of the gilla dacar_, of the wild love-tale of _dermot and grania_, flying for many years over all ireland from the wrath of finn, and of a host of other tales of enchantments and battle, and love, and hunting, and feasts, and discoveries, and journeys, invasions, courtships, and solemn mournings. no doubt the romantic atmosphere has been deepened in these tales by additions made to them by successive generations of bardic singers and storytellers, but for all that the original elements in the stories are romantic as they are not in the previous cycles. again, these fenian tales are more popular than the others. douglas hyde has dwelt on this distinction. "for years at least, they have been," he says, "intimately bound up with the thought and feelings of the whole gaelic race in ireland and scotland." even at the present day new forms are given to the tales in the cottage homes of ireland. and it is no wonder. the mysterious giant forms of the mythological period, removed by divinity from the sympathy of men; the vast heroic figures of cuchulain and his fellows and foes, their close relation to supernatural beings and their doings, are far apart from the more natural humanity of cormac and finn, of dermot and goll, of oisín and oscar, of keelta, and last of conan, the coward, boaster and venomous tongue, whom all the fenians mocked and yet endured. they are a very human band of fighting men, and though many of them, like oisín and finn and dermot, have adventures in fairyland, they preserve in these their ordinary human nature. the connacht peasant has no difficulty in following finn into the cave of slieve cullinn, where the witch turned him into a withered old man, for the village where he lives has traditions of the same kind; the love affairs of finn, of dermot and grania, and of many others, are quite in harmony with a hundred stories, and with the temper, of irish lovers. a closer, a simpler humanity than that of the other cycles pervades the fenian cycle, a greater chivalry, a greater courtesy, and a greater tenderness. we have left the primeval savagery behind, the multitudinous slaughtering, the crude passions of the earlier men and women; we are nearer to civilization, nearer to the common temper and character of the irish people. no one can doubt this who will compare the _vengeance of mesgedra_ with the _chase of the gilla dacar_. the elaborate courtesy with which finn and his chief warriors receive all comers, as in the story of vivionn the giantess, is quite new, even medieval in its chivalry; so is the elaborate code of honour; so also is, on the whole, the treatment of women and their relation to men. how far this resemblance to medieval romance has been intruded into the stories--(there are some in which there is not a trace of it)--by the after editors and re-editors of the tales, i cannot tell, but however that may be, their presence in the fenian cycle is plain; and this brings the stories into a kindlier and more pleasurable atmosphere for modern readers than that which broods in thunderous skies and fierce light over dreadful passions and battles thick and bloody in the previous cycles. we are in a gentler world. another more modern romantic element in the fenian legends is the delight in hunting, and that more affectionate relation of men to animals which always marks an advance in civilization. hunting, as in medieval romance, is one of the chief pleasures of the fenians. six months of the year they passed in the open, getting to know every part of the country they had to defend, and hunting through the great woods and over the hills for their daily food and their daily delight. the story of the _chase of the gilla dacar_ tells, at its beginning, of a great hunting and of finn's men listening with joy to the cries of the hunters and the loud chiding of the dogs; and many tales celebrate the following of the stag and the wild boar from early dawn to the evening. then finn's two great hounds, bran and sceolaun, are loved by finn and his men as if they were dear friends; and they, when their master is in danger or under enchantment wail like human beings for his loss or pain. it is true cuchulain's horses weep tears of blood when he goes forth to his last battle, foreknowing his death; but they are immortal steeds and have divine knowledge of fate. the dogs of finn are only dogs, and the relation between him and them is a natural relation, quite unlike the relation between cuchulain and the horses which draw his chariot. yet finn's dogs are not quite as other dogs. they have something of a human soul in them. they know that in the milk-white fawn they pursue there is an enchanted maiden, and they defend her from the other hounds till finn arrives. and it is told of them that sometimes, when the moon is high, they rise from their graves and meet and hunt together, and speak of ancient days. the supernatural has lessened since the heroic cycle. but it is still there in the fenian. again, the fenian cycle of tales is more influenced by christianity than the others are. the mythological cycle is not only fully pagan, it is primeval. it has the vastness, the savagery, the relentlessness of nature-myths, and what beauty there is in it is akin to terror. gentleness is unknown. there is only one exception to this, so far as i know, and that is in the story of _the children of lir_. it is plain, however, that the christian ending of that sorrowful story is a later addition to it. it is remarkably well done, and most tenderly. i believe that the artist who did it imported into the rest of the tale the exquisite tenderness which fills it, and yet with so much reverence for his original that he did not make the body of the story christian. he kept the definite christian element to the very end, but he filled the whole with its tender atmosphere. no christianity and very little gentleness intrude into the heroic cycle. the story of christ once touches it, but he who put it in did not lose the pagan atmosphere, or the wild fierceness of the manners of the time. how it was done may be read in this book at the end of the story of the _vengeance of mesgedra_. very late in the redaction of these stories a christian tag was also added to the tale of the death of cuchulain, but it was very badly done. when we come to the fenian cycle there is a well-defined borderland between them and christianity. the bulk of the stories is plainly pagan; their originals were frankly so. but the temper of their composers is more civilized than that of those who conceived the tales of the previous cycles; the manners, as i have already said, of their personages are gentler, more chivalrous; and their atmosphere is so much nearer to that of christianity, that the new christian elements would find themselves more at home in them than in the terrible vengeance of lugh, the savage brutality of conor to deirdré, or the raging slaughterings of cuchulain. so much was this the case that a story was skilfully invented which linked in imagination the fenian cycle to a christianized ireland. this story--_oisín in the land of youth_--is contained in this book. oisín, or ossian, the son of finn, in an enchanted story, lives for years, always young, with his love in tir-na-n-Óg, and finds on his return, when he becomes a withered old man, st patrick and christianity in ireland. he tells to patrick many tales of the fenian wars and loves and glories, and in the course of them paganism and christianity are contrasted and intermingled. a certain sympathy with the pagan ideas of honour and courage and love enters into the talk of patrick and the monks, and softens their pious austerity. on the other hand, the fenian legends are gentled and influenced by the christian elements, in spite of the scorn with which oisín treats the rigid condemnation of his companions and of finn to the christian hell, and the ascetic and unwarlike life of the monks.[ ] there was evidently in the fenian cycle of story-telling a transition period in which the bards ran christianity and paganism in and out of one another, and mingled the atmosphere of both, and to that period the last editing of the story of _lir and his children_ may be referred. a lovely story in this book, put into fine form by mr rolleston, is as it were an image of this transition time--the story or _how ethne quitted fairyland_. it takes us back to the most ancient cycle, for it tells of the great gods angus and mananan, and then of how they became, after their conquest by the race who live in the second cycle, the invisible dwellers in a fairy country of their own during the fenian period, and, afterwards, when patrick and the monks had overcome paganism. thus it mingles together elements from all the periods. the mention of the great caldron and the swine which always renew their food is purely mythological. the cows which come from the holy land are christian. ethne herself is born in the house of a pagan god who has become a fairy king, but loses her fairy nature and becomes human; and the reason given for this is an interesting piece of psychology which would never have occurred to a pagan world. she herself is a transition maiden, and, suddenly finding herself outside the fairy world and lost, happens on a monastery and dies on the breast of st patrick. but she dies because of the wild wailing for her loss of the fairy-host, whom she can hear but cannot see, calling to her out of the darkened sky to come back to her home. and in her sorrow and the battle in her between the love of christ and of faerie, she dies. that is a symbol, not intended as such by its conceiver, but all the more significant, of the transition time. short as it is, few tales, perhaps, are more deeply charged with spiritual meaning. [ ] i speak here of the better known of the two versions of this encounter of the pagan with the christian spirit. there are others in which the reconciliation is carried still further. one example is to be found in the _colloquy of the ancients_ (silva gadelica). here finn and his companions are explicitly pronounced to be saved by their natural virtues, and the relations of the church and the fenian warriors are most friendly. independent of these three cycles, but often touching them here and there, and borrowing from them, there are a number of miscellaneous tales which range from the earliest times till the coming of the danes. the most celebrated of these are the _storming of the hostel_ with the death of conary the high king of ireland, and the story of the boru tribute. two examples of these miscellaneous tales of a high antiquity are contained in this book--_king iubdan and king fergus_ and _etain and midir_. both of them have great charm and delightfulness. finally, the manner in which these tales grew into form must be remembered when we read them. at first, they were not written down, but recited in hall and with a harp's accompaniment by the various bardic story-tellers who were attached to the court of the chieftain, or wandered singing and reciting from court to court. each bard, if he was a creator, filled up the original framework of the tale with ornaments of his own, or added new events or personages to the tale, or mixed it up with other related tales, or made new tales altogether attached to the main personages of the original tale--episodes in their lives into which the bardic fancy wandered. if these new forms of the tales or episodes were imaginatively true to the characters round which they were conceived and to the atmosphere of the time, they were taken up by other bards and became often separate tales, or if a great number attached themselves to one hero, they finally formed themselves into one heroic story, such as that which is gathered round cuchulain, which, as it stands, is only narrative, but might in time have become epical. indeed, the tàin approaches, though at some distance, an epic. in this way that mingling of elements out of the three cycles into a single saga took place. then when christianity came, the irish who always, christians or not, loved their race and its stories, would not let them go. they took them and suffused them with a christian tenderness, even a christian forgiveness. or they inserted christian endings, while they left the rest of the stories as pagan as before. later on, while the stories were still learned by the bards and recited, they were written down, and somewhat spoiled by a luxurious use of ornamental adjectives, and by the weak, roving and uninventive fancy of men and monks aspiring to literature but incapable of reaching it. however, in spite of all this intermingling and of the different forms of the same story, it is possible for an intelligent and sensitive criticism, well informed in comparative mythology and folklore, to isolate what is very old in these tales from that which is less old, and that in turn from that which is still less old, and that from what is partly historical, medieval or modern. this has been done, with endless controversy, by those excellent german, french, and irish scholars who have, with a thirsty pleasure, recreated the ancient literature of ireland, and given her once more a literary name among the nations--a name which, having risen again, will not lose but increase its brightness. * * * * * as to the stories themselves, they have certain well-marked characteristics, and in dwelling on these, i shall chiefly refer, for illustration, to the stories in this book. some of these characteristic elements belong to almost all mythological tales, and arise from human imagination, in separated lands, working in the same or in a similar way on the doings of nature, and impersonating them. the form, however, in which these original ideas are cast is, in each people, modified and varied by the animal life, the climate, the configuration of the country, the nearness of mountain ranges and of the sea, the existence of wide forests or vast plains, of swift rivers and great inland waters. the earliest tales of ireland are crowded with the sea that wrapt the island in its arms; and on the west and north the sea was the mighty and mysterious ocean, in whose far infinities lay for the irish the land of immortal youth. between its shining shores and ireland, strange islands--dwelt in by dreadful or by fair and gracious creatures, whose wonders maeldun and brendan visited--lay like jewels on the green and sapphire waters. out of this vast ocean emerged also their fiercest enemies. thither, beyond these islands into the unknown, over the waves on a fairy steed, went oisín with niam; thither, in after years, sailed st brendan, till it seemed he touched america. in the ocean depths were fair cities and well-grassed lands and cattle, which voyagers saw through water thin and clear. there, too, brian, one of the sons of turenn, descended in his water-dress and his crystal helmet, and found high-bosomed maidens weaving in a shining hall. into the land beneath the wave, mananan, the proud god of the sea brought dermot and finn and the fianna to help him in his wars, as is told in the story of the _gilla dacar_. on these western seas, near the land, lir's daughters, singing and floating, passed three hundred years. on other seas, in the storm and in the freezing sleet that trouble the dark waves of moyle, between antrim and the scottish isles, they spent another three centuries. half the story of the sons of usnach has to do with the crossing of seas and with the coast. even cuchulain, who is a land hero, in one of the versions of his death, dies fighting the sea-waves. the sound, the restlessness, the calm, the savour and the infinite of the sea, live in a host of these stories; and to cap all, the sea itself and mananan its god sympathise with the fates of erin. when great trouble threatens ireland, or one of her heroes is near death, there are three huge waves which, at three different points, rise, roaring, out of the ocean, and roll, flooding every creek and bay and cave and river round the whole coast with tidings of sorrow and doom. later on, in the fenian tales, the sea is not so prominent. finn and his clan are more concerned with the land. their work, their hunting and adventures carry them over the mountains and plains, through the forests, and by the lakes and rivers. in the stories there is scarcely any part of ireland which is not linked, almost geographically, with its scenery. even the ancient gods have retired from the coast to live in the pleasant green hills or by the wooded shores of the great lakes or in hearing of the soft murmur of the rivers. this business of the sea, this varied aspect of the land, crept into the imagination of the irish, and were used by them to embroider and adorn their poems and tales. they do not care as much for the doings of the sky. there does not seem to be any supreme god of the heaven in their mythology. neither the sun nor the moon are specially worshipped. there are sun-heroes like lugh, but no isolated sun-god. the great beauty of the cloud-tragedies of storm, the gorgeous sunrises and sunsets, so dramatic in ireland, or the magnificence of the starry heavens, are scarcely celebrated. but the irish folk have heard the sound of the wind in the tree-tops and marked its cold swiftness over the moor, and watched with fear or love the mists of ocean and the bewilderment of the storm-driven snow and the sweet falling of the dew. these are fully celebrated. these great and small aspects of nature are not only celebrated, they are loved. one cannot read the stories in this book without feeling that the people who conceived and made them observed nature and her ways with a careful affection, which seems to be more developed in the celtic folk than elsewhere in modern europe. there is nothing which resembles it in teutonic story-telling. in the story of _the children of lir_, though there is no set description of scenery, we feel the spirit of the landscape by the lake where lir listened for three hundred years to the sweet songs of his children. and, as we read of their future fate, we are filled with the solitude and mystery, the ruthlessness and beauty of the ocean. even its gentleness on quiet days enters from the tale into our imagination. then, too, the mountain-glory and the mountain-gloom are again and again imaginatively described and loved. the windings and recesses, the darkness and brightness of the woods and the glades therein, enchant the fenians even when they are in mortal danger. and the waters of the great lakes, the deep pools of the rivers, the rippling shallows, the green banks, the brown rushing of the torrents, are all alive in the prose and song of ireland. how deep was the irish love of these delightful things is plain from their belief that "the place of the revealing of poetry was always by the margin of water." and the salmon of knowledge, the eating of which gave finn his pre-eminence, swam in a green pool, still and deep, over which hung a rowan tree that shed its red berries on the stream. lovely were the places whence art and knowledge came. then, as to all good landscape lovers, the beasts, birds, and insects of nature were dear to these ancient people. one of the things finn most cared for was not only his hounds, but the "blackbird singing on letterlee"; and his song, on page , in the praise of may, tells us how keen was his observant eye for animal life and how much it delighted him. the same minute realisation of natural objects is illustrated in this book when king iubdan explains to the servant the different characteristics of the trees of the forest, and the mystic elements that abide in them. it was a habit, even of teutonic poets, to tell of the various trees and their uses in verse, and spenser and drayton have both done it in later times. but few of them have added, as the irish story does, a spiritual element to their description, and made us think of malign or beneficent elements attached to them. the woodbine, and this is a strange fancy, is the king of the woods. the rowan is the tree of the magicians, and its berries are for poets. the bramble is inimical to man, the alder is full of witchcraft, and the elder is the wood of the horses of the fairies. into every tree a spiritual power is infused; and the good lords of the forest are loved of men and birds and bees. thus the irish love of nature led them to spiritualise, in another way than mythical, certain things in nature, and afterwards to humanise, up to a certain point, the noble implements wrought by human skill out of natural materials. and this is another element in all these stories, as it is in the folk-lore also of other lands. in the tale of the sons of turenn, the stones of the wayside tell to lugh the story of the death of his father kian, and the boat of mananan, indwelt by a spirit, flies hither and thither over the seas, obeying the commands, even the thought, of its steersman. the soul of some famed spears is so hot for slaughter that, when it is not being used in battle, its point must stand in a bath of blood or of drowsy herbs, lest it should slay the host. the swords murmur and hiss and cry out for the battle; the shield of the hero hums louder and louder, vibrating for the encouragement of the warrior. even the wheels of cuchulain's chariot roar as they whirl into the fight. this partial life given to the weapons of war is not specially celtic. indeed, it is more common in teutonic than in celtic legend, and it seems probable that it was owing to the norsemen that it was established in the hero tales of ireland. this addition of life, or of some of the powers of life, to tree and well and boulder-stone, to river and lake and hill, and sword and spear, is common to all mythologies, but the special character of each nation or tribe modifies the form of the life-imputing stories. in ireland the tree, the stream were not dwelt in by a separate living being, as in grecian story; the half-living powers they had were given to them from without, by the gods, the demons, the fairies; and in the case of the weapons, the powers they had of act or sound arose from the impassioned thoughts and fierce emotions of their forger or their wielder, which, being intense, were magically transferred to them. the celtic nature is too fond of reality, too impatient of illusion, to believe in an actual living spirit in inanimate things. at least, that is the case in the stories of the hero and the fenian cycles.[ ] [ ] everything, on the contrary, in the mythological cycle is gifted with life, all the doings and things of nature are represented as the work of living creatures; but it is quite possible that those in ireland who made these myths were not celts at all. what the irish of the heroic, and still more of the fenian cycle, did make in their imagination was a world, outside of themselves, of living spiritual beings, in whose actuality they fully believed, and in whom a great number of them still believe. a nation, if i may use this term, dwelt under the sea. another dwelt in the far island of the ocean, the isle of the ever-young. another dwelt in the land, in the green hills and by the streams of ireland; and these were the ancient gods who had now lost their dominion over the country, but lived on, with all their courtiers and warriors and beautiful women in a country underground. as time went on, their powers were dwarfed, and they became small of size, less beautiful, and in our modern times are less inclined to enter into the lives of men and women. but the irish peasant still sees them flitting by his path in the evening light, or dancing on the meadow round the grassy mound, singing and playing strange melodies; or mourns for the child they have carried away to live with them and forget her people, or watches with fear his dreaming daughter who has been touched by them, and is never again quite a child of this earth, or quite of the common race of man. these were the invisible lands and peoples of the irish imagination; and they live in and out of many of the stories. cuchulain is lured into a fairy-land, and lives for more than a year in love with fand, mananan's wife. into another fairy-land, through zones of mist, cormac, as is told here, was lured by mananan, who now has left the sea to play on the land. oisín, as i have already said, flies with niam over the sea to the island of eternal youth. etain, out of the immortal land, is born into an irish girl and reclaimed and carried back to her native shore by midir, a prince of the fairy host. ethne, whose story also is here, has lived for all her youth in the court of angus, deep in the hill beside the rushing of the boyne. these stories are but a few out of a great number of the loves and wars between the men and women of the human and the fairy races. curiously enough, as the stories become less ancient, the relations between men and the fairies are more real, more close, even more affectionate. finn and the fianna seem to be almost in daily companionship with the fairy host--much nearer to them than the men of the heroic cycle are to the gods. they interchange love and music and battle and adventure with one another. they are, for the most part, excellent friends; and their intercourse suffers from no doubt. it is as real as the intercourse between welsh and english on the borderland. there was nothing illusive, nothing merely imaginary, in these fairy worlds for the irish hero or the irish people. they believed the lands to be as real as their own, and the indwellers of fairyland to have like passions with themselves. finn is not a bit surprised when vivionn the giantess sits beside him on the hill, or fergus when king iubdan stands on his hand; or st patrick when ethne, out of fairyland, dies on his breast, or when he sees, at his spell, cuchulain, dead some nine hundred years, come forth out of the dark gates of sheol, high in his chariot, grasping his deadly spear, driven as of old by his well-loved charioteer, drawn by the immortal steeds through the mist, and finally talking of his deeds and claiming a place in the christian heaven--a place that patrick yields to him. the invisible worlds lived, loved, and thought around this visible world, and were, it seems, closer and more real to the celtic than to other races. but it was not only these agreeable and lovely folk in pleasant habitations whom the irish made, but also spirits of another sort, of lesser powers and those chiefly malignant, having no fixed dwelling-place, homeless in the air and drifting with it, embodying the venomous and deadly elements of the earth and the angers and cruelty of the sea, and the hypocrisy of them all--demons, some of whom, like the stepmother of the children of lir, have been changed from men or women because of wicked doings, but the most part born of the evil in nature herself. they do what harm they can to innocent folk; they enter into, support, and direct--like macbeth's witches--the evil thoughts of men; they rejoice in the battle, in the wounds and pain and death of men; they shriek and scream and laugh around the head of the hero when he goes forth, like cuchulain, to an unwearied slaughter of men. they make the blight, the deadly mist, the cruel tempest. to deceive is their pleasure; to discourage, to baffle, to ruin the hero is their happiness. some of them are monsters of terrific aspect who abide in lakes or in desolate rocks, as the terrible tri-formed horse whom fergus mac leda conquered and by whom he died. naturally, as a link between these supernatural worlds and the natural world, there arose a body of men and women in irish legend who, by years of study, gained a knowledge of, and power over, the supernatural beings, and used these powers for hurt to the enemies of their kingdom, or for help to their own people. some were wise, learned, and statesmanlike, and used their powers for good. these were the high druids, and every king had a band of them at his court and in his wars. they practiced what the middle ages called white magic. others were wizards, magicians, witches, who, like the children of cailitin, the foes of cuchulain, or the three mutilated women whom maev educated in evil craft to do evil to her foes, or the dread band that deceived cuchulain into his last ride of death, practised black magic--evil, and the ministers of evil. magic, and the doing of it, runs through the whole of irish story-telling, and not only into pagan but also into christian legend; for it was easy to change the old gods into devils, to keep the demonic creatures as demons, to replace the wise druids by the priests and saints, and the wizards by the heretics who gave themselves to sorcery. thus the ancient supernaturalism of the irish has continued, with modern modifications, to the present day. the body of thought is much the same as it was in the days of conor and finn; the clothing is a bit different. another characteristic of the stories, especially in the mythological period, is the barbaric brutality which appears in them. curiously mingled with this, in direct contrast, is their tenderness. these extreme contrasts are common in the celtic nature. a gael, whether of ireland or the western isles, will pass in a short time from the wildest spirits, dancing and singing and drinking, into deep and grim depression--the child of the present, whether in love or war; and in the tales of ireland there is a similar contrast between their brutality and their tenderness. the sudden fierce jealousy and the pitiless cruelty of their stepmother to the children of lir is set over against the exquisite tenderness of fionnuala, which pervades the story like an air from heaven. the noble tenderness of deirdre, of naisi and his brothers, in life and death, to one another, is lovelier in contrast with the savage and treacherous revenge of conor. the great pitifulness of cuchulain's fight with his dear friend ferdia, whom he is compelled to slay; the crowning tenderness of emer's recollective love in song before she dies on cuchulain's dead body, are in full contrast with the savage hard-heartedness and cruelties of maev, and with the ruthless slaughters cuchulain made of his foes, out of which he seems often to pass, as it were, in a moment, into tenderness and gracious speech. even finn, false for once to his constant courtesy, revenges himself on dermot so pitilessly that both his son and grandson cry shame upon him. of course this barbaric cruelty is common to all early periods in every nation; and, whenever fierce passion is aroused, to civilised nations also. what is remarkable in the irish tales is the contemporary tenderness. the vikings were as savage as the irish, but the savagery is not mingled with the irish tenderness. at last, when we pass from the hero cycle into the cycle of finn, there is scarcely any of the ancient brutality to be found in the host of romantic stories which gather round the chivalry of the fenians. there are other characteristics of these old tales on which i must dwell. the first is the extra-ordinary love of colour. this is not a characteristic of the early german, english or scandinavian poems and tales. its remarkable presence in scottish poetry, at a time when it is scarcely to be found in english literature, i have traced elsewhere to the large admixture of celtic blood in the lowlands of scotland. in early irish work it is to be found everywhere. in descriptions of nature, which chiefly appear in the fenian cycle and in christian times, colour is not as much dwelt on as we should expect, for nowhere that i have seen is it more delicate and varied than under the irish atmosphere. yet, again and again, the amber colour of the streams as they come from the boglands, and the crimson and gold of the sunsetting, and the changing green of the trees, and the blue as it varies and settles down on the mountains when they go to their rest, and the green crystal of the sea in calm and the dark purple of it in storm, and the white foam of the waves when they grow black in the squall, and the brown of the moors, and the yellow and rose and crimson of the flowers, and many another interchanging of colour, are seen and spoken of as if it were a common thing always to dwell on colour. this literary custom i do not find in any other western literature. it is even more remarkable in the descriptions of the dress and weapons of the warriors and kings. they blaze with colour; and as gold was plentiful in ireland in those far-off days, yellow and red are continually flashing in and out of the blue and green and rich purple of their dress. the women are dressed in as rich colours as the men. when eochy met etain by the spring of pure water, as told in this book, she must have flashed in the sunlight like a great jewel. then, the halls where they met and the houses of the kings are represented as glorious with colour, painted in rich patterns, hung with woven cloths dyed deep with crimson and blue and green and yellow. the common things in use, eating and drinking implements, the bags they carry, the bed-clothing, the chess-men, the tables, are embroidered or chased or set with red carbuncles or white stones or with interlacing of gold. colour is everywhere and everywhere loved. and where colour is loved the arts flourish, as the decorative arts flourished in ireland. lastly, on this matter, the irish tale-tellers, even to the present day, dwell with persistence on the colour of the human body as a special loveliness, and with as much love of it as any venetian when he painted it. and they did this with a comparison of its colour to the colours they observed in nature, so that the colour of one was harmonised with the colour of the other. i might quote many such descriptions of the appearance of the warriors--they are multitudinous--but the picture of etain is enough to illustrate what i say--"her hair before she loosed it was done in two long tresses, yellow like the flower of the waterflag in summer or like red gold. her hands were white as the snow of a single night, and her eyes as blue as the dark hyacinth, and her lips red as the berries of the rowan-tree, and her body as white as the foam of the sea-waves. the radiance of the moon was in her face and the light of wooing in her eyes." so much for the irish love of colour.[ ] [ ] i give one example of the way colour was laid on to animals just for the pleasure of it. "and the eagle and cranes were red with green heads, and their eggs were pure crimson and blue"; and deep in the wood the travellers found "strange birds with white bodies and purple heads and golden beaks," and afterwards three great birds, "one blue and his head crimson, and another crimson and his head green, and another speckled and his head gold." their love of music was equally great; and was also connected with nature. "the sound of the flowing of streams," said one of their bardic clan, "is sweeter than any music of men." "the harp of the woods is playing music," said another. in finn's song to may, the waterfall is singing a welcome to the pool below, the loudness of music is around the hill, and in the green fields the stream is singing. the blackbird, the cuckoo, the heron and the lark are the musicians of the world. when finn asks his men what music they thought the best, each says his say, but oisín answers, "the music of the woods is sweetest to me, the sound of the wind and of the blackbird, and the cuckoo and the soft silence of the heron." and finn himself, when asked what was his most beloved music, said first that it was "the sharp whistling of the wind as it went through the uplifted spears of the seven battalions of the fianna," and this was fitting for a hero to say. but when the poet in him spoke, he said his music was the crying of the sea-gull, and the noise of the waves, and the voice of the cuckoo when summer was at hand, and the washing of the sea against the shore, and of the tide when it met the river of the white trout, and of the wind rushing through the cloud. and many other sayings of the same kind this charming and poetic folk has said concerning those sweet, strong sounds in nature out of which the music of men was born. again, there is not much music in the mythological tales. lugh, it is true, is a great harper, and the harp of the dagda, into which he has bound his music, plays a music at whose sound all men laugh, and another so that all men weep, and another so enthralling that all fall asleep; and these three kinds of music are heard through all the cycles of tales. yet when the old gods of the mythology became the sidhe,[ ] the fairy host, they--having left their barbaric life behind--became great musicians. in every green hill where the tribes of fairy-land lived, sweet, wonderful music was heard all day--such music that no man could hear but he would leave all other music to listen to it, which "had in it sorrows that man has never felt, and joys for which man has no name, and it seemed as if he who heard it might break from time into eternity and be one of the immortals." and when finn and his people lived, they, being in great harmony and union with the sidhe, heard in many adventures with them their lovely music, and it became their own. indeed, finn, who had twelve musicians, had as their chief one of the fairy host who came to dwell with him, a little man who played airs so divine that all weariness and sorrow fled away. and from him finn's musicians learnt a more enchanted art than they had known before. and so it came to pass that as in every fairy dwelling there was this divine art, so in every palace and chieftain's hall, and in every farm, there were harpers harping on their harps, and all the land was full of sweet sounds and airs--shaping in music, imaginative war, and sorrows, and joys, and aspiration. nor has their music failed. still in the west and south of ireland, the peasant, returning home, hears, as the evening falls from the haunted hills, airs unknown before, or at midnight a wild triumphant song from the fairy host rushing by, or wakes with a dream melody in his heart. and these are played and sung next day to the folk sitting round the fire. many who heard these mystic sounds became themselves the makers of melodies, and went about the land singing and making and playing from village to village and cabin to cabin, till the unwritten songs of ireland were as numerous as they were various. moore collected a hundred and twenty of them, but of late more than five hundred he knew not of have been secured from the people and from manuscripts for the pleasure of the world. and in them lives on the spirit of the fianna, and the mystery of the fairy host, and the long sorrow and the fleeting joy of the wild weather in the heart of the irish race. [ ] this word is pronounced shee, and means "the folk of the fairy mounds." as to the poetry of ireland, that other art which is illustrated in this book, so fully has it been dwelt on by many scholars and critics that it needs not be touched here other than lightly and briefly. the honour and dignity of the art of poetry goes back in irish mythology to a dim antiquity. the ancient myth said that the nine hazels of wisdom grew round a deep spring beneath the sea, and the hazels were the hazels of inspiration and of poetry--so early in ireland were inspiration and poetry made identical with wisdom. seven streams of wisdom flowed from that fountain-head, and when they had fed the world returned to it again. and all the art-makers of mankind, and of all arts, have drunk of their waters. five salmon in the spring ate of the hazel nuts, and some haunted the rivers of ireland; and whosoever, like finn, tasted the flesh of these immortal fish, was possessed of the wisdom which is inspiration and poetry. such was the ancient irish conception of the art of poetry. it is always an art which grows slowly into any excellence, and it needs for such growth a quieter life than the irish lived for many centuries. poems appear but rarely in the mythological or heroic cycles, and are loosely scattered among the prose of the bardic tales. a few are of war, but they are chiefly dirges like the song of emer over the dead body of cuchulain, or that of deirdre over naisi--pathetic wailings for lost love. there is an abrupt and pitiful pain in the brief songs of fionnuala, but i fancy these were made and inserted in christian times. poetry was more at home among the fianna. the conditions of life were easier; there was more leisure and more romance. and the other arts, which stimulate poetry, were more widely practised than in the earlier ages. finn's song to may, here translated, is of a good type, frank and observant, with a fresh air in it, and a fresh pleasure in its writing. i have no doubt that at this time began the lyric poetry of ireland, and it reached, under christian influences, a level of good, i can scarcely say excellent, work, at a time when no other lyrical poetry in any vernacular existed in europe or the islands. it was religious, mystic, and chiefly pathetic--prayers, hymns, dirges, regrets in exile, occasional stories of the saints whose legendary acts were mixed with pagan elements, and most of these were adorned with illustrations drawn from natural beauty or from the doings of birds and beasts--a great affection for whom is prominent in the celtic nature. the irish poets sent this lyric impulse into iceland, wales, and scotland, and from scotland into england; and the rise of english vernacular poetry instead of latin in the seventh and eighth centuries is due to the impulse given by the irish monasteries at whitby and elsewhere in northumbria. the first rude lyric songs of cædmon were probably modelled on the hymns of colman. one would think that poetry, which arose so early in a nation's life, would have developed fully. but this was not the case in ireland. no narrative, dramatic, didactic, or epic poetry of any importance arose, and many questions and answers might be made concerning this curious restriction of development. the most probable solution of this problem is that there was never enough peace in ireland or continuity of national existence or unity, to allow of a continuous development of any one of the arts into all its forms. irish poetry never advanced beyond the lyric. in that form it lasted all through the centuries; it lasts still at the present day, and douglas hyde has proved how much charm belongs to it in his book on the _love songs of connacht_. it has had a long, long history; it has passed through many phases; it has sung of love and sorrow, of national wars and hopes, of ireland herself as the queen of sorrow, of exile regrets from alien shores, of rebellion, of hatred of england, of political strife, in ballads sung in the streets, of a thousand issues of daily life and death--but of world-wide affairs, of great passions and duties and fates evolving in epic or clashing in drama, of continuous human lives in narrative (except in prose), of the social life of cities or of philosophic thought enshrined in stately verse, it has not sung. what it may do in the future, if irish again becomes a tongue of literature in lofty poetry, lies on the knees of the gods. i wish it well, but such a development seems now too late. the irish genius, if it is to speak in drama, in narrative poetry or in an epic, must speak, if it is to influence or to charm the world beyond the irish shore, in a world-language like english, and of international as well as of irish humanity. these elements on which i have dwelt seem to me the most distinctive, the most irish, in the tales in this book. there are many others on which a more minute analysis might exercise itself, phases of feeling concerning war or love or friendship or honour or the passions, but these are not specially irish. they belong to common human nature, and have their close analogies in other mythologies, in other folk-tales, in other sagas. i need not touch them here. but there is one element in all the irish tales which i have not yet mentioned, and it brings all the others within its own circumference, and suffuses them with its own atmosphere. it is the love of ireland, of the land itself for its own sake--a mystic, spiritual imaginative passion which in the soul of the dweller in the country is a constant joy, and in the heart of the exile is a sick yearning for return. there are not many direct expressions of this in the stories; but it underlies the whole of them, and it is also in the air they breathe. but now and again it does find clear expression, and in each of the cycles we have discussed. when the sons of turenn are returning, wounded to death, from the hill of mochaen, they felt but one desire. "let us but see," said iuchar and iucharba to their brother brian, "the land of erin again, the hills round telltown, and the dewy plain of bregia and the quiet waters of the boyne and our father's dún thereby, and healing will come to us; or if death come, we can endure it after that." then brian raised them up; and they saw that they were now near by under ben edar; and at the strand of the bull they came to land. that is from the mythological cycle. in the heroic cycle it appears in the longing cry for return to ireland of naisi and his brothers, which drives them out of alba to their death; but otherwise it is rarely expressed. in the fenian cycle it exists, not in any clear words, but in a general delight in the rivers, lakes, woods, valleys, plains, and mountains of ireland. every description of them, and of life among them, is done with a loving, observant touch; and moreover, the veil of magic charm is thrown over all the land by the creation in it of the life and indwelling of the fairy host. the fianna loved their country well. when christianity came, this deep-set sentiment did not lessen. it grew even stronger, and in exile it became a passion. it is illustrated by the songs of deep regret and affection columba made in iona, from whose rocky shores he looked day after day towards the west while the mists rose over ireland. one little story of great beauty enshrines his passion. one morning he called to his side one of his monks, and said, "go to the margin of the sea on the western side of our isle; and there, coming from the north of ireland, you will see a voyaging crane, very weary and beaten by the storms, and it will fall at your feet on the beach. lift it up with pity and carry it to the hut, nourish it for three days, and when it is refreshed and strong again it will care no more to stay with us in exile, but to fly back to sweet ireland, the dear country where it was born. i charge you thus, for it comes from the land where i was born myself." and when his servant returned, having done as he was ordered, columba said, "may god bless you, my son. since you have well cared for our exiled guest, you will see it return to its own land in three days." and so it was. it rose, sought its path for a moment through the sky, and took flight on a steady wing for ireland. the spirit of that story has never died in the soul of the irish and in their poetry up to the present day. lastly, as we read these stories, even in a modern dress, an impression of great ancientry is made upon us, so much so that some scholars have tried to turn finn into a mythical hero--but if he be as old as that implies, of how great an age must be the clearly mythic tales which gather round the tuatha de danaan? however this may be, the impression of ancientry is deep and agreeable. all myths in any nation are, of course, of a high antiquity, but as they treat of the beginning of things, they mingle an impression of youth with one of age. this is very pleasant to the imagination, and especially so if the myths, as in ireland, have some poetic beauty or strangeness, as in the myth i have referred to--of the deep spring of clear water and the nine hazels of wisdom that encompass it. this mingling of the beauty of youth and the honour of ancientry runs through all the irish tales. youth and the love of it, of its beauty and strength, adorn and vitalize their grey antiquity. but where, in their narrative, the hero's youth is over and the sword weak in his hand, and the passion less in his and his sweetheart's blood, life is represented as scarcely worth the living. the famed men and women die young--the sons of turenn, cuchulain, conall, dermot, emer, deirdre, naisi, oscar. oisín has three hundred years of youth in that far land in the invention of which the irish embodied their admiration of love and youth. his old age, when sudden feebleness overwhelms him, is made by the bardic clan as miserable, as desolate as his youth was joyous. again, finn lives to be an old man, but the immortal was in him, and either he has been born again in several re-incarnations (for the irish held from time to time the doctrine of the transmigration of souls), or he sleeps, like barbarossa, in a secret cavern, with all his men around him, and beside him the mighty horn of the fianna, which, when the day of fate and freedom comes, will awaken with three loud blasts the heroes and send them forth to victory. old as she is, ireland does not grow old, for she has never reached her maturity. her full existence is before her, not behind her. and when she reaches it her ancientry and all its tales will be dearer to her than they have been in the past. they will be an inspiring national asset. in them and in their strange admixture of different and successive periods of customs, thoughts and emotions (caused by the continuous editing and re-editing of them, first in oral recitation and then at the hands of scribes), ireland will see the record of her history, not the history of external facts, but of her soul as it grew into consciousness of personality; as it established in itself love of law, of moral right, of religion, of chivalry, of courtesy in war and daily life; as it rejoiced, and above all, as it suffered and was constant, in suffering and oppression, to its national ideals. it seems as if, once at least, this aspect of the tales of ireland was seen by men of old, for there is a story which tells that heaven itself desired their remembrance, and that we should be diverted and inspired by them. in itself it is a record of the gentleness of irish christianity to irish heathendom, and of its love of the heroic past. for one day when patrick and his clerks were singing the mass at the rath of the red ridge, where finn was wont to be, he saw keelta, a chief of the fianna, draw near with his companions, and keelta's huge hounds were with him. they were men so tall and great that fear fell on the clerks, but patrick met with and asked their chieftain's name. "i am keelta," he answered, "son of ronan of the fianna." "was it not a good lord you were with," said patrick, "finn, son of cumhal?" and keelta said, "if the brown leaves falling in the wood were gold, if the waves of the sea were silver, finn would have given them all away." "what was it kept you through your lifetime?" said patrick. "truth that was in our hearts, and strength in our hands, and fulfilment in our tongues," said keelta. then patrick gave them food and drink and good treatment, and talked with them. and in the morning the two angels who guarded him came to him, and he asked them if it were any harm before god, king of heaven and earth, that he should listen to the stories of the fianna. and the angels answered, "holy clerk, these old fighting men do not remember more than a third of their tales by reason of the forgetfulness of age, but whatever they tell write it down on the boards of the poets and in the words of the poets, for it will be a diversion to the companies and the high people of the latter times to listen to them."[ ] so spoke the angels, and patrick did as he bade them, and the stories are in the world to this day. [ ] this is quoted with a few omissions, from lady gregory's delightful version, in her _book of saints and wonders_, of an episode in _the colloquy of the ancients_ (silva gadelica). stopford a. brooke st patrick's day, cois na teineadh (_by the fireside._) where glows the irish hearth with peat there lives a subtle spell-- the faint blue smoke, the gentle heat, the moorland odours, tell of long roads running through a red untamed unfurrowed land, with curlews keening overhead, and streams on either hand; black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge, and black bog-pools below; while dry stone wall or ragged hedge leads on, to meet the glow from cottage doors, that lure us in from rainy western skies, to seek the friendly warmth within, the simple talk and wise; or tales of magic, love and arms from days when princes met to listen to the lay that charms the connacht peasant yet. there honour shines through passions dire, there beauty blends with mirth-- wild hearts, ye never did aspire wholly for things of earth! cold, cold this thousand years--yet still on many a time-stained page your pride, your truth, your dauntless will, burn on from age to age. and still around the fires of peat live on the ancient days; there still do living lips repeat the old and deathless lays. and when the wavering wreaths ascend, blue in the evening air, the soul of ireland seems to bend above her children there. bardic romances chapter i the story of the children of lir long ago there dwelt in ireland the race called by the name of de danaan, or people of the goddess dana. they were a folk who delighted in beauty and gaiety, and in fighting and feasting, and loved to go gloriously apparelled, and to have their weapons and household vessels adorned with jewels and gold. they were also skilled in magic arts, and their harpers could make music so enchanting that a man who heard it would fight, or love, or sleep, or forget all earthly things, as they who touched the strings might will him to do. in later times the danaans had to dispute the sovranty of ireland with another race, the children of miled, whom men call the milesians, and after much fighting they were vanquished. then, by their sorceries and enchantments, when they could not prevail against the invaders, they made themselves invisible, and they have dwelt ever since in the fairy mounds and raths of ireland, where their shining palaces are hidden from mortal eyes. they are now called the shee, or fairy folk of erinn, and the faint strains of unearthly music that may be heard at times by those who wander at night near to their haunts come from the harpers and pipers who play for the people of dana at their revels in the bright world underground. at the time when the tale begins, the people of dana were still the lords of ireland, for the milesians had not yet come. they were divided it is said, into many families and clans; and it seemed good to them that their chiefs should assemble together, and choose one to be king and ruler over the whole people. so they met in a great assembly for this purpose, and found that five of the greatest lords all desired the sovranty of erin. these five were bóv the red, and ilbrech of assaroe, and lir from the hill of the white field, which is on slieve fuad in armagh; and midir the proud, who dwelt at slieve callary in longford; and angus of brugh na boyna, which is now newgrange on the river boyne, where his mighty mound is still to be seen. all the danaan lords saving these five went into council together, and their decision was to give the sovranty to bóv the red, partly because he was the eldest, partly because his father was the dagda, mightiest of the danaans, and partly because he was himself the most deserving of the five. all were content with this, save only lir, who thought himself the fittest for royal rule; so he went away from the assembly in anger, taking leave of no one. when this became known, the danaan lords would have pursued lir, to burn his palace and inflict punishment and wounding on himself for refusing obedience and fealty to him whom the assembly had chosen to reign over them. but bóv the red forbade them, for he would not have war among the danaans; and he said, "i am none the less king of the people of dana because this man will not do homage to me." thus it went on for a long time. but at last a great misfortune befell lir, for his wife fell ill, and after three nights she died. sorely did lir grieve for this, and he fell into a great dejection of spirit, for his wife was very dear to him and was much thought of by all folk, so that her death was counted one of the great events of that time. now bóv the red came ere long to hear of it, and he said, "if lir would choose to have my help and friendship now, i can serve him well, for his wife is no longer living, and i have three maidens, daughters of a friend, in fosterage with me, namely, eva and aoife[ ] and elva, and there are none fairer and of better name in erin; one of these he might take to wife." and the lords of the danaans heard what he said, and answered that it was true and well bethought. so messengers were sent to lir, to say that if he were willing to yield the sovranty to bóv the red, he might make alliance with him and wed one of his foster-children. to lir, having been thus gently entreated, it seemed good to end the feud, and he agreed to the marriage. so the following day he set out with a train of fifty chariots from the hill of the white field and journeyed straight for the palace of bóv the red, which was by lough derg on the river shannon. [ ] pronounced eefa. arriving there, he found about him nothing but joy and glad faces, for the renewal of amity and concord; and his people were welcomed, and well entreated, and handsomely entertained for the night. [illustration: "there sat the three maidens with the queen"] and there sat the three maidens on the same couch with the danaan queen, and bóv the red bade lir choose which one he would have to wife. "the maidens are all fair and noble," said lir, "but the eldest is first in consideration and honour, and it is she that i will take, if she be willing." "the eldest is eva," said bóv the red, "and she will wed thee if it be pleasing to thee." "it is pleasing," said lir, and the pair were wedded the same night. lir abode for fourteen days in the palace of bóv the red, and then departed with his bride, to make a great wedding-feast among his own people. in due time after this eva, wife of lir, bore him two fair children at a birth, a daughter and a son. the daughter's name was called fionnuala of the fair shoulder, and the son's name was hugh. and again she bore him two sons, fiachra and conn; and at their birth she died. at this lir was sorely grieved and afflicted, and but for the great love he bore to his four children he would gladly have died too. when the folk at the palace of bóv the red heard that, they also were sorely grieved at the death of their foster-child, and they lamented her with keening and with weeping. bóv the red said, "we grieve for this maiden on account of the good man we gave her to, and for his friendship and fellowship; howbeit our friendship shall not be sundered, for we shall give him to wife her sister, namely aoife." word of this was brought to lir, and he went once more to lough derg to the palace of bóv the red and there he took to wife aoife, the fair and wise, and brought her to his own home. and aoife held the children of lir and of her sister in honour and affection; for indeed no one could behold these four children without giving them the love of his soul. for love of them, too, came bóv the red often to the house of lir, and he would take them to his own house at times and let them spend a while there, and then to their own home again. all of the people of dana who came visiting and feasting to lir had joy and delight in the children, for their beauty and gentleness; and the love of their father for them was exceeding great, so that he would rise very early every morning to lie down among them and play with them. only, alas! a fire of jealousy began to burn at last in the breast of aoife, and hatred and bitter ill-will grew in her mind towards the children of lir. and she feigned an illness, and lay under it for the most of a year, meditating a black and evil deed. at last she said that a journey from home might recover her, and she bade her chariot be yoked and set out, taking with her the four children. fionnuala was sorely unwilling to go with her on that journey, for she had a misgiving, and a prevision of treachery and of kin-slaying against her in the mind of aoife. yet she was not able to avoid the mischief that was destined for her. so aoife journeyed away from the hill of the white field, and when she had come some way she spoke to her people and said, "kill me, i pray ye, the four children of lir, who have taken the love of their father from me, and ye may ask of me what reward ye will." "not so," said they, "by us they shall never be killed; it is an evil deed that you have thought of, and evil it is but to have spoken of it." when they would not consent to her will, she drew a sword and would have slain the children herself, but her womanhood overcame her and she could not. so they journeyed on westward till they came to the shores of loch derryvaragh, and there they made a halt and the horses were outspanned. aoife bade the children bathe and swim in the lake, and they did so. then aoife by druid spells and witchcraft put upon each of the children the form of a pure white swan, and she cried to them:-- "out on the lake with you, children of lir! cry with the water-fowl over the mere! breed and seed of you ne'er shall i see; woeful the tale to your friends shall be." then the four swans turned their faces towards the woman, and fionnuala spoke to her and said, "evil is thy deed, aoife, to destroy us thus without a cause, and think not that thou shalt escape punishment for it. assign us even some period to the ruin and destruction that thou hast brought upon us." "i shall do that," said aoife, "and it is this: in your present forms shall ye abide, and none shall release you till the woman of the south be mated with the man of the north. three hundred years shall ye be upon the waters of derryvaragh, and three hundred upon the straits of moyle between erinn and alba,[ ] and three hundred in the seas by erris and inishglory, and then shall the enchantment have an end." [ ] scotland. inishglory is an island in the bay of erris, on the mayo coast. upon this, aoife was smitten with repentance, and she said, "since i may not henceforth undo what has been done, i give you this, that ye shall keep your human speech, and ye shall sing a sad music such as no music in the world can equal, and ye shall have your reason and your human will, that the bird-shape may not wholly destroy you." then she became as one possessed, and cried wildly like a prophetess in her trance:-- "ye with the white faces! ye with the stammering gaelic on your tongues! soft was your nurture in the king's house-- now shall ye know the buffeting wind! nine hundred years upon the tide. "the heart of lir shall bleed! none of his victories shall stead him now! woe to me that i shall hear his groan, woe that i have deserved his wrath!" then they caught and yoked her horses, and aoife went on her way till she reached the palace of bóv the red. here she and her folk were welcomed and entertained, and bóv the red inquired of her why she had not brought with her the children of lir. "i brought them not," she replied, "because lir loves thee not, and he fears that if he sends his children to thee, thou wouldst capture them and hold them for hostages." "that is strange," said bóv the red, "for i love those children as if they were my own." and his mind misgave him that some treachery had been wrought; and he sent messengers privily northwards to the hill of the white field. "for what have ye come?" asked lir. "even to bring your children to bóv the red," said they. "did they not reach you with aoife?" said lir. "nay," said the messengers, "but aoife said you would not permit them to go with her." then fear and trouble came upon lir, for he surmised that aoife had wrought evil upon the children. so his horses were yoked and he set out upon his road south-westward, until he reached the shores of loch derryvaragh. but as he passed by that water, fionnuala saw the train of horsemen and chariots, and she cried to her brothers to come near to the shore, "for," said she, "these can only be the company of our father who have come to follow and seek for us." lir, by the margin of the lake, saw the four swans and heard them talking with human voices, and he halted and spoke to them. then said fionnuala: "know, o lir, that we are thy four children, and that she who has wrought this ruin upon us is thy wife and our mother's sister, through the bitterness of her jealousy." lir was glad to know that they were at least living, and he said, "is it possible to put your own forms upon you again?" "it is not possible," said fionnuala, "for all the men on earth could not release us until the woman of the south be mated with the man of the north." then lir and his people cried aloud in grief and lamentation, and lir entreated the swans to come on land and abide with him since they had their human reason and speech. but fionnuala said, "that may not be, for we may not company with men any longer, but abide on the waters of erinn nine hundred years. but we have still our gaelic speech, and moreover we have the gift of uttering sad music, so that no man who hears it thinks aught worth in the world save to listen to that music for ever. do you abide by the shore for this night and we shall sing to you." so lir and his people listened all night to the singing of the swans, nor could they move nor speak till morning, for all the high sorrows of the world were in that music, and it plunged them in dreams that could not be uttered. next day lir took leave of his children and went on to the palace of bóv the red. bóv reproached him that he had not brought with him his children. "woe is me," said lir, "it was not i that would not bring them; but aoife there, your own foster-child and their mother's sister, put upon them the forms of four snow-white swans, and there they are on the loch of derryvaragh for all men to see; but they have kept still their reason and their human voice and their gaelic." bóv the red started when he heard this, and he knew that what lir had said was true. fiercely he turned to aoife, and said, "this treachery will be worse, aoife, for you than for them, for they shall be released in the end of time, but thy punishment shall be for ever." then he smote her with a druid wand and she became a demon of the air, and flew shrieking from the hall, and in that form she abides to this day. [illustration: "they made an encampment and the swans sang to them"] as for bóv the red, he came with his nobles and attendants to the shores of loch derryvaragh, and there they made an encampment, and the swans conversed with them and sang to them. and as the thing became known, other tribes and clans of the people of dana would also come from every part of erinn and stay awhile to listen to the swans and depart again to their homes; and most of all came their own friends and fellow-pupils from the hill of the white field. no such music as theirs, say the historians of ancient times, ever was heard in erinn, for foes who heard it were at peace, and men stricken with pain or sickness felt their ills no more; and the memory of it remained with them when they went away, so that a great peace and sweetness and gentleness was in the land of erinn for those three hundred years that the swans abode in the waters of derryvaragh. but one day fionnuala said to her brethren, "do ye know, my dear ones, that the end of our time here is come, all but this night only?" then great sorrow and distress overcame them, for in the converse with their father and kinsfolk and friends they had half forgotten that they were no longer men, and they loved their home on loch derryvaragh, and feared the angry waves of the cold northern sea. but early next day they came to the lough-side to speak with bóv the red and with their father, and to bid them farewell, and fionnuala sang to them her last lament. then the four swans rose in the air and flew northward till they were seen no more, and great was the grief among those they left behind; and bóv the red let it be proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of erin that no man should henceforth presume to kill a swan, lest it might chance to be one of the children of lir. far different was the dwelling-place which the swans now came to, from that which they had known on loch derryvaragh. on either side of them, to north and south, stretched a wide coast far as the eye could see, beset with black rocks and great precipices, and by it ran fiercely the salt, bitter tides of an ever-angry sea, cold, grey, and misty; and their hearts sank to behold it and to think that there they must abide for three hundred years. ere long, one night, there came a thick murky tempest upon them, and fionnuala said, "in this black and violent night, my brothers, we may be driven apart from each other; let us therefore appoint a meeting-place where we may come together again when the tempest is overpast." and they settled to meet at the seal rock, for this rock they had now all learned to know. by midnight the hurricane descended upon the straits of moyle, and the waves roared upon the coast with a deafening noise, and thunder bellowed from the sky, and lightning was all the light they had. the swans were driven apart by the violence of the storm, and when at last the wind fell and the seas grew calm once more, fionnuala found herself alone upon the ocean-tide not far from the seal rock. and thus she made her lament:-- "woe is me to be yet alive! my wings are frozen to my sides. wellnigh has the tempest shattered my heart, and my comely hugh parted from me! "o my beloved ones, my three, who slept under the shelter of my feathers, shall you and i ever meet again until the dead rise to life? "where is fiachra, where is hugh? where is my fair conn? shall i henceforth bear my part alone? woe is me for this disastrous night!" fionnuala remained upon the seal rock until the morrow morn, watching the tossing waters in all directions around her, until at last she saw conn coming towards her, and his head drooping and feathers drenched and disarrayed. joyfully did the sister welcome him; and ere long, behold, fiachra also approaching them, cold and wet and faint, and the speech was frozen in him that not a word he spake could be understood. so fionnuala put her wings about him, and said, "if but hugh came now, how happy should we be!" in no long time after that they saw hugh also approaching them across the sea, and his head was dry and his feathers fair and unruffled, for he had found shelter from the gale. fionnuala put him under her breast, and conn under her right wing and fiachra under her left, and covered them wholly with her feathers. "o children," she said to them, "evil though ye think this night to have been, many such a one shall we know from this time forward." so there the swans continued, suffering cold and misery upon the tides of moyle; and one while they would be upon the coast of alba and another upon the coast of erinn, but the waters they might not leave. at length there came upon them a night of bitter cold and snow such as they had never felt before, and fionnuala sang this lament:-- "evil is this life. the cold of this night, the thickness of the snow, the sharpness of the wind-- "how long have they lain together, under my soft wings, the waves beating upon us, conn and hugh and fiachra? "aoife has doomed us, us, the four of us, to-night to this misery-- evil is this life." thus for a long time they suffered, till at length there came upon the straits of moyle a night of january so piercing cold that the like of it had never been felt. and the swans were gathered together upon the seal rock. the waters froze into ice around them, and each of them became frozen in his place, so that their feet and feathers clung to the rock; and when the day came and they strove to leave the place, the skin of their feet and the feathers of their breasts clove to the rock, they came naked and wounded away. "woe is me, o children of lir," said fionnuala, "we are now indeed in evil case, for we cannot endure the salt water, yet we may not be away from it; and if the salt water gets into our sores we shall perish of it." and thus she sang:-- "to-night we are full of keening; no plumage to cover our bodies; and cold to our tender feet are the rough rocks all awash. "cruel to us was aoife, who played her magic upon us, and drove us out to the ocean, four wonderful, snow-white swans. "our bath is the frothing brine in the bay by red rocks guarded, for mead at our father's table we drink of the salt blue sea. "three sons and a single daughter-- in clefts of the cold rocks dwelling, the hard rocks, cruel to mortals. --we are full of keening to-night." so they went forth again upon the straits of moyle, and the brine was grievously sharp and bitter to them, but they could not escape it nor shelter themselves from it. thus they were, till at last their feathers grew again and their sores were healed. on one day it happened that they came to the mouth of the river bann in the north of erinn, and there they perceived a fair host of horsemen riding on white steeds and coming steadily onward from the south-west "do ye know who yon riders are, children of lir?" asked fionnuala. "we know not," said they, "but it is like they are some party of the people of dana." then they moved to the margin of the land, and the company they had seen came down to meet them; and behold, it was hugh and fergus, the two sons of bóv the red, and their nobles and attendants with them, who had long been seeking for the swans along the coast of the straits of moyle. most lovingly and joyfully did they greet each other and the swans inquired concerning their father lir, and bóv the red, and the rest of their kinsfolk. "they are well," said the danaans; "and at this time they are all assembled together in the palace of your father at the hill of the white field, where they are holding the festival of the age of youth.[ ] they are happy and gay and have no weariness or trouble, save that you are not among them, and that they have not known where you were since you left them at lough derryvaragh." [ ] a magic banquet which had the effect of preserving for ever the youth of the people of dana. "that is not the tale of our lives," said fionnuala. after that the company of the danaans departed and brought word of the swans to bóv the red and to lir, who were rejoiced to hear that they were living, "for," said they, "the children shall obtain relief in the end of time." and the swans went back to the tides of moyle and abode there till their time to be in that place had expired. when that day had come, fionnuala declared it to them, and they rose up wheeling in the air, and flew westward across ireland till they came to the bay of erris, and there they abode as was ordained. here it happened that among those of mortal men whose dwellings bordered on the bay was a young man of gentle blood, by name evric, who having heard the singing of the swans came down to speak with them, and became their friend. after that he would often come to hear their music, for it was very sweet to him; and he loved them greatly, and they him. all their story they told him, and he it was who set it down in order, even as it is here narrated. much hardship did they suffer from cold and tempest in the waters of the western sea, yet not so much as they had to bear by the coasts of the ever-stormy moyle, and they knew that the day of redemption was now drawing near. in the end of the time fionnuala said, "brothers, let us fly to the hill of the white field, and see how lir our father and his household are faring." so they arose and set forward on their airy journey until they reached the hill of the white field, and thus it was that they found the place: namely, desolate and thorny before them, with nought but green mounds where once were the palaces and homes of their kin, and forests of nettles growing over them, and never a house nor a hearth. and the four drew closely together and lamented aloud at that sight, for they knew that old times and things had passed away in erinn, and they were lonely in a land of strangers, where no man lived who could recognise them when they came to their human shapes again. they knew not that lir and their kin of the people of dana yet dwelt invisible in the bright world within the fairy mounds, for their eyes were holden that they should not see, since other things were destined for them than to join the danaan folk and be of the company of the immortal shee. so they went back again to the western sea until the holy patrick came into ireland and preached the faith of the one god and of the christ. but a man of patrick's men, namely the saint mochaovóg,[ ] came to the island of inishglory in erris bay, and there built himself a little church of stone, and spent his life in preaching to the folk and in prayer. the first night he came to the island the swans heard the sound of his bell ringing at matins on the following morn, and they leaped in terror, and the three brethren left fionnuala and fled away. fionnuala cried to them, "what ails you, beloved brothers?" "we know not," said they, "but we have heard a thin and dreadful voice, and we cannot tell what it is." "that is the voice of the bell of mochaovóg," said fionnuala, "and it is that bell which shall deliver us and drive away our pains, according to the will of god." [ ] pronounced mo-chweev-ogue. then the brethren came back and hearkened to the chanting of the cleric until matins were performed. "let us chant our music now," said fionnuala. so they began, and chanted a solemn, slow, sweet, fairy song in adoration of the high king of heaven and of earth. mochaovóg heard that, and wondered, and when he saw the swans he spoke to them and inquired them. they told him they were the children of lir. "praised be god for that," said mochaovóg. "surely it is for your sakes that i have come to this island above every other island that is in erinn. come to land now, and trust in me that your salvation and release are at hand." so they came to land, and dwelt with mochaovóg in his own house, and there they kept the canonical hours with him and heard mass. and mochaovóg caused a good craftsman to make chains of silver for the swans, and put one chain between fionnuala and hugh and another between conn and fiachra; and they were a joy and solace of mind to the saint, and their own woe and pain seemed to them dim and far off as a dream. now at this time it happened that the king of connacht was lairgnen, son of colman, and he was betrothed to deoca, daughter of the king of munster. and so it was that when deoca came northward to be wedded to lairgnen she heard the tale of the swans and of their singing, and she prayed the king that he would obtain them for her, for she longed to possess them. but lairgnen would not ask them of mochaovóg. then deoca set out homeward again, and vowed that she would never return to lairgnen till she had the swans; and she came as far as the church of dalua, which is now called kildaloe, in clare. then lairgnen sent messengers for the birds to mochaovóg, but he would not give them up. at this lairgnen was very wroth, and he went himself to mochaovóg, and he found the cleric and the four birds at the altar. but lairgnen seized upon the birds by their silver chains, two in each hand dragged them away to the place where deoca was; and mochaovóg followed them. but when they came to deoca and she had laid her hands upon the birds, behold, their covering of feathers fell off and in their places were three shrunken and feeble old men and one lean and withered old woman, fleshless and bloodless from extreme old age. and lairgnen was struck with amazement and fear, and went out from that place. then fionnuala said to mochaovóg, "come now and baptize us quickly, for our end is near. and if you are grieved at parting from us, know that also to us it is a grief. do thou make our grave when we are dead, and place conn at my right side and fiachra at my left, and hugh before my face, for thus they were wont to be when i sheltered them on many a winter night by the tides of moyle." so mochaovóg baptized the three brethren and their sister; and shortly afterwards they found peace and death, and they were buried even as fionnuala had said. and over their tomb a stone was raised, and their names and lineage graved on it in branching ogham[ ]; and lamentation and prayers were made for them, and their souls won to heaven. [ ] see p. , _note_. but mochaovóg was sorrowful, and grieved after them so long as he lived on earth. chapter ii the quest of the sons of turenn long ago, when the people of dana yet held lordship in erinn, they were sorely afflicted by hordes of sea-rovers named fomorians who used to harry the country and carry off youths and maidens into captivity. they also imposed cruel and extortionate taxes upon the people, for every kneading trough, and every quern for grinding corn, and every flagstone for baking bread had to pay its tax. and an ounce of gold was paid as a poll-tax for every man, and if any man would not or could not pay, his nose was cut off. under this tyranny the whole country groaned, but they had none who was able to band them together and to lead them in battle against their oppressors. now before this it happened that one of the lords of the danaans named kian had married with ethlinn, daughter of balor, a princess of the fomorians. they had a son named lugh lamfada, or lugh of the long arm, who grew up into a youth of surpassing beauty and strength. and if his body was noble and mighty, no less so was his mind, for lordship and authority grew to him by the gift of the immortals, and whatever he purposed that would he perform, whatever it might cost in time or toil, in tears or in blood. now this lugh was not brought up in erinn but in a far-off isle of the western sea, where the sea-god mananan and the other immortals nurtured and taught him, and made him fit alike for warfare or for sovranty, when his day should come to work their will on earth. hither in due time came the report of the grievous and dishonouring oppression wrought by the fomorians upon the people of dana, and that report was heard by lugh. then lugh said to his tutors "it were a worthy deed to rescue my father and the people of erinn from this tyranny; let me go thither and attempt it." and they said to him, "go, and blessing and victory be with thee." so lugh armed himself and mounted his fairy steed, and called his friends and foster-brothers about him, and across the bright and heaving surface of the waters they rode like the wind, until they took land in erinn. now the chiefs of the danaan folk were assembled upon the hill of usnach, which is upon the western side of tara in meath, in order to meet there the stewards of the fomorians and to pay them their tribute. as they awaited the arrival of the fomorians they became aware of a company on horseback, coming from the west, before whom rode a young man who seemed to command them all, and whose countenance was as radiant as the sun upon a dry summer's day, so that the danaans could scarcely gaze upon it. he rode upon a white horse and was armed with a sword, and on his head was a helmet set with precious stones. the danaan folk welcomed him as he came among them, and asked him of his name and his business among them. as they were thus talking another band drew near, numbering nine times nine persons, who were the stewards of the fomorians coming to demand their tribute. they were men of a fierce and swarthy countenance, and as they came haughtily and arrogantly forward, the danaans all rose up to do them honour. then lugh said: "why do ye rise up before that grim and ill-looking band and not before us?" said the king of erinn, "we needs must do so, for if they saw but a child of a month old sitting down when they came near they would hold it cause enough to attack and slay us." "i am greatly minded to slay them," said lugh; and he repeated it, "very greatly minded." "that would be bad for us," said the king, "for our death and destruction would surely follow." "ye are too long under oppression," said lugh, and gave the word for onset. so he and his comrades rushed upon the fomorians, and in a moment the hillside rang with blows and with the shouting of warriors. in no long time all of the fomorians were slain save nine men, and these were taken alive and brought before lugh. "ye also should be slain," said lugh, "but that i am minded to send you as ambassadors to your king. tell him that he may seek homage and tribute where he will henceforth, but ireland will pay him none for ever." then the fomorians went northwards away, and the people of dana made them ready for war, and made lugh their captain and war-lord, for the sight of his face heartened them, and made them strong, and they marvelled that they had endured their slavery so long. in the meantime word was brought to balor of the mighty blows, king of the fomorians, and to his queen kethlinn of the twisted teeth, of the shame and destruction that had been done to their stewards, and they assembled a great host of the sea-rovers and manned their war-ships, and the northern sea was white with the foam of their oarblades as they swept down upon the shores of erinn. and balor commanded them, saying, "when ye have utterly destroyed and subdued the people of dana, then make fast your ships with cables to the land of erinn, and tow it here to the north of us into the region of ice and snow, and it shall trouble us no longer." so the host of balor took land by the falls of dara[ ] and began plundering and devastating the province of connacht. [ ] ballysodare = the town of the falls of dara, in co. sligo. then lugh sent messengers abroad to bring his host together, and among them was his own father, kian, son of canta. and as kian went northwards on his errand to rouse the ulster men, and was now come to the plain of murthemny near by dundealga,[ ] he saw three warriors armed and riding across the plain. now these three were the sons of turenn, by name brian and iuchar and iucharba. and there was an ancient blood-feud between the house of canta and the house of turenn, so that they never met without bloodshed. [ ] dundalk. then kian thought to himself, "if my brothers cu and kethan were here there might be a pretty fight, but as they are three to one i would do better to fly." now there was a herd of wild swine near by; and kian changed himself by druidic sorceries into a wild pig and fell to rooting up the earth along with the others. when the sons of turenn came up to the herd, brian said, "brothers, did ye see the warrior wh' just now was journeying across the plain?" "we saw him," said they. "what is become of him?" said brian. "truly, we cannot tell," said the brothers. "it is good watch ye keep in time of war!" said brian; "but i know what has taken him out of our sight, for he struck himself with a magic wand, and changed himself into the form of one of yonder swine, and he is rooting the earth among them now. wherefore," said brian, "i deem that he is no friend to us." "if so, we have no help for it," said they, "for the herd belongs to some man of the danaans; and even if we set to and begin to kill the swine, the pig of druidism might be the very one to escape." "have ye learned so little in your place of studies," said brian, "that ye cannot distinguish a druidic beast from a natural beast?" and with that he smote his two brothers with a magic wand, and changed them into two slender, fleet hounds, and they darted in among the herd. then all the herd scattered and fled, but the hounds separated the druidic pig and chased it towards a wood where brian awaited it. as it passed, brian flung his spear, and it pierced the chest of the pig and brought it down. the pig screamed, "evil have you done to cast at me." brian said, "that hath the sound of human speech!" "i am in truth a man," said the pig, "and i am kian, son of canta, and i pray you show me mercy." "that will we," said iuchar and iucharba, "and sorry are we for what has happened." "nay," said brian, "but i swear by the wind and the sun that if thou hadst seven lives i would take them all." "grant me a favour then," said kian. "we shall grant it," said brian. "let me," said kian, "return into my own form that i may die in the shape of a man." "i had liefer kill a man than a pig," said brian. then kian became a man again and stood before them, the blood trickling from his breast. "i have outwitted you now," cried he, "for if ye had killed a pig ye would have paid a pig's eric,[ ] but now ye shall pay the eric of a man. never was greater eric in the land of erinn than that which ye shall pay; and i swear that the very weapons with which ye slay me shall tell the tale to the avenger of blood." [ ] blood-fine. "then you shall be slain with no weapons at all," said brian; and they picked up the stones on the plain of murthemny and rained them upon him till he was all one wound, and he died. so they buried him as deep as the height of a man, and went their way to join the host of lugh. when the host was assembled, lugh led them into connacht and smote the fomorians and drove them to their ships, but of this the tale tells not here. but when the fight was done, lugh asked of his comrades if they had seen his father in the fight and how it fared with him. they said they had not seen him. then lugh made search among the dead, and they found not kian there. "were kian alive he would be here," said lugh, "and i swear by the wind and the sun that i will not eat or drink till i know what has befallen him." on their return the danaan host passed by the plain of murthemny, and when they came near the place of the murder the stones cried aloud to lugh. and lugh listened, and they told him of the deed of the sons of turenn. then lugh searched for the place of a new grave, and when he had found it he caused it to be dug, and the body of his father was raised up, and lugh saw that it was but a litter of wounds. and he cried out: "o wicked and horrible deed!" and he kissed his father and said, "i am sick from this sight, my eyes are blind from it, my ears are deaf from it, my heart stands still from it. ye gods that i adore, why was i not here when this crime was done? a man of the children of dana slain by his fellows." and he lamented long and bitterly. then kian was again laid in his grave, and a mound was heaped over it and a pillar-stone set thereon and his name written in ogham, and a dirge was sung for him. after that lugh departed to tara, to the court of the high king, and he charged his people to say nothing of what had happened until he himself had made it known. when he reached tara with his victorious host the king placed lugh at his own right hand before all the princes and lords of the danaan folk. lugh looked round about him, and saw the sons of turenn sitting among the assembly; and they were among the best and strongest and the handsomest of those who were present at that time; nor had any borne themselves better in the fight with the sea-rovers. then lugh asked of the king that the chain of silence might be shaken; and the assembly heard it, and gave their attention to lugh. and lugh said: "o king, and ye princes of the people of dana, i ask what vengeance would each of you exact upon a man who had foully murdered your father?" then they were all astonished, and the king answered and said: "surely it is not the father of lugh lamfada who has thus been slain?" "thou hast said it," said lugh, "and those who did the deed are listening to me now, and know it better than i." the king said, "not in one day would i slay the murderer of my father, but i would tear from him a limb day by day till he were dead." and so spake all the lords of the danaans, and the sons of turenn among the rest. "they have sentenced themselves, the murderers of my father," said lugh. "nevertheless i shall accept an eric from them, and if they will pay it, it shall be well; but if not, i shall not break the peace of the king's assembly and of his sanctuary, but let them beware how they leave the hall tara until they have made me satisfaction." "had i slain your father," said the high king, "glad should i be to have an eric accepted for his blood." then the sons of turenn whispered among themselves. "it is to us that lugh is speaking," said iuchar and iucharba, "let us confess and have the eric assessed upon us, for he has got knowledge of our deed." "nay," said brian, "but he may be seeking for an open confession, and then perchance he would not accept an eric." but the two brethren said to brian, "do thou confess because thou art the eldest, or if thou do not, then we shall." so brian, son of turenn, rose up and said to lugh: "it is to us thou hast spoken, lugh, since thou knowest there is enmity of old time between our houses; and if thou wilt have it that we have slain thy father, then declare our eric and we shall pay it." "i will take an eric from you," said lugh, "and if it seem too great, i will remit a portion of it." "declare it, then," said the sons of turenn. "this it is," said lugh. "three apples. "the skin of a pig. "a spear. "two steeds and a chariot. "seven swine. "a whelp of a dog. "a cooking spit. "three shouts on a hill." "we would not consider heavy hundreds or thousands of these things," said the sons of turenn, "but we misdoubt thou hast some secret purpose against us." "i deem it no small eric," said lugh, "and i call to witness the high king and lords of the danaans that i shall ask no more; and do ye on your side give me guarantees for the fulfilment of it." so the high king and the lords of the danaans entered into bonds with lugh and with the sons of turenn that the eric should be paid and should wipe out the blood of kian. "now," said lugh, "it is better forme to give you fuller knowledge of the eric. the three apples that i have demanded of you are the apples that grow in the garden of the hesperides, in the east of the world, and none but these will do. thus it is with them: they are the colour of bright gold, and as large as the head of a month-old child; the taste of them is like honey; if he who eats them has any running sore or evil disease it is healed by them; they may be eaten and eaten and never be less. i doubt, o young heroes, if ye will get these apples, for those who guard them know well an ancient prophecy that one day three knights from the western world would come to attempt them. "as for the skin of the pig, that is a treasure of tuish, the king of greece. if it be laid upon a wounded man it will make him whole and well, if only it overtake the breath of life in him. and do ye know what is the spear that i demanded?" "we do not," said they. "it is the poisoned spear of peisear, the king of persia, and so fierce is the spirit of war in it that it must be kept in a pot of soporific herbs or it would fly out raging for death. and do ye know what are the two horses and the chariot ye must get?" "we do not know," said they. "the steeds and the chariot belong to dobar, king of sicily. they are magic steeds and can go indifferently over land and sea, nor can they be killed by any weapon unless they be torn in pieces and their bones cannot be found. and the seven pigs are the swine of asal, king of the golden pillars, which may be slain and eaten every night and the next morning they are alive again. "and the hound-whelp i asked of you is the whelp of the king of iorroway, that can catch and slay any beast in the world; hard it is to get possession of that whelp. "the cooking spit is one of the spits that the fairy women of the island of finchory have in their kitchen. "and the hill on which ye must give three shouts is the hill where dwells mochaen in the north of lochlann. now mochaen and his sons have it as a sacred ordinance that they permit not any man to raise a shout upon their hill. with him it was that my father was trained to arms, and if i forgave ye his death, yet would mochaen not forgive it. "and now ye know the eric which ye have to pay for the slaying of kian, son of canta." astonishment and despair overcame the sons of turenn when they learned the meaning of the eric of lugh, and they went home to tell the tidings to their father. "this is an evil tale," said turenn; "i doubt but death and doom shall come from your seeking of that eric, and it is but right they should. yet it may be that ye shall obtain the eric if lugh or mananan will help you to it. go now to lugh, and ask him for the loan of the fairy steed of mananan, which was given him to ride over the sea into erinn. he will refuse you, for he will say that the steed is but lent to him and he may not make a loan of a loan. then ask him for the loan of ocean sweeper, which is the magic boat of mananan, and that he must give, for it is a sacred ordinance with lugh not to refuse a second petition." so they went to lugh, and it all fell out as turenn had told them, and they went back to turenn. "ye have done something towards the eric," said turenn, "but not much. yet lugh would be well pleased that ye brought him whatever might serve him when the fomorians come to the battle again, and well pleased would he be that ye might get your death in bringing it. go now, my sons, and blessing and victory be with you." then the sons of turenn went down to the harbour on the boyne river where the boat of mananan was, and ethne their sister with them. and when they reached the place, ethne broke into lamentations and weeping; but brian said, "weep not, dear sister, but let us go forth gaily to great deeds. better a hundred deaths in the quest of honour than to live and die as cowards and sluggards." but ethne said, "ye are banished from erinn--never was there a sadder deed." then they put forth from the river-mouth of the boyne and soon the fair coasts of erinn faded out of sight. "and now," said they among themselves, "what course shall we steer?" [illustration: "'bear us swiftly, boat of mananan, to the garden of the hesperides'"] "no need to steer the boat of mananan," said brian; and he whispered to the boat, "bear us swiftly, boat of mananan, to the garden of the hesperides"; and the spirit of the boat heard him and it leaped eagerly forward, lifting and dipping over the rollers and throwing up an arch of spray each side of its bows wherein sat a rainbow when the sun shone upon it; and so in no long time they drew nigh to the coast where was the far-famed garden of the golden apples. "and now, how shall we set about the capture of the apples?" said brian. "draw sword and fight for them," said iuchar and iucharba, "and if we are the stronger, we shall win them, and if not, we shall fall, as fall we surely must ere the eric for kian be paid." "nay," said brian, "but whether we live or die, let not men say of us that we went blind and headlong to our tasks, but rather that we made the head help the hand, and that we deserved to win even though we lost. now my counsel is that we approach the garden in the shape of three hawks, strong of wing, and that we hover about until the wardens of the tree have spent all their darts and javelins in casting at us, and then let us swoop down suddenly and bear off each of us an apple if we may." so it was agreed; and brian struck himself and each of the brothers with a druid wand, and they became three beautiful, fierce, and strong-winged hawks. when the wardens perceived them, they shouted and threw showers of arrows and darts at them, but the hawks evaded all of these until the missiles were spent, and then seized each an apple in his talons. but brian seized two, for he took one in his beak as well. then they flew as swiftly as they might to the shore where they had left their boat. now the king of that garden had three fair daughters, to whom the apples and the garden were very dear, and he transformed the maidens into three griffins, who pursued the hawks. and the griffins threw darts of fire, as it were lightning, at the hawks. "brian!" then cried iuchar and his brother, "we are being burnt by these darts--we are lost unless we can escape them." on this, brian changed himself and his brethren into three swans, and they plunged into the sea, and the burning darts were quenched. then the griffins gave over the chase, and the sons of turenn made for their boat, and they embarked with the four apples. thus their first quest was ended. after that they resolved to seek the pigskin from the king of greece, and they debated how they should come before him. "let us," said brian, "assume the character and garb of poets and men of learning, for such are wont to come from ireland and to travel foreign lands, and in that character shall the greeks receive us best, for such men have honour among them." "it is well said," replied the brothers, "yet we have no poems in our heads, and how to compose one we know not." howbeit they dressed their hair in the fashion of the poets of erinn, and went up to the palace of tuish the king. the doorkeeper asked of them who they were, and what was their business. "we are bards from ireland," they said, "and we have come with a poem to the king." "let them be admitted," said the king, when the doorkeeper brought him that tale; "they have doubtless come thus far to seek a powerful patron." so brian and iuchar and iucharba came in and were made welcome, and were entertained, and then the minstrels of the king of greece chanted the lays of that country before them. after that came the turn of the stranger bards, and brian asked his brethren if they had anything to recite. "we have not," said they; "we know but one art--to take what we want by the strong hand if we may, and if we may not, to die fighting." "that is a difficult art too," said brian; "let us see how we thrive with the poetry." so he rose up and recited this lay:-- "mighty is thy fame, o king, towering like a giant oak; for my song i ask no thing save a pigskin for a cloak. "when a neighbour with his friend quarrels, they are ear to ear; who on us their store shall spend shall be richer than they were. "armies of the storming wind-- raging seas, the sword's fell stroke-- thou hast nothing to my mind save thy pigskin for a cloak." "that is a very good poem," said the king, "but one word of its meaning i do not understand." "i will interpret it for you," said brian:-- "mighty is thy fame, o king, towering like a giant oak." "that is to say, as the oak surpasses all the other trees of the forest, so do you surpass all the kings of the world in goodness, in nobleness, and in liberality. "a pigskin for a cloak." "that is the skin of the pig of tuish which i would fain receive as the reward for my lay." "when a neighbour with his friend quarrels, they are ear to ear." "that is to signify that you and i shall be about each other's ears over the skin, unless you are willing to give it to me. such is the sense of my poem," said brian, son of turenn. "i would praise your poem more," said the king, "if there were not so much about my pigskin in it. little sense have you, o man of poetry, to make that request of me, for not to all the poets, scholars, and lords of the world would i give that skin of my own free will. but what i will do is this--i will give the full of that skin of red gold thrice over in reward for your poem." "thanks be to you," said brian, "for that. i knew that i asked too much, but i knew also thou wouldst redeem the skin amply and generously. and now let the gold be duly measured out in it, for greedy am i, and i will not abate an ounce of it." the servants of the king were then sent with brian and his brothers to the king's treasure-chamber to measure out the gold. as they did so, brian suddenly snatched the skin from the hands of him who held it, and swiftly wrapped it round his body. then the three brothers drew sword and made for the door, and a great fight arose in the king's palace. but they hewed and thrust manfully on every side of them, and though sorely wounded they fought their way through and escaped to the shore, and drove their boat out to sea, when the skin of the magic pig quickly made them whole and sound again. and thus the second quest of the sons of turenn had its end. "let us now," said brian, "go to seek the spear of the king of persia." "in what manner of guise shall we go before the king of persia?" said his brothers. "as we did before the king of greece," said brian. "that guise served us well with the king of greece," replied they; "nevertheless, o brian, this business of professing to be poets, when we are but swordsmen, is painful to us." however, they dressed their hair in the manner of poets and went up boldly to the palace of king peisear of persia, saying, as before, that they were wandering bards from ireland who had a poem to recite before the king; and as they passed through the courtyard they marked the spear drowsing in its pot of sleepy herbs. they were made welcome, and after listening to the lays of the king's minstrel, brian rose and sang:-- "'tis little peisear cares for spears, since armies, when his face they see, all overcome with panic fears without a wound they turn and flee. "the yew is monarch of the wood, no other tree disputes its claim. the shining shaft in venom stewed flies fiercely forth to kill and maim." "'tis a very good poem," said the king, "but, o bard from erinn, i do not understand your reference to my spear." "it is merely this," replied brian, "that i would like your spear as a reward for my poem." then the king stared at brian, and his beard bristled with anger, and he said, "never was a greater reward paid for any poem than not to adjudge you guilty of instant death for your request." then brian flung at the king the fourth golden apple which he had taken from the garden of the hesperides, and it dashed out his brains. immediately the brothers all drew sword and made for the courtyard. here they seized the magic spear, and with it and with their swords they fought their way clear, not without many wounds, and escaped to their boat. and thus ended the third quest of the sons of turenn. now having come safely and victoriously through so many straits and perils, they began to be merry and hoped that all the eric might yet be paid. so they sailed away with high hearts to the island of sicily, to get the two horses and the chariot of the king, and the boat of mananan bore them swiftly and well. having arrived here, they debated among themselves as to how they should proceed; and they agreed to present themselves as irish mercenary soldiers--for such were wont in those days to take service with foreign kings--until they should learn where the horses and the chariot were kept, and how they should come at them. then they went forward, and found the king and his lords in the palace garden taking the air. the sons of turenn then paid homage to him, and he asked them of their business. "we are irish mercenary soldiers," they said, "seeking our wages from the kings of the world." "are ye willing to take service with me?" said the king. "we are," said they, "and to that end are we come." then their contract of military service was made, and they remained at the king's court for a month and a fortnight, and did not in all that time come to see the steeds or the chariot. at last brian said, "things are going ill with us, my brethren, in that we know no more at this day of the steeds or of the chariot than when we first arrived at this place." "what shall we do, then?" said they. "let us do this," said brian. "let us gird on our arms and all our marching array, and tell the king that we shall quit his service unless he show us the chariot." and so they did; and the king said, "to-morrow shall be a gathering and parade of all my host, and the chariot shall be there, and ye shall see it if ye have a mind." so the next day the steeds were yoked and the chariot was driven round a great plain before the king and his lords. now these steeds could run as well on sea as on dry land, and they were swifter than the winds of march. as the chariot came round the second time, brian and his brothers seized the horses' heads, and brian took the charioteer by the foot and flung him out over the rail, and they all leaped into the chariot and drove away. such was the swiftness of their driving that they were out of sight ere the king and his men knew rightly what had befallen. and thus ended the fourth quest of the sons of turenn. next they betook themselves to the court of asal, king of the golden pillars, to get the seven swine which might be eaten every night and they would be whole and well on the morrow morn. but it had now been noised about every country that three young heroes from erinn were plundering the kings of the world of their treasures in payment of a mighty eric; and when they arrived at the land of the golden pillars they found the harbour guarded and a strait watch kept, that no one who might resemble the sons of turenn should enter. but asal the king came to the harbour-mouth and spoke with the heroes, for he was desirous to see those who had done the great deeds that he had heard of. he asked them if it were true that they had done such things, and why. then brian told him the story of the mighty eric which had been laid upon them, and what they had done and suffered in fulfilling it. "why," said king asal, "have ye now come to my country?" "for the seven swine," said brian, "to take them with us as a part of that eric." "how do you mean to get them?" asked the king. "with your goodwill," replied brian, "if so it may be, and to pay you therefore with all the wealth we now have, which is thanks and love, and to stand by your side hereafter in any strait or quarrel you may enter into. but if you will not grant us the swine, and we may not be quit of our eric without them, we shall even take them as we may, and as we have beforetime taken mighty treasures from mighty kings." then king asal went into counsel with his lords, and he advised that the swine be given to the sons of turenn, partly for that he was moved with their desperate plight and the hardihood they had shown, and partly that they might get them whether or no. to this they all agreed, and the sons of turenn were invited to come ashore, where they were courteously and hospitably entertained in the king's palace. on the morrow the pigs were given to them, and great was their gladness, for never before had they won a treasure without toil and blood. and they vowed that, if they should live, the name of asal should be made by them a great and shining name, for his compassion and generosity which he had shown them. this, then, was the fifth quest of the sons of turenn. "and whither do ye voyage now?" said asal to them. "we go," said they, "to iorroway for the hound's whelp which is there." "take me with you, then," said asal, "for the king of iorroway is husband to my daughter, and i may prevail upon him to grant you the hound without combat." so the king's ship was manned and provisioned, and the sons of turenn laid up their treasures in the boat of mananan, and they all sailed joyfully forth to the pleasant kingdom of iorroway. but here, too, they found all the coasts and harbours guarded, and entrance was forbidden them. then asal declared who he was, and him they allowed to land, and he journeyed to where his son-in-law, the king of iorroway, was. to him asal related the whole story of the sons of turenn, and why they were come to that kingdom. "thou wert a fool," said the king of iorroway, "to have come on such a mission. there are no three heroes in the world to whom the immortals have granted such grace that they should get my hound either by favour or by fight." "that is not a good word," said asal, "for the treasures they now possess have made them yet stronger than they were, and these they won in the teeth of kings as strong as thou." and much more he said to him to persuade him to yield up the hound, but in vain. so asal took his way back to the haven where the sons of turenn lay, and told them his tidings. then the sons of turenn seized the magic spear, and the pigskin, and with a rush like that of three eagles descending from a high cliff upon a lamb-fold they burst upon the guards of the king of iorroway. fierce and fell was the combat that ensued, and many times the brothers were driven apart, and all but overborne by the throng of their foes. but at last brian perceived where the king of iorroway was directing the fight, and he cut his way to him, and having smitten him to the ground, he bound him and carried him out of the press to the haven-side where asal was. "there," he said, "is your son-in-law for you asal, and i swear by my sword that i had more easily killed him thrice than once to bring him thus bound to you." "that is very like," said asal; "but now hold him to ransom." so the people of iorroway gave the hound to the sons of turenn as a ransom for their king, and the king was released, and friendship and alliance were made between them. and with joyful hearts the sons of turenn bade farewell to the king of iorroway and to asal, and departed on their way. thus was the sixth of their quests fulfilled. now lugh lamfada desired to know how the sons of turenn had fared, and whether they had got any portion of the great eric that might be serviceable to him when the fomorians should return for one more struggle. and by sorcery and divination it was revealed to him how they had thriven, and that nought remained to be won save the cooking-spit of the sea-nymphs, and to give the three shouts upon the hill. lugh then by druidic art caused a spell of oblivion and forgetfulness to descend upon the sons of turenn, and put into their hearts withal a yearning and passion to return to their native land of erinn. they forgot, therefore, that a portion of the eric was still to win, and they bade the boat of mananan bear them home with their treasures, for they deemed that they should now quit them of all their debt for the blood of kian and live free in their father's home, having done such things and won such fame as no three brothers had ever done since the world began. at the brugh of boyne, where they had started on their quest, their boat came ashore again, and as they landed they wept for joy, and falling on their knees they kissed the green sod of erinn. then they took up their treasures and journeyed to ben edar,[ ] where the high king of ireland, and lugh with him, were holding an assembly of the people of dana. but when lugh heard that they were on their way he put on his cloak of invisibility and withdrew privily to tara. [ ] the hill of howth. when the brethren arrived at ben edar, the high king of the lords of the danaans gave them welcome and applause, for all were rejoiced that the stain of ancient feud and bloodshed should be wiped out, and that the children of dana should be at peace within their borders. then they sought for lugh to deliver over the eric, but he was not to be found. and brian said, "he has gone to tara to avoid us, having heard that we were coming with our treasures and weapons of war." word was then sent to lugh at tara that the sons of turenn were at ben edar, and the eric with them. "let them pay it over to the high king," said lugh. so it was done; and when lugh had tidings that the high king had the eric, he returned to ben edar. then the eric was laid before him, and brian said, "is the debt paid, o lugh, son of kian?" lugh said, "truly there is here the price of any man's death; but it is not lawful to give a quittance for an eric that is not complete. where is the cooking-spit from the island of finchory? and have ye given the three shouts upon the hill of mochaen?" at this word brian and iuchar and iucharba fell prone upon the ground, and were speechless awhile from grief and dismay. after a while they left the assembly like broken men, with hanging heads and with heavy steps, and betook themselves to dún turenn, where they found their father, and they told him all that had befallen them since they had parted with him and set forth on the quest. thus they passed the night in gloom and evil forebodings, and on the morrow they went down once more to the place where the boat of mananan was moored. and ethne their sister accompanied them, wailing and lamenting, but no words of cheer had they now to say to her, for now they began to comprehend that a mightier and a craftier mind had caught them in the net of fate. and whereas they had deemed themselves heroes and victors in the most glorious quest whereof the earth had record, they now knew that they were but as arrows in the hands of a laughing archer, who shoots one at a stag and one at the heart of a foe, and one, it may be, in sheer wantonness, and to try his bow, over a cliff edge into the sea. [illustration: "there dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs"] however, they put forth in their magic boat, but in no wise could they direct it to the isle of finchory, and a quarter of a year they traversed the seaways and never could get tidings of that island. at last brian fashioned for himself by magic art a water-dress, with a helmet of crystal, and into the depths of the sea he plunged. here, the story tells, he searched hither and thither for a fortnight, till at last he found that island, which was an island indeed with the sea over it and around it and beneath it. there dwelt the red-haired ocean-nymphs in glittering palaces among the sea-flowers, and they wrought fair embroidery with gold and jewels, and sang, as they wrought, a fairy music like the chiming of silver bells. three fifties of them sat or played in their great hall as brian entered, and they gazed on him but spoke no word. then brian strode to the wide hearth, and without a word he seized from it a spit that was made of beaten gold, and turned again to go. but at that the laughter of the sea-maidens rippled through the hall and one of them said: "thou art a bold man, brian, and bolder than thou knowest; for if thy two brothers were here, the weakest of us could vanquish all the three. nevertheless, take the spit for thy daring; we had never granted it for thy prayers." so brian thanked them and bade farewell, and he rose to the surface of the water. ere long his brethren perceived him as he shouldered the waves on the bosom of the deep, and they sailed to where he was and took him on board. and thus ended the quest for the seventh portion of the eric of kian. after that their hopes revived a little, and they set sail for the land of lochlann, in which was the hill of mochaen. when they had arrived at the hill mochaen came out to meet them with his three sons, corc and conn and hugh; nor did the sons of turenn ever behold a band of grimmer and mightier warriors than those four. "what seek ye here?" asked mochaen of them they told him that it had been laid upon them to give three shouts upon the hill. "it hath been laid upon me," said mochaen, "to prevent this thing." then brian and mochaen drew sword and fell furiously upon each other, and their fighting was like that of two hungry lions or two wild bulls, until at last brian drove his sword into the throat of mochaen, and he died. with that the sons of mochaen and the sons of turenn rushed fiercely upon each other. long and sore was the strife that they had, and the blood that fell made red the grassy place wherein they fought. not one of them but received wounds that pierced him through and through, and that heroes of less hardihood had died of a score of times. but in the end the sons of mochaen fell, and brian, iuchar, and iucharba lay over them in a swoon like death. after a while brian's senses came back to him, and he said, "do ye live, dear brothers, or how is it with you?" "we are as good as dead," said they; "let us be." "arise," then said brian, "for truly i feel death coming swiftly upon us, and we have yet to give the three shouts upon the hill." "we cannot stir," said iuchar and iucharba. then brian rose to his knees and to his feet, and he lifted up his two brothers while the blood of all three streamed down to their feet, and they raised their voices as best they might, and gave three hoarse cries upon the hill of mochaen. and thus was the last of the epic fulfilled. then they bound up their wounds, and brian placed himself between the two brothers, and slowly and painfully they made their way to the boat, and put out to sea for ireland. and as they lay in the stupor of faintness in the boat, one murmured to himself, "i see the cape of ben edar and the coast of turenn, and tara of the kings." then iuchar and iucharba entreated brian to lift their heads upon his breast. "let us but see the land of erinn again," said they, "the hills around tailtin, and the dewy plain of bregia, and the quiet waters of the boyne and our father's dún thereby, and healing will come to us; or if death come we can endure it after that." then brian raised them up; and they saw that they were now near by under ben edar; and at the strand of the bull[ ] they took land. they were then conveyed to the dún of turenn, and life was still in them when they were laid in their father's hall. [ ] cluan tarbh, clontarf; so called from the roaring of the waves on the strand. and brian said to turenn, "go now, dear father, with all speed to lugh at tara. give him the cooking-spit, and tell how thou hast found us after giving our three shouts upon the hill of mochaen. then beseech him that he yield thee the loan of the pigskin of the king of greece, for if it be laid upon us while the life is yet in us, we shall recover. we have won the eric, and it may be that he will not pursue us to our death." turenn went to lugh and gave him the spit of the sea-nymphs, and besought him for the lives of his sons. lugh was silent for a while, but his countenance did not change, and he said, "thou, old man, seest nought but the cloud of sorrow wherein thou art encompassed. but i hear from above it the singing of the immortal ones, who tell to one another the story of this land. thy sons must die; yet have i shown to them more mercy than they showed to kian. i have forgiven them; nor shall they live to slay their own immortality, but the royal bards of erinn and the old men in the chimney corners shall tell of their glory and their fate as long as the land shall endure." then turenn bowed his white head and went sorrowfully back to dún turenn; and he told his sons of the words that lugh had said. and with that the sons of turenn kissed each other, and the breath of life departed from them, and they died. and turenn died also, for his heart was broken in him; and ethne his daughter buried them in one grave. thus, then, ends the tale of the quest of the eric and the fate of the sons of turenn. chapter iii the secret of labra in very ancient days there was a king in ireland named labra, who was called labra the sailor for a certain voyage that he made. now labra was never seen save by one man, once a year, without a hood that covered his head and ears. but once a year it was his habit to let his hair be cropped, and the person to do this was chosen by lot, for the king was accustomed to put to death instantly the man who had cropped him. and so it happened that on a certain year the lot fell on a young man who was the only son of a poor widow, who dwelt near by the palace of the king. when she heard that her son had been chosen she fell on her knees before the king and besought him, with tears, that her son, who was her only support and all she had in the world, might not suffer death as was customary. the king was moved by her grief and her entreaties, and at last he consented that the young man should not be slain provided that he vowed to keep secret to the day of his death what he should see. the youth agreed to this and he vowed by the sun and the wind that he would never, so long as he lived, reveal to man what he should learn when he cropped the king's hair. so he did what was appointed for him and went home. but when he did so he had no peace for the wonder of the secret that he had learned preyed upon his mind so that he could not rest for thinking of it and longing to reveal it, and at last he fell into a wasting sickness from it, and was near to die. then there was brought to see him a wise druid, who was skilled in all maladies of the mind and body, and after he had talked with the youth he said to his mother, "thy son is dying of the burden of a secret which he may not reveal to any man, but until he reveals it he will have no ease. let him, therefore, walk along the high way till he comes to a place where four roads meet. let him then turn to the right, and the first tree that he shall meet on the roadside let him tell the secret to it, and so it may be he shall be relieved, and his vow will not be broken." the mother told her son of the druid's advice, and next day he went upon his way till he came to four cross roads, and he took the road upon the right, and the first tree he found was a great willow-tree. so the young man laid his cheek against the bark, and he whispered the secret to the tree, and as he turned back homeward he felt lightened of his burden, and he leaped and sang, and ere many days were past he was as well and light hearted as ever he had been in his life. some while after that it happened that the king's harper, namely craftiny, broke the straining-post of his harp and went out to seek for a piece of wood wherewith to mend it. and the first timber he found that would fit the purpose was the willow-tree by the cross roads. he cut it down, therefore, and took as much as would give him a new straining-post, and he bore it home with him and mended his harp with it. that night he played after meat before the king and his lords as he was wont, but whatever he played and sang the folk that listened to him seemed to hear only one thing, "two horse's ears hath labra the sailor." then the king plucked off his hood, and after that he made no secret of his ears and none suffered on account of them thenceforward. chapter iv king iubdan and king fergus it happened on a day when fergus son of leda was king of ulster, that iubdan, king of the leprecauns or wee folk, of the land of faylinn, held a great banquet and assembly of the lords and princes of the wee folk. and all their captains and men of war came thither, to show their feats before the king, among whom was the strong man, namely glowar, whose might was such that with his battle-axe he could hew down a thistle at one stroke. thither also came the king's heir-apparent. tiny, son of tot, and the queen bebo with her maidens; and there were also the king's harpers and singing-men, and the chief poet of the court, who was called eisirt. all these sat down to the feast in due order and precedence, with bebo on the king's right hand and the poet on his left, and glowar kept the door. soon the wine began to flow from the vats of dark-red yew-wood, and the carvers carved busily at great haunches of roast hares and ribs of field-mice; and they all ate and drank, and loudly the hall rang with gay talk and laughter, and the drinking of toasts, and clashing of silver goblets. at last when they had put away desire of eating and drinking, iubdan rose up, having in his hand the royal goblet of gold inlaid with precious many-coloured jewels, and the heir-apparent rose at the other end of the table, and they drank prosperity and victory to faylinn. then iubdan's heart swelled with pride, and he asked of the company, "come now, have any of you ever seen a king more glorious and powerful than i am?" "never, in truth," cried they all. "have ye ever seen a stronger man than my giant, glowar?" "never, o king," said they. "or battle-steeds and men-at-arms better than mine?" "by our words," they cried, "we never have." "truly," went on iubdan, "i deem that he who would assail our kingdom of faylinn, and carry away captives and hostages from us, would have his work cut out for him, so fierce and mighty are our warriors; yea, any one of them hath the stuff of kingship in him." on hearing this, eisirt, in whom the heady wine and ale had done their work, burst out laughing; and the king turned to him, saying, "eisirt, what hath moved thee to this laughter?" "i know a province in erinn," replied eisirt, "one man of whom would harry faylinn in the teeth of all four battalions of the wee folk." "seize him," cried the king to his attendants; "eisirt shall pay dearly in chains and in prison for that scornful speech against our glory." then eisirt was put in bonds, and he repented him of his brag; but ere they dragged him away he said, "grant me, o mighty king, but three days' respite, that i may travel to erinn to the court of fergus mac leda, and if i bring not back some clear token that i have uttered nought but the truth, then do with me as thou wilt." so iubdan bade them release him, and he fared away to erinn oversea. [illustration: "they all trooped out, lords and ladies, to view the wee man"] after this, one day, as fergus and his lords sat at the feast, the gatekeeper of the palace of fergus in emania heard outside a sound of ringing; he opened the gate, and there stood a wee man holding in his hand a rod of white bronze hung with little silver bells, by which poets are wont to procure silence for their recitations. most noble and comely was the little man to look on, though the short grass of the lawn reached as high as to his knee. his hair was twisted in four-ply strands after the manner of poets and he wore a gold-embroidered tunic of silk and an ample scarlet cloak with a fringe of gold. on his feet he wore shoes of white bronze ornamented with gold, and a silken hood was on his head. the gatekeeper wondered at the sight of the wee man, and went to report the matter to king fergus. "is he less," asked fergus, "than my dwarf and poet Æda?" "verily," said the gatekeeper, "he could stand upon the palm of Æda's hand and have room to spare." then with much laughter and wonder they all trooped out, lords and ladies, to the great gate to view the wee man and to speak with him. but eisirt, when he saw them, waved them back in alarm, crying, "avaunt, huge men; bring not your heavy breath so near me; but let yon man that is least among you approach me and bear me in." so the dwarf Æda put eisirt on his palm and bore him into the banqueting hall. then they set him on the table, and eisirt declared his name and calling. the king ordered that meat and drink should be given him, but eisirt said, "i will neither eat of your meat nor drink of ale." "by our word," said fergus, "'tis a haughty wight; he ought to be dropped into a goblet that he might at least drink all round him." the cupbearer seized eisirt and put him into a tankard of ale, and he swam on the surface of it. "ye wise men of ulster," he cried, "there is much knowledge and wisdom ye might get from me, yet ye will let me be drowned!" "what, then?" cried they. then eisirt, beginning with the king, set out to tell every hidden sin that each man or woman had done, and ere he had gone far they with much laughter and chiding fetched him out of the ale-pot and dried him with fair satin napkins. "now ye have confessed that i know somewhat to the purpose," said eisirt, "and i will even eat of your food, but do ye give heed to my words, and do ill no more." fergus then said, "if thou art a poet, eisirt, give us now a taste of thy delightful art." "that will i," said eisirt, "and the poem that i shall recite to you shall be an ode in praise of my king, iubdan the great." then he recited this lay:-- "a monarch of might is iubdan my king. his brow is snow-white, his hair black as night; as a red copper bowl when smitten will sing, so ringeth the voice of iubdan the king. his eyen, they roll majestic and bland on the lords of his land arrayed for the fight, a spectacle grand! like a torrent they rush with a waving of swords and the bridles all ringing and cheeks all aflush, and the battle-steeds springing, a beautiful, terrible, death-dealing band. like pines, straight and tall, where iubdan is king, are the men one and all. the maidens are fair-- bright gold is their hair. from silver we quaff the dark, heady ale that never shall fail; we love and we laugh. gold frontlets we wear; and aye through the air sweet music doth ring-- o fergus, men say that in all inisfail there is not a maiden so proud or so wise but would give her two eyes thy kisses to win-- but i tell thee, that there thou canst never compare with the haughty, magnificent king of faylinn!" at this they all applauded, and fergus said, "o youth and blameless bard, let us be friends henceforth." and they all heaped before him, as a poet's reward, gifts of rings and jewels and gold cups and weapons, as high as a tall man standing. then eisirt said, "truly a generous and a worthy reward have ye given me, o men of ulster; yet take back these precious things i pray you, for every man in my king's household hath an abundance of them." but the ulster lords said, "nothing that we have given may we take back." eisirt then bade two-thirds of his reward be given to the bards and learned men of ulster, and one-third to the horse-boys and jesters; and so it was done. three days and nights did eisirt abide in emania, and all the king's court loved him and made much of him. then he wished them blessing and victory, and prepared to depart to his own country. now Æda, the king's dwarf and minstrel, begged eisirt to take him with him on a visit to the land of faylinn; and eisirt said, "i shall not bid thee come, for then if kindness and hospitality be shown thee, thou wilt say it is only what i had undertaken; but if thou come of thine own motion, thou wilt perchance be grateful." so they went off together; but eisirt could not keep up with Æda, and Æda said, "i perceive that eisirt is but a poor walker." at this eisirt ran off like a flash and was soon an arrow flight in front of Æda. when the latter at last came up with him, he said, "the right thing, eisirt, is not too fast and not too slow." "since i have been in ulster," eisirt replied, "i have never before heard ye measure out the right." by and by they reached the margin of the sea. "and what are we to do now?" asked Æda. "be not troubled, Æda," said eisirt, "the horse of iubdan will bear us easily over this." they waited awhile on the beach, and ere long they saw it coming toward them skimming over the surface of the waves. "save and protect us!" cried Æda at that sight; and eisirt asked him what he saw. "a red-maned hare," answered Æda. "nay, but that is iubdan's horse," said eisirt, and with that the creature came prancing to land with flashing eyes and waving tail and a long russet-coloured mane; a bridle beset with gold it had. eisirt mounted and bade Æda come up behind him. "thy boat is little enough for thee alone," said Æda. "cease fault-finding and grumbling," then said eisirt, "for the weight of wisdom that is in thee will not bear him down." so Æda and eisirt mounted on the fairy horse and away they sped over the tops of the waves and the deeps of the ocean till at last they reached the kingdom of faylinn, and there were a great concourse of the wee folk awaiting them. "eisirt is coming! eisirt is coming!" cried they all, "and a fomorian giant along with him." then iubdan went forth to meet eisirt, and he kissed him, and said, "why hast thou brought this fomorian with thee to slay us?" "he is no fomor," said eisirt, "but a learned man and a poet from ulster. he is moreover the king of ulster's dwarf, and in all that realm he is the smallest man. he can lie in their great men's bosoms and stand upon their hands as though he were a child; yet for all that you would do well to be careful how you behave to him." "what is his name?" said they then. "he is the poet Æda," said eisirt. "uch," said they, "what a giant thou hast brought us!" "and now, o king," said eisirt to iubdan, "i challenge thee to go and see for thyself the region from which we have come, and make trial of the royal porridge which is made for fergus king of ulster this very night." at this iubdan was much dismayed, and he betook himself to bebo his wife and told her how he was laid under bonds of chivalry by eisirt to go to the land of the giants; and he bade her prepare to accompany him. "i will go," said she, "but you did an ill deed when you condemned eisirt to prison." so they mounted, both of them, on the fairy steed, and in no long time they reached emania, and it was now past midnight. and they were greatly afraid, and said bebo, "let us search for that porridge and taste it, as we were bound, and make off again ere the folk awake." they made their way into the palace of fergus, and soon they found a great porridge pot, but the rim was too high to be reached from the ground. "get thee up upon thy horse," said bebo, "and from thence to the rim of this cauldron." and thus he did, but having gained the rim of the pot his arm was too short to reach the silver ladle that was in it. in straining downward to do so, however, he slipped and in he fell, and up to his middle in the thick porridge he stuck fast. and when bebo heard what a plight he was in, she wept, and said, "rash and hasty wert thou, iubdan, to have got into this evil case, but surely there is no man under the sun that can make thee hear reason." and he said, "rash indeed it was, but thou canst not help me, bebo, now, and it is but folly to stay; take the horse and flee away ere the day break." "say not so," replied bebo, "for surely i will not go till i see how things fall out with thee." at last the folk in the palace began to be stirring, and ere long they found iubdan in the porridge pot. so they picked him out with great laughter bore him off to fergus. "by my conscience," said fergus, "but this is not the little fellow that was here before, for he had yellow hair, but this one hath a shock of the blackest; who art thou at all, wee man?" "i am of the wee folk," said iubdan, "and am indeed king over them, and this woman is my wife and queen, bebo." "take him away," then said fergus to his varlets, "and guard him well"; for he misdoubted some mischief of faery was on foot. "nay, nay," cried iubdan, "but let me not be with these coarse fellows. i pledge thee my word that i will not quit this place till thou and ulster give me leave." "could i believe that," said fergus, "i would not put thee in bonds." "i have never broken my word," said iubdan, "and i never will." then fergus set him free and allotted him a fair chamber for himself, and a trusty servingman to wait upon him. soon there came in a gillie whose business it was to see to the fires, and he kindled the fire for iubdan, throwing on it a woodbine together with divers other sorts of timber. then iubdan said, "man of smoke, burn not the king of the trees, for it is not meet to burn him. wouldst thou but take counsel from me thou mightest go safely by sea or land." iubdan then chanted to him the following recital of the duties of his office:-- "o fire-gillie of fergus of the feasts, never by land or sea burn the king of the woods, high king of the forests of inisfail, whom none may bind, but who like a strong monarch holds all the other trees in hard bondage. if thou burn the twining one, misfortune will come of it, peril at the point of spear, or drowning in the waves. "burn not the sweet apple-tree of drooping branches, of the white blossoms, to whose gracious head each man puts forth his hand. "the stubborn blackthorn wanders far and wide, the good craftsman burns not this timber; little though its bushes be, yet flocks of birds warble in them. "burn not the noble willow, the unfailing ornament of poems; bees drink from its blossoms, all delight in the graceful tent. "the delicate, airy tree of the druids, the rowan with its berries, this burn; but avoid the weak tree, burn not the slender hazel. "the ash-tree of the black buds burn not--timber that speeds the wheel, that yields the rider his switch; the ashen spear is the scale-beam of battle. "the tangled, bitter bramble, burn him, the sharp and green; he flays and cuts the foot; he snares you and drags you back. "hottest of timber is the green oak; he will give you a pain in the head if you use him overmuch, a pain in the eyes will come from his biting fumes. "full-charged with witchcraft is the alder, the hottest tree in the fight; burn assuredly both the alder and the whitehorn at your will. "holly, burn it in the green and in the dry; of all trees in the world, holly is absolutely the best. "the elder-tree of the rough brown bark, burn him to cinders, the steed of the fairy folk. "the drooping birch, by all means burn him too, the tree of long-lasting bloom. "and lay low, if it pleases you, the russet aspen; late or early, burn the tree with the quaking plumage. "the yew is the venerable ancestor of the wood as the companion of feasts he is known; of him make goodly brown vats for ale and wine. "follow my counsel, o man of the smoke, and it shall go well with you, body and soul." so iubdan continued in emania free to go and come as he pleased; and all the ulstermen delighted to watch him and to hear his conversation. one day it chanced that he was in the chamber of the queen, and saw her putting on her feet a very dainty and richly embroidered pair of shoes. at this iubdan gave a laugh. "why dost thou laugh?" said fergus. "meseems the healing is applied very far from the hurt," replied iubdan. "what meanest thou by that?" said fergus. "because the queen is making her feet fine in order, o fergus, that she may attract thee to her lips," said iubdan. another time it chanced that iubdan overheard one of the king's soldiers complaining of a pair of new brogues that had been served out to him, and grumbling that the soles were too thin. at this iubdan laughed again, and being asked why, he said, "i must need laugh to hear yon fellow grumbling about his brogues, for the soles of these brogues, thin as they are, he will never wear out." and this was a true prophecy, for the same night this and another of the king's men had a quarrel, and fought, and killed each the other. at last the wee folk determined to go in search of their king, and seven battalions of them marched upon emania and encamped upon the lawn over against the king's dún. fergus and his nobles went out to confer with them. "give us back our king," said the wee folk, "and we shall redeem him with a great ransom." "what ransom, then?" asked fergus. "we shall," said they, "cause this great plain to stand thick with corn for you every year, and that without ploughing or sowing." "i will not give up iubdan for that," said fergus. "then we shall do you a mischief," said the wee folk. that night every calf in the province of ulster got access to its dam, and in the morn there was no milk to be had for man or child, for the cows were sucked dry. then said the wee folk to fergus, "this night, unless we get iubdan, we shall defile every well and lake and river in ulster." "that is a trifle," said fergus, "and ye shall not get iubdan." the wee folk carried out this threat, and once more they came and demanded iubdan, saying, "to-night we shall burn with fire the shaft of every mill in ulster." "yet not so shall ye get iubdan," said fergus. this being done, they came again, saying, "we shall have vengeance unless iubdan be delivered to us." "what vengeance?" said fergus. "we shall snip off every ear of corn in thy kingdom," said they. "even so," replied fergus, "i shall not deliver iubdan." so the wee folk snipped off every ear of standing corn in ulster, and once more they returned and demanded iubdan. "what will ye do next?" asked fergus. "we shall shave the hair of every man and every woman in ulster," said they, "so that ye shall be shamed and disgraced for ever among the people of erinn." "by my word," said fergus, "if ye do that i shall slay iubdan." then iubdan said, "i have a better counsel than that, o king; let me have liberty to go and speak with them, and i shall bid them make good what mischief they have done, and they shall return home forthwith." fergus granted that; and when the wee folk saw iubdan approaching them, they set up a shout of triumph that a man might have heard a bowshot off, for they believed they had prevailed and that iubdan was released to them. but iubdan said, "my faithful people, you must now begone, and i may not go with you; make good also all the mischief that ye have done, and know that if ye do any more i must die." then the wee folk departed, very downcast and sorrowful, but they did as iubdan had bidden them. iubdan, however, went to fergus and said, "take, o king, the choicest of my treasures, and let me go." "what is thy choicest treasure?" said fergus. iubdan then began to recite to fergus the list of his possessions, such as druidic weapons, and love-charms, and instruments of music that played without touch of human hand, and vats of ale that could never be emptied; and he named among other noble treasures a pair of shoes, wearing which a man could go over or under the sea as readily as on dry land. at the same time Æda, the dwarf and poet of ulster, returned hale and well from the land of faylinn, and much did he entertain the king and all the court with tales of the smallness of the wee folk, and their marvel at his own size, and their bravery and beauty, and their marble palaces and matchless minstrelsy. so the king, fergus mac leda, was well content to take a ransom, namely the magic shoes, which he desired above all the treasures of faylinn, and to let iubdan go. and he gave him rich gifts, as did also the nobles of ulster, and wished him blessing and victory; and iubdan he departed, with bebo his wife, having first bestowed upon fergus the magical shoes. and of him the tale hath now no more to say. but fergus never tired of donning the shoes of iubdan and traversing the secret depths of the lakes and rivers of ulster. thereby, too, in the end he got his death, for as the wise say that the gifts of faery may not be enjoyed without peril by mortal men, so in this case too it proved. for, one day as fergus was exploring the depths of loch rury he met the monster, namely the river-horse, which inhabited that lake. horrible of form it was, swelling and contracting like a blacksmith's bellows, and with eyes like torches, and glittering tusks, and a mane of coarse hair on its crest and neck. when it saw fergus it laid back its ears, and its neck arched like a rainbow over his head, and the vast mouth gaped to devour him. then fergus rose quickly to the surface and made for the land, and the beast after him, driving before it a huge wave of foam. barely did he escape with his life; but with the horror of the sight his features were distorted and his mouth was twisted around to the side of his head, so that he was called fergus wry-mouth from that day forth. and the gillie that was with him told the tale of the adventure. now there was a law in ireland that no man might be king who was disfigured by any bodily blemish. his people, therefore, loving fergus, kept from him all knowledge of his condition, and the queen let all mirrors that were in the palace be put away. but one day it chanced that a bondmaid was negligent in preparing the bath, and fergus being impatient, gave her a stroke with a switch which he had in his hand. the maid in anger turned upon him, and cried, "it would better become thee to avenge thyself on the riverhorse that hath twisted thy mouth, than to do brave deeds on women." fergus then bade a mirror be fetched, and when he saw his face in it, he said, "the woman spake truth; the riverhorse of loch rury has done this thing." [illustration: "fergus goes down into the lake"] the next day fergus put on the shoes of iubdan and went forth to loch rury, and with him went the lords of ulster. and when he reached the margin of the lake he drew his sword and went down into it, and soon the waters covered him. after a while those that watched upon the bank saw a bubbling and a mighty commotion in the waters, now here, now there, and waves of bloody froth broke at their feet. at last, as they strained their eyes upon the tossing water, they saw fergus rise to his middle from it, pale and bloody. in his right hand he waved aloft his sword, his left was twisted in the coarse hair of the monster's head, and they saw that his countenance was fair and kingly as of old. "ulstermen, i have conquered," he cried; and as he did so he sank down again, dead with his dead foe, into their red grave in loch rury. and the ulster lords went back to emania, sorrowful yet proud, for they knew that a seed of honour had been sown that day in their land from which should spring a breed of high-hearted fighting men for many a generation to come. chapter v the carving of mac datho's boar once upon a time there dwelt in the province of leinster a wealthy hospitable lord named mesroda, son of datho. two possessions had he; namely, a hound which could outrun every other hound and every wild beast in erinn, and a boar which was the finest and greatest in size that man had ever beheld. now the fame of this hound was noised all about the land, and many were the princes and lords who longed to possess it. and it came to pass that conor, king of ulster, and maev, queen of connacht, sent messengers to mac datho to ask him to sell them the hound for a price, and both the messengers arrived at the dún of mac datho on the same day. said the connacht messenger, "we will give thee in exchange for the hound six hundred milch cows, and a chariot with two horses, the best that are to be found in connacht, and at the end of a year thou shalt have as much again." and the messenger of king conor said, "we will give no less than connacht, and the friendship and alliance of ulster, and that will be better for thee than the friendship of connacht." then mesroda mac datho fell silent, and for three days he would not eat nor drink, nor could he sleep o' nights, but tossed restlessly on his bed. his wife observed his condition, and said to him, "thy fast hath been long, mesroda, though good food is by thee in plenty; and at night thou turnest thy face to the wall, and well i know thou dost not sleep. what is the cause of thy trouble?" "there is a saying," replied mac datho, "'trust not a thrall with money, nor a woman with a secret.'" "when should a man talk to a woman," said his wife, "but when something were amiss? what thy mind cannot solve perchance another's may." then mac datho told his wife of the request for his hound both from ulster and from connacht at one and the same time, "and whichever of them i deny," he said, "they will harry my cattle and slay my people." "then hear my counsel," said the woman. "give it to both of them, and bid them come and fetch it; and if there be any harrying to be done, let them even harry each other; but in no way mayest thou keep the hound." on that, mac datho rose up and shook himself, and called for food and drink, and made merry with himself and his guests. then he sent privately for the messenger of queen maev, and said to him, "long have i doubted what to do, but now i am resolved to give the hound to connacht. let ye send for it on such a day with a train of your nobles or warriors and bear him forth nobly and proudly, for he is worth it; and ye shall all have drink and food and royal entertainment in my dún." so the messenger departed, well pleased. to the ulster messenger mac datho said, "after much perplexity i have resolved to give my hound to conor. let the best of the ulstermen come to fetch him, and they shall be welcomed and entertained as is fitting." and for these he named the same day as he had done for the embassy from connacht. when the appointed day came round, the flower of the fighting men of two provinces of ireland were assembled before the dún of the son of datho, and there were also conor, king of ulster, and ailill, the husband of maev, queen of connacht. mac datho went forth to meet them. "welcome, warriors," he said to them, "albeit for two armies at once we were not prepared." then he bade them into the dún, and in the great hall they sat down. now in this hall there were seven doors, and between every two doors were benches for fifty men. not as friends bidden to a feast did the men of ulster and of connacht look upon one another, since for three hundred years the provinces had ever been at war. "let the great boar be killed," said mac datho, and it was done. for seven years had that boar been nourished on the milk of fifty cows; yet rather on venom should it have been nourished, such was the mischief that was to come from the carving of it. when the boar was roasted it was brought in, and many other kinds of food as side dishes, "and if more be wanting to the feast," said mac datho, "it shall be slain for you before the morning." "the boar is good," said conor. "it is a fine boar," said ailill; "and now, o mac datho, how shall it be divided among us?" there was among the ulster company one bricru, son of carbad, whose delight was in biting speeches and in fomenting strife, though he himself was never known to draw sword in any quarrel. he now spoke from his couch in answer to ailill: "how should the boar be divided, o son of datho, except by appointing to carve it him who is best in deeds of arms? here be all the valiant men of ireland assembled; have none of us hit each other a blow on the nose ere now?" "good," said ailill, "so let it be done." "we also agree," said conor; "there are plenty of our lads in the house that have many a time gone round the border of the provinces." "you will want them to-night, conor," said an old warrior from conlad in the west. "they have often been seen on their backs on the roads of rushy dedah, and many a fat steer have they left with me." "it was a fat bullock thou didst have with thee once upon a day," replied moonremar of ulster, "even thine own brother, and by the rushy road of conlad he came and went not back." "'twas a better man than he, even irloth, son of fergus mac leda, who fell by the hand of echbael in tara luachra," replied lugad of munster. "echbael?" cried keltchar, son of uthecar hornskin of ulster. "is it of him ye boast, whom i myself slew and cut off his head?" and thus the heroes bandied about the tales and taunts of their victories, until at length ket, son of maga of the connachtmen, arose and stood over the boar and took the knife into his hand. "now," he cried, "let one man in ulster match his deeds with mine, or else hold ye your peace and let me carve the boar!" for a while there was silence, and then conor king of ulster, said to logary the triumphant, "stay that for me." so logary arose and said, "ket shall never carve the boar for all of us." "not so fast, logary," said ket. "it is the custom among you ulstermen that when a youth first takes arms he comes to prove himself on us. so didst thou, logary, and we met thee at the border. from that meeting i have thy chariot and horses, and thou hadst a spear through thy ribs not thus wilt thou get the boar from me." then logary sat down on his bench. "ket shall never divide that pig," spake then a tall fair-haired warrior from ulster, coming down the hall. "whom have we here?" asked ket. "a better man than thou," shouted the ulstermen, "even angus, son of lama gabad." "indeed?" said ket, "and why is his father called lama gabad [wanting a hand]?" "we know not," said they. "but i know it," said ket. "once i went on a foray to the east, and was attacked by a troop, lama gabad among them. he flung a lance at me. i seized the same lance and flung it back, and it shore off his hand, and it lay there on the field before him. shall that man's son measure himself with me?" and angus went to his bench and sat down. "keep up the contest," then cried ket tauntingly, "or let me divide the boar." "that thou shalt not," cried another ulster warrior of great stature. "and who is this?" said ket. "owen mór, king of fermag," said the ulstermen. "i have seen him ere now," said ket. "i took a drove of cattle from him before his own house. he put a spear through my shield and i flung it back and it tore out one of his eyes, and one-eyed he is to this day." then owen mór sat down. "have ye any more to contest the pig with me?" then said ket. "thou hast not won it yet," said moonremar, son of gerrkind, rising up. "is that moonremar?" said ket, "it is," they cried. "it is but three days," said ket, "since i was the last man who won renown of thee. three heads of thy fighting men did i carry off from dún moonremar, and one of the three was the head of thy eldest son." moonremar then sat down. "still the contest," said ket, "or i shall carve the boar." "contest thou shalt have," said mend, son of sword-heel. "who is this?" said ket. "'tis mend," cried all the ulstermen. "shall the sons of fellows with nicknames come here to contend with me?" cried ket. "i was the priest who christened thy father that name. 'twas i who cut the heel off him, so that off he went with only one. what brings the son of that man to contend with me?" mend then sat down in his seat. "come to the contest," said ket, "or i shall begin to carve." then arose from the ulstermen a huge grey and terrible warrior. "who is this?" asked ket. '"tis keltcar, son of uthecar," cried they all. "wait awhile, keltcar," said ket, "do not pound me to pieces just yet. once, o keltcar, i made a foray on thee and came in front of dún. all thy folk attacked me, and thou amongst them. in a narrow pass we fought, and thou didst fling a spear at me and i at thee, but my spear went through thy loins and thou hast never been the better of it since." then keltcar sat down in his seat. "who else comes to the contest," cried ket "or shall i at last divide the pig?" up rose then the son of king conor, named cuscrid the stammerer "whom have we here?" said ket. "'tis cuscrid son of conor," cried they all. "he has the stuff of a king in him," said ket. "no thanks to thee for that," said the youth. "well, then," said ket, "thou madest thy first foray against us connachtmen, and on the border of the provinces we met thee. a third of thy people, thou didst leave behind thee, and came away with my spear through thy throat, so that thou canst not speak rightly ever since, for the sinews of thy throat were severed. and hence is cuscrid the stammerer thy byname ever since." so thus ket laid shame and defeat on the whole province of ulster, nor was there any other warrior in the hall found to contend with him. [illustration: "a mighty shout of exultation arose from the ulstermen"] then ket stood up triumphing, and took the knife in his hand and prepared to carve the boar when a noise and trampling were heard at the great door of the hall, and a mighty shout of exultation arose from the ulstermen. when the press parted, ket saw coming up the centre of the hall conall of the victories, and conor the king dashed the helmet from his head and sprang up for joy. "glad we are," cried conall, "that all is ready for feast; and who is carving the boar for us?" "ket, son of maga," replied they, "for none could contest the place of honour with him." "is that so, ket?" says conall cearnach. "even so," replied ket. "and now welcome to thee, o conall, thou of the iron heart and fiery blood; keen as the glitter of ice, ever-victorious chieftain; hail mighty son of finnchoom!" and conall said, "hail to thee, ket, flower of heroes, lord of chariots, a raging sea in battle; a strong, majestic bull; hail, son of maga!" "and now," went on conall, "rise up from the boar and give me place." "why so?" replied ket. "dost thou seek a contest from me?" said conall; "verily thou shalt have it. by the gods of my nation i swear that since i first took weapons in my hand i have never passed one day that i did not slay a connachtman, nor one night that i did not make a foray on them, nor have i ever slept but i had the head of a connachtman under my knee." "i confess," then, said ket, "that thou art a better man than i, and i yield thee the boar. but if anluan my brother were here, he would match thee deed for deed, and sorrow and shame it is that he is not." "anluan is here," shouted conall, and with that he drew from his girdle the head of anluan and dashed it in the face of ket. then all sprang to their feet and a wild shouting and tumult arose, and the swords flew out of themselves, and battle raged in the hall of mac datho. soon the hosts burst out through the doors of the dún and smote and slew each other in the open field, until the connacht host were put to flight. the hound of mac datho pursued them along with the ulstermen, and it came up with the chariot in which king ailill was driving, and seized the pole of the chariot, but the charioteer dealt it a blow that cut off its head. when ailill drew rein they found the hound's head still clinging to the pole, whence that place is called ibar cinn chon, or the yew tree of the hound's head. now when conor pursued hard upon king ailill, ferloga, the charioteer of ailill, lighted down and hid himself in the heather; and as conor drove past, ferloga leaped up behind him in the chariot and gripped him by the throat. "what will thou have of me?" said conor. "give over the pursuit," said ferloga, "and take me with thee to emania,[ ] and let the maidens of emania so long as i am there sing a serenade before my dwelling every night." [ ] the ancient royal residence of ulster, near to the present town of armagh. "granted," said conor. so he took ferloga with him to emania, and at the end of a year sent him back to connacht, escorting him as far as to athlone; and ferloga had from the king of ulster two noble horses with golden bridles, but the serenade from the maidens of ulster he did not get, though he got the horses instead. and thus ends the tale of the contention between ulster and connacht over the carving of mac datho's boar. chapter vi the vengeance of mesgedra atharna the bard, surnamed the extortionate, was the chief poet and satirist of ulster in the reign of conor mac nessa. greed and arrogance were in his heart and poison on his tongue, and the kings and lords of whom he asked rewards for his poems dared not refuse him aught, partly because of the poisonous satires and lampoons which he would otherwise make upon them for their niggardliness, and partly for that in ireland at that day it was deemed shameful to refuse to a bard whatsoever he might ask. once it was said that he asked of a sub-king, namely eochy mac luchta, who was famed for hospitality and generosity, the single thing that eochy would have been grieved to give, namely his eye, and eochy had but one eye. but the king plucked it out by the roots and gave it to him; and atharna went away disappointed, for he had looked that eochy would ransom his eye at a great price. now conor mac nessa, king of ulster, and all the ulster lords, having grown very powerful and haughty, became ill neighbours to all the other kingdoms in ireland. on fertile leinster above all they fixed their eyes, and sought for an opportunity to attack and plunder the province. conor resolved at last to move atharna to go to the king of leinster, in the hope that he himself might be rid of atharna, by the king of leinster killing him for his insolence and his exactions, and that he might avenge the death of his bard by the invasion of leinster. atharna therefore set out for leinster accompanied by his train of poets and harpers and gillies and arrived at the great dún of mesgedra the king, at naas in kildare. here he dwelt for twelve months wasting the substance of the leinstermen and in the end when he was minded to return to ulster he went before the king mesgedra and the lords of leinster and demanded his poet's fee. "what is thy demand, atharna?" asked mesgedra. "so many cattle and so many sheep," answered atharna, "and store of gold and raiment, and of the fairest dames and maidens of leinster forty-five, to grind at my querns in dún atharna." "it shall be granted thee," said the king. then atharna feared some mischief, for the king and the nobles of leinster had not seemed like men on whom shameful conditions are laid, nor had they offered to ransom their women. atharna therefore judged that the leinstermen might fall upon him to recover their booty when he was once beyond the border, for within their own borders they might not affront a guest. he sent, therefore, a swift messenger to conor mac nessa, bidding him come with a strong escort as quickly as he might, to meet atharna's band on the marches of leinster, and convey him safely home. atharna then departed from naas with a great herd of sheep and cattle and other spoils, and with thrice fifteen of the noble women of leinster. he went leisurely, meaning to strike the highroad to emania from dublin; but when he came thither the liffey was swollen with rain, and the ford at dublin might not be crossed. he caused, therefore, many great hurdles to be made, and these were set in the river, and over them a causeway of boughs was laid, so that his cattle and spoils came safely across. hence is the town of that place called to this day in gaelic the city of the hurdle ford. on the next day conor and the ulstermen met him, but a great force of the men of leinster was also marching from naas to the border, to recover their womenfolk, even as atharna had expected. the leinstermen then broke the battle on the company from ulster, and defeated them, driving them with the cows of atharna on to the sea cape of ben edar (howth), but they recovered the women. on ben edar did king conor with the remnant of his troop then fortify themselves, making a great fosse across the neck of land by which ben edar is joined to the mainland, and here they were besieged, with hard fighting by day and night, expecting that help should come to them from ulster, whither they had sent messengers to tell of their distress. now conall of the victories was left behind to rule in emania when conor set forth to leinster, and he now, on hearing how the king was beset, assembled a great host and marched down to ben edar. here he attacked the host of leinster, and a great battle was fought, many being slain on both sides, and the king of leinster, mesgedra, lost his left hand in the fight. in the end the men of leinster were routed, and fled, and mesgedra drove in his chariot past the city of the hurdle ford and naas to the fords of liffey at clane. here there was a sacred oak tree where druid rites and worship were performed, and that oak tree was sanctuary, so that within its shadow, guarded by mighty spells, no man might be slain by his enemy. now conall cearnach had followed hard on the track of mesgedra, and when he found him beneath the oak, he drove his chariot round and round the circuit of the sanctuary, bidding mesgedra come forth and do battle with him, or be counted a dastard among the kings of erinn. but mesgedra said, "is it the fashion of the champions of ulster to challenge one-armed men to battle?" then conall let his charioteer bind one of his arms to his side, and again he taunted mesgedra and bade him come forth. mesgedra then drew sword, and between him and conall there was a fierce fight until the liffey was reddened with their blood. at last, by a chance blow of the sword of mesgedra, the bonds of conall's left arm were severed. "on thy head be it," said conall, "if thou release me again." then he caused his arm to be bound up once more, and again they met, sword to sword, and again in the fury of the fight mesgedra cut the thongs that bound conall's arm. "the gods themselves have doomed thee," shouted conall then, and he rushed upon mesgedra and in no long time he wounded him to death. "take my head," said mesgedra then, "and add my glory to thy glory, but be well assured this wrong shall yet be avenged by me upon ulster," and he died. then conall cut off the head of mesgedra and put it in his chariot, and took also the chariot of mesgedra and fared northwards. ere long he met a chariot and fifty women accompanying it. in it was buan the queen, wife of mesgedra, returning from a visit to meath. "who art thou, woman?" said conall. "i am buan, wife of mesgedra the king." "thou art to come with me," then said conall. "who hath commanded this?" said buan. "mesgedra the king," said conall. "by what token dost thou lay these commands upon me?" "behold his chariot and his horses," said conall. "he gives rich gifts to many a man," answered the queen. then conall showed her the head of her husband. "this is my token," said he. "it is enough," said buan. "but give me leave to bewail him ere i go into captivity." then buan rose up in her chariot and raised for mesgedra a keen of sorrow so loud and piercing that her heart broke with it, and she fell backwards on the road and died. conall cearnach then buried her there, and laid the head of her husband by her side; and the fair hazel tree that grew from her grave by the fords of clane was called coll buana, or the hazel tree of buan. but ere conall buried the head of mesgedra he caused the brain to be taken out and mixed with lime to make a bullet for a sling, for so it was customary to do when a great warrior had been killed; and the brain-balls thus made were accounted to be the deadliest of missiles. so when leinster had been harried and plundered and its king and queen thus slain, the ulstermen drew northward again, and the brain-ball was laid up in the dún of king conor at emania. years afterwards it happened that the wolf of connacht, namely ket, son of maga, came disguised within the borders of ulster in search of prey, and he entered the palace precincts of conor in emania. there he saw two jesters of the king, who had gotten the brain-ball from the shelf where it lay, and were rolling it about the courtyard. ket knew it for what it was, and put it out of sight of the jesters and took it away with him while they made search for it. thenceforth ket carried it ever about with him in his girdle, hoping that he might yet use it to destroy some great warrior among the ulstermen. one day thereafter ket made a foray on the men of ross, and carried away a spoil of cattle. the host of ulster and king conor with them overtook him as he went homeward. the men of connacht had also mustered to the help of ket, and both sides made them ready for battle. now a river, namely brosna, ran between them, and on a hill at one side of this were assembled a number of the noble women of connacht, who desired greatly to look on the far-famed ultonian warriors, and above all on conor the king, whose presence was said to be royal and stately beyond any man that was then living in erinn. among the bushes, close to the women, ket hid himself, and lay still but watchful. now conor, seeing none but womenfolk close to him at this point, and being willing to show them his splendour, drew near to the bank on his side of the stream. then ket leaped up, whirling his sling, and the bullet hummed across the river and smote king conor on the temple. and his men carried him off for dead, and the men of connacht broke the battle on the ulstermen, slaying many, and driving the rest of them back to their own place. this battle was thenceforth called the battle of the ford of the sling-cast, or athnurchar; and so the place is called to this day. when conor was brought home to emania his chief physician, fingen, found the ball half buried in his temple. "if the ball be taken out," said fingen, "he will die; if it remain he will live, but he will bear the blemish of it." "let him bear the blemish," said the ulster lords, "that is a small matter compared with the death of conor." then fingen stitched the wound over with a thread of gold, for conor had curling golden hair, and bade him keep himself from all violent movements and from all vehement passions, and not to ride on horseback, and he would do well. after that conor lived for seven years, and he went not to war during that time, and all cause of passion was kept far from him. then one day at broad noon the sky darkened, and the gloom of night seemed to spread over the world, and all the people feared, and looked for some calamity. conor called to him his chief druid, namely bacarach, and inquired of him as to the cause of the gloom. the druid then went with conor into a sacred grove of oaks and performed the rites of divination, and in a trance he spoke to conor, saying, "i see a hill near a great city, and three high crosses on it. to one of them is nailed the form of a young man who is like unto one of the immortals. round him stand soldiers with tall spears, and a great crowd waiting to see him die." "is he, then, a malefactor?" "nay," said the druid, "but holiness, innocence, and truth have come to earth in him, and for this cause have the druids of his land doomed him to die, for his teaching was not as theirs. and the heavens are darkened for wrath and sorrow at the sight." then conor leaped up in a fury, crying, "they shall not slay him, they shall not slay him! would i were there with the host of ulster, and thus would i scatter his foes"; and with that he snatched his sword and began striking at the trees that stood thickly about him in the druid grove. then with the heat of his passion the sling-ball burst from his head, and he fell to the ground and died. thus was fulfilled the vengeance of mesgedra upon conor mac nessa, king of ulster. chapter vii the story of etain and midir once upon a time there was a high king of the milesian race in ireland named eochy airem, whose power and splendour were very great, and all the sub-kings, namely, conor of ulster, and mesgedra of leinster, and curoi of munster, and ailill and maev of connacht, were obedient to him. but he was without a wife; and for this reason the sub-kings and princes of ireland would not come to his festivals at tara, "for," said they, "there is no noble in ireland who is a wifeless man, and a king is no king without a queen." and they would not bring their own wives to tara without a queen there to welcome them, nor would they come themselves and leave their womenfolk at home. so eochy bade search be made through all the boundaries of ireland for a maiden meet to be wife of the high king. and in time his messengers came back and said that they had found in ulster, by the bay of cichmany, the fairest and most accomplished maiden in ireland, and her name was etain, daughter of etar, lord of the territory called echrad. so eochy, when he had heard their report, went forth to woo the maiden. when he drew near his journey's end he passed by a certain spring of pure water where it chanced that etain and her maids had come down that she might wash her hair. she held in her hand a comb of silver inlaid with gold, and before her was a bason of silver chased with figures of birds, and around the rim of it red carbuncles were set. her mantle was purple with a fringe of silver, and it was fastened with a broad golden brooch. she wore also a tunic of green silk, stiff with embroidery of gold that glittered in the sun. her hair before she loosed it was done in two mighty tresses, yellow like the flower of the waterflag, each tress being plaited in four strands, and at the end of each strand a little golden ball. when she laid aside her mantle her arms came through the armholes of her tunic, white as the snow of a single night, and her cheeks were ruddy as the foxglove. even and small were her teeth, as if a shower of pearls had fallen in her mouth. her eyes were hyacinth-blue, her lips scarlet as the rowan-berry, her shoulders round and white, her fingers were long and her nails smooth and pink. her feet also were slim, and white as sea-foam. the radiance of the moon was in her face, pride in her brows, the light of wooing in her eyes. of her it was said that there was no beauty among women compared with etain's beauty, no sweetness compared with the sweetness of etain. when the king saw her his heart burned with love for her, and when he had speech with her he besought her to be his bride. and she consented to that, and said, "many have wooed me, o king, but i would none of them, for since i was a little child i have loved thee, for the high tales that i heard of thee and of thy glory." and eochy said, "thine alone will i be if thou wilt have me." so the king paid a great bride-price for her, and bore her away to tara, and there they were wedded, and all men welcomed and honoured the queen. nor had she dwelt long in tara before the enchantment of her beauty and her grace had worked upon the hearts of all about her, so that the man to whom she spoke grew pale at the womanly sweetness of her voice, and felt himself a king for that day. all fair things and bright she loved, such as racing steeds and shining raiment, and the sight of eochy's warriors with their silken banners and shields decorated with rich ornament in red and blue. and she would have all about her happy and joyous, and she gave freely of her treasure, and of her smiles and loving words, if she might see the light of joy on the faces of men, but from pain or sadness that might not be cured she would turn away. in one thing only was sadness endurable to her and that was in her music, for when she sang or touched the harp all hearts were pierced with longing for they knew not what, and all eyes shed tears save hers alone, who looked as though she beheld, far from earth, some land more fair than words of man can tell; and all the wonder of that land and all its immeasurable distance were in her song. now eochy the king had a brother whose name was ailill anglounach, or ailill of the single stain, for one dark spot only was on his life, and it is of this that the story now shall tell. one day, when he had come from his own dún to the yearly assembly in the great hall of tara, he ate not at the banquet but gazed as it were at something afar off, and his wife said to him, "why dost thou gaze so, ailill; so do men look who are smitten with love?" ailill was wroth with himself and turned his eyes away, but he said nothing, for that on which he gazed was the face of etain. after that assembly was over ailill knew that the torment of love had seized him for his brother's wife, and he was sorely shamed and wrathful, and the secret strife in his mind between his honour and the fierce and pitiless love that possessed him brought him into a sore sickness. and he went home to his dún in tethba and there lay ill for a year. then eochy the king went to see him, and came near him and laid his hand on his breast, and ailill heaved a bitter sigh. eochy asked, "why art thou not better of this sickness, how goes it with thee now?" "by my word," said ailill, "no better, but worse each day and night." "what ails thee, then?" asked eochy. ailill said, "verily, i know not." then eochy bade summon his chief physician, who might discover the cause of his brother's malady, for ailill was wasting to death. so fachtna the chief physician came and he laid his hand upon ailill, and ailill sighed. then fachtna said, "this is no bodily disease, but either ailill suffers from the pangs of envy or from the torment of love." but ailill was full of shame and he would not tell what ailed him, and fachtna went away. after this the time came that eochy the high king should make a royal progress throughout his realm of ireland, but etain he left behind at tara. before he departed he charged her saying, "do thou be gentle and kind to my brother ailill while he lives, and should he die, let his burial mound be heaped over him, and a pillar stone set up above it, and his name written thereon in letters of ogham." then the king took leave of ailill and looked to see him again on earth no more. after a while etain bethought her and said, "let us go to see how it fares with ailill." so she went to where he lay in his dún at tethba. and seeing him wasted and pale she was moved with pity and distress and said, "what ails thee, young man? long thou hast lain prostrate, in fair weather and in foul, thou who wert wont to be so swift and strong?" and ailill said, "truly, i have a cause for my suffering; and i cannot eat, nor listen to the music makers; my affliction is very sore." then said etain, "though i am a woman i am wise in many a thing; tell me what ails thee and thy healing shall be done." ailill replied, "blessing be with thee, o fair one; i am not worthy of thy speech; i am torn by the contention of body and of soul." then etain deemed that she knew somewhat of his trouble, and she said, "if thy heart is set on any of the white maidens that are my handmaids, tell me of it, and i shall court her for thee and she shall come to thee," and then ailill cried out, "love indeed, o queen, hath brought me low. it is a plague nearer than the skin, it overwhelms my soul as an earthquake, it is farther than the height of the sky, and harder to win than the treasures of the fairy folk. if i contend with it, it is like a combat with a spectre; if i fly to the ends of the earth from it, it is there; if i seek to seize it, it is a passion for an echo. it is thou, o my love, who hast brought me to this, and thou alone canst heal me, or i shall never rise again." then etain went away and left him. but still in her palace in tara she was haunted by his passion and his misery, and, though she loved him not, she could not endure his pain, nor the triumph of grim death over his youth and beauty. so at last she went to him again and said, "if it lies with me, ailill, to heal thee of thy sickness, i may not let thee die." and she made a tryst to meet him on the morrow at a house of ailill's between dún tethba and tara, "but be it not at tara," she said, "for that is the palace of the high king." all that night ailill lay awake with the thought of his tryst with etain. but on the morrow morn a heaviness came upon his eyelids, and a druid sleep overcame him, and there all day he lay buried in slumbers from which none could wake him, until the time of his meeting with etain was overpast. but etain, when she had come to the place of the tryst, looked out, and behold, a youth having the appearance and the garb of ailill was approaching from tethba. he entered the bower where she was; but no lover did she there meet, but only a sick and sorrowful man who spake coldly to her and lamented the sufferings of his malady, and after a short time he went away. next day etain went to see ailill and to hear how he did. and ailill entreated her forgiveness that he had not kept his tryst, "for," said he, "a druid slumber descended upon me, and i lay as one dead from morn till eve. and morever," he added, "it seems as if the strange passion that has befallen me were washed away in that slumber, for now, etain, i love thee no more but as my queen and my sister, and i am recovered as if from an evil dream." then etain knew that powers not of earth were mingling in her fate, and she pondered much of these things, and grew less lighthearted than of old. and when the king came back, he rejoiced to find his brother whole and sound and merry, as ailill had ever been, and he praised etain for her gentleness and care. now after a time as etain was by herself in her sunny bower she was aware of a man standing by her, whom she had never seen before. young he was, and grey-eyed, with curling golden hair, and in his hand he bore two spears. his mantle was of crimson silk, his tunic of saffron, and a golden helmet was on his head. and as she gazed upon him, "etain," he said, "the time is come for thee to return; we have missed thee and sorrowed for thee long enough in the land of youth." etain said, "of what land dost thou speak?" then he chanted to her a song:-- "come with me, etain, o come away, to that oversea land of mine! where music haunts the happy day, and rivers run with wine; where folk are careless, and young, and gay, and none saith 'mine' or 'thine.' "golden curls on the proud young head, and pearls in the tender mouth; manhood, womanhood, white and red, and love that grows not loth when all the world's desires are dead, and all the dreams of youth. "away from the cloud of adam's sin! away from grief and care! this flowery land thou dwellest in seems rude to us, and bare; for the naked strand of the happy land is twenty times as fair." when etain heard this she stood motionless and as one that dreams awake, for it seemed to her as if she must follow that music whithersoever it went on earth or beyond the earth. but at last remembrance came upon her and she said to the stranger, "who art thou, that i, the high king's wife, should follow a nameless man and betray my troth?" and he said, "thy troth was due to me before it was due to him, and, moreover, were it not for me thou hadst broken it already. i am midir the proud, a prince among the people of dana, and thy husband, etain. thus it was, that when i took thee to wife in the land of youth, the jealousy of thy rival, fuamnach, was awakened; and having decoyed me from home by a false report, she changed thee by magical arts into a butterfly, and then contrived a mighty tempest that drove thee abroad. seven years wast thou borne hither and thither on the blast till chance blew thee into the fairy palace of angus my kinsman, by the waters of the boyne. but angus knew thee, for the fairy folk may not disguise themselves from each other, and he built for thee a magical sunny bower with open windows, through which thou mightest pass, and about it were all manner of blossoming herbs and shrubs, and on the odour and honey of these thou didst live and grow fair and well nourished. but in the end fuamnach got tidings of thee, and again the druid tempest descended and blew thee forth for another seven years of wandering and woe. then it chanced that thou wert blown through the roof-window of the dún of etar by the bay of cichmany, and fell into the goblet from which his wife was drinking, and thee she drank down with that draught of ale. and in due time thou wast born again in the guise of a mortal maid and daughter to etar the warrior. but thou art no mortal, nor of mortal kin, for it is one thousand and twelve years from the time when thou wast born in fairy land till etar's wife bore thee as a child on earth." then etain was bewildered, and her mind ran back on many a half-forgotten thing and she gazed as into a gulf of visions, full of dim shapes, strange and glorious. and midir as she looked at him again seemed transfigured, taller and mightier than before, and a light flame flickered from his helmet's crest and moved like wings about his shoulders. but at last she said, "i know not what thou sayest if it be truth or not, but this i know, that i am the wife of the high king and i will not break my troth." "it were broken already," said midir, "but for me, for i it was who laid a druidic sleep on ailill, and it was i who came to thee in his shape that thy honour might not be stained." etain said, "i learned then that honour is more than life." "but if eochy the high king consent to let thee go," said midir, "wilt thou then come with me to my land and thine?" "in that case," said etain "i will go." and the time went by, and etain abode in tara, and the high king did justice and made war and held the great assembly as he was used. but one day in summer eochy arose very early to breathe the morning air, and he stood by himself leaning on the rampart of his great dún, and looking over the flowery plain of bregia. and as he thus gazed he was aware of a young warrior standing by his side. grey-eyed the youth was, and golden-haired, and he was splendidly armed and apparelled as beseemed the lord of a great clan of the gael. eochy bade him welcome courteously, and asked him of the cause of his coming. "i am come," he said, "to play a game of chess with thee, o king, for thou art renowned for thy skill in that game, and to test that skill am i come. and my name is midir, of the people of dana, whom they have called the proud." "willingly," said the king; "but i have here no chessboard, and mine is in the chamber where the queen is sleeping." "that is easily remedied," said midir, and he drew from his cloak a folding chessboard whose squares were alternate gold and silver. from a men-bag made of brazen chainwork he drew out a set of men adorned with flashing jewels, and he set them in array. "i will not play," then said eochy, "unless we play for a stake." "for what stake shall we play, then?" said midir. "i care not," said eochy; "but do thou perform tasks for me if i win and i shall bestow of my treasures upon thee if i lose." so they played a game, and eochy won. then eochy bade midir clear the plains of meath about tara from rocks and stones, and midir brought at night a great host of the fairy folk, and it was done. and again he played with eochy, and again he lost, and this time he cut down the forest of breg. the third time midir lost again, and his task was to build a causeway across the moor of lamrach. now at night, while midir and the fairy host were labouring at the causeway and their oxen drawing to it innumerable loads of earth and gravel, the steward of eochy stole out and hid himself to watch them, for it was a prohibition to see them at work. and he observed that the fairy oxen were not harnessed with a thong across their foreheads, that the pull might be upon their brows and necks, as was the manner with the gael, but with yokes upon their shoulders. this he reported to eochy, who found it good; and he ordered that henceforth the children of the gael should harness their plough-oxen with the yoke upon their shoulders; and so it was done from that day forth. hence eochy got his name of _airem_, or "the ploughman," for he was the first of the gael to put the yoke upon the shoulder of the ox. but it was said that because the fairy folk were watched as they made that noble causeway, there came a breach in it at one place which none could ever rightly mend. when all their works were accomplished, midir came again to eochy, and this time he bore a dark and fierce countenance and was high girt as for war. and the king welcomed him, and midir said, "thou hast treated me hardly and put slavish tasks upon me. all that seemed good to thee have i done, but now i am moved with anger against thee." "i return not anger for anger," said eochy; "say what satisfaction i can make thee." "let us once more play at chess," said midir. "good," said eochy, "and what stake wilt thou have now?" "the stake to be whatever the winner shall demand," said midir. then they played for the fourth time and eochy lost. "thou hast won the game," said he. "i had won long ago had i chosen," said midir. "what dost thou demand of me?" said eochy. "to hold etain in my arms and obtain a kiss from her," replied midir. the king was silent for a while and after that he said, "come back in one month from this day and the stake which i have lost shall be paid." but eochy summoned together all the host of the heroes of the gael, and they surrounded tara, ring within ring; and the king himself and etain were in the palace, with the outer court of it shut and locked. for they looked that midir should come with a great host of the danaan folk to carry off the queen. and on the appointed day, as the kings sat at meat, etain and her handmaids were dispensing the wine to them as was wont. then suddenly as they feasted and talked, behold, midir, stood in the midst of them. if he was fair and noble to look on as he had appeared before to the king and to etain, he was fairer now, for the splendour of the immortals clothed him, and his jewels flamed as he moved like eyes of living light. and all the kings and lords and champions who were present gazed on him in amazement and were silent, as the king arose and gave him welcome. "thou hast received me as i expected to be received," said midir, "and now let thy debt be paid, since i for my part faithfully performed all that i undertook." "i must consider the matter yet longer," said eochy. "thou hast promised etain's very self to me," said midir; "that is what hath come from thee." and when she heard that word etain blushed for shame. "blush not," said midir, "for all the treasures of the land of youth have not availed to win thee from eochy, and it is not of thine own will that thou art won, but because the time is come to return to thy kin." then said eochy, "i have not promised etain's self to thee, but to take her in thine arms and kiss her, and now do so if thou wilt." [illustration: "they rose up in the air"] then midir took his weapons in his left hand and placed his right around etain, and when he did so they rose up in the air over the heads of the host, and passed through a roof-window in the palace. then all rose up, tumultuous and angry, and rushed out of doors, but nothing could they see save two white swans that circled high in air around the hill of tara, and then flew southwards and away towards the fairy mountain of slievenamon. and thus etain the immortal rejoined the immortals; but a daughter of etain and of eochy, who was another etain in name and in beauty, became in due time a wife, and mother of kings. chapter viii how ethne quitted fairyland by the banks of the river boyne, where rises the great fairy mound now called newgrange, there stood long ago the shining palace of a prince of the people of dana, named angus. of him it is that the lines are written-- "by the dark rolling waters of the boyne where angus Óg magnificently dwells." when the milesian race invaded ireland, and after long fighting subdued the danaans in spite of all their enchantments and all their valour, the danaans wrought for themselves certain charms by which they and all their possessions became invisible to mortals, and thus they continued to lead their old joyous life in the holy places of the land, and their palaces and dancing-places and folk-motes seem to the human eye to be merely a green mound or rath, or a lonely hillside, or a ruined shrine with nettles and foxgloves growing up among its broken masonry. now, after angus and his folk had thus retreated behind the veil of invisibility, it happened that the steward of his palace had a daughter born to him whose name was ethne. on the same day fand, the wife of mananan the sea god, bore him a daughter, and since angus was a friend of mananan and much beloved by him, the child of the sea god was sent to brugh na boyna, the noble dwelling-place of angus, to be fostered and brought up, as the custom was. and ethne became the handmaid of the young princess of the sea. in time ethne grew into a fair and stately maiden now in the brugh of angus there were two magical treasures, namely, an ale-vat which could never be emptied, and two swine whereof one was ever roasted and ready to be eaten while the other lived, and thus they were, day and day about. there was therefore always a store of food of faery, charged with magical spells, by eating of which one could never grow old or die. it came to be noticed that after ethne had grown up she never ate or drank of the fairy food, or of any other, yet she continued to seem healthy and well-nourished. this was reported to angus, and by him to mananan, and mananan by his wisdom discovered the cause of it. one of the lords of the danaans, happening to be on a visit with angus, was rendered distraught by the maiden's beauty, and one day he laid hands upon her and strove to carry her away to his own dwelling. ethne escaped from him, but the blaze of resentment at the insult that lit up in her soul consumed in her the fairy nature, that knows not of good or evil, and the nature of the children of adam took its place. thenceforth she ate not of the fairy food, which is prohibited to man, and she was nourished miraculously by the will of the one god. but after a time it chanced that mananan and angus brought from the holy land two cows whose milk could never run dry. in this milk there was nothing of the fairy spell, and ethne lived upon it many long years, milking the cows herself, nor did her youth and beauty suffer any change. now it happened that on one very hot day the daughter of mananan went down to bathe in the waters of the boyne, and ethne and her other maidens along with her. after they had refreshed themselves in the cool, amber-coloured water, they arrayed themselves in their silken robes and trooped back to the brugh again; but ere they entered it, they discovered that ethne was not among them. so they went back, scattering themselves along the bank and searching in every quiet pool of the river and in every dark recess among the great trees that bordered it, for ethne was dearly loved by all of them; but neither trace nor tidings of her could they find, and they went sorrowfully home without her, to tell the tale to angus and to her father. what had befallen ethne was this. in taking off her garments by the riverside she had mislaid her fairy charm, and was become as a mortal maid. nothing could she now see of her companions, and all around was strange to her. the fairy track that had led to the riverside was overgrown with briars, the palace of angus was but a wooded hill. she knew not where she was, and pierced with sudden terror she fled wildly away, seeking for the familiar places that she had known in the fairy life, but which were now behind the veil. at length she came to a high wall wherein was a wicket gate, and through it she saw a garden full of sweet herbs and flowers, which surrounded a steep-roofed building of stone. in the garden she saw a man in a long brown robe tied about his waist with a cord. he smiled at her and beckoned her to come in without fear. he was a monk of the holy patrick, and the house was a convent church. when the monk had heard her tale, he marvelled greatly and brought her to st patrick himself, who instructed her in the faith, and she believed and was baptized. [illustration: "she heard her own name called again and again"] but not long thereafter, as she was praying in the church by the boyne, the sky darkened and she heard a sound without like the rushing of a great wind, and mingled in it were cries and lamentations, and her own name called again and again in a multitude of voices, thin and faint as the crying of curlews upon the moor. she sprang up and gazed around, calling in return, but nothing could she see, and at last the storm of cries died away, and everything was still again around the church except the singing voice of boyne and the humming of the garden bees. then ethne sank down swooning, and the monks bore her out into the air, and it was long until her heart beat and her eyes unclosed again. in that hour she fell into a sickness from which she never recovered. in no long time she died with her head upon the breast of the holy patrick, and she was buried in the church where she had first been received by the monk; and the church was called killethne, or the church of ethne, from that day forward until now. the high deeds of finn chapter ix the boyhood of finn mac cumhal in ireland long ago, centuries before the english appeared in that country, there were kings and chiefs, lawyers and merchants, men of the sword and men of the book, men who tilled their own ground and men who tilled the ground of others, just as there are now. but there was also, as ancient poets and historians tell us, a great company or brotherhood of men who were bound to no fixed calling, unless it was to fight for the high king of ireland whenever foes threatened him from within the kingdom or without it. this company was called the fianna of erinn. they were mighty hunters and warriors, and though they had great possessions in land, and rich robes, and gold ornaments, and weapons wrought with beautiful chasing and with coloured enamels, they lived mostly a free out-door life in the light hunting-booths which they made in the woods where the deer and the wolf ranged. there were then vast forests in ireland, which are all gone now, and there were also, as there still are, many great and beautiful lakes and rivers, swarming with fish and water-fowl. in the forests and on the mountain sides roamed the wild boar and the wolf, and great herds of deer, some of giant size, whose enormous antlers are sometimes found when bogs are being drained. the fianna chased these and the wolves with great dogs, whose courage and strength and beauty were famous throughout europe, and which they prized and loved above all things. to the present day in ireland there still remain some of this breed of irish hounds, but the giant deer and the wolf are gone, and the fianna of erinn live only in the ancient books that were written of them, and in the tales that are still told of them in the winter evenings by the irish peasant's fireside. the fianna were under the rule of one great captain or chief, and at the time i tell of his name was cumhal, son of trenmor. now a tribe or family of the fianna named the clan morna, or sons of morna, rose in rebellion against cumhal, for they were jealous and greedy of his power and glory, and sought to have the captaincy for themselves. they defeated and slew him at the battle of cnucha, which is now called castleknock, near the city of the hurdle ford, which is the name that dublin still bears in the irish tongue. goll, son of morna, slew cumhal, and they spoiled him of the treasure bag of the fianna, which was a bag made of a crane's skin and having in it jewels of great price, and magic weapons, and strange things that had come down from far-off days when the fairy folk and mortal men battled for the lordship of ireland. the bag with its treasures was given to lia, the chief of luachar in connacht, who had the keeping of it before, for he was the treasurer of cumhal, and he was the first man who had wounded cumhal in the battle when he fell. cumhal's wife was named murna, and she bore him two sons. the elder was named tulcha, and he fled from the country for fear of goll and took service with the king of scotland. the younger was born after cumhal's death, and his name was called demna. and because his mother feared that the sons of morna would find him out and kill him, she gave him to a druidess and another wise woman of cumhal's household, and bade them take him away and rear him as best they could. so they took him into the wild woods on the slieve bloom mountains, and there they trained him to hunt and fish and to throw the spear, and he grew strong, and as beautiful as a child of the fairy folk. if he were in the same field with a hare he could run so that the hare could never leave the field, for demna was always before it. he could run down and slay a stag with no dogs to help him, and he could kill a wild duck on the wing with a stone from his sling. and the druidess taught him the learning of the time, and also the story of his race and nation, and told him of his right to be captain of the fianna of erinn when his day of destiny should come. one day, while still a boy, he was roaming through the woods when he came to the mansion of a great lord, where many boys, sons of the chief men of ireland, were being trained in manly arts and exercises. he found them playing at hurling, and they invited him to join them. he did so, but the side he was on won too easily, so they divided again, and yet again, giving fewer and fewer to demna's side, till at last he alone drove the ball to the goal through them all, flashing among them as a salmon among a shoal of minnows. and then their anger and jealousy rose and grew bitter against the stranger, and instead of honouring him as gallant lads of gentle blood should have done they fell upon him with their hurling clubs and sought to kill him. but demna felled seven of them to the ground and put the rest to flight, and then went his way home. when the boys told what had happened the chief asked them who it was that had defeated and routed them single-handed. they said, "it was a tall shapely lad, and very fair (_finn_)." so the name of finn, the fair one, clung to him thenceforth, and by that name he is known to this day. by and by finn gathered round him a band of youths who loved him for his strength and valour and for his generous heart, and with them he went hunting in the forests. and goll, and the sons of morna, who were now captains of the fianna under the high king, began to hear tales of him and his exploits, and they sent trackers to inquire about him, for they had an inkling of who this wonderful fair-haired youth might be. finn's foster mothers heard of this. "you must leave this place," they said to him, "and see our faces no more, for if goll's men find you here they will slay you. we have cherished the blood of cumhal," they said, "and now our work is done. go, and may blessing and victory go with you." so finn departed with naught but his weapons and his hunting gear, very sorrowful at leaving the wise and loving friends who had fostered his childhood; but deep in his heart was a wild and fierce delight at the thought of the trackless ways he would travel, and the wonders he would see; and all the future looked to him as beautiful and dim as the mists that fill a mountain glen under the morning sun. now after the death of cumhal, his brother crimmal and a few others of the aged warriors of the fianna, who had not fallen in the fight at cnucha, fled away into connacht, and lived there in the deepest recesses of a great forest, where they hoped the conquerors might never find them. here they built themselves a poor dwelling of tree branches, plastered with mud and roofed with reeds from the lake, and here they lived on what game they could kill or snare in the wild wood; and harder and harder it grew, as age and feebleness crept on them, to find enough to eat, or to hew wood for their fire. in this retreat, never having seen the friendly face of man, they were one day startled to hear voices and the baying of hounds approaching them through the wood, and they thought that the sons of morna were upon them at last, and that their hour of doom was at hand. soon they perceived a company of youths coming towards their hut, with one in front who seemed to be their leader. taller he was by a head than the rest, broad shouldered, and with masses of bright hair clustering round his forehead, and he carried in his hand a large bag made of some delicate skin and stained in patterns of red and blue. the old men thought when they saw him of a saying there was about the mighty lugh, who was brother to the wife of cumhal, that when he came among his army as they mustered for battle, men felt as though they beheld the rising of the sun. as they came near, the young men halted and looked upon the elders with pity, for their clothing of skins was ragged and the weapons they strove to hold were rusted and blunt, and except for their proud bearing and the fire in their old eyes they looked more like aged and worthless slaves in the household of a niggardly lord than men who had once been the flower of the fighting men of erinn. but the tall youth stepped in front of his band and cried aloud-- "which of ye is crimmal, son of trenmor?" and one of the elders said, "i am crimmal." then tears filled the eyes of the youth, and he knelt down before the old man and put his hands in his. "my lord and chief," he said, "i am finn, son of cumhal, and the day of deliverance is come." [illustration: "and that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut"] so the youths brought in the spoils of their hunting, and yet other spoils than these; and that night there was feasting and joy in the lonely hut. and crimmal said-- "it was foretold to us that one day the blood of cumhal should be avenged, and the race of cumhal should rule the fianna again. this was the sign that the coming champion should give of his birth and destiny; he was to bear with him the treasure bag of cumhal and the sacred things that were therein." finn said, "ye know the bag and its treasures, tell us if these be they." and he laid his skin bag on the knees of crimmal. crimmal opened it, and he took out the jewels of sovranty the magic spear-head made by the smiths of the fairy folk, and he said, "these be the treasures of cumhal; truly the ripeness of the time is come." and finn then told the story of how he had won these things. "but yesterday morning," he said, "we met on our way a woman of noble aspect, and she knelt over the body of a slain youth. when she lifted her head as we drew near, tears of blood ran down her cheeks, and she cried to me, 'whoever thou art, i bind thee by the bonds of the sacred ordinances of the gael that thou avenge my wrong. this was my son glonda,' she said, 'my only son, and he was slain to-day wantonly by the lord of luachar and his men.' so we went, my company and i, to the dún of the lord of luachar, and found an earthen rampart with a fosse before it, and on the top of the rampart was a fence of oaken posts interlaced with wattles, and over this we saw the many-coloured thatch of a great dwelling-house, and its white walls painted with bright colours under the broad eaves. so i stood forth and called to the lord of luachar and bade him make ready to pay an eric to the mother of glonda, whatsoever she should demand. but he laughed at us and cursed us and bade us begone. then we withdrew into the forest, but returned with a great pile of dry brushwood, and while some of us shot stones and arrows at whoever should appear above the palisade, others rushed up with bundles of brushwood and laid it against the palisade and set it on fire, and the immortal ones sent a blast of wind that set the brushwood and palisade quickly in a blaze, and through that fiery gap we charged in shouting. and half of the men of luachar we killed and the rest fled, and the lord of luachar i slew in the doorway of his palace. we took a great spoil then, o crimmal--these vessels of bronze and silver, and spears and bows, smoked bacon and skins of greek wine; and in a great chest of yewwood we found this bag. all these things shall now remain with you, and my company shall also remain to hunt for you and protect you, for ye shall know want and fear no longer while ye live." and finn said, "i would fain know if my mother murna still lives, or if she died by the sons of morna." crimmal said, "after thy father's death, finn, she was wedded to gleor, lord of lamrigh, in the south, and she still lives in honour with him, and the sons of morna have let her be. didst thou never see her since she gave thee, an infant, to the wise women on the day of cnucha?" "i remember," said finn, "when i was, as they tell me, but six years old, there came one day to our shieling in the woods of slieve bloom a chariot with bronze-shod wheels and a bronze wolf's head at the end of the pole, and two horsemen riding with it, besides him who drove. a lady was in it, with a gold frontlet on her brow and her cloak was fastened with a broad golden brooch. she came into our hut and spoke long with my foster-mothers, and me she clasped in her arms and kissed many times, and i felt her tears on my face. and they told me afterwards that this was murna of the white neck, and my mother. if she have suffered no harm at the hands of the sons of morna, so much the less is the debt that they shall one day pay." now it is to be told what happened to finn at the house of finegas the bard. finn did not deem that the time had come for him to seize the captaincy of the fianna until he had perfected himself in wisdom and learning. so on leaving the shelter of the old men in the wood he went to learn wisdom and the art of poetry from finegas, who dwelt by the river boyne, near to where is now the village of slane. it was a belief among the poets of ireland that the place of the revealing of poetry is always by the margin of water. but finegas had another reason for the place where he made his dwelling, for there was an old prophecy that whoever should first eat of the salmon of knowledge that lived in the river boyne, should become the wisest of men. now this salmon was called finntan in ancient times and was one of the immortals, and he might be eaten and yet live. but in the time of finegas he was called the salmon of the pool of fec, which is the place where the fair river broadens out into a great still pool, with green banks softly sloping upward from the clear brown water. seven years was finegas watching the pool, but not until after finn had come to be his disciple was the salmon caught. then finegas gave it to finn to cook, and bade him eat none of it. but when finegas saw him coming with the fish, he knew that something had chanced to the lad, for he had been used to have the eye of a young man but now he had the eye of a sage. finegas said, "hast thou eaten of the salmon?" "nay," said finn, "but it burnt me as i turned it upon the spit and i put my thumb in my mouth" and finegas smote his hands together and was silent for a while. then he said to the lad who stood by obediently, "take the salmon and eat it, finn, son of cumhal, for to thee the prophecy is come. and now go hence, for i can teach thee no more, and blessing and victory be thine." with finegas, finn learned the three things that make a poet, and they are fire of song, and light of knowledge, and the art of extempore recitation. before he departed he made this lay to prove his art, and it is called "the song of finn in praise of may":-- may day! delightful day! bright colours play the vales along. now wakes at morning's slender ray, wild and gay, the blackbird's song. now comes the bird of dusty hue, the loud cuckoo, the summer-lover; branching trees are thick with leaves; the bitter, evil time is over. swift horses gather nigh where half dry the river goes; tufted heather crowns the height; weak and white the bogdown blows. corncrake sings from eve till morn, deep in corn, a strenuous bard! sings the virgin waterfall, white and tall, her one sweet word. loaded bees of little power goodly flower-harvest win; cattle roam with muddy flanks; busy ants go out and in. through, the wild harp of the wood making music roars the gale-- now it slumbers without motion, on the ocean sleeps the sail. men grow mighty in the may, proud and gay the maidens grow; fair is every wooded height; fair and bright the plain below. a bright shaft has smit the streams, with gold gleams the water-flag; leaps the fish, and on the hills ardour thrills the flying stag. carols loud the lark on high, small and shy, his tireless lay, singing in wildest, merriest mood of delicate-hued, delightful may.[ ] [ ] i am much indebted to the beautiful prose translation of this song, published by dr kuno meyer in _Ériu_ (the journal of the school of irish learning), vol. i. part ii. in my poetic version an attempt has been made to render the riming and metrical effect of the original, which is believed to date from about the ninth century. chapter x the coming of finn and now we tell how finn came to the captaincy of the fianna of erinn. at this time ireland was ruled by one of the mightiest of her native kings, conn, son of felimy, who was surnamed conn of the hundred battles. and conn sat in his great banqueting hall at tara, while the yearly assembly of the lords and princes of the gael went forward, during which it was the inviolable law that no quarrel should be raised and no weapon drawn, so that every man who had a right to come to that assembly might come there and sit next his deadliest foe in peace. below him sat at meat the provincial kings and the chiefs of clans, and the high king's officers and fighting-men of the fianna, with goll and the sons of morna at their head. and there, too, sat modestly a strange youth, tall and fair, whom no one had seen in that place before. conn marked him with the eye of a king that is accustomed to mark men, and by and by he sent him a horn full of wine from his own table and bade the youth declare his name and lineage. "i am finn, son of cumhal," said the youth, standing among them, tall as a warriors spear, and a start and a low murmur ran through the assembly while the captains of the fianna stared upon him like men who see a vision of the dead. "what seek you here?" said conn, and finn replied, "to be your man, o king, and to do you service in war as my father did." "it is well," said the king. "thou art a friend's son and the son of man of trust." so finn put his hand in the kind's and swore fealty and service to him, and conn set him beside his own son art, and all fell to talking again and wondering what new things that day would bring forth, and the feasting went merrily forward. now at this time the people of the royal burg of tara were sorely afflicted by a goblin of the fairy folk, who was wont to approach the place at night-fall, there to work what harm to man, or beast, or dwelling that he found in his evil mind to do. and he could not be resisted, for as he came he played on a magic harp a strain so keen and sweet, that each man who heard it must needs stand entranced and motionless until the fairy music had passed away. the king proclaimed a mighty reward to any man who would save tara from the goblin, and finn thought in his heart, "i am the man to do that." so he said to the king, "shall i have my rightful heritage as captain of the fianna of erin if i slay the goblin?" conn said, "i promise thee that," and he bound himself by the sureties of all the provincial kings of ireland and of the druid kithro and his magicians. now there was among the following of conn a man named fiacha, who had been as a youth a trusty friend and follower of cumhal. he came to finn and brought with him a spear having a head of dark bronze with glittering edges, and fastened with thirty rivets of arabian gold, and the spear-head was laced up within a leathern case. "by this weapon of enchantment," said fiacha, "you shall overcome the enchanter," and he taught finn what to do with it when the hour of need should come. so finn took the spear, and left the strings of the case loose, and he paced with it towards night-fall around the ramparts of royal tara. and when he had once made the circuit of the rampart, and the light had now almost quite faded from the summer sky, and the wide low plains around the hill of tara were a sea of white mist, he heard far off in the deepening gloom the first notes of the fairy harp. never such music was made by mortal hand, for it had in it sorrows that man has never felt, and joys for which man has no name, and it seemed as if a man listening to that music might burst from time into eternity and be as one of the immortals for evermore. and finn listened, amazed and rapt, till at last as the triumphant melody grew nearer and louder he saw dimly a shadow shape playing as it were on a harp, and coming swiftly towards him. then with a mighty effort he roused himself from dreams, and tore the cover from the spear-head and laid the metal to his brow. and the demoniac energy that had been beaten into the blade by the hammers of unearthly craftsmen in ancient days thrilled through him and made him fighting-mad, and he rushed forward shouting his battle-cry, and swinging the spear aloft. but the shadow turned and fled before him, and finn chased it northward to the fairy mound of slieve fuad, and there he drove the spear through its back. and what it was that fell there in the night, and what it was that passed like the shadow of a shadow into the fairy mound, none can tell, but finn bore back with him next day a pale, sorrowful head on the point of fiacha's spear, and the goblin troubled the folk of royal tara no more. but conn of the hundred battles called the fianna together, and he set finn at his right hand and said, "here is your captain by birth-right and by sword-right. let who will now obey him hence-forward, and who will not, let him go in peace and serve arthur of britain or arist of alba, or whatsoever king he will." and goll, son of morna, said, "for my part i will be finn's man under thee, o king," and he swore obedience and loyalty to finn before them all. nor was it hard for any man to step where goll had gone before, so they all took their oaths of fian service to finn mac cumhal. and thus it was that finn came to the captaincy of the fianna of erinn, and he ruled the fianna many a year till he died in battle with the clan urgrenn at brea upon the boyne. chapter xi finn's chief men with the coming of finn did the fianna of erinn come to their glory, and with his life their glory passed away. for he ruled them as no other captain ever did, both strongly and wisely, and never bore a grudge against any, but freely forgave a man all offences save disloyalty to his lord. thus it is told that conan, son of the lord of luachar, him who had the treasure bag and whom finn slew at rath luachar, was for seven years an outlaw and marauder, harrying the fians, and killing here a man and there a hound, and firing their dwellings, and raiding their cattle. at last they ran him to a corner at cam lewy in munster, and when he saw that he could escape no more he stole upon finn as he sat down after a chase, and flung his arms round him from behind, holding him fast and motionless. finn knew who held him thus and said, "what wilt thou conan?" conan said, "to make a covenant of service and fealty with thee, for i may no longer evade thy wrath." so finn laughed and said, "be it so, conan, and if thou prove faithful and valiant, i also will keep faith." and conan served him for thirty years, and no man of all the fianna was keener and hardier in fight. there was also another conan, namely, mac morna, who was big and bald, and unwieldy in manly exercises, but whose tongue was bitter and scurrilous; no high brave thing was done that conan the bald did not mock and belittle. it is said that when he was stripped he showed down his back and buttocks a black sheep's fleece instead of a man's skin, and this is the way it came about. one day when conan and certain others of the fianna were hunting in the forest they came to a stately dún, white-walled, with coloured thatching on the roof, and they entered it to seek hospitality. but when they were within they found! no man, but a great empty hall with pillars of cedar wood and silken hangings about it, like the hall of a wealthy lord. in the midst there was a table set forth with a sumptuous feast of boar's flesh and venison, and a great vat of yew wood full of red wine, and cups of gold and silver. so they set themselves gaily to eat and drink, for they were hungry from the chase, and talk and laughter were loud around the board. but one of them ere long started to his feet with a cry of fear and wonder, and they all looked round, and saw before their eyes the tapestried walls changing to rough wooden balks and the ceiling to foul sooty thatch like that of a herdsman's hut. so they knew they were being entrapped by some enchantment of the fairy folk, and all sprang to their feet and made for the doorway, that was no longer high and stately but was shrinking to the size of a fox earth,--all but conan the bald, who was gluttonously devouring the good things on the table, and heeded nothing else. then they shouted to him, and as the last of them went out he strove to rise and follow, but found himself limed to the chair so that he could not stir. so two of the fianna, seeing his plight, rushed back and seized his arms and tugged with all their might, and if they dragged him away, they left the most part of his raiment and his skin sticking to the chair. then, not knowing what else to do with him in his sore plight they clapped upon his back the nearest thing they could find, which was the skin of a black sheep that they took from a peasant's flock hard by, and it grew there, and conan wore it till his death. though conan was a coward and rarely adventured himself in battle with the fianna, it is told that once a good man fell by his hand. this was on the day of the great battle with the pirate horde on the hill of slaughter in kerry.[ ] for liagan, one of the invaders, stood out before the hosts and challenged the bravest of the fians to single combat, and the fians, in mockery, thrust conan forth to the fight. when he appeared, liagan laughed, for he had more strength than wit, and he said, "silly is thy visit, thou bald old man." and as conan still approached, liagan lifted his hand fiercely, and conan said, "truly thou art in more peril from the man behind than from the man in front." liagan looked round; and in that instant conan swept off his head and then threw down his sword and ran for shelter to the ranks of the laughing fians. but finn was very wroth because he had won the victory by a trick. [ ] the hill still bears the name, knockanar. and one of the chiefest of the friends of finn was dermot of the love spot. he was so fair and noble to look on that no woman could refuse him love, and it was said that he never knew weariness, but his step was as light at the end of the longest day of battle or the chase as it was at the beginning. between him and finn there was great love until the day when finn, then an old man, was to wed grania, daughter of cormac the high king; but grania bound dermot by the sacred ordinances of the fian chivalry to fly with her on her wedding night, which thing, sorely against his will, he did, and thereby got his death. but grania went back to finn, and when the fianna saw her they laughed through all the camp in bitter mockery, for they would not have given one of the dead man's fingers for twenty such as grania. others of the chief men that finn had were keelta mac ronan, who was one of his house-stewards and a strong warrior as well as a golden-tongued reciter of tales and poems. and there was oisín, the son of finn, the greatest poet of the gael, of whom more shall be told hereafter. and oisín had a son oscar, who was the fiercest fighter in battle among all the fians. he slew in his maiden battle three kings, and in his fury he also slew by mischance his own friend and condisciple linne. his wife was the fair aideen, who died of grief after oscar's death in the battle of gowra, and oisín buried her on ben edar (howth), and raised over her the great cromlech which is there to this day. another good man that finn had was geena, the son of luga; his mother was the warrior-daughter of finn, and his father was a near kinsman of hers. he was nurtured by a woman that bore the name of fair mane, who had brought up many of the fianna to manhood. when his time to take arms was come he stood before finn and made his covenant of fealty, and finn gave him the captaincy of a band. but mac luga proved slothful and selfish, for ever vaunting himself and his weapon-skill and never training his men to the chase of deer or boar, and he used to beat his hounds and his serving-men. at last the fians under him came with their whole company to finn at loch lena in killarney, and there they laid their complaint against mac luga, and said, "choose now, o finn, whether you will have us, or the son of luga by himself." then finn sent to mac luga and questioned him, but mac luga could say nothing to the point as to why the fianna would none of him. then finn taught him the things befitting a youth of noble birth and a captain of men, and they were these:-- "son of luga, if armed service be thy design, in a great man's household be quiet, be surly in the narrow pass." "without a fault of his beat not thy hound; until thou ascertain her guilt, bring not a charge against thy wife." "in battle, meddle not with a buffoon, for, o mac luga, he is but a fool." "censure not any if he be of grave repute; stand not up to take part in a brawl; have nought to do with a madman or a wicked one." "two-thirds of thy gentleness be shown to women and to those that creep on the floor (little children) and to poets, and be not violent to the common people." "utter not swaggering speech, nor say thou wilt not yield what is right; it is a shameful thing to speak too stiffly unless that it be feasible to carry out thy words." "so long as thou shalt live, thy lord forsake not; neither for gold nor for other reward in the world abandon one whom thou art pledged to protect." "to a chief do not abuse his people, for that is no work for a gentleman." "be no talebearer, nor utterer of falsehoods; be not talkative nor rashly censorious. stir not up strife against thee, however good a man thou be." "be no frequenter of the drinking-house, nor given to carping at the old; meddle not with a man of mean estate." "dispense thy meat freely, have no niggard for thy familiar." "force not thyself upon a chief, nor give him cause to speak ill of thee." "stick to thy gear, hold fast to thy arms till the stern fight with its weapon-glitter be well ended." "be more apt to give than to deny, and follow after gentleness, o son of luga."[ ] [ ] i have in the main borrowed standish hayes o'grady's vivid and racy translation of these adages of the fianna. (silva gadelica, engl. transl., p. .) and the son of luga, it is written, heeded these counsels and gave up his bad ways, and he became one of the best of finn's men. such-like things also finn taught to all his followers, and the best of them became like himself in valour and gentleness and generosity. each of them loved the repute of his comrades more than his own, and each would say that for all noble qualities there was no man in the breadth of the world worthy to be thought of beside finn. it was said of him that "he gave away gold as if it were the leaves of the woodland, and silver as if it were the foam of the sea," and that whatever he had bestowed upon any man, if he fell out with him afterwards, he was never known to bring it against him. sang the poet oisín of him once to st patrick:-- "these are the things that were dear to finn-- the din of battle, the banquet's glee, the bay of his hounds through the rough glen ringing. and the blackbird singing in letter lee, "the shingle grinding along the shore when they dragged his war-boats down to sea, the dawn-wind whistling his spears among, and the magic song of his minstrels three." in the time of finn no one was ever admitted to be one of the fianna of erinn unless he could pass through many severe tests of his worthiness. he must be versed in the twelve books of poetry and must himself be skilled to make verse in the rime and metre of the masters of gaelic poesy. then he was buried to his middle in the earth, and must, with a shield and a hazel stick, there defend himself against nine warriors casting spears at him, and if he were wounded he was not accepted. then his hair was woven into braids and he was chased through the forest by the fians. if he were overtaken, or if a braid of his hair were disturbed, or if a dry stick cracked under his foot, he was not accepted. he must be able to leap over a lath level with his brow and to run at full speed under level with his knee, and he must be able while running to draw out a thorn from his foot and never slacken speed. he must take no dowry with a wife. it was said that one of the fians, namely keelta, lived on to a great age, and saw st patrick, by whom he was baptized into the faith of the christ, and to whom he told many tales of finn and his men, which patrick's scribe wrote down. and once patrick asked him how it was that the fianna became so mighty and so glorious that all ireland sang of their deeds, as ireland has done ever since. keelta answered, "truth was in our hearts and strength in our arms, and what we said, that we fulfilled." this was also told of keelta after he had seen st patrick and received the faith. he chanced to be one day by leyney in connacht, where the fairy folk of the mound of duma were wont to be sorely harassed and spoiled every year by pirates from oversea. they called keelta to their aid, and by his counsel and valour the invaders were overcome and driven home, but keelta was sorely wounded. then keelta asked that owen the seer of the fairy folk might foretell him how long he had to live, for he was already a very aged man. owen said, "it will be seventeen years, o keelta of fair fame, till thou fall by the pool of tara, and grievous that will be to all the king's household." "even so did my chief and lord, my guardian and loving protector, finn, foretell to me," said keelta. "and now what fee will ye give me for my rescue of you from the worst affliction that ever befell you?" "a great reward," said the fairy folk, "even youth; for by our art we shall change you into young man again with all the strength and activity of your prime." "nay, god forbid," said keelta "that i should take upon me a shape of sorcery, or any other than that which my maker, the true and glorious god, hath bestowed upon me." and the fairy folk said, "it is the word of a true warrior and hero, and the thing that thou sayest is good." so they healed his wounds, and every bodily evil that he had, and he wished them blessing and victory, and went his way. chapter xii the tale of vivionn the giantess one day finn and goll, keelta and oscar, and others of the fianna, were resting after the hunt on a certain hill now called the ridge of the dead woman, and their meal was being got ready, when a girl of the kin of the giants came striding up and sat down among them. "didst thou ever see a woman so tall?" asked finn of goll. "by my troth," said goll, "never have i or any other seen a woman so big." she took her hand out of her bosom and on her long slender fingers there were three gold rings each as thick as an ox's yoke. "let us question her," said goll, and finn said, "if we stood up, perchance she might hear us." so they all rose to their feet, but the giantess, on that, rose up too. "maiden," said finn, "if thou have aught to say to us or to hear from us, sit down and lean thine elbow on the hill-side." so she lay down and finn bade her say whence she came and what was her will with them. "out of the world oversea where the sun sets am i come," she said, "to seek thy protection, o mighty finn." "and what is thy name?" "my name is vivionn of the fair hair, and my father treon is called king of the land of lasses, for he has but three sons and nine and seven score daughters, and near him is a king who hath one daughter and eight score sons. to one of these, Æda, was i given in marriage sorely against my will. three times now have i fled from him. and this time it was fishermen whom the wind blew to us from off this land who told us of a mighty lord here, named finn, son of cumhal, who would let none be wronged or oppressed, but he would be their friend and champion. and if thou be he, to thee am i come." then she laid her hand in finn's, and he bade her do the same with goll mac morna, who was second in the fian leadership, and she did so. then the maiden took from her head a jewelled golden helmet, and immediately her hair flowed out in seven score tresses, fair, curly and golden, at the abundance of which all stood amazed; and finn said, "by the immortals that we adore, but king cormac and the poetess ethne and the fair women-folk of the fianna would deem it a marvel to see this girl. tell us now, maiden, what portion wilt thou have of meat and drink? will that of a hundred of us suffice thee?" the girl then saw cnu, the dwarf harper of finn, who had just been playing to them, and she said, "whatever thou givest to yon little man that bears the harp, be it much or little, the same, o finn, will suffice for me." then she begged a drink from them, and finn called his gillie, saltran, and bade him fetch the full of a certain great goblet with water from the ford; now this goblet was of wood, and it held as much as nine of the fianna could drink. the maiden poured some of the water into her right hand and drank three sips of it, and scattered the rest over the fianna, and she and they burst out laughing. finn said, "on thy conscience, girl, what ailed thee not to drink out of the goblet?" "never," she replied, "have i drunk out of any vessel but there was a rim of gold to it, or at least of silver." and now keelta looking up perceived a tall youth coming swiftly towards them, who, when he approached, seemed even bigger than was the maiden. he wore a rough hairy cape over his shoulder and beneath that a green cloak fastened by a golden brooch; his tunic was of royal satin, and he bore a red shield slung over his shoulders, and a spear with a shaft as thick as a man's leg was in his hand; a gold-hilted sword hung by his side. and his face, which was smooth-shaven, was comelier than that of any of the sons of men. when he came near, seeing among the fians a stir of alarm at this apparition, finn said, "keep every one of you his place, let neither warrior nor gillie address him. know any of you this champion?" "i know him," said the maiden; "that is even he to escape from whom i am come to thee, o finn." and she sat down between finn and goll. but the stranger drew near, and spake never a word, but before any one could tell what he would be at he thrust fiercely and suddenly with his spear at the girl, and the shaft stood out a hand's breadth at her back. and she fell gasping, but the young man drew his weapon out and passed rapidly through the crowd and away. [illustration: "they ran him by hill and plain"] then finn cried, red with wrath, "ye have seen! avenge this wicked deed, or none of you aspire to fianship again." and the whole company sprang to their feet and gave chase to that murderer, save only finn and goll, who stayed by the dying maiden. and they ran him by hill and plain to the great bay of tralee and down to the tribute point, where the traders from oversea were wont to pay their dues, and there he set his face to the west and took the water. by this time four of the fianna had outstripped the rest, namely, keelta, and dermot, and glas, and oscar, son of oisín. of these keelta was first, and just as the giant was mid-leg in the waves he hurled his spear and it severed the thong of the giant's shield so that it fell off in the water. and as the giant paused, keelta seized his spear and tore it from him. but the giant waded on, and soon the fians were floundering in deep water while the huge form, thigh deep, was seen striding towards the setting sun. and a great ship seemed to draw near, and it received him, and then departed into the light, but the fians returned in the grey evening, bearing the spear and the great shield to finn. there they found the maiden at point of death, and they laid the weapons before her. "goodly indeed are these arms," she said, "for that is the thunder spear of the king oversea and the shield is the red branch shield," for it was covered with red arabesques. then she bestowed her bracelets on finn's three harpers, the dwarf cnu, and blanit his wife, and the harper daira. and she bade finn care for her burial, that it should be done becomingly, "for under thy honour and protection i got my death, and it was to thee i came into ireland." so they buried her and lamented her, and made a great far-seen mound over her grave, which is called the ridge of the dead woman, and set up a pillar stone upon it with her name and lineage carved in ogham-crave.[ ] [ ] ogham-craobh = "branching ogham," so called because the letters resembled the branching of twigs from a stem. the ogham alphabet was in use in ireland in pre-christian times, and many sepulchral inscriptions in it still remain. chapter xiii the chase of the gilla dacar in the reign of cormac mac art, grandson of conn of the hundred battles, the order of precedence and dignity in the court of the high king at tara was as follows: first came great cormac, the kingly, the hospitable, warrior and poet, and he was supreme over all. next in order came the five kings of the five provinces of ireland, namely, ulster, munster, connacht, leinster, and mid-erinn. after these ranked the captains of the royal host, of whom finn, son of cumhal, was the chief. now the privileges of the fianna of erinn were many and great; to wit, in every county in ireland one townland, and in every townland a cartron of land, and in the house of every gentleman the right to have a young deer-hound or a beagle kept at nurse from november to may, together with many other taxes and royalties not to be recounted here. but if they had these many and great privileges, yet greater than these were the toils and hardships which they had to endure, in guarding the coasts of all ireland from oversea invaders and marauders, and in keeping down all robbers and outlaws and evil folk within the kingdom, for this was the duty laid upon them by their bond of service to the king. now the summer half of the year was wont to be ended by a great hunting in one of the forests of ireland, and so it was that one all-hallowtide, when the great banquet of finn in his dún on the hill of allen was going forward, and the hall resounded with cheerful talk and laughter and with the music of tympan and of harp, finn asked of the assembled captains in what part of erinn they should proceed to beat up game on the morrow. and it was agreed among them to repair to the territory of thomond and desmond in munster; and from allen they set out accordingly and came to the hill of knockany. thence they threw out the hunt and sent their bands of beaters through many a gloomy ravine and by many a rugged hill-pass and many a fair open plain. desmond's high hills, called now slievelogher, they beat, and the smooth, swelling hills of slievenamuck, and the green slopes of grassy slievenamon, and the towering rough crags of the decies, and thence on to the dark woods of belachgowran. while the great hunt was going forward finn with certain of his chief captains sat on a high mound to overlook it. there, with finn, were goll and art mac morna, and liagan the swift runner, and dermot of the love spot, and keelta, son of ronan, and there also was conan the bald, the man of scurrilous tongue, and a score or so more. sweet it was to finn and his companions to hear from the woods and wildernesses around them the many-tongued baying of the hounds and the cries and whistling of the beaters, the shouting of the strong men and the notes of the fian hunting-horn. when they had sat there awhile one of finn's men came running quickly towards him and said-- "a stranger is approaching us from the westward, o finn, and i much mislike his aspect." with that all the fians looked up and beheld upon the hillside a huge man, looking like some fomorian marauder, black-visaged and ugly, with a sour countenance and ungainly limbs. on his back hung a dingy black shield, on his misshapen left thigh he wore a sharp broad-bladed sword; projecting over his shoulder were two long lances with broad rusty heads. he wore garments that looked as if they had been buried in a cinder heap, and a loose ragged mantle. behind him there shambled a sulky, ill-shapen mare with a bony carcase and bowed knees, and on her neck a clumsy iron halter. with a rope her master hauled her along, with violent jerks that seemed as if they would wrench her head from her scraggy neck, and ever and anon the mare would stand and jib, when the man laid on her ribs such blows from a strong ironshod cudgel that they sounded like the surges of the sea beating on a rocky coast. short as was the distance from where the man and his horse were first perceived to where finn was standing, it was long ere they traversed it. at last, however, he came into the presence of finn and louted before him, doing obeisance. finn lifted his hand over him and bade him speak, and declare his business and his name and rank. "i know not," said the fellow, "of what blood i am, gentle or simple, but only this, that i am a wight from oversea looking for service and wages. and as i have heard of thee, o finn, that thou art not wont to refuse any man, i came to take service with thee if thou wilt have me." "neither shall i refuse thee," said finn; "but what brings thee here with a horse and no horseboy?" "good enough reason," said the stranger. "i have much ado to get meat for my own belly, seeing that i eat for a hundred men; and i will not have any horseboy meddling with my ration." "and what name dost thou bear?" "i am called the gilla dacar (the hard gillie)," replied he. "why was that name given thee?" asked finn. "good enough reason for that also," spake the stranger, "for of all the lads in the world there is none harder than i am for a lord to get any service and obedience from." then turning to conan the bald he said, "whether among the fianna is a horseman's pay or a footman's the highest?" "a horseman's surely," said conan, "seeing that he gets twice the pay of a footman." "then i am a horseman in thy service, finn," said the gillie. "i call thee to observe that i have here a horse, and moreover that as a horseman i came among the fianna. have i thy authority," he went on, "to turn out my steed among thine?" "turn her out," quoth finn. then the big man flung his mare the rope and immediately she galloped off to where the fian horses were grazing. here she fell to biting and kicking them, knocking out the eye of one and snapping off another's ear and breaking the leg of another with a kick. "take away thy mare, big man," cried conan then, "or by heaven and earth were it not that finn told thee to let her loose i would let loose her brains. many a bad bargain has finn made but never a worse than thou." "by heaven and earth," said the gillie, "that i never will, for i have no horseboy, and i will do no horseboy's work." then conan mac morna took the iron halter and laid it on the stranger's horse and brought the beast back to finn and held it there. said finn to conan, "i have never seen thee do horseboy's service even to far better men than this gillie. how now if thou wert to leap on the brute's back and gallop her to death over hill and dale in payment for the mischief she hath wrought among our steeds?" at this word conan clambered up on the back of the big man's mare, and with all his might he smote his two heels into her, but the mare never stirred. "i perceive what ails her," said finn. "she will never stir till she has a weight of men on her equal to that of her own rider." then thirteen men of the fianna scrambled up laughing behind conan, and the mare lay down under them, and then got up again, they still clinging to her. at this the big man said, "it appears that you are making a sport and mockery of my mare, and that even i myself do not escape from it. it is well for me that i have not spent the rest of the year in your company, seeing what a jest ye have made of me the very first day; and i perceive, o finn, that thou art very unlike the report that is made of thee. and now i bid thee farewell, for of thy service i have had enough." so with downcast head and despondent looks the big gillie shambled slowly away until he had passed out of view of the fianna, behind the shoulder of the hill. having arrived here he tucked up his coat to his waist, and fast though be the flight of the swallow, and fast that of the roe-deer, and fast the rush of a roaring wind over a mountain top in mid-march, no faster are these than the bounding speed and furious flight of the big man down the hillside toward the west. no sooner did the mare see that her master had departed than she too dashed uncontrollably forward and flew down the hillside after him. and as the fians saw conan the bald and his thirteen companions thus carried off, willy nilly, they broke into a roar of laughter and ran alongside mocking them. but conan, seeing that they were being carried off in the wake of the big man of evil aspect, of whom none knew whence or who he was, he was terrified and began reviling and cursing, and shouted to finn, "a palsy seize thee, finn; may some rascally churl, that is if possible of worse blood than thyself, have thy head, unless thou follow and rescue us wheresoever this monster shall bring us." so finn and the fianna ran, and the mare ran, over bare hills and by deep glens, till at last they came to corcaguiny in kerry, where the gillie set his face to the blue ocean, and the mare dashed in after him. but ere he did so, liagan the swift got two hands on the tail of the mare, though further he could not win, and he was towed in, still clinging to his hold, and over the rolling billows away they went, the fourteen fians on the wild mare's back, and liagan haled along by her tail. "what is to be done now?" said oisín to finn when they had arrived at the beach. "our men are to be rescued," said finn, "for to that we are bound by the honour of the fianna. whithersoever they are gone, thither must we follow and win them back by fair means or foul; but to that end we must first fit out a galley." so in the end it was agreed that finn and fourteen men of his bravest and best champions should sail oversea in search of the gilla dacar and his captives, while oisín remained in erinn and exercised rule over the fianna in the place of his father. after a while, then, a swift galley was made ready by finn and stored with victual, and with arms, and also with gold and raiment to make gifts withal if need should be. and into the ship came the fifteen valiant men, and gripped their oars, while finn steered; and soon the sea whitened around their oarblades, and over the restless, rolling masses of the many-hued and voiceful billows, the ship clove her way to the west. and the fians, who were wont to be wakened by the twittering of birds over their hunting booths in the greenwood, now delighted to hear, day after day as they roused themselves at morn, the lapping of the wide waters of the world against their vessel's bows, or the thunder of pounding surges when the wind blew hard. at length after many days the sharpest-eyed of the men of finn saw far-off what seemed a mountain rising from the sea, and to it they shaped their course. when they had come to that land they found themselves under the shadow of a great grey cliff, and beneath it slippery rocks covered with seaweed. then dermot, who was the most active of the company, was bidden to mount the cliff and to procure means of drawing up the rest of the party, but of what land might lie on the top of that wall of rock none of them could discover anything. dermot, descending from the ship, then climbed with difficulty up the face of the cliff, while the others made fast their ship among the rocks. but dermot having arrived at the top saw no habitation of man, and could compass no way of helping his companions to mount. he went therefore boldly forward into the unknown land, hoping to obtain some help, if any friendly and hospitable folk could there be found. [illustration: "dermot took the horn and would have filled it"] before he had gone far he came into a wild wood, thick and tangled, and full of the noise of streams, and the sough of winds, and twittering of birds, and hum of bees. after he had traversed this wilderness for a while he came to a mighty tree with densely interwoven branches, and beneath it a pile of rocks, having on its summit a pointed drinking horn wreathed with rich ornament, and at its foot a well of pure bright water. dermot, being now thirsty, took the horn and would have filled it at the well, but as he stooped down to do so he heard a loud, threatening murmur which seemed to rise from it. "i perceive," he said to himself, "that i am forbidden to drink from this well" nevertheless thirst compelled him, and he drank his fill. in no long time thereafter he saw an armed warrior of hostile aspect coming towards him through the wood. no courteous greeting did he give to dermot, but began to revile him for roaming in his wood and wilderness, and for drinking his water. thereupon they fought, and for the rest of the afternoon they took and gave hard blows neither subduing the other, till at last as darkness began to fall the warrior suddenly dived into the well and was seen no more. dermot, vexed at this ending of the combat, then made him ready to spend the night in that place, but first he slew a deer in the wood, and made a fire, whereat he roasted pieces of the deer's flesh on spits of white hazel, and drank abundantly of the well-water, and then slept soundly through the night. next morning when he awakened and went to the well he found the champion of the well standing there and awaiting him. "it is not enough, dermot," said he angrily, "for thee to traverse my woods at will and to drink my water, but thou must even also slay my deer." then they closed in combat again, and dealt each other blow for blow and wound for wound till evening parted them, and the champion dived into the well as before. on the third day it went even so; but as evening came on dermot, watching closely, rushed at the champion just as he was about to plunge into the well, and gripped him in his arms. but none the less the champion of the well made his dive, and took down dermot with him. and a darkness and faintness came over dermot, but when he awoke, he found himself in a wide, open country, flowery and fair, and before him the walls and towers of a royal city. thither the champion, sorely wounded, was now borne off, while a crowd of his people came round dermot, and beat and wounded him, leaving him on the ground for dead. after night had fallen, when all the people of the city in the land undersea had departed, a stalwart champion, well-armed and of bold appearance, came upon dermot and stirred him with his foot. dermot thereon awoke from his swoon and, warrior-like, reached out his hand for his arms. but the champion said, "wait awhile, my son, i have not come to do thee hurt or harm. thou hast chosen an ill place to rest and slumber in, before the city of thine enemy. rise and follow me, and i shall bestow thee far better than that." dermot then rose and followed the champion, and long and far they journeyed until they came to a high-towered fortress, wherein were thrice fifty valiant men-at-arms and fair women; and the daughter of that champion, a white-toothed, rosy-cheeked, smooth-handed, and black-eyebrowed maid, received dermot, kindly and welcomefully, and applied healing herbs to his wounds, and in no long time he was made as good a man as ever. and thus he remained, and was entertained most royally with the best of viands and of liquors. the first part of every night those in that dún were wont to spend in feasting, and the second in recreation and entertainment of the mind, with music and with poetry and bardic tales, and the third part in sound and healthful slumber, till the sun in his fiery journey rose over the heavy-clodded earth on the morrow morn. and the king of that country, who was the champion that had aroused dermot, told him this was the land of sorca, and that he had showed this kindness to dermot for that he himself had once been on wage and service with finn, son of cumhal "and a better master," said he, "man never had." now the story turns to tell of what befell finn and the remainder of his companions when dermot left them in the ship. after a while, seeing that he did not return, and being assured that some mischief or hindrance must have befallen him, they made an attempt to climb the cliff after him, having noted which way he went. with much toil and peril they accomplished this, and then journeying forward and following on dermot's track, they came at last to the well in the wild wood, and saw near by the remains of the deer, and the ashes of the fire that dermot had kindled to cook it. but from this place they could discover no track of his going. while they were debating on what should next be done, they saw riding towards them a tall warrior on a dark grey horse with a golden bridle, who greeted them courteously. from him they enquired as to whether he had seen aught of their companion, dermot, in the wilderness. "follow me," said the warrior, "and you shall shortly have tidings of him." then they followed the strange horseman into the forest by many dark and winding ways, until at last they came into a rocky ravine, where they found the mouth of a great cavern opening into the hillside. into this they went, and the way led them downward until it seemed as if they were going into the bowels of the earth, until at last the light began to shine round them, and they came out into a lovely land of flowery plains and green woods and singing streams. in no long time thereafter they came to a great royal dún, where he who led them was hailed as king and lord, and here, to their joy, they found their comrade, dermot of the love spot, who told them of all his adventures and heard from them of theirs. this ended, and when they had been entertained and refreshed, the lord of that place spoke to finn and said:-- "i have now, o finn, within my fortress the fifteen stoutest heroes that the world holds. to this end have i brought you here, that ye might make war with me upon mine enemy the champion of the well, who is king of the land bordering on mine, and who ceases not to persecute and to harry my people because, in his arrogance, he would have all the under world country subject to himself alone. say now if ye will embrace this enterprise and help me to defend my own: and if not i shall set you again upon the land of erinn." finn said, "what of my fifteen men that were carried away on the wild mare's back oversea?" "they are guarding the marches of my kingdom," said the king of sorca, "and all is well with them and shall be well." then finn agreed to take service with the king of sorca, and next day they arrayed themselves for fight and went out at the head of the host. ere long they came upon the army of the king of the well, and with him was the king of the greeks and a band of fierce mercenaries, and also the daughter of the greek king, by name tasha of the white side, a maiden who in beauty and grace surpassed all other women of the world, as the shannon surpasses all rivers of erinn and the eagle surpasses all birds of the air. now the stories of finn and his generosity and great deeds had reached her since she was a child, and she had set her love on him, though she had never seen his face till now. when the hosts were met, the king of the greeks said, "who of my men will stand forth and challenge the best of these men of erinn to single combat that their metal may be proved, for to us it is unknown what manner of men they be." the son of the king of the greeks said, "i will go." so on the side of finn, oscar, son of oisín, was chosen to match the son of the greek king, and the two hosts sat down peacefully together to watch the weapon-play. and tasha the princess sat by finn, son of cumhal. then oscar and the king's son stepped into their fighting place, and fierce was the combat that arose between them, as when two roaring surges of the sea dash against each other in a fissure of the rocks, and the spray-cloud bursts from them high into the air. long they fought, and many red wounds did each of them give and receive, till at last oscar beat the greek prince to the earth and smote off his head. then one host groaned for woe and discouragement, while the other shouted for joy of victory, and so they parted for the night, each to their own camp. and in the camp of the folk of sorca they found conan the bald and the fourteen men that had gone with him on the mare's back. but when night had fallen, tasha stole from the wizard of the greek king his branch of silver bells that when shaken would lay asleep a host of men, and with the aid of this she passed from the camp of the greeks, and through the sentinels, and came to the tent of finn. on the morrow morn the king of the greeks found that his daughter had fled to be the wife of finn, son of cumhal, and he offered a mighty reward to whosoever would slay finn and bring tasha back. but when the two armies closed in combat the fians and the host of the king of sorca charged so fiercely home, that they drove their foes before them as a winter gale drives before it a cloud of madly whirling leaves, and those that were not slain in the fight and the pursuit went to their own lands and abode there in peace; and thus was the war ended of the king of sorca and the lord of the well. then the king of sorca had finn and his comrades before him and gave them praise and thanks for their valour. "and what reward," he said, "will ye that i make you for the saving of the kingdom of sorca?" "thou wert in my service awhile," said finn, "and i mind not that i paid thee any wage for it. let that service even go against this, and so we are quits." "nay, then," cried conan the bald, "but what shall i have for my ride on the mare of the gilla dacar?" "what wilt thou have?" said the king of sorca. "this," said conan, "and nothing else will i accept. let fourteen of the fairest women of the land of sorca be put on that same mare, and thy wife, o king, clinging to its tail, and let them be thus haled across the sea until they come to corcaguiny in the land of erinn. i will have none of thy gold and silver, but the indignity that has been put upon me doth demand an honourable satisfaction." then the king of sorca smiled, and he said, "behold thy men, finn." [illustration: "'follow me now to the hill of allen'"] finn turned his head to look round, and as he did so the plain and the encampment of the fairy host vanished from his sight, and he saw himself standing on the shingly strand of a little bay, with rocky heights to right and left, crowned with yellow whin bushes whose perfume mingled with the salt sea wind. it was the spot where he had seen the gilla dacar and his mare take water on the coast of kerry. finn stared over the sea, to discover, if he might, by what means he had come thither, but nothing could he see there save the sunlit water, and nothing hear but what seemed a low laughter from the twinkling ripples that broke at his feet. then he looked for his men, who stood there, dazed like himself and rubbing their eyes; and there too stood the princess tasha, who stretched out her white arms to him. finn went over and took her hands. "shoulder your spears, good lads!" he called to his men. "follow me now to the hill of allen, and to the wedding feast of tasha and of finn mac cumhal." chapter xiv the birth of oisín one day as finn and his companions and dogs were returning from the chase to their dún on the hill of allen, a beautiful fawn started up on their path and the chase swept after her, she taking the way which led to their home. soon, all the pursuers were left far behind save only finn himself and his two hounds bran and sceolaun. now these hounds were of strange breed, for tyren, sister to murna, the mother of finn, had been changed into a hound by the enchantment of a woman of the fairy folk, who loved tyren's husband ullan; and the two hounds of finn were the children of tyren, born to her in that shape. of all hounds in ireland they were the best, and finn loved them much, so that it was said he wept but twice in his life, and once was for the death of bran. at last, as the chase went on down a valley side, finn saw the fawn stop and lie down, while the two hounds began to play round her and to lick her face and limbs. so he gave commandment that none should hurt her, and she followed them to the dún of allen, playing with the hounds as she went. the same night finn awoke and saw standing by his bed the fairest woman his eyes had ever beheld. "i am saba, o finn," she said, "and i was the fawn ye chased to-day. because i would not give my love to the druid of the fairy folk, who is named the dark, he put that shape upon me by his sorceries, and i have borne it these three years. but a slave of his, pitying me, once revealed to me that if i could win to thy great dún of allen, o finn, i should be safe from all enchantments and my natural shape would come to me again. but i feared to be torn in pieces by thy dogs, or wounded by thy hunters, till at last i let myself be overtaken by thee alone and by bran and sceolaun, who have the nature of man and would do me no hurt." "have no fear, maiden," said finn, "we the fianna, are free and our guest-friends are free; there is none who shall put compulsion on you here." so saba dwelt with finn, and he made her his wife; and so deep was his love for her that neither the battle nor the chase had any delight for him, and for months he never left her side. she also loved him as deeply, and their joy in each other was like that of the immortals in the land of youth. but at last word came to finn that the warships of the northmen were in the bay of dublin, and he summoned his heroes to the fight, "for," said he to saba, "the men of erinn give us tribute and hospitality to defend them from the foreigner, and it were shame to take it from them and not to give that to which we, on our side, are pledged." and he called to mind that great saying of goll mac morna when they were once sore bested by a mighty host--"a man," said goll, "lives after his life but not after his honour." seven days was finn absent, and he drove the northmen from the shores of erinn. but on the eighth day he returned, and when he entered his dún he saw trouble in the eyes of his men and of their fair womenfolk, and saba was not on the rampart expecting his return. so he bade them tell him what had chanced, and they said-- "whilst thou, our father and lord, wert afar off smiting the foreigner, and saba looking ever down the pass for thy return, we saw one day as it were the likeness of thee approaching, and bran and sceolaun at thy heels. and we seemed also to hear the notes of the fian hunting call blown on the wind. then saba hastened to the great gate, and we could not stay her, so eager was she to rush to the phantom. but when she came near, she halted and gave a loud and bitter cry, and the shape of thee smote her with a hazel wand, and lo, there was no woman there any more, but a deer. then those hounds chased it, and ever as it strove to reach again the gate of the dún they turned it back. we all now seized what arms we could and ran out to drive away the enchanter, but when we reached the place there was nothing to be seen, only still we heard the rushing of flying feet and the baying of dogs, and one thought it came from here, and another from there, till at last the uproar died away and all was still. what we could do, o finn, we did; saba is gone." finn then struck his hand on his breast but spoke no word, and he went to his own chamber. no man saw him for the rest of that day, nor for the day after. then he came forth, and ordered the matters of the fianna as of old, but for seven years thereafter he went searching for saba through every remote glen and dark forest and cavern of ireland, and he would take no hounds with him save bran and sceolaun. but at last he renounced all hope of finding her again, and went hunting as of old. one day as he was following the chase on ben gulban in sligo, he heard the musical bay of the dogs change of a sudden to a fierce growling and yelping as though they were in combat with some beast, and running hastily up he and his men beheld, under a great tree, a naked boy with long hair, and around him the hounds struggling to seize him, but bran and sceolaun fighting with them and keeping them off. and the lad was tall and shapely, and as the heroes gathered round he gazed undauntedly on them, never heeding the rout of dogs at his feet. the fians beat off the dogs and brought the lad home with them, and finn was very silent and continually searched the lad's countenance with his eyes. in time, the use of speech came to him, and the story that he told was this:-- he had known no father, and no mother save a gentle hind with whom he lived in a most green and pleasant valley shut in on every side by towering cliffs that could not be scaled, or by deep chasms in the earth. in the summer he lived on fruits and such-like, and in the winter, store of provisions was laid for him in a cave. and there came to them sometimes a tall dark-visaged man, who spoke to his mother, now tenderly, and now in loud menace, but she always shrunk away in fear, and the man departed in anger. at last there came a day when the dark man spoke very long with his mother in all tones of entreaty and of tenderness and of rage, but she would still keep aloof and give no sign save of fear and abhorrence. then at length the dark man drew near and smote her with a hazel wand; and with that he turned and went his way, but she, this time, followed him, still looking back at her son and piteously complaining. and he, when he strove to follow, found himself unable to move a limb; and crying out with rage and desolation he fell to the earth and his senses left him. when he came to himself he was on the mountain side, on ben gulban, where he remained some days, searching for that green and hidden valley, which he never found again. and after a while the dogs found him; but of the hind his mother and of the dark druid, there is no man knows the end. finn called his name oisín, and he became a warrior of fame, but far more famous for the songs and tales that he made; so that of all things to this day that are told of the fianna of erinn, men are wont to say, "so sang the bard, oisín, son of finn." chapter xv oisín in the land of youth it happened that on a misty summer morning as finn and oisín with many companions were hunting on the shores of loch lena they saw coming towards them a maiden, beautiful exceedingly, riding on a snow-white steed. she wore the garb of a queen; a crown of gold was on her head, and a dark brown mantle of silk, set with stars of red gold, fell around her and trailed on the ground. silver shoes were on her horse's hoofs, and a crest of gold nodded on his head. when she came near she said to finn, "from very far away i have come, and now at last i have found thee, finn, son of cumhal." then finn said, "what is thy land and race, maiden, and what dost thou seek from me?" "my name," she said, "is niam of the golden hair. i am the daughter of the king of the land of youth, and that which has brought me here is the love of thy son oisín." then she turned to oisín and she spoke to him in the voice of one who has never asked anything but it was granted to her, "wilt thou go with me, oisín, to my father's land?" and oisín said, "that will i, and to the world's end"; for the fairy spell had so wrought upon his heart that he cared no more for any earthly thing but to have the love of niam of the head of gold. then the maiden spoke of the land oversea to which she had summoned her lover, and as she spoke a dreamy stillness fell on all things, nor did a horse shake his bit nor a hound bay, nor the least breath of wind stir in the forest trees till she had made an end. and what she said seemed sweeter and more wonderful as she spoke it than anything they could afterwards remember to have heard, but so far as they could remember it, it was this:-- "delightful is the land beyond all dreams, fairer than aught thine eyes have ever seen. there all the year the fruit is on the tree, and all the year the bloom is on the flower. "there with wild honey drip the forest trees; the stores of wine and mead shall never fail. nor pain nor sickness knows the dweller there, death and decay come near him never more. "the feast shall cloy not, nor the chase shall tire, nor music cease for ever through the hall; the gold and jewels of the land of youth outshine all splendours ever dreamed by man. "thou shalt have horses of the fairy breed, thou shalt have hounds that can outrun the wind; a hundred chiefs shall follow thee in war, a hundred maidens sing thee to thy sleep. "a crown of sovranty thy brow shall wear, and by thy side a magic blade shall hang. thou shalt be lord of all the land of youth, and lord of niam of the head of gold." as the magic song ended, the fians beheld oisín mount the fairy steed and hold the maiden in his arms, and ere they could stir or speak she turned her horse's head and shook the ringing bridle and down the forest glade they fled, as a beam of light flies over the land when clouds drive across the sun; and never did the fianna behold oisín, son of finn, on earth again. yet what befell him afterwards is known. as his birth was strange so was his end, for he saw the wonders of the land of youth with mortal eyes and lived to tell them with mortal lips. when the white horse with its riders reached the sea it ran lightly over the waves and soon the green woods and headlands of erinn faded out of sight. and now the sun shone fiercely down, and the riders passed into a golden haze in which oisín lost all knowledge of where he was or if sea or dry land were beneath his horse's hoofs. but strange sights sometimes appeared to them in the mist, for towers and palace gateways loomed up and disappeared, and once a hornless doe bounded by them chased by a white hound with one red ear, and again they saw a young maid ride by on a brown steed, bearing a golden apple in her hand, and close behind her followed a young horseman on a white steed, a purple cloak floating at his back and a gold-hilted sword in his hand. and oisín would have asked the princess who and what these apparitions were, but niam bade him ask nothing nor seem to notice any phantom they might see until they were come to the land of youth. [illustration: "they rode up to a stately palace"] at last the sky gloomed above them, and niam urged their steed faster. the wind lashed them with pelting rain, thunder roared across the sea and lightning blazed, but they held on their way till at length they came once more into a region of calm and sunshine. and now oisín saw before him a shore of yellow sand, lapped by the ripples of a summer sea. inland, there rose before his eye wooded hills amid which he could discern the roofs and towers of a noble city. the white horse bore them swiftly to the shore and oisín and the maiden lighted down. and oisín marvelled at everything around him, for never was water so blue or trees so stately as those he saw, and the forest was alive with the hum of bees and the song of birds, and the creatures that are wild in other lands, the deer and the red squirrel and the wood-dove, came, without fear, to be caressed. soon, as they went forward, the walls of a city came in sight, and folk began to meet them on the road, some riding, some afoot, all of whom were either youths or maidens, all looking as joyous as if the morning of happy life had just begun for them, and no old or feeble person was to be seen. niam led her companion through a towered gateway built of white and red marble, and there they were met by a glittering company of a hundred riders on black steeds and a hundred on white, and oisín mounted a black horse and niam her white, and they rode up to a stately palace where the king of the land of youth had his dwelling. and there he received them, saying in a loud voice that all the folk could hear, "welcome, oisín, son of finn. thou art come to the land of youth, where sorrow and weariness and death shall never touch thee. this thou hast won by thy faithfulness and valour and by the songs that thou hast made for the men of erinn, whereof the fame is come to us, for we have here indeed all things that are delightful and joyous, but poesy alone we had not. but now we have the chief poet of the race of men to live with us, immortal among immortals, and the fair and cloudless life that we lead here shall be praised in verses as fair; even as thou, oisín, did'st praise and adorn the short and toilsome and chequered life that men live in the world thou hast left forever. and niam my daughter shall be thy bride, and thou shalt be in all things even as myself in the land of youth." then the heart of oisín was filled with glory and joy, and he turned to niam and saw her eyes burn with love as she gazed upon him. and they were wedded the same day, and the joy they had in each other grew sweeter and deeper with every day that passed. all that niam had promised in her magic song in the wild wood when first they met, seemed faint beside the splendour and beauty of the life in the land of youth. in the great palace they trod on silken carpets and ate off plates of gold; the marble walls and doorways were wrought with carved work, or hung with tapestries, where forest glades, and still lakes, and flying deer were done in colours of unfading glow. sunshine bathed that palace always, and cool winds wandered through its dim corridors, and in its courts there played fountains of bright water set about with flowers. when oisín wished to ride, a steed of fiery but gentle temper bore him wherever he would through the pleasant land; when he longed to hear music, there came upon his thought, as though borne on the wind, crystal notes such as no hand ever struck from the strings of any harp on earth. but oisín's hand now never touched the harp, and the desire of singing and of making poetry never waked in him, for no one thing seemed so much better than the rest, where all perfection bloomed and glowed around him, as to make him long to praise it and to set it apart. when seven days had passed, he said to niam, "i would fain go a-hunting." niam said, "so be it, dear love; to-morrow we shall take order for that." oisín lay long awake that night, thinking of the sound of finn's hunting-horn, and of the smell of green boughs when they kindled them to roast the deer-flesh in fian ovens in the wildwood. so next day oisín and niam fared forth on horseback, with their company of knights and maidens, and dogs leaping and barking with eagerness for the chase. anon they came to the forest, and the hunters with the hounds made a wide circuit on this side and on that, till at last the loud clamour of the hounds told that a stag was on foot, and oisín saw them streaming down an open glen, the stag with its great antlers laid back and flying like the wind. so he shouted the fian hunting-cry and rode furiously on their track. all day long they chased the stag through the echoing forest, and the fairy steed bore him unfaltering over rough ground and smooth, till at last as darkness began to fall the quarry was pulled down, and oisín cut its throat with his hunting-knife. long it seemed to him since he had felt glad and weary as he felt now, and since the woodland air with its odours of pine and mint and wild garlic had tasted so sweet in his mouth; and truly it was longer than he knew. but when he bade make ready the wood-oven for their meal, and build a bothy of boughs for their repose, niam led him seven steps apart and seven to the left hand, and yet seven back to the place where they had killed the deer, and lo, there rose before him a stately dún with litten windows and smoke drifting above its roof. when they entered, there was a table spread for a great company, and cooks and serving-men busy about a wide hearth where roast and boiled meats of every sort were being prepared. casks of greek wine stood open around the walls, and cups of gold were on the board. so they all ate and drank their sufficiency, and all night oisín and niam slept on a bed softer than swans-down in a chamber no less fair than that which they had in the city of the land of youth. next day, at the first light of dawn, they were on foot; and soon again the forest rang to the baying of hounds and the music of the hunting-horn. oisín's steed bore him all day, tireless and swift as before, and again the quarry fell at night's approach, and again a palace rose in the wilderness for their night's entertainment, and all things in it even more abundant and more sumptuous than before. and so for seven days they fared in that forest, and seven stags were slain. then oisín grew wearied of hunting, and as he plunged his sharp black hunting-knife into the throat of the last stag, he thought of the sword of magic temper that hung idle by his side in the city of youth, or rested from its golden nail in his bed-chamber, and he said to niam, "has thy father never a foe to tame, never a wrong to avenge? surely the peasant is no man whose hand forgets the plough, nor the warrior whose hand forgets the sword hilt." niam looked on him strangely for a while and as if she did not understand his words, or sought some meaning in them which yet she feared to find. but at last she said, "if deeds of arms be thy desire, oisín, thou shalt have thy sufficiency ere long." and so they rode home, and slept that night in the palace of the city of youth. at daybreak on the following morn niam roused oisín, and she buckled on him his golden-hilted sword and his corselet of blue steel inlaid with gold. then he put on his head a steel and gold helmet with dragon crest, and slung on his back a shield of bronze wrought all over with cunning hammer-work of serpentine lines that swelled and sank upon the surface, and coiled in mazy knots, or flowed in long sweeping curves like waves of the sea when they gather might and volume for their leap upon the sounding shore. in the glimmering dawn, through the empty streets of the fair city, they rode forth alone and took their way through fields of corn and by apple orchards where red fruit hung down to their hands. but by noontide their way began to mount upwards among blue hills that they had marked from the city walls toward the west, and of man's husbandry they saw no more, but tall red-stemmed pine trees bordered the way on either side, and silence and loneliness increased. at length they reached a broad table-land deep in the heart of the mountains, where nothing grew but long coarse grass, drooping by pools of black and motionless water, and where great boulders, bleached white or stained with slimy lichens of livid red, lay scattered far and wide about the plain. against the sky the mountain line now showed like a threat of bared and angry teeth, and as they rode towards it oisín perceived a huge fortress lying in the throat of a wide glen or mountain pass. white as death was the stone of which it was built, save where it was streaked with black or green from the foulness of wet mosses that clung to its cornices and battlements, and none seemed stirring about the place nor did any banner blow from its towers. then said niam, "this, o oisín, is the dún of the giant fovor of the mighty blows. in it he keeps prisoner a princess of the fairy folk whom he would fain make his bride, but he may not do so, nor may she escape, until fovor has met in battle a champion who will undertake her cause. approach, then, to the gate, if thou art fain to undertake this adventure, and blow the horn which hangs thereby, and then look to thy weapons, for soon indeed will the battle be broken upon thee." then oisín rode to the gate and thrice he blew on the great horn which hung by it, and the clangour of it groaned drearily back from the cliffs that overhung the glen. not thus indeed sounded the _dord_ of finn as its call blew lust of fighting and scorn of death into the hearts of the fianna amid the stress of battle. at the third blast the rusty gates opened, grinding on their hinges, and oisín rode into a wide courtyard where servitors of evil aspect took his horse and niam's, and led them into the hall of fovor. dark it was and low, with mouldering arras on its walls, and foul and withered rushes on the floor, where dogs gnawed the bones thrown to them at the last meal, and spilt ale and hacked fragments of flesh littered the bare oaken table. and here rose languidly to greet them a maiden bound with seven chains, to whom niam spoke lovingly, saying that her champion was come and that her long captivity should end. and the maiden looked upon oisín, whose proud bearing and jewelled armour made the mean place seem meaner still, and a light of hope and of joy seemed to glimmer upon her brow. so she gave them refreshment as she could, and afterwards they betook them once more to the courtyard, where the place of battle was set. here, at the further side, stood a huge man clad in rusty armour, who when he saw oisín rushed upon him, silent and furious, and swinging a great battleaxe in his hand. but doubt and langour weighed upon oisín's heart, and it seemed to him as if he were in an evil dream, which he knew was but a dream, and would be less than nothing when the hour of awakening should come. yet he raised his shield and gripped the fairy sword, striving to shout the fian battle-cry as he closed with fovor. but soon a heavy blow smote him to the ground, and his armour clanged harshly on the stones. then a cloud seemed to pass from his spirit, and he leaped to his feet quicker than an arrow flies from the string, and thrusting fiercely at the giant his sword-point gashed the under side of fovor's arm when it was raised to strike, and oisín saw his enemy's blood. then the fight raged hither and thither about the wide courtyard, with trampling of feet and clash of steel and ringing of armour and shouts of onset as the heroes closed; oisín, agile as a wild stag, evading the sweep of the mighty axe and rushing in with flickering blade at every unguarded moment, his whole soul bent on one fierce thought, to drive his point into some gap at shoulder or neck in fovor's coat of mail. at length, when both were weary and wounded men, with hacked and battered armour, oisín's blade cut the thong of fovor's headpiece and it fell clattering to the ground. another blow laid the giant prostrate, and oisín leaned, dizzy and panting, upon his sword, while fovor's serving-men took off their master in a litter, and niam came to aid her lord. then oisín stripped off his armour in the great hall, and niam tended to his wounds, healing them with magic herbs and murmured incantations, and they saw that one of the seven rusty chains that had bound the princess hung loose from its iron staple in the wall. all night long oisín lay in deep and healing slumber, and next day he arose, whole and strong, and hot to renew the fray. and the giant was likewise healed and his might and fierceness returned to him. so they fought till they were breathless and weary, and then to it again, and again, till in the end oisín drove his sword to the hilt in the giant's shoulder where it joins the collar bone, and he fell aswoon, and was borne away as before. and another chain of the seven fell from the girdle of the captive maiden. thus for seven days went on the combat, and oisín had seven nights of healing and rest, with the tenderness and beauty of niam about his couch; and on the seventh day the maiden was free, and her folk brought her away, rejoicing, with banners and with music that made a brightness for a while in that forlorn and evil place. but oisín's heart was high with pride and victory, and a longing uprose in his heart with a rush like a springtide for the days when some great deed had been done among the fianna, and the victors were hailed and lauded by the home-folk in the dún of allen, men and women leaving their toil or their pleasure to crowd round the heroes, and to question again and again, and to learn each thing that had passed; and the bards noting all to weave it into a glorious tale for after days; and more than all the smile and the look of finn as he learned how his children had borne themselves in the face of death. and so oisín said to niam, "let me, for a short while, return to the land of erinn, that i may see there my friends and kin and tell them of the glory and joy that are mine in the land of youth." but niam wept and laid her white arms about his neck, entreating him to think no more of the sad world where all men live and move under a canopy of death, and where summer is slain by winter, and youth by old age, and where love itself, if it die not by falsehood and wrong, perishes many a time of too complete a joy. but oisín said, "the world of men compared with thy world is like this dreary waste compared with the city of thy father; yet in that city, niam, none is better or worse than another, and i hunger to tell my tale to ignorant and feeble folk that my words can move, as words of mine have done of old, to wonder and delight. then i shall return to thee, niam, and to thy fair and blissful land; and having brought over to mortal men a tale that never man has told before, i shall be happy and at peace for ever in the land of youth." so they fared back to the golden city, and next day niam brought to oisín the white steed that had borne them from erinn, and bade him farewell. "this our steed," she said, "will carry thee across the sea to the land where i found thee, and whithersoever thou wilt, and what folk are there thou shalt see, and what tale thou hast to tell can be told. but never for even a moment must thou alight from his back, for if thy foot once touch again the soil of earth, thou shalt never win to me and to the land of youth again. and sorely do i fear some evil chance. was not the love of niam of the head of gold enough to fill a mortal's heart? but if thou must go, then go, and blessing and victory be thine." then oisín held her long in his arms and kissed her, and vowed to make no long stay and never to alight from the fairy steed. and then he shook the golden reins and the horse threw its head aloft and snorted and bore him away in a pace like that of flowing water for speed and smoothness. anon they came to the margin of the blue sea, and still the white steed galloped on, brushing the crests of the waves into glittering spray. the sun glared upon the sea and oisín's head swam with the heat and motion, and in mist and dreams he rode where no day was, nor night, nor any thought of time, till at last his horse's hoofs ploughed through wet, yellow sands, and he saw black rocks rising up at each side of a little bay, and inland were fields green or brown, and white cottages thatched with reeds, and men and women, toil-worn and clad in earth-coloured garments, went to and fro about their tasks or stopped gazing at the rider in his crimson cloak and at the golden trappings of his horse. but among the cottages was a small house of stone such as oisín had never seen in the land of erinn; stone was its roof as well as the walls, very steep and high, and near-by from a rude frame of timber there hung a bell of bronze. into this house there passed one whom from his shaven crown oisín guessed to be a druid, and behind him two lads in white apparel. the druid having seen the horseman turned his eyes again to the ground and passed on, regarding him not, and the lads did likewise. and oisín rode on, eager to reach the dún upon the hill of allen and to see the faces of his kin and his friends. [illustration: "the white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist"] at length, coming from the forest path into the great clearing where the hill of allen was wont to rise broad and green, with its rampart enclosing many white-walled dwellings, and the great hall towering high in the midst, he saw but grassy mounds overgrown with rank weeds and whin bushes, and among them pastured a peasant's kine. then a strange horror fell upon him, and he thought some enchantment from the land of faery held his eyes and mocked him with false visions. he threw his arms abroad and shouted the names of finn and oscar, but none replied, and he thought that perchance the hounds might hear him, and he cried upon bran and sceolaun, and strained his ears if they might catch the faintest rustle or whisper of the world from the sight of which his eyes were holden, but he heard only the sigh of the wind in the whins. then he rode in terror from that place, setting his face towards the eastern sea, for he meant to traverse ireland from side to side and end to end in the search of some escape from his enchantment. but when he came near to the eastern sea and was now in the place which is called the valley of the thrushes,[ ] he saw in a field upon the hillside a crowd of men striving to roll aside a great boulder from their tilled land, and an overseer directing them. towards them he rode, meaning to ask them concerning finn and the fianna. as he came near, they all stopped their work to gaze upon him, for to them he appeared like a messenger of the fairy folk or an angel from heaven. taller and mightier he was than the men-folk they knew, with sword-blue eyes and brown ruddy cheeks; in his mouth, as it were, a shower of pearls, and bright hair clustered beneath the rim of his helmet. and as oisín looked upon their puny forms, marred by toil and care, and at the stone which they feebly strove to heave from its bed, he was filled with pity, and thought to himself, "not such were even the churls of erinn when i left them for the land of youth," and he stooped from his saddle to help them. his hand he set to the boulder, and with a mighty heave he lifted it from where it lay and set it rolling down the hill. and the men raised a shout of wonder and applause, but their shouting changed in a moment into cries of terror and dismay, and they fled, jostling and overthrowing each other to escape from the place of fear; for a marvel horrible to see had taken place. for oisín's saddle-girth had burst as he heaved the stone, and he fell headlong to the ground. in an instant the white steed had vanished from their eyes like a wreath of mist, and that which rose, feeble and staggering, from the ground was no youthful warrior but a man stricken with extreme old age, white-bearded and withered, who stretched out groping hands and moaned with feeble and bitter cries. and his crimson cloak and yellow silken tunic were now but coarse homespun stuff tied with a hempen girdle, and the gold-hilted sword was a rough oaken staff such as a beggar carries who wanders the roads from farmer's house to house. [ ] glanismole, near dublin. when the people saw that the doom that had been wrought was not for them they returned, and found the old man prone on the ground with his face hidden in his arms. so they lifted him up and asked who he was and what had befallen him. oisín gazed round on them with dim eyes, and at last he said, "i was oisín the son of finn, and i pray ye tell me where he now dwells, for his dún on the hill of allen is now a desolation, and i have neither seen him nor heard his hunting horn from the western to the eastern sea." then the men gazed strangely on each other and on oisín, and the overseer asked, "of what finn dost thou speak, for there be many of that name in erinn?" oisín said, "surely of finn mac cumhal mac trenmor, captain of the fianna of erinn." then the overseer said, "thou art daft, old man, and thou hast made us daft to take thee for a youth as we did a while agone. but we at least have now our wits again, and we know that finn son of cumhal and all his generation have been dead these three hundred years. at the battle of gowra fell oscar, son of oisín, and finn at the battle of brea, as the historians tell us; and the lays of oisín, whose death no man knows the manner of, are sung by our harpers at great men's feasts. but now the talkenn,[ ] patrick, has come into ireland and has preached to us the one god and christ his son, by whose might these old days and ways are done away with, and finn and his fianna, with their feasting and hunting and songs of war and of love, have no such reverence among us as the monks and virgins of holy patrick, and the psalms and prayers that go up daily to cleanse us from sin and to save us from the fire of judgment." but oisín replied, half hearing and still less comprehending what was said to him, "if thy god have slain finn and oscar, i would say that god is a strong man." then they all cried out upon him, and some picked up stones, but the overseer bade them let him be until the talkenn had spoken with him, and till he should order what was to be done. [ ] talkenn or "adze-head" was a name given to st patrick by the irish. probably it referred to the shape of his tonsure. so they brought him to patrick, who entreated him gently and hospitably, and to patrick he told the story of all that had befallen him. but patrick bade his scribes write all carefully down, that the memory of the heroes whom oisín had known, and of the joyous and free life they had led in the woods and glens and wild places of erinn, should never be forgotten among men. and oisín, during the short span of life that yet remained to him, told to patrick many tales of the fianna and their deeds, but of the three hundred years that he had spent with niam in the land of youth he rarely spoke, for they seemed to him but as a vision or a dream of the night, set between a sunny and a rainy day. the history of king cormac chapter xvi i the birth of cormac of all the kings that ruled over ireland, none had a better and more loyal servant than was finn mac cumhal, and of all the captains and counsellors of kings none ever served a more glorious and a nobler monarch than did finn, for the time that he served cormac, son of art, son of conn of the hundred battles. at the time at which this monarch lived and reigned, the mist of sixteen centuries hangs between us and the history of ireland, but through this mist there shine a few great and sunlike figures whose glory cannot be altogether hidden, and of these figures cormac is the greatest and the brightest. much that is told about him may be true, and much is certainly fable, but the fables themselves are a witness to his greatness; they are like forms seen in the mist when a great light is shining behind it, and we cannot always say when we are looking at the true light and when at the reflected glory. the birth of cormac was on this wise. his father, as we have said, was art, son of conn, and his mother was named achta, being the daughter of a famous smith or ironworker of connacht. now before the birth of cormac, achta had a strange dream, namely, that her head was struck off from her body and that out of her neck there grew a great tree which extended its branches over all ireland and flourished exceedingly, but a huge wave of the sea burst upon it and laid it low. then from the roots of this tree there grew up another, but it did not attain the splendour of the first, and a blast of wind came from the west and overthrew it. on this the woman started from her sleep, and she woke her husband, art, and told him her vision. "it is a true dream," said art. "i am thy head, and this portends that i shall be violently taken from thee. but thou shalt bear me a son who shall be king of all ireland, and shall rule with great power and glory until some disaster from the sea overtake him. but from him shall come yet another king, my grandson and thine, who shall also be cut down, and i think that the cause of his fall shall be the armies of the fian host, who are swift and keen as the wind." not long thereafter art, son of conn, fell in battle with the picts and britons at the plain of the swine, which is between athenry and galway in connacht. now the leader of the invaders then was mac con, a nephew to art, who had been banished out of ireland for rising against the high king; and when he had slain art he seized the sovranty of ireland and reigned there unlawfully for many years. but before the battle, art had counselled his wife: "if things go ill with us in the fight, and i am slain, seek out my faithful friend luna who dwells in corann in connacht, and he will protect thee till thy son be born." so achta, with one maid, fled in her chariot before the host of mac con and sought to go to the dún of luna. on her way thither, however, the hour came when her child should be born, and the maid turned the chariot aside into the wild wood at the place called creevagh (the place of the twigs), and there, on a couch of twigs and leaves, she gave birth to a noble son. then achta, when she had cherished her boy and rejoiced over him, bade her handmaid keep watch over both of them, and they fell asleep. but the maid's eyes were heavy with weariness and long travelling, and ere long she, too, was overpowered by slumber, and all three slept a deep sleep while the horses wandered away grazing through the wood. by and by there came a she-wolf roaming through the wood in search of prey for her whelps, and it came upon the sleeping woman and the little child. it did not wake the woman, but very softly it picked up the infant and bore it off to the stony cave that is hard by to creevagh in the hill that was afterwards called mount cormac. after a while the mother waked up and found her child gone. then she uttered a lamentable cry, and woke her handmaid, and both the women searched hither and thither, but no trace of the child could they find; and thus luna found them; for he had heard news of the battle and the death of his king, and he had come to succour achta as he had pledged his word to do. luna and his men also made search for the infant, but in vain; and at last he conveyed the two sorrowing women to his palace; but achta was somewhat comforted by her prophetic dream. luna then proclaimed that whoever should discover the king's son, if he were yet alive, might claim of him what reward he would. and so the time passed, till one day a man named grec, a clansman of luna the lord of corann, as he ranged the woods hunting, came on a stony cavern in the side of a hill, and before it he saw wolf-cubs at play, and among them a naked child on all fours gambolling with them, and a great she-wolf that mothered them all. "right," cried grec, and off he goes to luna his lord. "what wilt thou give me for the king's son?" said he. "what wilt thou have?" said luna. so grec asked for certain lands, and luna bound himself to give them to him and to his posterity, and there lived and flourished the clan gregor for many a generation to come. so luna, guided by grec, went to the cave on mount cormac, and took the child and the wolf-cubs all together and brought them home. and the child they called cormac, or the chariot-child. now the lad grew up very comely and strong, and he abode with luna in connacht, and no one told him of his descent. ii the judgment of cormac once upon a time it happened that cormac was at play with the two sons of luna, and the lads grew angry in their play and came to blows, and cormac struck one of them to the ground. "sorrow on it," cried the lad, "here i have been beaten by one that knows not his clan or kindred, save that he is a fellow without a father." when cormac heard that he was troubled and ashamed, and he went to luna and told him what had been said. and luna seeing the trouble of the youth, and also that he was strong and noble to look on, and wise and eloquent in speech, held that the time was now come to reveal to him his descent. "thou hadst indeed a clan and kindred," he said, "and a father of the noblest, for thou art the son of art, the high king of ireland, who was slain and dispossessed by mac con. but it is foretold that thou shalt yet come to thy father's place, and the land pines for thee even now, for there is no good yield from earth or sea under the unlawful rule of him who now sits on the throne of art." "if that be so," said cormac, "let us go to tara, and bide our time there in my father's house." so the two of them set out for tara on the morrow morn. and this was the retinue they had with them: a body-guard of outlawed men that had revolted against mac con and other lords and had gathered themselves together at corann under luna, and four wolves that had been cubs with cormac when the she-wolf suckled him. when they came to tara, the folk there wondered at the fierce-eyed warriors and the grey beasts that played like dogs around cormac, and the lad was adopted as a pupil by the king, to be taught arms and poetry and law. much talk there was of his coming, and of his strange companions that are not wont to be the friends of man, and as the lad grew in comeliness and in knowledge the eyes of all were turned to him more and more, because the rule of mac con was not good. so the time wore on, till one day a case came for judgment before the king, in which the queen sued a certain wealthy woman and an owner of herds named benna, for that the sheep of benna had strayed into the queen's fields and had eaten to the ground a crop of woad[ ] that was growing there. the king gave judgment, that the sheep which had eaten the woad were to be given to the queen in compensation for what they had destroyed. then cormac rose up before the people and said, "nay, but let the wool of the sheep, when they are next shorn, be given to the queen, for the woad will grow again and so shall the wool." "a true judgment, a true judgment," cried all the folk that were present in the place; "a very king's son is he that hath pronounced it." and they murmured so loudly against mac con that his druids counselled him to quit tara lest a worse thing befall him. so he gave up the sovranty to cormac and went southward into munster to rally his friends there and recover the kingdom, and there he was slain by cormac's men as he was distributing great largesse of gold and silver to his followers, in the place called the field of the gold. [ ] woad is a cruciferous plant, _isatis tinctoria_, used for dyeing. so cormac, son of art, ruled in tara and was high king of all ireland. and the land, it is said, knew its rightful lord, and yielded harvests such as never were known, while the forest trees dripped with the abundance of honey and the lakes and rivers were alive with fish. so much game was there, too, that the folk could have lived on that alone and never put a ploughshare in the soil. in cormac's time the autumn was not vexed with rain, nor the spring with icy winds, nor the summer with parching heat, nor the winter with whelming snows. his rule in erinn, it is said, was like a wand of gold laid on a dish of silver. also he rebuilt the ramparts of tara and made it strong, and he enlarged the great banqueting hall and made pillars of cedar in it ornamented with plates of bronze, and painted its lime-white walls in patterns of red and blue. palaces for the women he also made there, and store-houses, and halls for the fighting men--never was tara so populous or so glorious before or since. and for his wisdom and righteousness knowledge was given to him that none other in ireland had as yet, for it was revealed to him that the immortal ones whom the gael worshipped were but the names of one whom none can name, and that his message should ere long come to ireland from over the eastern sea, calling the people to a sweeter and diviner faith. and to the end of his life it was his way to have wolves about him, for he knew their speech and they his, and they were friendly and tame with him and his folk, since they were foster-brothers together in the wild wood. iii the marriage of king cormac it happened that in cormac's time there was a very wealthy farmer named buicad[ ] who dwelt in leinster, and had vast herds of cattle and sheep and horses. this buicad and his wife had no children, but they adopted a foster-child named ethne, daughter of one dunlang. now buicad was the most hospitable of men, and never refused aught to anyone, but he kept open house for all the nobles of leinster who came with their following and feasted there as they would, day after day; and if any man fancied any of the cattle or other goods of buicad, he might take them home with him, and none said him nay. thus buicad lived in great splendour, and his dún was ever full to profusion with store of food and clothing and rich weapons, until in time it was all wasted away in boundless hospitality and generosity, and so many had had a share in his goods that they could never be recovered nor could it be said of any man that he was the cause of buicad's undoing. but undone he was at last, and when there remained to him but one bull and seven cows he departed by night with his wife and ethne from dún buicad, leaving his mansion desolate. and he travelled till he came to a place where there was a grove of oak trees by a little stream in the county of meath, near where cormac had a summer palace, and there he built himself a little hut and tended his few cattle, and ethne waited as a maid-servant upon him and his wife. [ ] pronounced bweé-cad. his name is said to be preserved in the townland of dunboyke, near blessington, co. wicklow. now on a certain day it happened that king cormac rode out on horseback from his dún in meath, and in the course of his ride he came upon the little herd of buicad towards evening, and he saw ethne milking the cows. and this was the way she milked them: first she milked a portion of each cow's milk into a certain vessel, then she took a second vessel and milked into it the remaining portion, in which was the richest cream, and these two vessels she kept apart. cormac watched all this. she then bore the vessels of milk into the hut, and came out again with two other vessels and a small cup. these she bore down to the river-side; and one of the vessels she filled by means of the cup from the water at the brink of the stream, but the other vessel she bore out into the middle of the stream and there filled it from the deepest of the running water. after this she took a sickle and began cutting rushes by the river-side, and cormac saw that when she cut a wisp of long rushes she would put it on one side, and the short rushes on the other, and she bore them separately into the house. but cormac stopped her and saluted her, and said: "for whom, maiden, art thou making this careful choice of the milk and the rushes and the water?" "i am making it," said she, "for one who is worthy that i should do far more than that for him, if i could." "what is his name?" "buicad, the farmer," said ethne. "is it that buicad, who was the rich farmer in leinster that all ireland has heard of?" asked the king. "it is even so." "then thou art his foster-child, ethne the daughter of dunlang?" said cormac. "i am," said ethne. "wilt thou be my wife and queen of erinn?" then said cormac. "if it please my foster-father to give me to thee, o king, i am willing," replied ethne. then cormac took ethne by the hand and they went before buicad, and he consented to give her to cormac to wife. and buicad was given rich lands and great store of cattle in the district of odran close by tara, and ethne the queen loved him and visited him so long as his life endured. iv the instructions of the king ethne bore to cormac a son, her firstborn, named cairbry, who was king of ireland after cormac. it was during the lifetime of cormac that cairbry came to the throne, for it happened that ere he died cormac was wounded by a chance cast of a spear and lost one of his eyes, and it was forbidden that any man having a blemish should be a king in ireland. cormac therefore gave up the kingdom into the hands of cairbry, but before he did so he told his son all the wisdom that he had in the governing of men, and this was written down in a book which is called _the instructions of cormac_.[ ] these are among the things which are found in it, of the wisdom of cormac:-- [ ] _the instructions of cormac_ (tecosa cormaic) have been edited with a translation by dr. kuno meyer in the todd lecture series of the royal irish academy, vol. xv., april . "let him (the king) restrain the great, let him exalt the good, let him establish peace, let him plant law, let him protect the just, let him bind the unjust, let his warriors be many and his counsellors few, let him shine in company and be the sun of the mead-hall, let him punish with a full fine wrong done knowingly, and with a half-fine wrong done in ignorance." cairbry said, "what are good customs for a tribe to pursue?" "they are as follows," replied cormac:-- "to have frequent assemblies, to be ever enquiring, to question the wise men, to keep order in assemblies, to follow ancient lore, not to crush the miserable, to keep faith in treaties, to consolidate kinship, fighting-men not to be arrogant, to keep contracts faithfully, to guard the frontiers against every ill." "tell me, o cormac," said cairbry, "what are good customs for the giver of a feast?" and cormac said:-- "to have lighted lamps, to be active in entertaining the company, to be liberal in dispensing ale, to tell stories briefly, to be of joyous countenance, to keep silence during recitals." "tell me, o cormac," said his son once, "what were thy habits when thou wert a lad?" and cormac said:-- "i was a listener in woods, i was a gazer at stars, i pried into no man's secrets, i was mild in the hall, i was fierce in the fray, i was not given to making promises, i reverenced the aged, i spoke ill of no man in his absence, i was fonder of giving than of asking." "if you listen to my teaching," said cormac:-- "do not deride any old person though you be young nor any poor man though you be rich, nor any naked though you be well-clad, nor any lame though you be swift, nor any blind though you be keen-sighted, nor any invalid though you be robust, nor any dull though you be clever, nor any fool though you be wise. "yet be not slothful, nor fierce, nor sleepy, nor niggardly, nor feckless nor envious, for all these are hateful before god and men. "do not join in blasphemy, nor be the butt of an assembly; be not moody in an alehouse, and never forget a tryst." "what are the most lasting things on earth?" asked cairbry. "not hard to tell," said cormac; "they are grass, copper, and a yew-tree." "if you will listen to me," said cormac, "this is my instruction for the management of your household and your realm:-- "let not a man with many friends be your steward, nor a woman with sons and foster-sons your housekeeper, nor a greedy man your butler, nor a man of much delay your miller, nor a violent, foul-mouthed man your messenger, nor a grumbling sluggard your servant, nor a talkative man your counsellor, nor a tippler your cup-bearer, nor a short-sighted man your watchman, nor a bitter, haughty man your doorkeeper, nor a tender-hearted man your judge, nor an ignorant man your leader, nor an unlucky man your counsellor." such were the counsels that cormac mac art gave to his son cairbry. and cairbry became king after his father's abdication, and reigned seven and twenty years, till he and oscar, son of oisín, slew one another at the battle of gowra. v cormac sets up the first mill in erinn during the reign of cormac it happened that some of the lords of ulster made a raid upon the picts in alba[ ] and brought home many captives. among them was a pictish maiden named kiernit, daughter of a king of that nation, who was strangely beautiful, and for that the ulstermen sent her as a gift to king cormac. and cormac gave her as a household slave to his wife ethne, who set her to grinding corn with a hand-quern, as women in erinn were used to do. one day as cormac was in the palace of the queen he saw kiernit labouring at her task and weeping as she wrought, for the toil was heavy and she was unused to it. then cormac was moved with compassion for the women that ground corn throughout ireland, and he sent to alba for artificers to come over and set up a mill, for up to then there were no mills in ireland. now there was in tara, as there is to this day, a well of water called _the pearly_, for the purity and brightness of the water that sprang from it, and it ran in a stream down the hillside, as it still runs, but now only in a slender trickle. over this stream cormac bade them build the first mill that was in ireland, and the bright water turned the wheel merrily round, and the women in tara toiled at the quern no more. [ ] scotland. vi a pleasant story of cormac's brehon among other affairs which cormac regulated for himself and all kings who should come after him was the number and quality of the officers who should be in constant attendance on the king. of these he ordained that there should be ten, to wit one lord, one brehon, one druid, one physician, one bard, one historian, one musician and three stewards. the function of the brehon, or judge, was to know the ancient customs and the laws of ireland, and to declare them to the king whenever any matter relating to them came before him. now cormac's chief brehon was at first one fithel. but fithel's time came to die, and his son flahari,[ ] a wise and learned man, trained by his father in all the laws of the gael, was to be brehon to the high king in his father's stead. fithel then called his son to his bedside and said:-- [ ] pronounced fla'-haree--accent on the first syllable. "thou art well acquainted, my son, with all the laws and customs of the gael, and worthy to be the chief brehon of king cormac. but wisdom of life thou hast not yet obtained, for it is written in no law-book. this thou must learn for thyself, from life itself; yet somewhat of it i can impart unto thee, and it will keep thee in the path of safety, which is not easily trodden by those who are in the counsels of great kings. mark now these four precepts, and obey them, and thou wilt avoid many of the pit-falls in thy way:-- "take not a king's son in fosterage,[ ] impart no dangerous secret to thy wife, raise not the son of a serf to a high position, commit not thy purse or treasure to a sister's keeping." [ ] the institution of fosterage, by which the children of kings and lords were given to trusted persons among their friends or followers to bring up and educate, was a marked feature of social life in ancient ireland, and the bonds of affection and loyalty between such foster-parents and their children were held peculiarly sacred. having said this fithel died, and flahari became chief brehon in his stead. after a time flahari thought to himself, "i am minded to test my father's wisdom of life and to see if it be true wisdom or but wise-seeming babble. for knowledge is no knowledge until it be tried by life." so he went before the king and said, "if thou art willing, cormac, i would gladly have one of thy sons in fosterage." at this cormac was well pleased, and a young child of the sons of cormac was given to flahari to bring up, and flahari took the child to his own dún, and there began to nurture and to train him as it was fitting. after a time, however, flahari one day took the child by the hand and went with him into the deep recesses of the forest where dwelt one of the swine-herds who minded the swine of flahari. to him flahari handed over the child and bade him guard him as the apple of his eye, and to be ready deliver him up again when he was required. the flahari went home, and for some days went about like a man weighed down by gloomy and bitter thoughts. his wife marked that, and sought to know the reason, but flahari put her off. at last when she continually pressed him to reveal the cause of his trouble, he said "if them must needs learn what ails me, and if thou canst keep a secret full of danger to me and thee, know that i am gloomy and distraught because i have killed the son of cormac." at this the woman cried out, "murderer parricide, hast thou spilled the king's blood, and shall cormac not know it, and do justice on thee?" and she sent word to cormac that he should come and seize her husband for that crime. but before the officers came, flahari took a young man, the son of his butler, and placed him in charge of his lands to manage them, while flahari was away for his trial at tara. and he also gave to his sister a treasure of gold and silver to keep for him, lest it should be made a spoil of while he was absent. then he went with the officers to tara, denying his offence and his confession, but when cormac had heard all, and the child could not be found, he sentenced him to be put to death. flahari then sent a messenger to his sister, begging her to send him at once a portion of the treasure he had left with her, that he might use it to make himself friends among the folk at court, and perchance obtain a remission of his sentence; but she sent the messenger back again empty, saying she knew not of what he spoke. on this flahari deemed that the time was come to reveal the truth, so he obtained permission from the king to send a message to his swineherd before he died, and to hear the man's reply. and the message was this, that murtach the herd should come without delay to tara and bring with him the child that flahari had committed to him. howbeit this messenger also came back empty, and reported that on reaching dún flahari he had been met by the butler's son that was over the estate, who had questioned him of his errand, and had then said, "murtach the serf has run away as soon as he heard of his lord's downfall, and if he had any child in his care he has taken it away with him, and he cannot be found." this he said because, on hearing of the child, he guessed what this might mean, and he had been the bitterest of all in urging flahari's death, hoping to be rewarded with a share of his lands. then flahari said to himself, "truly the proving of my father's wisdom of life has brought me very near to death." so he sent for the king and entreated him that he might be suffered to go himself to the dwelling of murtach the herd, promising that the king's son should be then restored to him, "or if not," said he, "let me then be slain there without more ado." with great difficulty cormac was moved to consent to this, for he believed it was but a subterfuge of flahari's to put off the evil day or perchance to find a way of escape. but next day flahari was straitly bound and set in a chariot, and, with a guard of spearmen about him and cormac himself riding behind, they set out for dún flahari. then flahari guided them through the wild wood till at last they came to the clearing where stood the dwelling of murtach the swineherd, and lo! there was the son of cormac playing merrily before the door. and the child ran to his foster-father to kiss him, but when he saw flahari in bonds he burst out weeping and would not be at peace until he was set free. then murtach slew one of the boars of his herd and made an oven in the earth after the manner of the fianna, and made over it a fire of boughs that he had drying in a shed. and when the boar was baked he set it before the company with ale and mead in methers of beechwood, and they all feasted and were glad of heart. cormac then asked of flahari why he had suffered himself to be brought into this trouble. "i did so," said flahari, "to prove the four counsels which my father gave them ere he died, and i have proved them and found them to be wise. in the first place, it is not wise for any man that is not a king to take the fosterage of a king's son, for if aught shall happen to the lad, his own life is in the king's hands and with his life he shall answer for it. secondly, the keeping of a secret, said my father, is not in the nature of women in general, therefore no dangerous secret should be entrusted to them. the third counsel my father gave me was not to raise up or enrich the son of a serf, for such persons are apt to forget benefits conferred on them, and moreover it irks them that he who raised them up should know the poor estate from which they sprang. and good, too, is the fourth counsel my father gave me, not to entrust my treasure to my sister, for it is the nature of most women to regard as spoil any valuables that are entrusted to them to keep for others." vii the judgment concerning cormac's sword when cormac, son of art, son of conn of the hundred battles, was high king in erinn, great was the peace and splendour of his reign, and no provincial king or chief in any part of the country lifted up his head against cormac. at his court in tara were many noble youths, who were trained up there in all matters befitting their rank and station. one of these youths was named socht, son of fithel. socht had a wonderful sword, named "the hard-headed steeling," which was said to have been long ago the sword of cuchulain. it had a hilt of gold and a belt of silver, and its point was double-edged. at night it shone like a candle. if its point were bent back to the hilt it would fly back again and be as straight as before. if it was held in running water and a hair were floated down against the edge, it would sever the hair. it was a saying that this sword would make two halves of a man, and for a while he would not perceive what had befallen him. this sword was held by socht for a tribal possession from father and grandfather. there was at this time a famous steward to the high king in tara whose name was dubdrenn. this man asked socht to sell him the sword. he promised to socht such a ration as he, dubdrenn, had every night, and four men's food for the family of socht, and, after that, socht to have the full value of the sword at his own appraisement. "no," said socht. "i may not sell my father's treasures while he is alive." and thus they went on, dubdrenn's mind ever running on the sword. at last he bade socht to a drinking-bout, and plied him so with wine and mead that socht became drunken, and knew not where he was, and finally fell asleep. then the steward takes the sword and goes to the king's brazier, by name connu. "art thou able," says dubdrenn, "to open the hilt of this sword?" "i am that," says the brazier. then the brazier took apart the hilt, and within, upon the tang of the blade, he wrote the steward's name, even dubdrenn, and the steward laid the sword again by the side of socht. so it was for three months after that, and the steward continued to ask socht to sell him the sword, but he could not get it from him. then the steward brought a suit for the sword before the high king, and he claimed that it was his own and that it had been taken from him. but socht declared that the sword was his by long possession and by equity, and he would not give it up. then socht went to his father, fithel the brehon, and begged him to take part in the action and to defend his claim. but fithel said, "nay, thou art too apt to blame the pleadings of other men; plead for thyself." so the court was set, and socht was called upon to prove that the sword was his. he swore that it was a family treasure, and thus it had come down to him. the steward said, "well, o cormac, the oath that socht has uttered is a lie." "what proof hast thou of that?" asked cormac. "not hard to declare," replied the steward. "if the sword be mine, my name stands graved therein, concealed within the hilt of the sword." "that will soon be known," says cormac, and therewith he had the brazier summoned. the brazier comes and breaks open the hilt and the name of dubdrenn stands written within it. thus a dead thing testified in law against a living man. then socht said, "hear ye, o men of erinn and cormac the king! i acknowledge that this man is the owner of the sword." and to dubdrenn he said, "the property therein and all the obligations of it pass from me to thee." dubdrenn said, "i acknowledge property in the sword and all its obligations." then said socht, "this sword was found in the neck of my grandfather angus, and till this day it never was known who had done that murder. do justice, o king, for this crime." said the king to dubdrenn, "thou art liable for more than the sword is worth." so he awarded to socht the price of seven bondwomen as blood-fine for the slaying of angus, and restitution of the sword to socht. then the steward confessed the story of the sword, and cormac levied seven other cumals from the brazier. but cormac said, "this is in truth the sword of cuchulain, and by it was slain my grandfather, even conn of the hundred battles, at the hands of the king of ulster, of whom it is written:-- "with a host, with a valiant band well did he go into connacht. alas, that he saw the blood of conn on the side of cuchulain's sword!" then cormac and fithel agreed that the sword be given to cormac as blood-fine for the death of conn, and his it was; and it was the third best of the royal treasures that were in erin: namely, cormac's cup, that broke if a falsehood were spoken over it and became whole if a truth were spoken; and the bell branch that he got in fairyland, whose music when it was shaken would put to sleep wounded men, and women in travail; and the sword of cuchulain, against which, and against the man that held it in his hand, no victory could ever be won. viii the disappearance of cormac in the chronicle of the kings of ireland that was written by tierna the historian in the eleventh century after christ's coming, there is noted down in the annals of the year , "disappearance of cormac, grandson of conn, for seven months." that which happened to cormac during these seven months is told in one of the bardic stories of ireland, being the story of cormac's journey to fairyland, and this was the manner of it. one day cormac, son of art, was looking over the ramparts of his royal dún of tara, when he saw a young man, glorious to look on in his person and his apparel, coming towards him across the plain of bregia. the young man bore in his hand, as it were, a branch, from which hung nine golden bells formed like apples. when he shook the branch the nine apples beat against each other and made music so sweet that there was no pain or sorrow in the world that a man would not forget while he hearkened to it. "does this branch belong to thee?" asked cormac of the youth. "truly it does," replied the youth. "wilt thou sell it to me?" said cormac. "i never had aught that i would not sell for a price," said the young man. "what is thy price?" asked cormac. "the price shall be what i will," said the young man. "i will give thee whatever thou desirest of all that is mine," said cormac, for he coveted the branch exceedingly, and the enchantment was heavy upon him. so the youth gave him the bell-branch, and then said, "my price is thy wife and thy son and thy daughter." then they went together into the palace and found there cormac's wife and his children. "that is a wonderful jewel thou hast in thy hand, cormac," said ethne. "it is," said cormac, "and great is the price i have paid for it." "what is that price?" said ethne. "even thou and thy children twain," said the king. "never hast thou done such a thing," cried ethne, "as to prefer any treasure in the world before us three!" and they all three lamented and implored, but cormac shook the branch and immediately their sorrow was forgotten, and they went away willingly with the young man across the plain of bregia until a mist hid them from the eyes of cormac. and when the people murmured and complained against cormac, for ethne and her children were much beloved of them, cormac shook the bell-branch and their grief was turned into joy. a year went by after this, and then cormac longed for his wife and children again, nor could the bell-branch any longer bring him forgetfulness of them. so one morning he took the branch and went out alone from tara over the plain, taking the direction in which they had passed away a year agone; and ere long little wreathes of mist began to curl about his feet, and then to flit by him like long trailing robes, and he knew no more where he was. after a time, however, he came out again into sunshine and clear sky, and found himself in a country of flowery meadows and of woods filled with singing-birds where he had never journeyed before. he walked on, till at last he came to a great and stately mansion with a crowd of builders at work upon it, and they were roofing it with a thatch made of the wings of strange birds. but when they had half covered the house, their supply of feathers ran short, and they rode off in haste to seek for more. while they were gone, however, a wind arose and whirled away the feathers already laid on, so that the rafters were left bare as before. and this happened again and again, as cormac gazed on them for he knew not how long. at last his patience left him and he said, "i see with that ye have been doing this since the beginning of the world, and that ye will still be doing it in the end thereof," and with that he went on his way. and many other strange things he saw, but of them we say nothing now, till he came to the gateway of a great and lofty dún, where he entered in and asked hospitality. then there came to him a tall man clad in a cloak of blue that changed into silver or to purple as its folds waved in the light, and with him was a woman more beautiful than the daughters of men, even she of whom it was said her beauty was as that of a tear when it drops from the eyelid, so crystal-pure it was and bright.[ ] they greeted cormac courteously and begged him to stay with them for the night. [ ] see miss hull's cuchulain, the hound of ulster, p. . the pair were mananan, god of the sea, and fand his wife, of whom a tale of great interest is told in the cuchulain cycle of legends. the sea-cloak of mananan is the subject of a magnificent piece of descriptive poetry in ferguson's congal. cormac then entered a great hall with pillars of cedar and many-coloured silken hangings on the walls. in the midst of it was a fire-place whereon the host threw a huge log, and shortly afterwards brought in a young pig which cormac cut up to roast before the fire. he first put one quarter of the pig to roast, and then his host said to him, "tell us a tale, stranger, and if it be a true one the quarter will be done as soon as the tale is told." "do thou begin," said cormac, "and then thy wife, and after that my turn will come." "good," said the host. "this is my tale. i have seven of these swine, and with their flesh the whole world could be fed. when one of them is killed and eaten, i need but put its bones into the pig-trough and on the morrow it is alive and well again." they looked at the fireplace, and behold, the first quarter of the pig was done and ready to be served. then cormac put on the second quarter, and the woman took up her tale. "i have seven white cows," she said, "and seven pails are filled with the milk of them each day. though all the folk in the world were gathered together to drink of this milk, there would be enough and to spare for all." as soon as she had said that, they saw that the second quarter of the pig was roasted. then cormac said: "i know you now, who you are; for it is mananan that owns the seven swine of faery, and it is out of the land of promise that he fetched fand his wife and her seven cows." then immediately the third quarter of the pig was done. "tell us now," said mananan, "who thou art and why thou art come hither." cormac then told his story, of the branch with its nine golden apples and how he had bartered for it his wife and his children, and he was now-seeking them through the world. and when he had made an end, the last quarter of the pig was done. "come, let us set to the feast," then said mananan; but cormac said, "never have i sat down to meat in a company of two only." "nay," said mananan, "but there are more to come." with that he opened a door in the hall and in it appeared queen ethne and her two children. and when they had embraced and rejoiced in each other mananan said, "it was i who took them from thee, cormac, and who gave thee the bell-branch, for i wished to bring thee hither to be my guest for the sake of thy nobleness and thy wisdom." then they all sat down to table and feasted and made merry, and when they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink, mananan showed the wonders of his household to king cormac. and he took up a golden cup which stood on the table, and said: "this cup hath a magical property, for if a lie be spoken over it, it will immediately break in pieces, and if a truth be spoken it will be made whole again." "prove this to me," said cormac. "that is easily done," said mananan. "thy wife hath had a new husband since i carried her off from thee." straightway the cup fell apart into four pieces. "my husband has lied to thee, cormac," said fand, and immediately the cup became whole again. cormac then began to question mananan as to the things he had seen on his way thither, and he told him of the house that was being thatched with the wings of birds, and of the men that kept returning ever and again to their work as the wind destroyed it. and mananan said, "these, o cormac, are the men of art, who seek to gather together much money and gear of all kinds by the exercise of their craft, but as fast as they get it, so they spend it, or faster and the result is that they will never be rich." but when he had said this it is related that the golden cup broke into pieces where it stood. then cormac said, "the explanation thou hast given of this mystery is not true." mananan smiled, and said, "nevertheless it must suffice thee, o king, for the truth of this matter may not be known, lest the men of art give over the roofing of the house and it be covered with common thatch." so when they had talked their fill, cormac and his wife and children were brought to a chamber where they lay down to sleep. but when they woke up on the morrow morn, they found themselves in the queen's chamber in the royal palace of tara, and by cormac's side were found the bell-branch and the magical cup and the cloth of gold that had covered the table where they sat in the palace of mananan. seven months it was since cormac had gone out from tara to search for his wife and children, but it seemed to him that he had been absent but for the space of a single day and night. ix description of cormac[ ] [ ] the original from the book of ballymote ( th century) is given in o'curry's ms. materials of irish history, appendix xxvi. i have in the main followed o'curry's translation. "a noble and illustrious king assumed the sovranty and rule of erinn, namely cormac, grandson of conn of the hundred battles. the world was full of all goodness in his time; there were fruit and fatness of the land, and abundant produce of the sea, with peace and ease and happiness. there were no killings or plunderings in his time, but everyone occupied his land in happiness. "the nobles of ireland assembled to drink the banquet of tara with cormac at a certain time.... magnificently did cormac come to this great assembly; for no man, his equal in beauty, had preceded him, excepting conary mór or conor son of caffa, or angus Óg son of the dagda.[ ] splendid, indeed, was cormac's appearance in that assembly. his hair was slightly curled, and of golden colour; a scarlet shield he had, with engraved devices, and golden bosses and ridges of silver. a wide-folding purple cloak was on him with a gem-set gold brooch over his breast; a golden torque round his neck; a white-collared shirt embroidered with gold was on him; a girdle with golden buckles and studded with precious stones was around him; two golden net-work sandals with golden buckles upon his feet; two spears with golden sockets and many red bronze rivets in his hand; while he stood in the full glow of beauty, without defect or blemish. you would think it was a shower of pearls that was set in his mouth, his lips were rubies, his symmetrical body was as white as snow, his cheek was ruddy as the berry of the mountain-ash, his eyes were like the sloe, his brows and eye-lashes were like the sheen of a blue-black lance." [ ] angus Óg was really a deity or fairy king. he appears also in the story of midir and etain. _q.v._ x the death and burial of cormac strange was the birth and childhood of cormac strange his life and strange the manner of his death and burial, as we now have to narrate. cormac, it is said, was the third man in ireland who heard of the christian faith before the coming of patrick. one was conor mac nessa, king of ulster, whose druid told him of the crucifixion of christ and who died of that knowledge.[ ] the second was the wise judge, morann, and the third cormac, son of art. this knowledge was revealed to him by divine illumination, and thenceforth he refused to consult the druids or to worship the images which they made as emblems of the immortal ones. [ ] see the conclusion of the _vengeance of mesgedra_. one day it happened that cormac after he had laid down the kingship of ireland, was present when the druids and a concourse of people were worshipping the great golden image which was set up in the plain called moy slaught. when the ceremony was done, the chief druid, whose name was moylann, spoke to cormac and said: "why, o cormac, didst thou not bow down and adore the golden image of the god like the rest of the people?" and cormac said: "never will i worship a stock[ ] that my own carpenter has made. rather would i worship the man that made it, for he is nobler than the work of his hands." [ ] the image was doubtless of wood overlaid with gold. then it is told that moylann by magic art caused the image to move and leap before the eyes of cormac. "seest thou that?" said moylann. "although i see," said cormac, "i will do no worship save to the god of heaven and earth and hell." then cormac went to his own home at sletty on the boyne, for there he lived after he had given up the kingdom to his son cairbry. but the druids of erinn came together and consulted over this matter, and they determined solemnly to curse cormac and invoke the vengeance of their gods upon him lest the people should think that any man could despise and reject their gods, and suffer no ill for it. so they cursed cormac in his flesh and bones, in his waking and sleeping, in his down sitting and his uprising, and each day they turned over the wishing stone upon the altar of their god,[ ] and wove mighty spells against his life. and whether it was that these took effect, or that the druids prevailed upon some traitorous servant of cormac's to work their will, so it was that he died not long thereafter; and some say that he was choked by a fish bone as he sat at meat in his house at sletty on the boyne. [ ] there are still wishing stones, which are used in connexion with petitions for good or ill, on the ancient altars of inishmurray and of caher island, and possibly other places on the west coast of ireland. but when he felt his end approaching, and had still the power to speak, he said to those that gathered round his bed:--"when i am gone i charge you that ye bury me not at brugh of the boyne where is the royal cemetery of the kings of erinn.[ ] for all these kings paid adoration to gods of wood or stone, or to the sun and the elements, whose signs are carved on the walls of their tombs, but i have learned to know the one god, immortal, invisible, by whom the earth and heavens were made. soon there will come into erinn one from the east who will declare him unto us, and then wooden gods and cursing priests shall plague us no longer in this land. bury me then not at brugh-na-boyna, but on the hither-side of boyne, at ross-na-ree, where there is a sunny, eastward-sloping hill, there would i await the coming of the sun of truth." [ ] this famous cemetery of the kings of pagan ireland lies on the north bank of the boyne and consists of a number of sepulchral mounds, sometimes of great extent, containing, in their interior, stone walled chambers decorated with symbolic and ornamental carvings. the chief of these mounds, now known as newgrange, has been explored and described by mr george coffey in his valuable work newgrange, published by the royal irish academy. _brugh_=mansion. so spake cormac, and he died, and there was a very great mourning for him in the land. but when the time came for his burial, the princes and lords of the gael vowed that he should lie in brugh with art, his father, and conn of the hundred battles, and many another king, in the great stone chambers of the royal dead. for ross-na-ree, they said, is but a green hill of no note; and cormac's expectation of the message of the new god they took to be but the wanderings of a dying man. now brugh-na-boyna lay at the farther side of the boyne from sletty, and near by was a shallow ford where the river could be crossed. but when the funeral train came down to the ford, bearing aloft the body of the king, lo! the river had risen as though a tempest had burst upon it at its far-off sources in the hills, and between them and the farther bank was now a broad and foaming flood, and the stakes that marked the ford were washed clean away. even so they made trial of the ford, and thrice the bearers waded in and thrice they were forced to turn back lest the flood should sweep them down. at length six of the tallest and mightiest of the warriors of the high king took up the bier upon their shoulders, and strode in. and first the watchers on the bank saw the brown water swirl about their knees, and then they sank thigh-deep, and at last it foamed against their shoulders, yet still they braced themselves against the current, moving forward very slowly as they found foothold among the slippery rocks in the river-bed. but when they had almost reached the mid-stream it seemed as if a great surge overwhelmed them, and caught the bier from their shoulders as they plunged and clutched around it, and they must needs make back for the shore as best they could, while boyne swept down the body of cormac to the sea. on the following morning, however, shepherds driving their flocks to pasture on the hillside of ross-na-ree found cast upon the shore the body of an aged man of noble countenance, half wrapped in a silken pall; and knowing not who this might be they dug a grave in the grassy hill, and there laid the stranger, and laid the green sods over him again. there still sleeps cormac the king, and neither ogham-lettered stone nor sculptured cross marks his solitary grave. but he lies in the place where he would be, of which a poet of the gael in our day has written:-- "a tranquil spot: a hopeful sound comes from the ever-youthful stream, and still on daisied mead and mound the dawn delays with tenderer beam. "round cormac, spring renews her buds: in march perpetual by his side down come the earth-fresh april floods, and up the sea-fresh salmon glide; "and life and time rejoicing run from age to age their wonted way; but still he waits the risen sun, for still 'tis only dawning day."[ ] [ ] these lines are taken from sir s. ferguson's noble poem, _the burial of king cormac_, from which i have also borrowed some of the details of the foregoing narrative. * * * * * notes on the sources _the story of the children of lir_ and _the quest of the sons of turenn_ are two of the three famous and popular tales entitled "the three sorrows of storytelling." the third is the _tragedy of the sons of usna_, rendered by miss eleanor hull in her volume cuchulain. i have taken the two stories which are given here from the versions in modern irish published by the society for the preservation of the irish language, with notes and translation. neither of them is found in any very early ms., but their subject-matter certainly goes back to very primitive times. _the secret of labra_ is taken from keating's forus feasa ar eirinn, edited with translation by the rev. p.s. dineen for the irish texts society, vol. i. p. . _the carving of mac datho's boar_. this is a clean, fierce, fighting story, notable both for its intensely dramatic _dénouement_, and for the complete absence from it of the magical or supernatural element which is so common a feature in gaelic tales. it has been edited and translated from one ms. by dr kuno meyer, in _hibernica minora_ (anecdota oxoniensia), , and translated from the book of leinster (twelfth century) in leahy's heroic romances. _the vengeance of mesgedra_. this story, as i have given it, is a combination of two tales, _the siege of howth_ and _the death of king conor_. the second really completes the first, though they are not found united in irish literature. both pieces are given in o'curry's ms. materials of irish history, and miss hull has printed translations of them in her cuchullin saga, the translation of the _siege_ being by dr whitly stokes and that of the _death of conor_ by o'curry. these are very ancient tales and contain a strong barbaric element. versions of both of them are found in the great ms. collection known as the book of leinster (twelfth century). _king iubdan and king fergus_ is a brilliant piece of fairy literature. the imaginative grace, the humour, and, at the close, the tragic dignity of this tale make it worthy of being much more widely known than it has yet become. the original, taken from one of the egerton mss. in the british museum, will be found with a translation in o'grady's silva gadelica. for the conclusion, i have in the main followed another version (containing the death of fergus only), given in the seancus mor and finely versified by sir samuel ferguson in his poems, . _the story of etain and midir_. this beautiful and very ancient romance is extant in two distinct versions, both of which are translated by mr a.h. leahy in his heroic romances. the tale is found in several mss., among others, in the twelfth century book of the dun cow (leabhar na h-uidhre). it has been recently made the subject of a dramatic poem by "fiona macleod." _how ethne quitted fairyland_ is taken from d'arbois de jubainville's cycle mythologique irlandais, ch. xii. . the original is to be found in the fifteenth century ms., entitled the book of fermoy. _the boyhood of finn_ is based chiefly on the macgniomhartha fhinn, published in , with a translation, in the _transactions of the ossianic society_, vol. iv. i am also indebted, particularly for the translation of the difficult _song of finn in praise of may_, to dr kuno meyer's translation published in _Ériu_ (the journal of the school of irish learning), vol. i. pt. . _the coming of finn_, _finns chief men_, the _tale of vivionn_ and _the chase of the gilla dacar_, are all handfuls from that rich mine of gaelic literature, mr standish hayes o'grady's silva gadelica. in the _gilla dacar_ i have modified the second half of the story rather freely. it appears to have been originally an example of a well-known class of folk-tales dealing with the subject of the rescue of fairyland. the same motive occurs in the famous tale called _the sickbed of cuchulain_. the idea is that some fairy potentate, whose realm is invaded and oppressed, entices a mortal champion to come to his aid and rewards him with magical gifts. but the eighteenth century narrator whose ms. was edited by mr s.h. o'grady, apparently had not the clue to the real meaning of his material, and after going on brilliantly up to the point where dermot plunges into the magic well, he becomes incoherent, and the rest of the tale is merely a string of episodes having no particular connexion with each other or with the central theme. the latter i have here endeavoured to restore to view. the _gilla dacar_ is given from another gaelic version by dr p.w. joyce in his invaluable book, old celtic romances. _the birth of oisín_ i have found in patrick kennedy's legendary fictions of the irish celts. i do not know the gaelic original. _oisín in the land of youth_ is based, as regards the outlines of this remarkable story, on the laoi oisÍn ar tir na n-Óg, written by michael comyn about , and edited with a translation by thomas flannery in (gill & son, dublin). comyn's poem was almost certainly based on earlier traditional sources, either oral or written or both, but these have not hitherto been discovered. _the history of king cormac_. the story of the birth of cormac and his coming into his kingdom is to be found in silva gadelica, where it is edited from the book of ballymote, an ms. dating from about the year . the charming tale, of his marriage with ethne ni dunlaing is taken from keating's forus feasa. from this source also i have taken the tales of the brehon flahari, of kiernit and the mill, and of cormac's death and burial. the _instructions of cormac_ have been edited and translated by dr kuno meyer in the todd lecture series of the royal irish academy, xiv., april . they are found in numerous mss., and their date is fixed by dr meyer about the ninth century. with some other irish matter of the same description they constitute, says mr alfred nutt, "the oldest body of gnomic wisdom" extant in any european vernacular. (_folk-lore_, sept. , .) the story of cormac's adventures in fairyland has been published with a translation by standish hayes o'grady in the _transactions of the ossianic society_, vol. iii., and is also given very fully by d'arbois de jubainvilie in his cycle mythologique irlandais. the tale is found, among other mss., in the book of ballymote, but is known to have been extant at least as early as the tenth century, since in that year it figures in a list of gaelic tales drawn up by the historian tierna. the ingenious story of the _judgment concerning cormac's sword_ is found in the book of ballymote, and is printed with a translation by dr whitly stokes in _irische texte_, iii. serie, heft, . pronouncing index the correct pronunciation of gaelic proper names can only be learned from the living voice. it cannot be accurately represented by any combination of letters from the english alphabet. i have spared the reader as much trouble as possible on this score by simplifying, as far as i could, the forms of the names occurring in the text, and if the reader will note the following general rules, he will get quite as near to the pronunciation intended as there is any necessity for him to do. a few names which might present some unusual difficulty are given with their approximate english pronunciations in the index. the chief rule to observe is that vowels are pronounced as in the continental languages, not according to the custom peculiar to england. thus _a_ is like _a_ in _father_, never like _a_ in _fate, i_(when long) is like _ee_, _u_ like _oo_, or like _u_ in _put_ (never like _u_ in _tune_). an accent implies length, thus _dún_, a fortress or mansion, is pronounced _doon_. the letters _ch_ are never to be pronounced with a _t_ sound, as in the word _chip_, but like a rough _h_ or a softened _k_, rather as in german. _gh_ is silent as in english, and _g_ is always hard, as in _give_. _c_ is always as _k_, never as _s_. in the following index an accent placed after a syllable indicates that the stress is to be laid on that syllable. only those words are given, the pronunciation of which is not easily ascertainable by attention to the foregoing rules. index Æda is to be pronounced ee'-da. ailill " al'-yill. anluan " an'-looan. aoife " ee'-fa. bacarach " bac'-ara_h_. belachgowran " bel'-a_h_-gow'-ran. cearnach " kar'-na_h_. cuchulain " coo-_h_oo'-lin. cumhal " coo'wal, cool. dacar " dak'-ker. derryvaragh " derry-var'-a. eisirt " eye'sert. eochy " yeo'_h_ee. fiachra " fee'-a_k_ra. fianna " fee'-anna. finegas " fin'-egas. fionnuala " fee-on-oo'-ala, shortened in modern irish into fino'-la. flahari " fla'-haree. iorroway " yor'-oway. iubdan " youb'-dan. iuchar " you'-_h_ar. iucharba " you-_h_ar'-ba. liagan " lee'-agan. lir " leer. logary " lo'-garee. maev " rhyming to _wave_. mananan " man'-anan. mesgedra " mes-ged'-ra. midir " mid'-eer. mochaen " mo-_hain'. mochaovóg " mo-_h_wee'-vogue. moonremur " moon'-ray-mur. oisín " ush'-een (ossian). peisear " pye'-sar. sceolaun " ske-o'-lawn (the _e_ very short). slievenamuck " sleeve-na-muck'. slievenamon " sleeve-na-mon'. tuish " too'-ish. this ebook was produced by john b. hare and carrie lorenz. heroic romances of ireland translated into english prose and verse, with preface, special introductions and notes by a. h. leahy in two volumes vol. ii @@{redactors note: in the original book the 'literal translation' is printed on facing pages to the poetic translation. in this etext the literal translation portions have been collated after the poetic translation, for the sake of readability. hence the page numbers are not sequential--jbh} preface to vol. ii it seems to have been customary in ancient ireland to precede by shorter stories the recital of the great tain, the central story of the irish heroic age. a list of fourteen of these "lesser tains," three of which are lost, is given in miss hull's "cuchullin saga"; those preserved are the tain bo aingen, dartada, flidais, fraich, munad, regamon, regamna, ros, ruanadh, sailin, and ere. of these, five only have been edited, viz. the tain bo dartada, flidais, fraich, regamon, and regamna; all these five are given in this volume. the last four tales are all short, and perhaps are more truly "preludes" (remscela) than the tain bo fraich, which has indeed enough of interest in itself to make it an independent tale, and is as long as the four put together. all the five tales have been rendered into verse, with a prose literal translation opposite to the verse rendering, for reasons already given in the preface to the first volume. a short introduction, describing the manuscript authority, is prefixed to each; they all seem to go back in date to the best literary period, but appear to have been at any rate put into their present form later than the great tain, in order to lead up to it. a possible exception to this may be found at the end of the tain bo flidais, which seems to give a different account of the end of the war of cualgne, and to claim that cuchulain was defeated, and that connaught gained his land for its allies. it may be mentioned that the last four tales are expressly stated in the text to be "remscela" to the great tain. introduction in verse when to an irish court of old came men, who flocked from near and far to hear the ancient tale that told cuchulain's deeds in cualgne's war; oft, ere that famous tale began, before their chiefest bard they hail, amid the throng some lesser man arose, to tell a lighter tale; he'd fell how maev and ailill planned their mighty hosts might best be fed, when they towards the cualgne land all irelands swarming armies led; how maev the youthful princes sent to harry warlike regamon, how they, who trembling, from her went, his daughters and his cattle won; how ailill's guile gained darla's cows, how vengeful fairies marked that deed; how fergus won his royal spouse whose kine all ireland's hosts could feed; how, in a form grotesque and weird, cuchulain found a power divine; or how in shapes of beasts appeared the magic men, who kept the swine; or how the rowan's guardian snake was roused by order of the king; or how, from out the water, fraech to finnabar restored her ring. and though, in greater tales, they chose speech mired with song, men's hearts to sway, such themes as these they told in prose, like speakers at the "feis" to-day. to men who spake the irish tongue that form of prose was pleasing well, while other lands in ballads sung such tales as these have loved to tell: so we, who now in english dress these irish tales would fain and seek their spirit to express, have set them down in ballad verse; and, though to celts the form be strange, seek not too much the change to blame; 'tis but the form alone we change; the sense, the spirit rest the same. contents the preludes to the raid of cualgne tain bo fraich - page the raid for dartaid's cattle - page the raid for the cattle of regamon - page the driving of the cattle of flidais - page the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain - page appendix irish text and literal translation of part of the courtship of etain - page tain bo fraich introduction the tain bo fraich, the driving of the cattle of fraech, has apparently only one version; the different manuscripts which contain it differing in very small points; most of which seem to be due to scribal errors. practically the tale consists of two quite separate parts. the first, the longer portion, gives the adventures of fraech at the court of ailill and maev of connaught, his courtship of their daughter, finnabar, and closes with a promised betrothal. the second part is an account of an expedition undertaken by fraech to the alps "in the north of the land of the long beards," to recover stolen cattle, as well as his wife," who is stated by o'beirne crowe, on the authority of the "courtship of trebland" in the book of fermoy, to have been trebland, a semi-deity, like fraech himself. except that fraech is the chief actor in both parts, and that there is one short reference at the end of the second part to the fact that fraech did, as he had promised in the first part, join ailill and maev upon the war of cualnge, there is no connection between the two stories. but the difference between the two parts is not only in the subject-matter; the difference in the style is even yet more apparent. the first part has, i think, the most complicated plot of any irish romance, it abounds in brilliant descriptions, and, although the original is in prose, it is, in feeling, highly poetic. the second part resembles in its simplicity and rapid action the other "fore tales" or preludes to the war of cualnge contained in this volume, and is of a style represented in english by the narrative ballad. in spite of the various characters of the two parts, the story seems to have been regarded as one in all the manuscripts which contain it; and the question how these two romances came to be regarded as one story becomes interesting. the natural hypothesis would be that the last part was the original version, which was in its earlier part re-written by a man of genius, possibly drawing his plot from some brief statement that finnabar was promised to fraech in return for the help that he and his recovered cattle could give in the great war; but a difficulty, which prevents us from regarding the second part as an original legend, at once comes in. the second part of the story happens to contain so many references to nations outside ireland that its date can be pretty well fixed. fraech and his companions go, over the sea from ulster, i.e. to scotland; then through "north saxon-land" to the sea of icht (i.e. the sea of wight or the english channel); then to the alps in the north of the land of the long-beards, or lombards. the long-beards do not appear in italy until the end of the sixth century; the suggestion of north saxon-land reaching down to the sea of wight suggests that there was then a south saxon-land, familiar to an irish writer, dating this part of the story as before the end of the eighth century, when both saxons and long-beards were overcome by charlemagne. the second part of the story is, then, no original legend, but belongs to the seventh or eighth century, or the classical period; and it looks as if there were two writers, one of whom, like the author of the egerton version of etain, embellished the love-story part of the original legend, leaving the end alone, while another author wrote an account of the legendary journey of the demi-god fraech in search for his stolen cattle, adding the geographical and historical knowledge of his time. the whole was then put together, like the two parts of the etain story; the difference between the two stories in the matter of the wife does not seem to have troubled the compilers. the oldest manuscript authority for the tain bo fraich is the book of leinster, written before . there are at least two other manuscript authorities, one; in egerton, (published by professor kuno meyer in the zeitschrift für celt. philologie, ); the other is in ms. xl., advocates' library, edinburgh (published in the revue celtique, vol. xxiv.). professor meyer has kindly allowed me to copy his comparison of these manuscripts and his revision of o'beirne crowe's translation of the book of leinster text. the text of the literal translation given here follows, however, in the main o'beirne crowe's translation, which is in the proceedings of the royal irish academy for ; a few insertions are made from the other mss.; when so made the insertion is indicated by a note. for those who may be interested in the subsequent history of fraech, it may be mentioned that he was one of the first of the connaught champions to be slain by cuchulain in the war of cualnge; see miss faraday's translation (grimm library, page ). persons in the story mortals ailill, king of connaught. medb (or maev), queen of connaught. findbar (or finnabar), their daughter. froech (or fraech), (pronounced fraych); son of a connaught man and a fairy mother. conall cernach (conall the victorious), champion of ulster. two irish women, in captivity in the alps, north of lombardy. lothar (or lothur), a follower of fraech. bicne, a follower of conall. immortals befind, fraech's fairy mother. boand (pronounced like "owned"), sister to befind; queen of the fairies. three fairy harpers. tain bo fraich the raid for the cattle of fraech now the news of the love of that maid to fraech, at his home where he dwelt, was brought, and he called his folk, and with all he spoke, and for speech with the maid he sought: and they counselled him thus: "let a message from thee be sent to thy fairy kin to entreat their aid when we seek that maid; a boon we may chance to win: for the wondrous robes of the fairy land, and for gifts from the fairies plead; and sure thy mother's sister's hand will give to thee all thy need." to mag breg,[fn# ] where his mother's sister dwelt, to boand he away hath gone, and she gave to him mantles of dark black-blue, like a beetle's back they shone: four dark-grey rings in each cloak she gave were sewn, and a brooch shone, bright with the good red gold in each mantle's fold; she gave tunics pale and white, and the tunics were bordered with golden loops, that forms as of beasts displayed; and a fifty she added of well-rimmed shields, that of silver white were made. [fn# ] pronounced maw brayg. then away they rode, in each hero's hand was a torch for a kingly hall, for studs of bronze, and of well-burned gold, shone bright on the spears of all; on carbuncle sockets the spears were set, their points with jewels blazed; and they lit the night, as with fair sunlight, as men on their glory gazed. by each of the fifty heroes' side was a sword with a hilt of gold; and a soft-grey mare was for each to ride, with a golden curb controlled; at each horse's throat was a silver plate, and in front of that plate was swung, with a tinkling sound to the horse's tread, a bell with a golden tongue. on each steed was a housing of purple hide, with threads of silver laced, and with spiral stitch of the silver threads the heads of beasts were traced, and each housing was buckled with silver and gold: of findruine[fn# ] was made the whip for each rider to hold, with a crook of gold where it came to the horse man's grip. [fn# ] pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. by their sides, seven chase-hounds were springing at leashes of silver they strained, and each couple a gold apple, swinging on the fetter that linked them, sustained: and their feet with bronze sheaths had been guarded, as if greaves for defence they had worn, every hue man hath seen, or hath fancied, by those chase-hounds in brilliance was borne. seven trumpeters strode on the road before, with colour their cloaks were bright, and their coats, that shone with the gauds they wore, flashed back as they met the light; on trumpets of silver and gold they blew, and sweet was the trumpets' sound, and their hair, soft and yellow, like fairy threads, shone golden their shoulders round. three jesters marched in the van, their-crowns were of silver, by gilt concealed, and emblems they. carried of quaint device, engraved on each jester's shield; they had staves which with crests were adorned, and ribs down their edges in red bronze ran; three harp-players moved by the jesters' sides, and each was a kingly man. all these were the gifts that the fairy gave, and gaily they made their start, and to croghan's[fn# ] hold, in that guise so brave, away did the host depart. [fn# ] pronounced crow-han. on the fort stands a watchman to view them, and thus news down to croghan he calls: "from yon plain comes, in fulness of numbers, a great army to croghan's high walls; and, since ailill the throne first ascended, since the day we hailed maev as our queen, never army so fair nor so splendid yet hath come, nor its like shall be seen." "'tis strange," said he," as dipped in wine, so swims, so reels my head, as o'er me steals the breath divine of perfume from them shed." "a fair youth," said he, "forth with them goeth, and the grace of such frolicsome play, and such lightness in leap as he showeth have i seen not on earth till to-day: for his spear a full shot's length he flingeth, yet the spear never reacheth to ground, for his silver-chained hounds follow after, in their jaws is the spear ever found!" the connaught hosts without the fort to see that glory rushed: sixteen within, of baser sort, who gazed, to death were crushed. to the fort came the youths, from their steeds they leapt, for the steeds and the stabling cared, and they loosed the hounds that in leash they kept, for the hunt were the hounds prepared; seven deer, seven foxes and hares, they chased to the dun on croghan's plain, seven boars they drave, on the lawn in haste the game by the youths was slain: with a bound they dashed into bree, whose flood by the lawns of croghan flows; seven otters they caught in its stream, and brought to a hill where the gateway rose. 'twas there that fraech and the princes sat at the castle-gate to rest, and the steward of croghan with fraech would speak, for such was the king's behest: of his birth it was asked, and the men he led all truth to the herald spake: "it is idath's son who is here," they said, and they gave him the name of fraech. to ailill and maev went the steward back of the stranger's name to tell; "give him welcome," said they: "of a noble race is that youth, and i know it well; let him enter the court of our house," said the king, the gateway they opened wide; and the fourth of the palace they gave to fraech, that there might his youths abide. fair was the palace that there they found, seven great chambers were ranged it round; right to the walls of the house they spread, facing the hall, where the fire glowed red: red yew planks, that had felt the plane, dappled the walls with their tangled grain: rails of bronze at the side-walls stood, plates of bronze had made firm the wood, seven brass bolts to the roof-tree good firmly the vaulting tied. all that house had of pine been made, planks, as shingles, above were laid; sixteen windows the light let pass, each in a frame of the shining brass: high through the roof was the sky seen bright; girder of brass made that opening tight, under the gap it was stretched, and light fell on its gleaming side. all those chambers in splendour excelling, the midmost of all in the ring, rose a room, set apart as the dwelling of queen maev, and of ailill the king. four brass columns the awning supported for their couch, there was bronze on the wall; and two rails, formed of silver, and gilded, in that chamber encircled it all: in the front, to mid-rafters attaining, rose in silver a wand from the floor; and with rooms was that palace engirdled, for they stretched from the door to the door. 'twas there they went to take repose, on high their arms were hung; and down they sank, and welcome rose, acclaimed by every tongue. by the queen and the king they were welcome made, the strangers they turned to greet; and their courtesy graciously fraech repaid: "'twas thus we had hoped to meet." "not for boasting to-day are ye come!" said maev; the men for the chess she set: and a lord of the court in the chess-man sport by fraech in a match was met. 'twas a marvellous board of findruine fair was prepared, when they played that game, four handles, and edges of gold it had, nor needed they candles' flame; for the jewels that blazed at the chess-board's side, a light, as from lamps, would yield; and of silver and gold were the soldiers made, who engaged on that mimic field. "get ye food for the chiefs!" said the king; said maev, "not yet, 'tis my will to stay, to sit with the strangers, and here with fraech in a match at the chess to play!" "let thy game be played!" said ailill then, "for it pleaseth me none the less:" and queen maev and fraech at the chess-board sate, and they played at the game of chess. now his men, as they played, the wild beasts late caught were cooking, they thought to feed; and said ailill to fraech, "shall thy harpmen play?" "let them play," said fraech, "indeed:" now those harpers were wondrous men, by their sides they had sacks of the otter's skin, and about their bodies the sacks were tied, and they carried their harps within, with stitches of silver and golden thread each case for a harp was sewed; and, beneath the embroidery gleaming red, the shimmer of rubies showed! the skin of a roe about them in the middle, it was as white as snow; black-grey eyes in their centre. cloaks of linen as white as the tunic of a swan around these ties.[fn# ] harps of gold and silver and bronze, with figures of serpents and birds, and hounds of gold and silver: as they moved those strings those figures used to run about the men all round. [fn# ] this is the egerton version, which is clearly right here. the book of leinster gives: "these figures accordingly used to run," &c., leaving out all the first part of the sentence, which is required to make the meaning plain. they play for them then so that twelve of the people[fn# ] of ailill and medb die with weeping and sadness. [fn# ] the book of leinster omits "of ailill and medb." gentle and melodious were the triad, and they were the chants of uaithne[fn# ] (child-birth). the illustrious triad are three brothers, namely gol-traiges (sorrow-strain), and gen-traiges (joy-strain), and suan-traiges (sleep-strain). boand from the fairies is the mother of the triad: [fn# ] pronounced something like yew-ny. at every one of the harpers' waists was girded the hide of a roe, and black-grey spots in its midst were placed, but the hide was as white as snow; and round each of the three of them waved a cloak, as white as the wild swan's wings: gold, silver, and bronze were the harps they woke; and still, as they touched the strings, the serpents, the birds, and the hounds on the harps took life at the harps' sweet sound, and those figures of gold round the harpmen rose, and floated in music round. then they played, sweet and sad was the playing, twelve of ailill's men died, as they heard; it was boand[fn# ] who foretold them that slaying, and right well was accomplished her word. [fn# ] pronounced with sound of "owned." 'tis the three chants of child-birth give names to those three; of the harp of the dagda[fn# ] the children they be. [fn# ] the dagda seems to have been the chief god of the old celtic mythology. to those harpers a fairy is mother, of yore to that harp, men call child-birth, queen boand the three bore. they are three noble brothers, and well are they known; they are kindly and gentle, and tuneful of tone. one is joy-song, one sorrow's, one, "song that gives sleep," and the harp's strains, their father's, remembered they keep. for when boand was at bearing, came sorrow the first, from the harp, its strings tearing with cry, sorrow burst. then there came to her pleasure for birth of a boy; and a sweet smiling measure the harp played, 'twas joy. and she swooned in her anguish, for hard the third birth: from the harp, her pains soothing, sleep's strain came on earth. then from boand passed her slumber, and, "uaithne,"[fn# ] she cried, thy three sons, thou sharp child-birth, i take to my side. [fn# ] pronounced something like yew-ny. cows and women by ailill and maev shall be slain; for on these cometh sorrow, and joy, and sleep's strain: yea, and men, who these harpers, thy children, shall hear, by their art to death stricken, shall perish in fear." then the strains died away in the palace, the last notes seemed to sink, and to cease: "it was stately," said fergus, "that music." and on all came a silence, and peace. said fraech, "the food divide ye! come, bring ye here the meat!" and down to earth sank lothar, on floor he set his feet; he crouched, on haunches sitting, the joints with sword he split; on bones it fell unerring, no dainty part he hit! though long with sword he hewed, and long was meat by men supplied, his hand struck true; for never wrong would lothar meat divide. three days at the chess had they played; three nights, as they sat at the game, had gone: and they knew not the night for the sparkling light from the jewels of fraech that shone; but to maev turned fraech, and he joyously cried, "i have conquered thee well at the chess! yet i claim not the stake at the chess-board's side, lest thy palace's wealth be less." "for no lengthier day have i sat in such play," said maev, "since i here first came." "and well may the day have seemed long," said fraech, "for three days and three nights was the game!" then up started maev, and in shame she blushed that the chiefs she had failed to feed; to her husband, king ailill, in wrath she rushed: "we have both done a goodly deed! for none from our stores hath a banquet brought for the youths who are strangers here!" and said ailill, "in truth for the play was thy thought, and to thee was the chess more dear." "we knew not that darkness had come," said maev, "'tis not chess thou should'st thus condemn; though the day had gone, yet the daylight shone from the heart of each sparkling gem; though the game we played, all could meal have made, had men brought of the night advice, but the hours sped away, and the night and the day have approached and have fled from us thrice!" "give command," said the king, "that those wailing chants, till we give them their food, be stilled." and food to the hands of each they gave, and all with the meat were filled; and all things merrily went, for long the men with a feast were fed, for, as feasting they sat, thrice rose the day, thrice night above earth was spread. they brought fraech, when that banquet was ended, to the house of debate, which was near, and they asked of his errand: "in friendship, for a visit," said fraech, "am i here!" "and 'twas joy that we felt, when receiving this your host," said the king, "ye have brought much of pleasure to all, and with grieving, when ye go, shall your presence be sought!" "then," said fraech, "for a week we abide here." for two weeks in that dun they abode: and the connaught men pressed round to view them, as each eve home from hunting they rode. yet fraech was sad, with findabar a word he sought in vain; though he in truth from home so far had come that word to gain. fraech, as night was ending, sprang from out his bed; sought the brook, intending there to lave his head. there king ailill's daughter stood, and there her maid: they that hour from water sought the cleansing aid. "stay," he cried, and speaking caught the maiden's hand; "thee alone as seeking, i have reached this land: here am i who sought thee, stay, and hear me woo!" "ah! thy speech hath brought me joy," she said, "most true; yet, thy side if nearing, what for thee can i?" "maid!" he cried, "art fearing hence with me to fly?" "flight i hold disloyal," answered she in scorn; "i from mother royal, i to king was born; what should stay our wedding? none so mean or poor thou hast seemed, nor dreading kin of mine; be sure: i will go! 'tis spoken, thou beloved shalt be! take this ring as token, lent by maev to me! 'twas my mother who bid me to save it, for the ring she in secret would hide; 'tis as pledge of our love that i gave it, as its pledge it with thee should abide. till that ring we can freely be showing i will tell them i put it astray!" and, the love of each other thus knowing, fraech and finnabar went on their way. "i have fear," said the king, "that with fraech yon maid to his home as his wife would fly; yet her hand he may win, if he rides on the raid with his kine when the time draws nigh." then fraech to the hall of debate returned, and he cried: "through some secret chink hath a whisper passed?" and the king replied, "thou would'st fit in that space, i think!" "will ye give me your daughter?" said fraech: said the king, "in sight of our hosts she goes; if, as gift to suffice for her marriage price, thy hand what i ask bestows." "i will give thee what price thou dost name," said fraech, "and now let its sum be told!"' "then a sixty steeds do i claim," said the king, "dark-grey, and with bits of gold; and twelve milch-cows, from their udders shall come the milk in a copious stream, and by each of the cows a white calf shall run; bright red on its ears shall gleam; and thou, with thy harpers and men, shalt ride by my side on the cualgne[fn# ] raid, and when all thy kine driven here shall stand, shall the price of her hand be paid!" [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. now i swear by the edge of my sword," said fraech, "i swear by my arms and shield, i would give no such pledge, even maev to take, were it her thou wert fain to yield!" and he went from the house of debate, but maev with ailill bent low in plot: all around us our foes," said the king, "shall close, if finnabar stays here not; many kings of erin, who seek that maid, shall hear of her borne away, and in wrath they will rush on our land; 'twere best that fraech we devise to slay; ere that ruin he bring, let us make our spring, and the ill yet unwrought arrest." "it were pity such deed should be done," said maev, "and to slay in our house our guest! 'twill bring shame on us ever." "no shame to our house," said king ailill, "that death shall breed!" (and he spake the words twice)--"but now hear my advice, how i plan we should do this deed." all the plot had been planned; to their house at last king ailill and maev through the doorway passed; and the voice of the king uprose: "'tis now that the hounds should their prey pursue, come away to the hunt who the hounds would view; for noon shall that hunting close." so forth went they all, on the chase intent, and they followed till strength of the hounds was spent, and the hunters were warm; and to bathe they went where the river of croghan flows. and, "'tis told me," said ailill, "that fraech hath won a great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? we are longing to see thee swim!" and said fraech: "is it good then indeed thy stream? and said ailill: "of danger no need to dream, for many a youth from the connaught court in its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport, nor of any who tried have we heard report that ill hath been found by him!" then fraech from his body his garments stripped, and he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped in the stream: and the king's glance fell on a belt, left by fraech on the bank; the king bent low; in the purse saw his daughter's ring, and the shape of the ring could tell. "come hither, o maev," ailill softly cried; and queen maev came up close to her husband's side "dost thou know of that ring?" in the purse she spied the ring, and she knew it well. then ailill the ring from the purse withdrew, and away from the bank the fair gem he threw; and the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew, to be lost in the flood's swift swell. and fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed, and a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed, and, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed, at the fish went fraech with a spring: by its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown to a nook in the bank, that by few was known; and unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown as it fell to the earth, with the ring. and now fraech from the stream would be going: but, "come not," said the king, "to us yet: bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing its fair berries, with water-drops wet." then fraech, swimming away through the water, brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree, and a sigh came from ailill's fair daughter; "ah! how lovely he seemeth," said she. fair she found him, swimming through that pool so black brightly gleamed the berries, bound athwart his back. white and smooth his body, bright his glorious hair; eyes of perfect greyness, face of men most fair: soft his skin, no blemish, fault, nor spot it flawed; small his chin, and steady, brave his brow, and broad. straight he seemed, and stainless; twixt his throat and chin straying scarlet berries touched with red his skin. oft, that sight recalling, findabar would cry: "ne'er was half such beauty, naught its third came nigh!" to the bank he swam, and to ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree's torn limb: "ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and he turned to swim; the mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; and it rose from the river, on fraech it rushed: "throw a sword from the bank!" cried he. and no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; but her clothes from her finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring. and the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped: at his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head: and fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned. and again to the land was the spear launched well: 'twas a feat from the champions learned. though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung! then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, but the strong hand of fraech had closed firm on the sword, and finnabar rose from the stream. now with sword in his hand, at the monster's head hewed fraech, on its side it sank, and he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank. twas then bree's dub-lind in the connaught land the dark water of fraech was named, from that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed! "it is noble, this deed we have done!" said maev: "'tis pitiful," ailill cried: "for the hurt of the man i repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide! on the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, when the sword for his succour to fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt! now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, and bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince: let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let fraech be laid!" and all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed. then arose from fraech's trumpets complaining, as his men travelled back to the dun; their soft notes lamentation sustaining, and a many their deaths from them won; and he well knew its meaning; and, "lift me, my folk," he cried, "surely that keening from boand's women broke: my mother, the fairy, is nigh." then they raised him, and bore him where wild rose the sound; to his kin they restored him; his women pressed round: and he passed from their sight out of croghan; for that night from earth was he freed, and he dwelt with his kin, the sid-dwellers in the caverns of croghan's deep sid.[fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced sheed; sid is the fairy mound. all at nine, next morrow, gazed, for back he came, round their darling pressing many a fairy dame: brave he seemed, for healing all his wounds had got; none could find a blemish, none a sear or spot. fifty fairies round him, like in age and grace; like each form and bearing; like each lovely face. all in fairy garments, all alike were dressed; none was found unequal; none surpassed the rest. and the men who stood round, as they neared them, were struck with a marvellous awe; they were moved at the sight, and they feared them, and hardly their breath they could draw. at the liss all the fairies departed, but on fraech, as they vanished, they cried: and the sound floated in of their wailing, and it thrilled through the men, and they sighed. then first that mournful measure, "the ban-shee[fn# ] wail," was heard; all hearts with grief and pleasure that air, when harped, hath stirred. [fn# ] spelt "ban side," the fairy women. to the dun came fraech, and the hosts arose, and welcome by all was shown: for it seemed as if then was his birth among men, from a world to the earth unknown! up rose for him maev and king ailill, their fault they confessed, and for grace they prayed, and a penance they did, and for all that assault they were pardoned, and peace was made. and now free from all dread, they the banquet spread, the banqueting straight began: but a thought came to fraech, and from out of his folk he called to his side a man. "now hie thee," he said, "to the river bank, a salmon thou there shalt find; for nigh to the spot where in stream i sank, it was hurled, and 'twas left behind; to finnabar take it, and bid her from me that the salmon with skill she broil: in the midst of the fish is the ring: and none but herself at the task must toil; and to-night, as i think, for her ring they call ": then he turned to the feast again, and the wine was drunk, and the revellers sunk, for the fumes of it seized their brain, and music and much of delights they had; but the king had his plans laid deep, "bring ye all of my jewels," he cried-on the board they were poured in a dazzling heap. "they are wonderful, wonderful!" cried they all: "call finnabar!" said the king; and his daughter obeyed, and her fifty maids stood round in a lovely ring. my daughter," said ailill, "a ring last year i gave thee, is't here with thee yet? bring it hither to show to the chiefs, and anon in thy hand shall the gem be set." "that jewel is lost," said the maid, "nor aught of the fate of the ring i know!" then find it," said ailill, "the ring must be brought, or thy soul from thy limbs must go!" "now, nay!" said they all, "it were cruel that such fate for such fault should be found: thou hast many a fair-flashing jewel in these heaps that lie scattered around!" and said fraech: "of my jewels here glowing take thy fill, if the maid be but freed; 'tis to her that my life i am owing, for she brought me the sword in my need." "there is none of thy gems that can aid her," said ailill, "nor aught thou canst give; there is one thing alone that shall save her; if the ring be restored, she shall live! said finnabar; "thy treasure to yield no power is mine: do thou thy cruel pleasure, for strength, i know, is thine." "by the god whom our connaught land haileth, i swear," answered ailill the king, "that the life on thy lips glowing faileth, if thou place in my hand not the ring!" and that hard," he laughed softly, "the winning of that jewel shall be, know i well; they who died since the world had beginning shall come back to the spot where they fell ere that ring she can find, and can bear it to my hand from the spot where 'twas tossed, and as knowing this well, have i dared her to restore what for aye hath been lost!" "no ring for treasure thus despised," she said, "exchanged should be; yet since the king its worth hath prized, i'll find the gem for thee!" not thus shalt thou fly," said the king, "to thy maid let the quest of the ring be bid!" and his daughter obeyed, and to one whom she sent she told where the ring was hid: "but," finnabar cried, "by my country's god i swear that from out this hour, will i leave this land, and my father's hand shall no more on my life have power, and no feasting shall tempt me to stay, no draughts of wine my resolve shall shake!" "no reproach would i bring, if as spouse," said the king, "thou a groom from my stalls would'st take! but that ring must be found ere thou goest! "then back came her maid, and a dish she bore: and there lay a salmon well broiled, as sauce with honey 'twas garnished o'er: by the daughter of ailill herself with skill had the honey-sweet sauce been made. and high on the breast of the fish, the ring of gold that they sought was laid. king ailill and maev at the ring gazed hard; fraech looked, in his purse he felt: now it seemeth," he said, "'twas to prove my host that i left on the bank my belt, and ailill now i challenge all truth, as king to tell; what deed his cunning fashioned, and what that ring befell." "there is naught to be hidden," said ailill; "it was mine, in thy purse though it lay and my daughter i knew as its giver: so to river i hurled it away. now fraech in turn i challenge by life and honour's claim: say how from yon dark water that ring to draw ye came." "there is naught to be hidden," he answered, "the first day that i came, on the earth, near the court round thy house, was that jewel; and i saw all its beauty and worth: in my purse then i hid it; thy daughter, who had lost it, with care for it sought; and the day that i went to that water was the news of her search to me brought: and i asked what reward she would give me, if the gem in her hand should be placed; and she answered that i, if i found it, for a year by her love should be graced. but not then could the ring be delivered: for afar in my chamber it lay: till she gave me the sword in the river, we met not again on that day. 'twas then i saw thee open my purse, and take the ring: i watched, and towards the water that gem i saw thee fling: i saw the salmon leaping, the ring it caught, and sank: i came behind, and seized it; and brought the fish to bank. then i wrapped it up close in my mantle; and 'twas hid from inquisitive eyes; and in finnabar's hand have i placed it: and now there on the platter it lies!" now all who this or that would know to ask, and praise began: said finnabar, "i'll never throw my thoughts on other man!" now hear her word," her parents cried, "and plight to her thy troth, and when for cualgne's[fn# ] kine we ride do thou redeem thine oath. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. and when with kine from out the east ye reach our western land; that night shall be thy marriage feast; and thine our daughter's hand." "now that oath will i take," answered back to them fraech, "and the task ye have asked will do!" so he tarried that night till the morning's light; and they feasted the whole night through; and then homewards bound, with his comrades round, rode fraech when the night was spent, and to ailill and maev an adieu he gave, and away to their land they went. tain bo fraich part i literal translation fraech, son of idath of the men of connaught, a son he to befind from the side: a sister she to boand. he is the hero who is the most beautiful that was of the men of eriu and of alba, but he was not long-lived. his mother gave him twelve cows out of the sid (the fairy mound), they are white-eared. he had a good housekeeping till the end of eight years without the taking of a wife. fifty sons of kings, this was the number of his household, co-aged, co-similar to him all between form and instruction. findabair, daughter of ailill and medb, loves him for the great stories about him. it is declared to him at his house. eriu and alba were full of his renown and the stories about him. to fraech[fn# ] was idath[fn# ] father, a connaught man was he: and well we know his mother who dwells among the shee;[fn# ] befind they call her, sister to boand,[fn# ] the fairy queen; and alba ne'er, nor erin, such grace as fraech's hath seen. yet wondrous though that hero's grace, his fairy lineage high, for years but few his lovely face was seen by human eye. [fn# ] pronounced fraych. [fn# ] pronounced eeda. [fn# ] the fairies. [fn# ] pronounced with the sound of "owned." fraech had twelve of white-eared fairy-cattle, 'twas his mother those cattle who gave: for eight years in his home he dwelt wifeless, and the state of his household was brave; fifty princes, whose age, and whose rearing, and whose forms were as his, with him played; and his glory filled alba and erin till it came to the ears of a maid: for maev and ailill's[fn# ] lovely child, fair findabar, 'twas said, by tales of fraech to love beguiled, with fraech in love would wed. [fn# ] pronounced al-ill. after this going to a dialogue with the maiden occurred to him; he discussed that matter with his people. "let there be a message then sent to thy mother's sister, so that a portion of wondrous robing and of gifts from the side (fairy folk) be given thee from her." he goes accordingly to the sister, that is to boand, till he was in mag breg, and he carried away fifty dark-blue cloaks, and each of them was like the back of a black chafer,[fn# ] and four black-grey, rings on each cloak, and a brooch of red gold on each cloak, and pale white tunics with loop-animals of gold around them. and fifty silver shields with edges, and a candle of a king's-house in the hand of them (the men), and fifty studs of findruine[fn# ] on each of them (the lances), fifty knobs of thoroughly burned gold on each of them; points (i.e. butt-ends) of carbuncle under them beneath, and their point of precious stones. they used to light the night as if they were the sun's rays. [fn# ] the book of leinster gives "fifty blue cloaks, each like findruine of art." [fn# ] pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. and there were fifty gold-hilted swords with them, and a soft-grey mare under the seat of each man, and bits of gold to them; a plate of silver with a little bell of gold around the neck of each horse. fifty caparisons[fn# ] of purple with threads of silver out of them, with buckles of gold and silver and with head-animals (i.e. spiral ornaments). fifty whips of findruine, with a golden hook on the end of each of them. and seven chase-hounds in chains of silver, and an apple of gold between each of them. greaves of bronze about them, by no means was there any colour which was not on the hounds. [fn# ] the word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. it is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. see irische texts, iii. seven trumpeters with them with golden and silver trumpets with many coloured garments, with golden fairy-yellow heads of hair, with shining tunics. there were three jesters before them with silver diadems under gilding. shields with engraved emblems (or marks of distinction) with each of them; with crested staves, with ribs of bronze (copper-bronze) along their sides. three harp-players with a king's appearance about each of them opposite to these.[fn# ] they depart for cruachan with that appearance on them. [fn# ] the word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. it is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. see irische texts, iii. . p. . the watchman sees them from the dun when they had come into the plain of cruachan. "a multitude i see," he says, "(come) towards the dun in their numbers. since ailill and maev assumed sovereignty there came not to them before, and there shall not come to them, a multitude, which is more beautiful, or which is more splendid. it is the same with me that it were in a vat of wine my head should be, with the breeze that goes over them. "the manipulation and play that the young hero who is in it makes--i have not before seen its likeness. he shoots his pole a shot's discharge from him; before it reaches to earth the seven chase-hounds with their seven silver chains catch it." at this the hosts come from the dun of cruachan to view them. the people in the dun smother one another, so that sixteen men die while viewing them. they alight in front of the dun. they tent their steeds, and they loose the chase-hounds. they (the hounds) chase the seven deer to rath-cruachan, and seven foxes, and seven hares, and seven wild boars, until the youths kill them in the lawn of the dun. after that the chase-hounds dart a leap into brei; they catch seven otters. they brought them to the elevation in front of the chief rath. they (fraech and his suite) sit down there. a message comes from the king for a parley with them. it is asked whence they came, they name themselves according to their true names, "fraech, son of idath this," say they. the steward tells it to the king and queen. "welcome to them," say ailill and maev; "it is a noble youth who is there," says ailill, "let him come into the liss (outer court)." the fourth of the house is allotted to them. this was the array of the house, a seven fold order in it; seven apartments from fire to side-wall in the house all round. a rail (or front) of bronze to each apartment; a partitioning of red yew under variegated planing all. three plates of bronze in the skirting of each apartment. seven plates of brass from the ceiling (?) to the roof-tree in the house. of pine the house was made; it is a covering of shingle it had externally. there were sixteen windows in the house, and a frame of brass, to each of them; a tie of brass across the roof-light. four beams of brass on the apartment of ailill and medb, adorned all with bronze, and it in the exact centre of the house. two rails of silver around it under gilding. in the front a wand of silver that reached the middle rafters of the house. the house was encircled all round from the door to the other.[fn# ] [fn# ] it should be noted that it is not certain whether the word "imdai," translated apartments, really means "apartments" or "benches." the weight of opinion seems at present to take it as above. they hang up their arms in that house, and they sit, and welcome is made to them. "welcome to you," say ailill and medb. "it is that we have come for," says fraech. "it shall not be a journey for boasting[fn# ] this," says medb, and ailill and medb arrange the chess-board after that. fraech then takes to the playing of chess with a man of their (?) people. [fn# ] this is the rendering in the yellow book of lecan, considered by meyer to be the true reading. the book of leinster text gives "aig-baig," a word of doubtful meaning. the eg. ms. has also a doubtful word. it was a beauty of a chess-board. a board of findruine in it with four ears[fn# ] and edges of gold. a candle of precious stones at illuminating for them. gold and silver the figures that were upon the table. "prepare ye food for the warriors," said ailill. "not it is my desire," said medb, but to go to the chess yonder against fraech." "get to it, i am pleased," said ailill, and they play the chess then, and fraech. [fn# ] the "ears" were apparently handles shaped like ears. the same word is used for the rings in the cloaks, line above. his people were meanwhile at cooking the wild animals. "let thy harpers play for us," says ailill to fraech. "let them play indeed!" says fraech. a harp-bag[fn# ] of the skins of otters about them with their adornment of ruby (or coral), beneath their adornment of gold and silver. [fn# ] meyer translates this: "the concave part of the harp." it is from the music which uaithne, the dagda's harp, played that the three are named. the time the woman was at the bearing of children it had a cry of sorrow with the soreness of the pangs at first: it was smile and joy it played in the middle for the pleasure of bringing forth the two sons: it was a sleep of soothingness played the last son, on account of the heaviness of the birth, so that it is from him that the third of the music has been named. boand awoke afterwards out of the sleep. "i accept," she says, "thy three sons o uaithne of full ardour, since there is suan-traide and gen-traide, and gol-traide on cows and women who shall fall by medb and ailill, men who shall perish by the hearing of art from them." they cease from playing after that in the palace: "it is stately it has come," says fergus. "divide ye to us," says fraech to his people, "the food, bring ye it into the house." lothur went on the floor of the house: he divides to them the food. on his haunches he used to divide each joint with his sword, and he used not to touch the food part: since he commenced dividing, he never hacked the meat beneath his hand. they were three days and three nights at the playing of the chess on account of the abundance of the precious stones in the household of fraech. after that fraech addressed medb. "it is well i have played against thee (i.e. have beaten thee)," he says, "i take not away thy stake from the chess-board that there be not a decay of hospitality for thee in it." "since i have been in this dun this is the day which i deem longest in it ever," says medb. "this is reasonable," says fraech, "they are three days and three nights in it." at this medb starts up. it was a shame with her that the warriors were without food. she goes to ailill: she tells it to him. "a great deed we have done," said she, "the stranger men who have come to us to be without food." "dearer to thee is playing of the chess," says ailill. "it hinders not the distribution to his suite throughout the house. they have been three days and three nights in it but that we perceived not the night with the white light of the precious stones in the house." "tell them," says ailill, "to cease from the lamenting until distribution is made to them." distribution is then made to them, and things were pleasing to them, and they stayed three days and three nights in it after that over the feasting. it is after that fraech was called into the house of conversation, and it is asked of him what brought him. "a visit with you," said he, "is pleasing to me." "your company is indeed not displeasing with the household," said ailill, "your addition is better than your diminution." "we shall stay here then," says fraech, "another week." they stay after that till the end of a fortnight in the dun, and they have a hunt every single day towards the dun. the men of connaught used to come to view them. it was a trouble with fraech not to have a conversation with the daughter: for that was the profit that had brought him. a certain day he starts up at the end of night for washing to the stream. it is the time she had gone and her maid for washing. he takes her hand. "stay for my conversing," he says; "it is thou i have come for." "i am delighted truly," says the daughter; "if i were to come, i could do nothing for thee." "query, wouldst thou elope with me?" he says. "i will not elope," says she, "for i am the daughter of a king and a queen. there is nothing of thy poverty that you should not get me (i.e. thy poverty is not so great that thou art not able to get me) from my family; and it shall be my choice accordingly to go to thee, it is thou whom i have loved. and take thou with thee this ring," says the daughter, "and it shall be between us for a token. my mother gave it to me to put by, and i shall say that i put it astray." each of them accordingly goes apart after that. "i fear," says ailill, "the eloping of yon daughter with fraech, though she would be given to him on solemn pledge that he would come towards us with his cattle for aid at the spoil." fraech goes to them to the house of conversation. "is it a secret (cocur, translated "a whisper" by crowe) ye have?" says fraech. "thou wouldest fit in it," says ailill. "will ye give me your daughter?" says fraech. "the hosts will clearly see she shall be given," says ailill, "if thou wouldest give a dowry as shall be named." "thou shalt have it," says fraech. "sixty black-grey steeds to me, with their bits of gold to them, and twelve milch cows, so that there be milked liquor of milk from each of them, and an ear-red, white calf with each of them; and thou to come with me with all thy force and with thy musicians for bringing of the cows from cualgne; and my daughter to be given thee provided thou dost come" (or as soon as[fn# ] thou shalt come). "i swear by my shield, and by my sword, and by my accoutrement, i would not give that in dowry even of medb." he went from them out of the house then. ailill and medb hold a conversation. "it shall drive at us several of the kings of erin around us if he should carry off the daughter. what is good is, let us dash after him, and let us slay him forthwith, before he may inflict destruction upon us." "it is a pity this," says medb, "and it is a decay of hospitality for us." "it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, the way i shall prepare it." [fn# ] this is thurneysen's rendering ("sagen aus dem alten irland," p. ). ailill and medb go into the palace. "let us go away," says ailill, that we may see the chase-hounds at hunting till the middle of the day, and until they are tired." they all go off afterwards to the river to bathe themselves. "it is declared to me," says ailill, "that thou art good in water. come into this flood, that we may see thy swimming." "what is the quality of this flood?" he says. "we know not anything dangerous in it," says ailill, "and bathing in it is frequent." he strips his clothes off him then, and he goes into it, and he leaves his girdle above. ailill then opens his purse behind him, and the ring was in it. ailill recognises it then. "come here, o medb," says ailill. medb goes then. "dost thou recognise that?" says ailill. "i do recognise," she says. ailill flings it into the river down. fraech perceived that matter. he sees something, the salmon leaped to meet it, and caught it in his mouth. he (fraech) gives a bound to it, and he catches its jole, and he goes to land, and he brings it to a lonely[fn# ] spot on the brink of the river. he proceeds to come out of the water then. "do not come," says ailill, "until thou shalt bring me a branch of the rowan-tree yonder, which is on the brink of the river: beautiful i deem its berries." he then goes away, and breaks a branch off the trees and brings it on his back over the water. the remark of find-abair was: "is it not beautiful he looks?" exceedingly beautiful she thought it to see fraech over a black pool: the body of great whiteness, and the hair of great loveliness, the face of great beauty, the eye of great greyness; and he a soft youth without fault, without blemish, with a below-narrow, above-broad face; and he straight, blemishless; the branch with the red berries between the throat and the white face. it is what find-abair used to say, that by no means had she seen anything that could come up to him half or third for beauty. [fn# ]"hidden spot" (windisch after that he throws the branches to them out of the water. "the berries are stately and beautiful, bring us an addition of them." he goes off again until he was in the middle of the water. the serpent catches him out of the water. "let a sword come to me from you," he says; and there was not on the land a man who would dare to give it to him through fear of ailill and medb. after that find-abair strips off her clothes, and gives a leap into the water with the sword. her father lets fly a five-pronged spear at her from above, a shot's throw, so that it passes through her two tresses, and that fraech caught the spear in his hand. he shoots the spear into the land up, and the monster in his side. he lets it fly with a charge of the methods of playing of championship, so that it goes through the purple robe and through the tunic (? shirt) that was about ailill. at this the youths who were about ailill rise to him. find-abair goes out of the water and leaves the sword in fraech's hand, and he cuts the head off the monster, so that it was on its side, and he brought the monster with him to land. it is from it is dub-lind fraech in brei, in the lands of the men of connaught. ailill and medb go to their dun afterwards. "a great deed is what we have done," says medb. "we repent," says ailill, "of what we have done to the man; the daughter however," he says, "her lips shall perish [common metaphor for death] to-morrow at once, and it shall not be the guilt of bringing of the sword that shall be for her. let a bath be made by you for this man, namely, broth of fresh bacon and the flesh of a heifer to be minced in it under adze and axe, and he to be brought into the bath." all that thing was done as he said. his trumpeters then before him to the dun. they play then until thirty of the special friends of ailill die at the long-drawn (or plaintive) music. he goes then into the dun, and he goes into the bath. the female company rise around him at the vat for rubbing, and for washing his head. he was brought out of it then, and a bed was made. they heard something, the lament-cry on cruachan. there were seen the three times fifty women with crimson tunics, with green head-dresses, with brooches of silver on their wrists. a messenger is sent to them to learn what they had bewailed. "fraech, son of idath," says the woman, "boy-pet of the king of the side of erin." at this fraech heard their lament-cry. thirty men whom king ailill loved dearly by that music were smitten to die; and his men carried fraech, and they laid him in that bath, for his healing to lie. around the vat stood ladies, they bathed his limbs and head; from out the bath they raised him, and soft they made his bed. then they heard a strange music; the wild croghan "keen"; and of women thrice fifty on croghan were seen. they had tunics of purple, with green were they crowned; on their wrists glistened silver, where brooches were bound. and there neared them a herald to learn why they wailed; "'tis for fraech," was their answer, "by sickness assailed; 'tis for fraech, son of idath,[fn# ] boy-darling is he of our lord, who in erin is king of the shee!"[fn# ] and fraech heard the wail in their cry; [fn# ] pronounced eeda. [fn# ] the fairies. "lift me out of it," he says to his people; "this is the cry of my mother and of the women of boand." he is lifted out at this, and he is brought to them. the women come around him, and bring him from them to the sid of cruachan (i.e. the deep caverns, used for burial at cruachan). they saw something, at the ninth hour on the morrow he comes, and fifty women around him, and he quite whole, without stain and without blemish; of equal age (the women), of equal form, of equal beauty, of equal fairness, of equal symmetry, of equal stature, with the dress of women of the fairies about them so that there was no means of knowing of one beyond the other of them. little but men were suffocated around them. they separate in front of the liss.[fn# ] they give forth their lament on going from him, so that they troubled[fn# ] the men who were in the liss excessively. it is from it is the lament-cry of the women of the fairies with the musicians of erin. [fn# ] the liss is the outer court of the palace. [fn# ] "oo corastar tar cend," "so that they upset, or put beside themselves." meyer takes literally, "so that they fell on their backs" (?) he then goes into the dun. all the hosts rise before him, and bid welcome to him, as if it were from another world he were coming. ailill and medb arise, and do penance to him for the attack they had made at him, and they make peace. feasting commenced with them then at once. fraech calls a servant of his suite: "go off," he says, "to the spot at which i went into the water. a salmon i left there--bring it to find-abair, and let herself take charge over it; and let the salmon be well broiled by her, and the ring is in the centre of the salmon. i expect it will be asked of her to-night." inebriety seizes them, and music and amusement delight them. ailill then said: "bring ye all my gems to me." they were brought to him then, so that the were before him. "wonderful, wonderful," says every one. "call ye find-abair to me," he says. find-abair goes to him, and fifty maidens around her. "o daughter," says ailill, "the ring i gave to thee last year, does it remain with thee? bring it to me that the warriors may see it. thou shalt have it afterwards." "i do not know," she says, "what has been done about it." "ascertain then," says ailill, "it must be sought, or thy soul must depart from thy body." "it is by no means worth," say the warriors, "there is much of value there, without that." "there is naught of my jewels that will not go for the maid," says fraech, "because she brought me the sword for pledge of my soul." "there is not with thee anything of gems that should aid her unless she returns the ring from her," says ailill. "i have by no means the power to give it," says the daughter, "what thou mayest like do it in regard to me." "i swear to the god to whom my people swear, thy lips shall be pale (literally, shall perish) unless thou returnest it from thee," says ailill. "it is why it is asked of thee, because it is impossible; for i know that until the people who have died from the beginning of the world. come, it comes not out of the spot in which it was flung." "it shall not come for a treasure which is not appreciated,"[fn# ] says the daughter, "the ring that is asked for here, i go that i may bring it to thee, since it is keenly it is asked." "thou shalt not go," says ailill; "but let one go from thee to bring it." [fn# ] this is windisch's rendering (irische texte, i. p. : s.v. main). the daughter sends her maid to bring it. "i swear to the god to whom my territories swear, if it shall be found, i shall by no means be under thy power any longer though i should be at great drinking continually." (?)[fn# ] "i shall by no means prevent you from doing that, namely even if it were to the groom thou shouldst go if the ring is found," says ailill. the maid then brought the dish into the palace, and the broiled salmon on it, and it dressed under honey which was well made by the daughter; and the ring of gold was on the salmon from above. [fn# ] "dian dumroib for sar-ol mogreis." meyer gives "if there is any one to protect me." the above is crowe's rendering. ailill and medb view it. after that fraech looks at it, and looks at his purse. "it seems to me it was for proof that i left my girdle," says fraech. "on the truth of the sovereignty," says fraech, "say what thou did'st about the ring." "this shall not be concealed from thee," says ailill; "mine is the ring which was in thy purse, and i knew it is find-abair gave it to thee. it is therefore i flung it into the dark pool. on the truth of thine honour and of thy soul, o fraech, declare thou what way the bringing of it out happened." "it shall not be concealed on thee," says fraech. "the first day i found the ring in front of the outer court, and i knew it was a lovely gem. it is for that reason i put it up industriously in my purse. i heard, the day i went to the water, the maiden who had lost it a-looking for it. i said to her: 'what reward shall i have at thy hands for the finding of it?' she said to me that she would give a year's love to me. "it happened i did not leave it about me; i had left it in the house behind me. we met not until we met at the giving of the sword into my hand in the river. after that i saw the time thou open'st the purse and flungest the ring into the water: i saw the salmon which leaped for it, so that it took it into its mouth. i then caught the salmon, took it up in the cloak, put it into the hand of the daughter. it is that salmon accordingly which is on the dish." the criticising and the wondering at these stories begin in the house hold. "i shall not throw my mind on another youth in erin after thee," says find-abair. "bind thyself for that," say ailill and medb, "and come thou to us with thy cows to the spoil of the cows from cualnge; and when thou shalt come with thy cows from the east back, ye shall wed here that night at once and find-abair." "i shall do that thing," says fraech. they are in it then until the morning. fraech sets about him self with his suite. he then bids farewell to ailill and medb. they depart to their own territories then. tain bo fraich part ii unto fraech it hath chanced, as he roved from his lands that his cattle were stolen by wandering bands: and there met him his mother, and cried, "on thy way thou hast tarried, and hard for thy slackness shalt pay! in the alps of the south, the wild mountains amid, have thy children, thy wife, and thy cattle been hid: and a three of thy kine have the picts carried forth, and in alba they pasture, but far to the north!" "now, alack!" answered fraech, "what is best to be done?" "rest at home," said his mother, "nor seek them my son; for to thee neither cattle, nor children, nor wife can avail, if in seeking thou losest thy life; and though cattle be lacking, the task shall be mine to replace what is lost, and to grant thee the kine." "nay, not so," answered fraech, "by my soul i am sworn, that when cattle from cualgne by force shall be torn to king ailill and maev on my faith as their guest i must ride with those cattle for war to the west!" "now but vainly," she said, "is this toil on thee cast; thou shalt lose what thou seekest", and from him she passed. three times nine of his men for that foray were chosen, and marched by his side, and a hawk flew before, and for hunting, was a hound with a hunting-leash tied; to ben barchi they went, for the border of ulster their faces were set: and there, of its marches the warder, the conquering conall they met. fraech hailed him, the conquering conall, and told him the tale of his spoil; "'tis ill luck that awaits thee," said conall, "thy quest shall be followed with toil! "'twill be long ere the goal thou art reaching, though thy heart in the seeking may be." "conall cernach,[fn# ] hear thou my beseeching said fraech, "let thine aid be to me; i had hoped for this meeting with conall, that his aid in the quest might be lent." "i will go with thee truly," said conall: with fraech and his comrades he went. [fn# ] pronounced cayr-nach. three times nine, fraech and conall before them, over ocean from ireland have passed; through the land of north saxony bore them, and the south sea they sighted at last. and again on the sea billows speeding, they went south, over ichtian foam; and marched on: southward still was their leading: to the land where the long-beards have home: but when lombardy's bounds they were nearing they made stand; for above and around were the high peaks of alpa appearing, and the goal that they sought had been found. on the alps was a woman seen straying, and herding the flocks of the sheep, "let our warriors behind be delaying," said conall, "and south let us keep: 'twere well we should speak with yon woman, perchance she hath wisdom to teach!" and with conall went fraech at that counsel; they neared her, and held with her speech. "whence have come you?" she said: "out of ireland are we," answered conall: "ill luck shall for irishmen be in this country," she cried, "yet thy help i would win; from thy land was my mother; thou art to me kin!" "of this land we know naught, nor where next we should turn," answered conall.; "its nature from thee we would learn." "'tis a grim land and hateful," the woman replied, "and the warriors are restless who forth from it ride; for full often of captives, of women and herd of fair kine by them taken is brought to me word." "canst thou say what latest spoil," said fraech, "they won?" "ay," she said, "they harried fraech, of idath[fn# ] son he in erin dwelleth, near the western sea; kine from him they carried, wife, and children three here his wife abideth, there where dwells the king, turn, and see his cattle, yonder pasturing." [fn# ] pronounced eeda. out spoke conall cernach;[fn# ] "aid us thou" he cried: "strength i lack," she answered, "i can only guide." "here is fraech," said conall, "yon his stolen cows": "fraech!" she asked him, "tell me, canst thou trust thy spouse?" "why," said fraech, "though trusty, doubtless, when she went; now, since here she bideth, truth may well be spent." "see ye now yon woman?" said she, "with your herd, tell to her your errand, let her hear your word; trust in her, as irish-sprung ye well may place; more if ye would ask me, ulster reared her race." [fn# ] pronounced cayr-nach. to that woman they went, nor their names from her hid; and they greeted her; welcome in kindness she bid: "what hath moved you," she said, "from your country to go?" "on this journey," said conall, "our guide hath been woe: all the cattle that feed in these pastures are ours, and from us went the lady that's kept in yon towers." "'tis ill-luck," said the woman, "that waits on your way, all the men of this hold doth that lady obey; ye shall find, amid dangers, your danger most great in the serpent who guardeth the liss at the gate." "for that lady," said fraech, "she is none of my she is fickle, no trust from me yet did she win: but on thee we rely, thou art trusty, we know; never yet to an ulsterman ulster was foe." "is it men out of ulster," she said, "i have met?" "and is conall," said fraech, "thus unknown to you yet? of all heroes from ulster the battle who faced conall cernach is foremost." his neck she embraced, and she cried, with her arms around conall: "of old of the conquering conall our prophets have told; and 'tis ruin and doom to this hold that you bring; for that conall shall sack it, all prophecies sing." "hear my rede," she told him: "when at fall of day come the kine for milking, i abroad will stay; i the castle portal every eve should close: ye shall find it opened, free for tread of foes: i will say the weakling calves awhile i keep; 'tis for milk, i'll tell them: come then while they sleep; come, their castle enter, all its wealth to spoil; only rests that serpent, he our plans may foil: him it rests to vanquish, he will try you most; surely from that serpent swarms a serpent host!" "trust us well," answered conall, "that raid will we do! and the castle they sought, and the snake at them flew: for it darted on conall, and twined round his waist; yet the whole of that castle they plundered in haste, and the woman was freed, and her sons with her three and away from her prison she went with them free: and of all of the jewels amassed in that dun the most costly and beauteous the conquerors won. then the serpent from conall was loosed, from his belt it crept safely, no harm from that serpent he felt: and they travelled back north to the pictish domains, and a three of their cattle they found on the plains; and, where olla mae briuin[fn# ] his hold had of yore, by dunolly their cattle they drove to the shore. [fn# ] pronounced "brewin." it chanced at ard uan echach,[fn# ] where foam is hurled on high, that doom on bicne falling, his death he came to die: 'twas while the cows were driven that bicne's life was lost: by trampling hooves of cattle crushed down to death, or tossed; to him was loegaire[fn# ] father, and conall cernach chief and inver-bicne's title still marks his comrades' grief. [fn# ] pronounced "ard oon ay-ha," [fn# ] pronounced "leary." across the stream of bicne the cows of fraech have passed, and near they came to benchor, and there their horns they cast: 'tis thence the strand of bangor for aye is named, 'tis said: the strand of horns men call it; those horns his cattle shed. to his home travelled fraech, with his children, and and his cattle, and there with them lived out his life, till the summons of ailill and maev he obeyed; and when cualgne was harried, he rode on the raid. tain bo fraich part ii literal translation it happened that his cows had been in the meanwhile stolen. his mother came to him. "not active (or "lucky") of journey hast thou gone; it shall cause much of trouble to thee," she says. "thy cows have been stolen, and thy three sons, and thy wife, so that they are in the mountain of elpa. three cows of them are in alba of the north with the cruthnechi (the picts)." "query, what shall i do?" he says to his mother. "thou shalt do a non-going for seeking them; thou wouldest not give thy life for them," she says. "thou shalt have cows at my hands besides them." "not so this," he says: "i have pledged my hospitality and my soul to go to ailill and to medb with my cows to the spoil of the cows from cualnge." "what thou seekest shall not be obtained," says his mother. at this she goes off from him then. he then sets out with three nines, and a wood-cuckoo (hawk), and a hound of tie with them, until he goes to the territory of the ulstermen, so that he meets with conall cernach (conall the victorious) at benna bairchi (a mountain on the ulster border). he tells his quest to him. "what awaits thee," says the latter, "shall not be lucky for thee. much of trouble awaits thee," he says, "though in it the mind should be." "it will come to me," says fraech to connall, "that thou wouldest help me any time we should meet." (?) "i shall go truly," says conall cernach. they set of the three (i.e. the three nines) over sea, over saxony of the north, over the sea of icht (the sea between england and france), to the north of the long-bards (the dwellers of lombardy), until they reached the mountains of elpa. they saw a herd-girl at tending of the sheep before them. "let us go south," says conall, "o fraech, that we may address the woman yonder, and let our youths stay here." they went then to a conversation. she said, "whence are ye?" "of the men of erin," says conall. "it shall not be lucky for the men of erin truly, the coming to this country. from the men of erin too is my mother. aid thou me on account of relationship." "tell us something about our movements. what is the quality of the land we have to come to?" "a grim hateful land with troublesome warriors, who go on every side for carrying off cows and women as captives," she says. "what is the latest thing they have carried off?" says fraech. "the cows of fraech, son of idath, from the west of erin, and his wife, and his three sons. here is his wife here in the house of the king, here are his cows in the country in front of you." "let thy aid come to us," says conall. little is my power, save guidance only." "this is fraech," says conall, and they are his cows that have been carried off." "is the woman constant in your estimation?" she says. "though constant in our estimation when she went, perchance she is not constant after coming." "the woman who frequents the cows, go ye to her; tell ye of your errand; of the men of ireland her race; of the men of ulster exactly." they come to her; they receive her, and they name themselves to her, and she bids welcome to them. "what hath led you forth?" she says. "trouble hath led us forth," says conall; "ours are the cows and the woman that is in the liss." "it shall not be lucky for you truly," she says, "the going up to the multitude of the woman; more troublesome to you than everything," she says, "is the serpent which is at guarding of the liss." "she is not my country-name(?)," says fraech, "she is not constant in my estimation; thou art constant in my estimation; we know thou wilt not lead us astray, since it is from the men of ulster thou art." "whence are ye from the men of ulster?" she says. "this is conall cernach here, the bravest hero with the men of ulster," says fraech. she flings two hands around the throat of conall cernach. "the destruction has come in this expedition," she says, "since he has come to us; for it is to him the destruction of this dun has been prophesied. i shall go out to my house,"[fn# ] she says, "i shall not be at the milking of the cows. i shall leave the liss opened; it is i who close it every night.[fn# ] i shall say it is for drink the calves were sucking. come thou into the dun, when they are sleeping; only trouble. some to you is the serpent which is at the dun; several tribes are let loose from it." [fn# ] "to my house" is in the egerton ms. only. [fn# ] "every night" is in the egerton ms. only. "we will go truly," says conall. they attack the liss; the serpent darts leap into the girdle of conall cernach, and they plunder the dun at once. they save off then the woman and the three sons, and they carry away whatever was the best of the gems of the dun, and conall lets the serpent out of his girdle, and neither of them did harm to the other. and they came to the territory of the people of the picts, until they saw three cows of their cows in it. they drove off to the fort of ollach mac briuin (now dunolly near oban) with them, until they were at ard uan echach (high-foaming echach). it is there the gillie of conall met his death at the driving of the cows, that is bicne son of loegaire; it is from this is (the name of) inver bicne (the bicne estuary) at benchor. they brought their cows over it thither. it is there they flung their horns from them, so that it is thence is (the name of) tracht benchoir (the strand of horn casting, perhaps the modern bangor?). fraech goes away then to his territory after, and his wife, and his sons, and his cows with him, until he goes with ailill and medb for the spoil of the cows from cualnge. the raid for dartaid's cattle introduction this tale is given by windisch (irische texte, ii. pp. - ), from two versions; one, whose translation he gives in full, except for one doubtful passage, is from the manuscript in the british museum, known as egerton, (dated ); the other is from the yellow book of lecan (fourteenth century), in the library of trinity college, dublin. the version in the yellow book is sometimes hard to read, which seems to be the reason why windisch prefers to translate the younger authority, but though in some places the egerton version is the fuller, the yellow book version (y.b.l.) often adds passages, some of which windisch has given in notes; some he has left untranslated. in the following prose version as much of y.b.l. as adds anything to the egerton text has been translated, with marks of interrogation where the attempted rendering is not certain: variants from the text adopted are placed below the prose version as footnotes. the insertions from y.b.l. are indicated by brackets; but no note is taken of cases where the egerton version is fuller than y.b.l. the opening of the story (the first five lines in the verse rendering) is in the eleventh century book of the dun cow: the fragment agrees closely with the two later texts, differing in fact from y.b.l. in one word only. all three texts are given in the original by windisch. the story is simple and straightforward, but is a good example of fairy vengeance, the description of the appearance of the troop recalls similar descriptions in the tain bo fraich, and in the courtship of ferb. the tale is further noticeable from its connection with the province of munster: most of the heroic tales are connected with the other three provinces only. orlam, the hero of the end of the tale, was one of cuchulain's earliest victims in the tain bo cualgne. the raid for dartaid's cattle from the egerton ms. (early fifteenth-century), and the yellow book of lecan (fourteenth-century) eocho bec,[fn# ] the son of corpre, reigning in the land of clew,[fn# ] dwelt in coolny's[fn# ] fort; and fostered sons of princes not a few: forty kine who grazed his pastures gave him milk to rear his wards; royal blood his charges boasted, sprung from munster's noblest lords. maev and ailill sought to meet him: heralds calling him they sent: "seven days hence i come" said eocho; and the heralds from him went. now, as eocho lay in slumber, in the night a vision came; by a youthful squire attended, rose to view a fairy dame: "welcome be my greeting to you!" said the king: "canst thou discern who we are?" the fairy answered, "how didst thou our fashion learn?" "surely," said the king, "aforetime near to me hath been thy place!" "very near thee have we hovered, yet thou hast not seen my face." "where do ye abide?" said eocho. "yonder dwell we, with the shee:[fn# ] "in the fairy mound of coolny!" "wherefore come ye hereto me?" "we have come," she said, "a counsel as a gift to thee to bring!" "speak! and tell me of the counsel ye have brought me," said the king. "noble gifts," she said, "we offer that renown for thee shall gain when in foreign lands thou ridest; worship in thine own domain; for a troop shall circle round thee, riding close beside thy hand: stately it shall be, with goodly horses from a foreign land!" "tell me of that troop," said eocho, "in what numbers should we ride? " fifty horsemen is the number that befits thee," she replied: [fn# ] pronounced yeo-ho bayc. [fn# ] cliu, a district in munster. [fn# ] spelt cuillne, in y.b.l. it is cuille. [fn# ] the fairies, spelt sidh. "fifty horses, black in colour; gold and silver reins and bits; fifty sets of gay equipment, such as fairies well befits; these at early dawn to-morrow shall my care for thee provide: let thy foster-children with thee on the road thou makest ride! rightly do we come to help thee, who so valiantly in fray guardest for us soil and country!" and the fairy passed away. eocho's folk at dawn have risen; fifty steeds they all behold: black the horses seemed; the bridles, stiff with silver and with gold, firmly to the gate were fastened; fifty silver breeches there heaped together shone, encrusted all with gold the brooches were: there were fifty knightly vestments, bordered fair with golden thread: fifty horses, white, and glowing on their ears with deepest red, nigh them stood; of reddish purple were the sweeping tails and manes; silver were the bits; their pasterns chained in front with brazen chains: and, of fair findruine[fn# ] fashioned, was for every horse a whip, furnished with a golden handle, wherewithal the goad to grip. [fn# ] pronounced "findroony." then king eocho rose, and ready made him; in that fair array forth they rode, nor did they tarry till they came to croghan[fn# ] ay. scarcely could the men of connaught bear to see that sight, amazed at the dignity and splendour of the host on which they gazed; for that troop was great; in serried ranks the fifty riders rode, splendid with the state recounted; pride on all their faces glowed. "name the man who comes!" said ailill; "easy answer!" all replied, eocho bee, in clew who ruleth, hither to thy court would ride": court and royal house were opened; in with welcome came they all; three long days and nights they lingered, feasting in king ailill's hall. then to ailill, king of connaught, eocho spake: "from out my land { } wherefore hast thou called me hither?" "gifts are needed from thy hand," ailill said; "a heavy burden is that task upon me laid, to maintain the men of ireland when for cualgne's kine we raid." [fn# ] pronounced crow-han. eocho spoke: "what gift requirest thou from me?" "for milking-kine," ailill said, "i ask"; and eocho, "few of these indeed are mine! forty sons of munster's princes have i in my halls to rear; these, my foster-sons, beside me m my troop have journeyed here; fifty herdsmen guard the cattle, forty cows my wards to feed, seven times twenty graze beside them, to supply my people's need." "if, for every man who follows thee as liege, and owns a farm, thou a cow wilt yield," said ailill, "then from foes with power to harm i will guard thee in the battle!" "keep then faithfully thy vows," eocho said, "this day as tribute shall to croghan come the cows." thrice the sun hath set and risen while they feasting there abide, maev and ailill's bounty tasting, homeward then they quickly ride: but the sons of glaschu met them, who from western donnan came; donnan, from the seas that bound it, irross donnan hath for name; seven times twenty men attacked them, and to battle they were brought, at the isle of o'canàda, fiercely either party fought; with his foster children round him, eocho bec in fight was killed, all the forty princes perished, with that news the land was filled; all through ireland lamentation rose for every youthful chief; four times twenty munster princes, weeping for them, died of grief. now a vision came to ailill, as in sleep he lay awhile, or a youth and dame approached him, fairer none in erin's isle: "who are ye?" said ailill; "conquest," said the fairy, "and defeat "though defeat i shun," said ailill, "conquest joyfully i meet." "conquest thou shalt have!" she answered: "of the future i would ask, canst thou read my fate?" said ailill: "light indeed for me the task," said the dame: "the kine of dartaid, eocho's daughter, may be won: forty cows she owns; to gain them send to her thy princely son, orlam, whom that maiden loveth: let thy son to start prepare, forty youths from connaught with him, each of them a prince's heir: choose thou warriors stout and stately; i will give them garments bright, even those that decked the princes who so lately fell in fight: bridles, brooches, all i give thee; ere the morning sun be high thou shalt count that fairy treasure: to our country now we fly." swiftly to the son of tassa sped they thence, to corp the gray: on the northern bank of naymon was his hold, and there he lay; and before the men of munster, as their champion did he stand: he hath wrought-so runs the proverb-evil, longer than his hand. as to corp appeared the vision: "say," he cried, "what names ye boast!" "ruin, one is called," they answered; "one, the gathering of the host!" an assembled host i welcome," answered them the gray corp lee; "ruin i abhor": "and ruin," they replied, "is far from thee; thou shalt bring on sons of nobles, and of kings a ruin great": "fairy," said corp lee, the gray one, "tell me of that future fate." "easy is the task," she answered, "youths of every royal race that in connaught's land hath dwelling, come to-morrow to this place; munster's kine they hope to harry, for the munster princes fell yesterday with connaught fighting; and the hour i plainly ten: at the ninth hour of the morning shall they come: the band is small: have thou valiant men to meet them, and upon the raiders fall! munster's honour hath been tarnished! clear it by a glorious deed! thou shalt purge the shame if only in the foray thou succeed." "what should be my force?" he asked her: "take of heroes seven score for that fight," she said, "and with them seven times twenty warriors more: far from thee we now are flying; but shall meet thee with thy power when to-morrow's sun is shining; at the ninth, the fated hour." at the dawn, the time appointed, all those steeds and garments gay were in connaught, and they found them at the gate of croghan ay; all was there the fay had promised, all the gifts of which we told: all the splendour that had lately decked the princes they behold. doubtful were the men of connaught; some desired the risk to face; some to go refused: said ailill, "it should bring us to disgrace if we spurned such offered bounty": orlam his reproaches felt; sprang to horse; and towards the country rode, where eocho's daughter dwelt: and where flows the shannon river, near that water's southern shore, found her home; for as they halted, moated clew[fn# ] rose high before. [fn# ] spelt cliu. dartaid met them ere they halted, joyful there the prince to see: all the kine are not assembled, of their count is lacking three!" "tarry not for search," said orlam, "yet provision must we take on our steeds, for hostile munster rings us round. wilt home forsake, maiden? wilt thou ride beside us?" "i will go indeed," she said. then, with all thy gathered cattle, come with us; with me to wed! so they marched, and in the centre of their troop the kine were set, and the maiden rode beside them: but corp lee, the gray, they met; seven times twenty heroes with him; and to battle they must go, and the connaught nobles perished, fighting bravely with the foe: all the sons of connaught's princes, all the warriors with them died: orlam's self escaped the slaughter, he and eight who rode beside: yet he drave the cows to croghan; ay, and fifty heifers too! but, when first the foe made onset, they the maid in battle slew. near a lake, did eocho's[fn# ] daughter, dartaid, in the battle fall, from that lake, and her who perished, hath been named that region all: emly darta is that country; tain bo dartae is the tale: and, as prelude, 'tis recited, till the cualgne[fn# ] raid they hail. [fn# ] pronounced yeo-ho. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. the raid for dartaid's cattle literal translation the passages that occur only in the yellow book (y.b.l.) are indicated by being placed in square brackets. eocho bec, the son of corpre, king of cliu, dwelt in the dun of cuillne,[fn# ] and with him were forty fosterlings, all sons of the kings of munster; he had also forty milch-cows for their sustenance. by ailill and medb messengers were sent, asking him to come to a conference. "[in a week,"][fn# ] said eocho, "i will go to that conference;" and the messengers departed from him. [fn# ] the eleventh century ms., the leabhar na h-uidhri, which gives the first four lines of this tale as a fragment, adds here as a note: "this is in the land of the o'cuanach": apparently the o'briens of cuanach. [fn# ] at samhuin day (egerton). one night eocho lay there in his sleep, when he saw something approach him; a woman, and a young man in her attendance. "ye are welcome!" said eocho. ["knowest thou us?"] said she, "where hast thou learned to know us?" "it seems to me as if i had been near to you." "i think that we have been very near to one another, though we have not seen each other face to face!" "in what place do ye dwell?" said eocho. "yonder in sid cuillne (the fairy mound of cuillne)," said she. "and, wherefore have ye come?" "in order to give thee counsel," said she. for what purpose is the counsel," said he, "that thou givest me?" "something," she said, "that will bring thee honour and renown on thy journey at home and abroad. a stately troop shall be round thee, and goodly foreign horses shall be under thee."[fn# ] "with how many shall i go?" said eocho. "fifty horsemen is the number that is suitable for thee," she answered. [fn# ] y.b.l. adds a passage that windisch does not translate: it seems to run thus: "unknown to thee is the half of what thou hast met: it seems to us that foreign may be thy splendour"(?) "to-morrow in the morning fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver, shall come to thee from me; and with them fifty sets of equipment of the equipment of the side; and all of thy foster-children shall go with thee; well it becomes us to help thee, because thou art valiant in the defence of our country and our soil." then the woman left him. early in the morning they arise, there they see something: the fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver tied fast to the gate of the castle, also fifty breeches of silver with embellishment of gold; and fifty youths' garments with their edges of spun gold, and fifty white horses with red ears and long tails, purple-red were all their tails and their manes, with silver bits (?)[fn# ] and foot-chains of brass upon each horse; there were also fifty whips of white bronze (findruine), with end pieces of gold that thereby they might be taken into hands.[fn# ] [fn# ] co m-belgib (?) windisch translates "bridles," the same as cona srianaib above. [fn# ] y.b.l. adds, "through wizardry was all that thing: it was recited (?) how great a thing had appeared, and he told his dream to his people." then king eocho arises, and prepares himself (for the journey): they depart with this equipment to cruachan ai:[fn# ] and the people were well-nigh overcome with their consequence and appearance: their troop was great, goodly, splendid, compact: [fifty heroes, all with that appearance that has just been related. "how is that man named?" said ailill. "not hard, eocho bec, the king of cliu." they entered the liss (outer court), and the royal house; welcome was given to them, he remained there three days and three nights at the feasting.] [fn# ] egerton here gives "ailill and medb made them welcome;" it omits the long passage in square brackets. "wherefore have i have been invited to come?" said eocho to ailill: "to learn if i can obtain a gift from thee," said ailill; "for a heavy need weighs upon me, even the sustenance of the men of ireland for the bringing of the cattle from cualgne." "what manner of gift is it that thou desirest?" said eocho. "nothing less than a gift of milking-kine," said ailill. "there is no superfluity of these in my land," said eocho; "i have forty fosterlings, sons of the kings of munster, to bring them up (to manhood); they are here in my company, there are forty cows to supply the needs of these, to supply my own needs are seven times twenty milch-cows [there are fifty men for this cause watching over them]. "let me have from thee," said ailill, "one cow from each farmer who is under thy lordship as my share; moreover i will yield thee assistance if at any time thou art oppressed by superior might." "thus let it be as thou sayest," said eocho; "moreover, they shall come to thee this very day." for three days and three nights they were hospitably entertained by ailill and medb, and then they departed homewards, till they met the sons of glaschu, who came from irross donnan (the peninsula of donnan, now mayo); the number of those who met them was seven times twenty men, and they set themselves to attack each other, and to strive with each other in combat, and [at the island of o'conchada (inse ua conchada)] they fought together. in that place fell the forty sons of kings round eocho bec, and that news was spread abroad over all the land of ireland, so that four times twenty kings' sons, of the youths of munster, died, sorrowing for the deaths of these princes. on another night, as ailill lay in his sleep, upon his bed, he saw some thing, a young man and a woman, the fairest that could be found in ireland. "who are ye?" said ailill. "victory and defeat are our names," she said. "victory indeed is welcome to me, but not so defeat," said ailill. "victory shall be thine in each form!" said she. ["what is the next thing after this that awaits us?" said ailill. "not hard to tell thee," said she] "let men march out from thy palace in the morning, that thou mayest win for thyself the cattle of dartaid, the daughter of eocho. forty is the number of her milch-cows, it is thine own son, orlam mac ailill, whom she loves. let orlam prepare for his journey with a stately troop of valiant men, also forty sons of those kings who dwell in the land of connaught; and by me shall be given to them the same equipment that the other youths had who fell in yon fight, bridles and garments and brooches; [early in the morning shall count of the treasure be made, and now we go to our own land," said she]. then they depart from him, and forthwith they go to [corp[fn# ] liath (the gray),] who was the son of tassach. his castle was on the bank of the river nemain, upon the northern side, he was a champion of renown for the guarding of the men of munster; longer than his hand is the evil he hath wrought. to this man also they appeared, and "what are your names?" said he: "tecmall and coscrad (gathering of hosts, and destruction)," said they. "gathering of hosts is indeed good," said corp liath, "an evil thing is destruction": "there will be no destruction for thee, and thou shalt destroy the sons of kings and nobles": "and what," said corp liath, "is the next thing to be done?" [fn# ] the egerton ms. gives the name, corb cliach. "that is easy to say," they said;[fn# ] "each son of a king and a queen, and each heir of a king that is in connaught, is now coming upon you to bear off cows from your country, for that the sons of your kings and queens have fallen by the hand of the men of connaught. to-morrow morning, at the ninth hour they will come, and small is their troop; so if valiant warriors go thither to meet them, the honour of munster shall be preserved; if indeed thine adventure shall meet with success." [fn# ] y.b.l. gives the passage thus: "assemble with you the sons of kings, and heirs of kings, that you may destroy the sons of kings and heirs of kings." "who are they?" said corp liath. "a noble youth it is from connaught: he comes to yon to drive your cows before him, after that your young men were yesterday destroyed by him, at the ninth hour of the morning they will come to take away the cows of darta, the daughter of eocho." "with what number should i go?" he said. "seven times twenty heroes thou shouldest take with thee," she replied, ["and seven times twenty warriors besides"]: "and now" said the woman, "we depart to meet thee to-morrow at the ninth hour." at the time (appointed), when morning had come, the men of connaught saw the horses and the raiment of which we have spoken, at the gate of the fort of croghan, [even as she (the fairy) had foretold, and as we have told, so that at that gate was all she had promised, and all that had been seen on the sons of kings aforetime], and there was a doubt among the people whether they should go on that quest or not. "it is shame," said ailill, "to refuse a thing that is good"; and upon that orlam departed [till[fn# ] he came to the house of dartaid, the daughter of eocho, in cliu classach (cliu the moated), on the shannon upon the south (bank). [fn# ] egerton version has only "towards chu till he came to the home of dartaid, the daughter of eocho: the maiden rejoiced," &c. from this point to the end the version in the yellow book is much fuller. [there they halted], and the maiden rejoiced at their coming: "three of the kine are missing." "we cannot wait for these; let the men take provision on their horses, [for rightly should we be afraid in the midst of munster. wilt thou depart with me, o maiden?" said he. "i will indeed go with thee," said she]. "come then thou," said he, "and with thee all of thy cows." [then the young men go away with the cows in the midst, and the maiden was with them; but corp liath, the son of tassach, met them with seven times twenty warriors to oppose their march. a battle was fought], and in that place fell the sons of the kings of connaught, together with the warriors who had gone with them, all except orlam and eight others,[fn# ] who carried away with them the kine, even the forty milch-cows, and fifty heifers, [so that they came into the land of connaught]; but the maiden fell at the beginning of the fight. [fn# ] y.b.l. inserts dartaid's death at this point: "and dartaid fell at the beginning of the fight, together with the stately sons of connaught." hence is that place called imlech dartaid, (the lake shore of darta), in the land of cliu, [where dartaid, the daughter of eocho, the son of corpre, fell: and for this reason this story is called the tain bo dartae, it is one of the preludes to the tain bo cualnge]. the raid for the cattle of regamon introduction the two versions of this tale, given by windisch in the irische texte, ii. pp. - , are from the same manuscripts as the two versions of the raid of the cattle of dartaid; namely the yellow book of lecan, and the egerton ms. . in the case of this tale, the yellow book version is more legible, and, being not only the older, but a little more full than the other version, windisch has translated this text alone: the prose version, as given here, follows this manuscript, nearly as given by windisch, with only one addition from the egerton ms.; the omissions in the egerton ms. are not mentioned, but one or two changes in words adopted from this ms. are mentioned in the foot-notes to the prose rendering. the whole tone of the tale is very unlike the tragic character of those romances, which have been sometimes supposed to represent the general character of old irish literature: there is not even a hint of the super-natural; the story contains no slaughter; the youthful raiders seem to be regarded as quite irresponsible persons, and the whole is an excellent example of an old celtic: romance with what is to-day called a "good ending." the raid for the cattle of regamon from the yellow book of lecan (a manuscript of the fourteenth century) when ailill and maev in the connaught land abode, and the lordship held, a chief who many a field possessed in the land of connaught dwelled: a great, and a fair, and a goodly herd of kine had the chieftain won: and his fame in the fight was in all men's word; his name was regamon. now seven daughters had regamon; they dwelt at home with their sire: yet the seven sons of king ailill and maev their beauty with love could fire: all those seven sons were as mani[fn# ] known; the first was as morgor hailed, for his love was great: it was mingar's fate that in filial love he failed: the face was seen of the mother-queen on the third; and his father's face did the fourth son show: they the fifth who know cannot speak all his strength and grace: the sixth son spoke, from his lips the words like drops of honey fell: and last came one who all gifts possessed that the tongue of a man can tell; for his father's face that mani had, in him was his mother seen; and in him abode every grace bestowed on the king of the land or the queen. [fn# ] pronounced mah-nee. of the daughters of regamon now we speak: two names those maidens bore: for as dunnan three ever known shall be; dunlaith[fn# ] was the name for four: and in breffny's land is the ford dunlaith, and the fame of the four recalls; the three ye know where the dunnan's flow in western connaught falls. with fergus, ailill and maev were met: as at council all conferred; "it were well for our folk," thus ailill spoke, "if the lord of that cattle-herd, that strays in the fields of regamon, would tribute to us pay: and to gain that end, let us heralds send, to his burg who may make their way, and bear to our court that tribute back; for greatly we soon shall need such kine when we in the time of war our hosts shall have to feed; and all who share in our counsels know that a burden will soon be mine, when the men must be fed of ireland, led on the raid for the cuailgne[fn# ] kine!" thus ailill spoke; and queen maev replied, "the men to perform that task right well i know; for our sons will go, if we for their aid but ask! the seven daughters of regamon do the mani in love now seek: if those maidens' hands they can gain by the deed, they will heed the words we speak." to his side king ailill has called his sons, his mind to the youth he shows. "best son," says maev, "and grateful he, from filial love who goes!" and morgor said, "for the love that we owe, we go at our sire's behest:" "yet a greater reward," thus mingar spake, "must be ours, if we go on this quest! for naught have we of hero-craft; and small shall be found our might; and of valiant breed are the men," said he, "with whom we shall have to fight. [fn# ] pronounced dun-lay. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. as men from the shelter of roof who go, and must rest in the open field, so thy sons shall stand, if they come to a land where a foe might be found concealed! we have dwelt till now in our father's halls, too tenderly cared for far: nor hath any yet thought, that to us should be taught the arts that belong to war!" queen maev and ailill their sons have sped, away on the quest they went, with seven score men for the fight, whom the queen for help of her sons had sent: to the south of the connaught realm they reached, the burg that they sought was plain for to ninnus land they had come, and were nigh to the corcomroe domain. "from our band," said mani morgor, "some must go, of that burg to learn how entrance we may attain to win, and back with the news return we must test the strength of the maidens' love!" on mingar the task was set, and with two beside him, he searched the land, till three of the maids they met: by springs of water they found the maids, drew swords, and against them leapt! "o grant our lives!" was the maiden's cry, "and your lives shall be safely kept!" "for your lives," he said, "will ye grant a boon, set forth in three words of speech?" "at our hands," said she, "shall granted be, whatever thy tongue shall teach; yet ask not cattle; those kine have we no power to bestow, i fear": "why, 'tis for the sake of the kine," he said, "that all of us now are here!" "who art thou then?" from her faltering broke: "mani mingar am i," he replied; i am son to king ailill and maev: and to me thou art welcome," the maiden cried; "but why have ye come to this land?" said she: for kine and for brides," he said, have we come to seek: and 'tis right," said she, such demands in a speech to wed: yet the boon that you ask will our folk refuse, and hard will your task be found; for a valiant breed shall you meet, i fear, in the men who guard this ground!" "give your aid," he said, "then as friends: but time," said she, "we must have for thought; for a plan must be made, e'er thy word be obeyed, and the kine to thy hands be brought: have ye journeyed here with a force of men? how great is the strength of your band?" "seven score are there here for the fight," he said, "the warriors are near at hand!" "wait here," said she; "to my sisters four i go of the news to tell: "and with thee we side!" all the maidens cried, "and we trust we shall aid thee well," away from the princes the maidens sped, they came to their sisters four, and thus they spoke: "from the connaught land come men, who are here at your door; the sons of ailill and maev have come; your own true loves are they!" "and why have they come to this land?" they said; "for kine and for brides, they say, have they come to seek:" "and with zeal their wish would we joyfully now fulfil if but powers to aid were but ours," they said, "which would match with our right good will: but i fear the youths in this burg who dwell, the plans that we make may foil; or far from the land may chase that band, and drive them away from their spoil!" "will ye follow us now, with the prince to speak?" they willingly gave consent, and together away to the water-springs the seven maidens went. they greeted mani; "now come!" said he, "and bring with you out your herds: and a goodly meed shall reward your deed, if you but obey my words; for our honour with sheltering arms is nigh, and shall all of you safely keep, ye seven daughters of regamon!" the cattle, the swine, and sheep together the maidens drove; none saw them fly, nor to stay them sought, till safe to the place where the mani stood, the herd by the maids was brought. the maidens greeted the sons of maev, and each by her lover stood; and then morgor spoke: "into twain this herd of kine to divide were good, at the briuin[fn# ] ford should the hosts unite; too strait hath the path been made for so vast a herd": and to morgor's word they gave heed, and his speech obeyed. now it chanced that regamon, the king, was far from his home that day, for he to the corco baiscinn land had gone, for a while to stay; [fn# ] pronounced brewin. with the firbolg[fn# ] clans, in debate, he sat; and a cry as the raiders rode, was behind him raised: to the king came men, who the news of that plunder showed: then the king arose, and behind his foes he rode, and o'ertook their flight, and on mani morgor his host pressed hard, and they conquered his men in the fight. "to unite our band," thus morgor cried, "fly hence, and our comrades find! call the warriors back from the cattle here, and leave the maids behind; bid the maidens drive to our home the herd as far as the croghan fort, and to ailill and maev of our perilous plight let the maidens bear report." the maidens went to the croghan fort, to maev with their news they pressed: "thy sons, o maev, at the briuin ford are pent, and are sore distressed, and they pray thee to aid them with speed": and maev her host for the war prepared, with ailill the warriors of connaught came; and fergus beside them fared, and the exiles came, who the ulster name still bore, and towards that ford all that host made speed, that their friends in need might escape from the vengeful sword. [fn# ] pronounced feer-bol. now ailill's sons, in the pass of that ford, had hurdles strongly set: and regamon failed through the ford to win, ere ailill's troops were met: of white-thorn and of black-thorn boughs were the hurdles roughly framed, and thence the name of the ford first came, that the hurdle ford is named; for, where the o'feara[fn# ] aidne folk now dwell, can ye plainly see in the land of beara[fn# ] the less, that ford, yet called ath[fn# ] clee maaree, in the north doth it stand; and the connaught land divideth from corcomroe; and thither, with regamon's troops to fight, did ailill's army go. [fn# ] pronounced o'fayra ain-ye. [fn# ] pronounced bayra. [fn# ] spelt ath cliath medraidi. ath is pronounced like ah. then a truce they made; to the youths, that raid who designed, they gave back their lives; and the maidens fair all pardoned were, who had fled with the youths, as wives, who had gone with the herd, by the maids conferred on the men who the kine had gained: but the kine, restored to their rightful lord, in regamon's hands remained; the maiden band in the connaught land remained with the sons of maev; and a score of cows to each maiden's spouse the maidens' father gave: as his daughters' dower, did their father's power his right in the cows resign, that the men might be fed of ireland, led on the raid for the cualgne[fn# ] kine. this tale, as the tain bo regamon, is known in the irish tongue; and this lay they make, when the harp they wake, ere the cualgne raid be sung. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. the raid for the cattle of regamon literal translation in the time of ailill and medb, a glorious warrior and holder of land dwelt in the land of connaught, and his name was regamon. he had many herds of cattle, all of them fair and well-shaped: he had also seven daughters with him. now the seven sons of ailill and medb loved these (daughters): namely the seven maine, these were maine morgor (maine with great filial love), maine mingar (maine with less filial love), maine aithremail (maine like his father), maine mathremail (maine like his mother), maine milbel (maine with the mouth of honey),[fn# ] maine moepert (maine too great to be described), maine condageb-uile (maine who combined all qualities): now this one had the form both of father and mother, and had all the glory that belonged to both parents. [fn# ] the name of maine annai, making an eighth son, is given in y.b.l., but not in the egerton ms. the seven daughters of regamon were the three dunann, and the four dunlaith;[fn# ] from the names of these is the estuary of dunann in western connaught, and the ford of dunlaith in breffny. [fn# ] so egerton, which windisch follows here; the reading of y.b.l. is dunmed for the daughters, and dumed for the corresponding ford. now at a certain time, ailill and medb and fergus held counsel together. "some one from us," said ailill, "should go to regamon, that a present of cattle may be brought to us from him; to meet the need that there is on us for feeding the men of ireland, when the kine are raided from cualgne." "i know," said medb, "who would be good to go thither, if we ask it of them; even the maine; on account of their love for the daughters." his sons were called to ailill, and he spoke with them. "grateful is he, and a better journey does he go," said maev, "who goes for the sake of his filial love." "truly it shall be that it is owing to filial love that we go," said mani morgor. "but the reward should (also) for this be the better," said mani mingar; "it stands ill with our heroism, ill with our strength. it is like going from a house into the fields, (going) into the domains or the land of foes. too tenderly have we been brought up; none hath let us learn of wars; moreover the warriors are valiant towards whom we go!" they took leave of ailill and medb, and betook themselves to the quest. they set out, seven times twenty heroes was the number, till they were in the south of connaught, in the neighbourhood of the domain of corcomroe[fn# ] in the land of ninnus, near to the burg. "some of you," said mani morgor, "should go to find out how to enter into the burg; and to test the love of maidens." mani mingar, with two others, went until he came upon three of the maidens at the water-springs, and at once he and his comrades drew their swords against them. "give life for life!" said the maiden. "grant to me then my three full words!" said mani mingar. "whatever thy tongue sets forth shall be done," said the maiden, "only let it not be cows,[fn# ] for these have we no power to give thee." "for these indeed," said mani, "is all that now we do."[fn# ] [fn# ] properly "coremodruad," the descendants of modh ruadh, third son of fergus by maev; now corcomroe in county clare. [fn# ]"only let it not be cows" is in the egerton ms. alone. [fn# ] "that we do" is egerton ms. (cich indingnem), y.b.l. has "cechi m-bem." "who art thou?" said she: "mani mingar, son of ailill and medb," said he: "welcome then," she said, "but what hath brought with you here?" "to take with us cattle and maidens," he said: "'tis right," she said, "to take these together; (but) i fear that what has been demanded will not be granted, the men are valiant to whom you have come." "let your entreaties be our aid!" he said. "we would desire," she said, "that it should be after that counsel hath been taken that we obey you." "what is your number?" said she: "seven times twenty heroes," he said, "are with us." "remain here," she said, "that we may speak with the other maidens": "we shall assist you," said the maidens, "as well as we can." they went from them, and came to the other maidens, and they said to them: "young heroes from the lands of connaught are come to you, your own true loves, the seven sons of ailill and medb." "wherefore are they come?" "to take back with them cattle and wives." "that would we gladly have, if only we could; (but) i fear that the warriors will hinder them or drive them away," said she. "go ye out, that ye may speak with the man." "we will speak with him," they said. the seven maidens went to the well, and they greeted mani. "come ye away," he said, "and bring your cattle with you. that will be a good deed. we shall assist you with our honour and our protection, o ye daughters of regamon," said he.[fn# ] the maidens drove together their cows and their swine, and their sheep, so that none observed them; and they secretly passed on till they came to the camp of their comrades. the maidens greeted the sons of ailill and medb, and they remained there standing together. "the herd must be divided in two parts," said mani merger, "also the host must divide, for it is too great to travel by the one way; and we shall meet again at ath briuin (the ford of briuin)." so it was done. [fn# ] windisch conjectures this instead of "said the warriors," which is in the text of y.b.l. king regamon was not there on that day. he was in the domain of corco baiscinn,[fn# ] to hold a conference with the firbolgs. his people raised a cry behind him, message was brought to regamon, and he went in pursuit with his army. the whole of the pursuing host overtook mani morgor, and brought defeat upon him. [fn# ] in the south-west of clare. "we all," said mani, "must go to one place, and some of you shall be sent to the cattle to summon the young men hither, and the maidens shall drive the cattle over the ford to cruachan, and shall give ailill and medb tidings of the plight in which we are here." the maidens went to cruachan, and told all the tale. "thy sons are at ath briuin in distress, and have said that help should be brought to them." the men of connaught with ailill, and medb, and fergus, and the banished men of ulster went to ath briuin to help their people. the sons of ailill had for the moment made hurdles of white-thorn and black-thorn in the gut[fn# ] of the ford, as defence against regamon and his people, so that they were unable to pass through the ford ere ailill and his army came; so thence cometh the name ath cliath medraidi[fn# ] (the hurdle ford of medraide), in the country of little bethra in the northern part of the o'fiachrach aidne between connaught and corcomroe. there they met together with all their hosts. [fn# ] literally "mouth." [fn# ] ath cliath oc medraige, now maaree, in ballycourty parish, co. galway (stokes, bodleian dinnshenchus, ). it may be mentioned that in the dinnshenchus, the cattle are said to have been taken "from dartaid, the daughter of regamon in munster," thus confusing the raids of regamon and dartaid, which may account for o'curry's incorrect statement in the preface to leabhar na h-uidhri, p. xv. a treaty was then made between them on account of the fair young men who had carried off the cattle, and on account of the fair maidens who had gone with them, by whose means the herd escaped. restitution of the herd was awarded to regamon, and the maidens abode with the sons of ailill and medb; and seven times twenty milch-cows were given up, as a dowry for the maidens, and for the maintenance of the men of ireland on the occasion of the assembly for the tain bo cualnge; so that this tale is called the tain bo regamon, and it is a prelude to the tale of the tain bo cualnge. finit, amen. the driving of the cattle of flidais introduction the tain bo flidais, the driving of the cows of flidais, does not, like the other three preludes to the tain bo cualnge, occur in the yellow book of lecan; but its manuscript age is far the oldest of the four, as it occurs in both the two oldest collections of old irish romance, the leabbar na h-uidhri (abbreviated to l.u.), and the book of leinster (abbreviated to l.l.), besides the fifteenth century egerton ms., that contains the other three preludes. the text of all three, together with a translation of the l.u. text, is given by windisch in irische texte, ii. pp. - ; the first part of the story is missing in l.u. and is supplied from the book of leinster (l.l.) version. the prose translation given here follows windisch's translation pretty closely, with insertions occasionally from l.l. the egerton version agrees closely with l.l., and adds little to it beyond variations in spelling, which have occasionally been taken in the case of proper names. the leabhar na h-uidhri version is not only the oldest, but has the most details of the three; a few passages have, however, been supplied from the other manuscripts which agree with l.u. in the main. the whole tale is much more like an old border riding ballad than are the other three preludes; it resembles the tone of regamon, but differs from it in having a good deal of slaughter to relate, though it can hardly be called tragic, like deirdre and ferb, the killing being taken as a matter of course. there is nothing at all supernatural about the story as contained in the old manuscripts, but a quite different' version of the story given in the glenn masain manuscript, a fifteenth century manuscript now in the advocates' library, edinburgh, gives another complexion to the tale. the translation of this manuscript is at present being made in the celtic review by professor mackinnon; the version it gives of the story is much longer and fuller than that in the leabhar na h-uidhri, and its accompanying manuscripts. the translation as printed in the celtic review is not as yet (july ) completed, but, through professor mackinnon's kindness, an abstract of the general features of the end of the story may be given here. the glenn masain version makes bricriu, who is a subordinate character in the older version, one of the principal actors, and explains many of the allusions which are difficult to understand in the shorter version; but it is not possible to regard the older version as an abridgment of that preserved in the glenn masain ms., for the end of the story in this manuscript is absolutely different from that in the older ones, and the romance appears to be unique in irish in that it has versions which give two quite different endings, like the two versions of kipling's the light that failed. the glenn masain version commences with a feast held at cruachan, when fergus and his exiles had joined their forces with connaught as a result of the murder of the sons of usnach, as told in the earlier part of the manuscript. at this feast bricriu. engages in conversation with fergus, reproaching him for his broken promises to the ulstermen who had joined him, and for his dalliance with queen maev. bricriu, who in other romances is a mere buffoon, here appears as a distinguished poet, and a chief ollave; his satire remains bitter, but by no means scurrilous, and the verses put into his mouth, although far beneath the standard of the verses given to deirdre in the earlier part of the manuscript, show a certain amount of dignity and poetic power. as an example, the following satire on fergus's inability to keep his promises may be cited:-- fergus, hear thy friend lamenting! blunted is thy lofty mind; thou, for hire, to maev consenting, hast thy valour's pride resigned. ere another year's arriving, should thy comrades, thou didst vow, three-score chariots fair be driving, shields and weapons have enow! when thy ladies, bent on pleasure, crowd towards the banquet-hall, thou of gold a goodly measure promised hast to grant to all! ill to-night thy friends are faring, naught hath fergus to bestow; he a poor man's look is wearing, never yet was greater woe! after the dialogue with fergus, bricriu, with the poets that attend him, undertakes a journey to ailill the fair, to obtain from him the bounty that fergus had promised but was unable to grant. he makes a fairly heavy demand upon ailill's bounty, but is received hospitably, and gets all he had asked for, as well as honour for his poetic talents. he then asks about ailill's wife flidais, and is told about her marvellous cow, which was able to supply milk to more than three hundred men at one night's milking. flidais returns from a journey, is welcomed by bricriu, who produces a poem in honour of her and her cow, and is suitably recompensed. a long conversation is then recorded between flidais and bricriu in which bricriu extols the great deeds of fergus, supplying thereby a commentary on the short statement at the beginning of the older version, that flidais' love to fergus was on account of the great deeds which had been told her that he had done. flidais declares to bricriu her love for fergus, and bricriu, after a vain attempt to dissuade the queen from her purpose, consents to bring a message to fergus that flidais and her cow will come to him if he comes to her husband's castle to seek her. he then returns to connaught laden with gifts. the story now proceeds somewhat upon the lines of the older version. bricriu approaches fergus on his return, and induces him to go in the guise of an ambassador to ailill the fair, with the secret intention of carrying off flidais. fergus receives the sanction of maev and her husband for his errand, and departs, but not as in the older version with a few followers; all the ulster exiles are with him. dubhtach, by killing a servant of maev, embroils fergus with the queen of connaught; and the expedition reaches ailill the fair's castle. fergus sends bricriu, who has most unwillingly accompanied him, to ask for hospitality; he is hospitably received by ailill, and when under the influence of wine reveals to ailill the plot. ailill does not, as in the older version, refuse to receive fergus, but seats him beside himself at a feast, and after reproaching him with his purpose challenges him to a duel in the morning. the result of the duel, and of the subsequent attack on the castle by fergus' friends, is much as stated in the older version, but the two stories end quite differently. the l.u. version makes flidais assist in the war of cualgne by feeding the army of ailill each seventh day with the produce of her cows; she dies after the war as wife of fergus; the glenn masain version, in the "pursuit of the cattle of flidais," makes the gamanrad clan, the hero-clan of the west of ireland, pursue maev and fergus, and rescue flidais and her cow; flidais then returns to the west with muiretach menn, the son of her murdered husband, ailill the fair. the comparison of these two versions, from the literary point of view, is most interesting. the stress laid on the supernatural cow is peculiar to the version in the later manuscript, the only analogy in the eleventh century version is the semi-supernatural feeding of the army of ireland, but in this it is a herd (buar), not a single animal, that is credited with the feat, and there is really nothing supernatural about the matter; it is only the other version that enables us to see the true bearing of the incident. the version in the glenn masain manuscript looks much more ancient in idea than that in the older texts, and is plainly capable of a mythic interpretation. it is not of course suggested that the glenn masain version is ancient as it stands: there are indeed enough obvious allusions in the text to comparatively late works to negative such a supposition, independently of linguistic evidence, but it does look as if the author of the eleventh century text had a super natural tale to work upon, some of whose incidents are preserved in the glenn masain version, and that he succeeded in making out of the traditional account a story that practically contains no supernatural element at all, so that it requires a knowledge of the other version to discover the slight trace of the supernatural that he did keep, viz. the feeding of the army of ireland by the herd (not the cow) of flidais. it is possible that the common origin of the two versions is preserved for us in another place, the coir annam, which, though it as it stands is a middle irish work, probably keeps ancient tradition better than the more finished romances. in this we find, following stokes' translation, given in irische texte, iii. p. , the following entries:-- "adammair flidaise foltchain, that is flidais the queen, one of the tribe of the god-folk (the tuatha de danaan), she was wife of adammair, the son of fer cuirp, and from her cometh the name buar flidaise, the cattle of flidais. "nia segamain, that is seg (deer) are a main (his treasure), for in his time cows and does were milked in the same way every day, so that he had great wealth in these things beyond that of all other kings. the flidais spoken of above was the mother of nia segamain, adammair's son, for two kinds of cattle, cows and does, were milked in the days of nia segamain, and by his mother was that fairy power given to him." it seems, then, not impossible that the original legend was much as stated in the coir annam, viz. that flidais was a supernatural being, milking wild deer like cows, and that she was taken into the ulster cycle and made part of the tale of fergus. this adoption was done by an author who made a text which may be regarded as the common original of the two versions; in his tale the supernatural character of flidais was retained. the author of the l.u. version cut out the supernatural part, and perhaps the original embassy of bricriu; it may, however, be noted that the opening of the older version comes from the l.l. text, which is throughout shorter than that in l.u., and the lost opening of l.u. may have been fuller. the author of the glenn masain version kept nearer to the old story, adding, however, more modern touches. where the new character of bricriu comes from is a moot point; i incline to the belief that the idea of bricriu as a mere buffoon is a later development. but in neither version is the story, as we have it, a pre-christian one. the original pre-christian idea of flidais was, as in the coir annam, that of a being outside the ulster cycle altogether. the driving of the cattle of flidais from the leabhar na h-uidhri (eleventh-century ms.), the beginning and a few additions from the book of leinster (twelfth century) a land in west roscommon, as kerry known of old, was ruled by ailill fair-haired; of him a tale is told: how flidais,[fn# ] ailill's[fn# ] consort, each week, and near its end, to ro's great son, to fergus, her herald still would send; 'twas fergus' love she sought for; the deeds by fergus done, in glorious tales recited, had flidais' fancy won. [fn# ] pronounced flid-das. [fn# ] pronounced al-ill. when fergus fled from ulster, and connaught's land he sought, to ailill, king of connaught, this tale of love he brought: "now give me rede," said fergus, "how best we here should act, that connaught's fame and honour by none may stand attacked; say, how can i approach them, and strip thy kingdom bare, and yet the fame of ailill, that country's monarch, spare?" "'tis hard indeed to teach thee," cried ailill, sore perplexed; "let maev come nigh with counsel what course to follow next!" "send thou to ailill fair-haired to ask for aid!" said maev, "he well may meet a herald, who comes his help to crave let fergus go to crave it: no harm can there be seen; and better gifts from ailill shall fergus win, i ween!" so forth to ailill fair-haired went fergus, son of ro; and thirty, dubhtach[fn# ] leading, he chose with him to go; and yet another fergus his aid to fergus brought; mac oonlama[fn# ] men called him; his sire one-handed fought. [fn# ] pronounced doov-ta. [fn# ] spelt mac oenlama, son of the one-handed one. beside the ford of fenna, in kerry's north they came, they neared the hold, and from it rang welcome's loud acclaim: "what quest," said ailill fair-haired, "hath brought these warriors here?" "of ailill, son of magach, we stand," they said, "in fear; a feud we hold against him; with thee would fain abide!" "for each of these," said ailill, "who fergus march beside, if they were foes to connaught, for long they here might stay, and ne'er till peace was granted, i'd drive these men away: for fergus, naught i grant him a tale of him men tell that fergus 'tis whom flidais, my wife, doth love too well!" "it is kine that i ask for," said fergus, "and hard is the task on me set: for the men who have marched here beside me, the means to win life i must get." "i will give no such present," said ailill," thou comest not here as my guest: men will say, 'twas from fear that i gave it, lest my wife from my arms thou should'st wrest: yet an ox of my herds, and some bacon, if thou wilt, shall my hand to thee give; that the men who have marched here beside thee on that meat may be stayed, and may live!" "i eat no bread thus thrown me!" fierce fergus straight replied: "i asked a gift of honour; that gift thine hand denied." "avoid my house," said ailill in wrath, "now get thee hence! "we go indeed," said fergus; "no siege we now commence: yet here," he cried, "for duel beside yon ford i wait, if thou canst find a champion to meet me at thy gate." then up and answered ailill: "'tis mine this strife must be and none shall hurt mine honour, or take this task from me: none hold me back from battle!"--the ford for fight he sought: "now dubhtach, say," said fergus, "to whom this war is brought! or thou or i must meet him." and dubhtach said, "i go; for i am younger, fergus, and bolder far with foe." to the ford for the battle with ailill he hies, and he thrust at him fiercely, and pierced through his thighs; but a javelin by ailill at dubhtach was cast, and right through his body the shaft of it passed: and a shield over dubhtach, laid low in the dust, spread fergus; and ailill his spear at him thrust; and through fergus' shield had the spear made its way, when fergus mae oonlama joined in the fray, and his shield he uplifted, his namesake to guard; but at fergus mac oonlama ailill thrust hard, and he brake through the fence of mac oonlama's shield; and he leaped in his pain; as they lay on the field, on his comrades he fell: flidais forth to them flew, and her cloak on the warriors to shield them she threw. then against all the comrades of fergus turned ailill the fair-haired to fight, and he chased them away from his castle, and slew as they scattered in flight; a twenty he reached, and he slew them: they fell, on that field to remain; and but seven there were of that thirty who fled, and their safety could gain: they came to the palace of croghan, they entered the gates of that hold, and to maev and to ailill of connaught the tale of the slaughter they told. then roused himself king ailill, of connaught's land the king, with maev to march to battle, their aid to friends to bring: and forth from connaught's kingdom went many a lord of worth, beside them marched the exiles who gat from ulster birth: so forward went that army, and reached to kerry's land, and near the ford of fenna they came, and there made stand. while this was done, the wounded three within the hold lay still, and flidais cared for all, for she to heal their wounds had skill. to ailill fair-haired's castle the connaught host was led, and toward the foeman's ramparts the connaught herald sped; he called on ailill fair-haired to come without the gate, and there to meet king ailill, and with him hold debate. "i come to no such meeting," the angry chief replied; "yon man is far too haughty: too grossly swells his pride!" yet 'twas peaceful meeting, so the old men say, ailill willed; whose greeting heralds bore that day. fergus, ere he perished, first he sought to aid he that thought who cherished friendship's claims obeyed: then his foe he vainly hoped in truce to bind: peace, 'tis said, was plainly dear to connaught's mind! the wounded men, on litters laid, without the walls they bore to friendly hands, with skill to aid, and fainting health restore. at the castle of ailill the fair-haired the connaught-men rushed in attack, and to win it they failed: from his ramparts in defeat were his foes driven back: for long in that contest they struggled, yet naught in the fight they prevailed - for a week were the walls of the castle of ailill the fair-haired assailed, seven score of the nobles of connaught, and all of them warriors of might, for the castle of ailill contended, and fell as they strove in the fight. "'tis sure that with omen of evil this castle was sought by our folk!" thus bricroo,[fn# ] the poisonous scoffer, in mockery, jeering them, spoke: "the taunt," answered ailill mae mata, "is true, and with grief i confess that the fame of the heroes of ulster hereafter is like to be less, for a three of the ulstermen's champions in stress of the fight have been quelled; and the vengeance we wait for from ulster hath long been by ulster withheld; as a pillar of warfare each hero, 'twas claimed, could a battle sustain; yet by none of the three in this battle hath a foeman been conquered, or slain! in the future for all of these champions shall scorn and much mocking befall: one man hath come forth from yon castle; alone he hath wounded them all-- such disgrace for such heroes of valour no times that are past ever saw, for three lords of the battle lie conquered by mannikins, fashioned of straw!" [fn# ] spelt bricriu. the usual epithet of bricriu, "bricriu of the poison tongue," is indicated in the verse rendering. "ah! woe is me," said bricroo, "how long, thus stretched on ground, the length of father fergus hath here by all been found! but one he sought to conquer; a single fight essayed, and here he met his victor, and low on land is laid." then rose the men of ulster a hardy war to wage, and forward rushed, though naked, in strong and stubborn rage: against the castle gateway in wrathful might they dashed, and down the shattered portal within the castle crashed. then close by ulster's champions was connaught's battle formed; and connaught's troops with ulster by might the castle stormed; but fitly framed for battle were men whom there they met, wild war, where none showed pity between the hosts was set: and well they struck; each hero commenced with mighty blows to crush and slay, destruction was heaped by foe on foes. of the wounding at length and the slaughter all weary the champions had grown, and the men who the castle of ailill had held were at length over thrown: of those who were found in that castle, and its walls had defended so well, seven hundred by warriors of ulster were smitten to death, and they fell: and there in his castle fell ailill the fair-haired, and fighting he died, and a thirty of sons stood about him, and all met their death by his side. the chief of those who perished, by ailill's side who stood within his hold, were noodoo;[fn# ] and awley[fn# ] named the good; and feeho[fn# ] called the broad-backed; and corpre cromm the bent; an ailill, he from breffny to help of ailill went; a three whose name was angus-fierce was each warrior's face; three eochaid, sea-girt donnan[fn# ] had cradled erst their race; and there fell seven breslen, from plains of ay[fn# ] who came; and fifty fell beside them who all had donnell's name. [fn# ] spelt nuado. [fn# ] spelt amalgaid. [fn# ] spelt fiacho. [fn# ] irross donnan, the promontory of donnan (now mayo). [fn# ] mag ai, a plain in roscommon. for to ailill the fair-haired for warfare had marched all the gamanra[fn# ] clan, and his friends from the sea-girded donnan had sent to his aid every man; all these had with ailill been leaguered, their help to him freely they brought, and that aid from them ailill. took gladly, he knew that his hold would be sought; he knew that the exiles of ulster his captives from prison would save, and would come, their surrender demanding; that ailill mac mata and maev would bring all connaught's troops to the rescue: for fergus that aid they would lend, and fergus the succour of connaught could claim, and with right, as a friend. [fn# ] spelt gamanrad. hero clans in erin three of old were found; one in irross donnan, oceans donnan bound, thence came clan gamanra; deda's warlike clan nursed in tara loochra[fn# ] many a fighting man. deda sprang from munster; far in ulster's north oft from emain macha rury's[fn# ] clan went forth: vainly all with rury strove to fight, the twain rury's clan hath vanquished; rury all hath slain! [fn# ] temair luachra, an ancient palace near abbeyfeale, on the borders of the counties of limerick and kerry. "tara," as is well known, is a corruption of temair, but is now established. [fn# ] spelt rudraige. then rose up the warriors of ulster, the hold they had conquered to sack; and the folk of queen maev and king ailill followed close on the ulstermen's track: and they took with them captives; for flidais away from her castle they tore; and the women who dwelt in the castle away to captivity bore: and all things therein that were precious they seized on as booty; the gold and the silver they seized, and the treasures amassed by the men of that hold: the horns, and the goblets for drinking, the vats for the ale, and the keys, the gay robes with all hues that were glowing lay there for the raiders to seize: and much cattle they took; in that castle were one hundred of milk giving kine; and beside them a seven score oxen; three thousand of sheep and of swine. then flidais went with fergus, his wedded wife to be; for thus had maev and ailill pronounced their high decree: they bade that when from cualgne to drive the kine they went, from those who then were wedded should aid for war be sent. and thus it fell thereafter: when ireland went that raid, by milk from cows of flidais, the lives of all were stayed; each seventh day she sent it; and thus fulfilled her vows, and thus the tale is ended, men tell of flidais' cows. then, all that raid accomplished, with fergus flidais dwell and he of ulster's kingdom a part in lordship held: he ruled in mag i murthemne[fn# ], yea, more than that, he won the land where once was ruler cuchulain, sualtam's son: and by the shore of bali thereafter flidais died, and naught of good for fergus did flidais' death betide: for worse was all his household; if fergus aught desired, from flidais' wealth and bounty came all his soul required. in the days that followed, when his wife was dead, fergus went to connaught; there his blood was shed: there with maev and ailill he a while would stay; men had made a story, he would learn the lay! there he went to cheer him, hearing converse fair: kine beside were promised; home he these would bear: so he went to croghan, 'twas a deadly quest, there he found his slaughter, death within the west: slain by jealous ailill, fergus low was laid: flidais' tale is ended: now comes cualgne's raid! [fn# ] pronounced maw moortemmy the driving of the cattle of flidais literal translation flidais was the wife of ailill finn (the fair-haired) in the district of kerry.[fn# ] she loved fergus the son of rog on account of the glorious tales about him; and always there went messengers from her to him at the end of each week. [fn# ] kerry is the district now called castlereagh, in the west of the present county of roscommon. so, when he came to connaught, he brought this matter before[fn# ] ailill: "what[fn# ] shall i do next in this matter?" said fergus: "it is hard for me to lay bare your land, without there being loss to thee of honour and renown therewith." "yes, what shall we do next in the matter?" said ailill; "we will consider this in counsel with maev." "let one of us go to ailill finn," (said maev), "that he may help us, and as this involves a meeting of some one with him, there is no reason why it should not be thyself who goest to him: the gift will be all the better for that!" [fn# ] i.e. ailill of connaught. [fn# ] this sentence to the end is taken from the egerton version, which seems the clearer; the book of leinster gives: "what shall i do next, that there be no loss of honour or renown to thee in the matter?" then fergus set out thereon, in number thirty men; the two ferguses (i.e. fergus mac rog, and fergus mac oen-lama) and dubhtach; till they were at the ford of fenna in the north of the land of kerry. they go to the burg, and welcome is brought to them.[fn# ] "what brings you here?" said ailill finn. "we had the intention of staying with you on a visit, for we have a quarrel with ailill the son of magach." [fn# ] the book of the dun cow (leabhar na h-uidhri) version begins at this point. "if it were one of thy people who had the quarrel, he should stay with me until he had made his peace. but thou shalt not stay," said ailill finn, "it has been told me that my wife loves thee!" "we must have a gift of cows then," said fergus, "for a great need lies on us, even the sustenance of the troop who have gone with me into exile." "thou shalt carry off no such present from me," he said, "because thou art not remaining with me on a visit. men will say that it is to keep my wife that i gave thee what thou hast required. i[fn# ] will give to your company one ox and some bacon to help them, if such is your pleasure." "i will eat not thy bread although offered (lit. however)," said fergus, "because i can get no present of honour from thee!" [fn# ] l.l. and egerton make the end of this speech part of the story: "there was given to them one ox with bacon, with as much as they wished of beer, as a feast for them." "out of my house with you all, then!" said ailill. "that shall be," said fergus; "we shall not begin to lay siege to thee and they betake themselves outside. "let a man come at once to fight me beside a ford at the gate of this castle!" said fergus. "that[fn# ] will not for the sake of my honour be refused," said ailill; "i will not hand it (the strife) over to another: i will go myself," said he. he went to a ford against him. "which of us," said fergus, "o dubhtach, shall encounter this man?" "i will go," said dubhtach; "i am younger and keener than thou art!" dubhtach went against ailill. dubhtach thrust a spear through ailill so that it went through his two thighs. he (ailill) hurled a javelin at dubhtach, so that he drove the spear right through him, (so that it came out) on the other side. [fn# ] the end of the speech is from l.l.: the l.u. text gives the whole speech thus: "for my honour's sake, i could not draw back in this matter." fergus threw his shield over dubhtach. the former (ailill) thrust his spear at the shield of fergus so that he even drove the shaft right through it. fergus mac oen-laimi comes by. fergus mac oen-laimi holds a shield in front of him (the other fergus). ailill struck his spear upon this so that it was forced right through it. he leaped so that he lay there on the top of his companions. flidais comes by from the castle, and throws her cloak over the three. fergus' people took to flight; ailill pursues them. there remain (slain) by him twenty men of them. seven of them escape to cruachan ai, and tell there the whole story to ailill and medb. then ailill and medb arise, and the nobles of connaught and the exiles from ulster: they march into the district of kerry ai with their troops as far as: the ford of fenna. meanwhile the wounded men were being cared for by flidais in the castle, and their healing was undertaken by her. then the troops come to the castle. ailill finn is summoned to ailill mac mata to come to a conference with him outside the castle. "i will not go," he said; "the pride and arrogance of that man there is great." it was,[fn# ] however, for a peaceful meeting that ailill mac mata had come to ailill the fair-haired, both that he might save fergus, as it was right he should, and that he might afterwards make peace with him (ailill fair haired), according to the will of the lords of connaught. [fn# ] this passage is sometimes considered to be an interpolation by a scribe or narrator whose sympathies were with connaught. the passage does not occur in the book of leinster, nor in the egerton ms. then the wounded men were brought out of the castle, on hand-barrows, that they might be cared for by their own people. then the men attack him (ailill finn): while they are storming the castle, and they could get no hold on him, a full week long went it thus with them. seven times twenty heroes from among the nobles of connaught fell during the time that they (endeavoured) to storm the castle of ailill the fair-haired. "it was with no good omen that with which you went to this castle," said bricriu. "true indeed is the word that is spoken," said ailill mac mata. "the expedition is bad for the honour of the ulstermen, in that their three heroes fall, and they take not vengeance for them. each one (of the three) was a pillar of war, yet not a single man has fallen at the hands of one of the three! truly these heroes are great to be under such wisps of straw as axe the men of this castle! most worthy is it of scorn that one man has wounded you three!" "o woe is me," said bricriu, "long is the length upon the ground of my papa fergus, since one man in single combat laid him low!" then the champions of ulster arise, naked as they were, and make a strong and obstinate attack in their rage and in the might of their violence, so that they forced in the outer gateway till it was in the midst of the castle, and the men of connaught go beside them. they storm the castle with great might against the valiant warriors who were there. a wild pitiless battle is fought between them, and each man begins to strike out against the other, and to destroy him. then, after they had wearied of wounding and overcoming one another, the people of the castle were overthrown, and the ulstermen slay seven hundred warriors there in the castle with ailill the fair-haired and thirty of his sons; and amalgaid the good;[fn# ] and nuado; and fiacho muinmethan (fiacho the broad-backed); and corpre cromm (the bent or crooked); and ailill from brefne; and the three oengus bodbgnai (the faces of danger); and the three eochaid of irross (i.e. irross donnan); and the seven breslene from ai; and the fifty domnall. [fn# ] "the good" is in the book of leinster and the egerton text, not in the leabhar na h-uidhri: the two later texts omit nuado. for the assembly of the gamanrad were with ailill, and each of the men of domnan who had bidden himself to come to him to aid him: they were in the same place assembled in his castle; for he knew that the exiles from ulster and ailill and medb with their army would come to him to demand the surrender of fergus, for fergus was under their protection. this was the third race of heroes in ireland, namely the clan gamanrad of irross donnan (the peninsula of donnan), and (the other two were) the clan dedad in temair lochra, and the clan rudraige in emain macha. but both the other clans were destroyed by the clan rudraige. but the men of ulster arise, and with them the people of medb and of ailill; and they laid waste the castle, and take flidais out of the castle with them, and carry off the women of the castle into captivity; and they take with them all the costly things and the treasures that were there, gold and silver, and horns, and drinking cups, and keys, and vats; and they take what there was of garments of every colour, and they take what there was of kine, even a hundred milch-cows, and a hundred and forty oxen, and thirty hundred of little cattle. and after these things had been done, flidais went to fergus mac rog according to the decree of ailill and medb, that they might thence have sustenance (lit. that their sustenance might be) on the occasion of the raid of the cows of cualgne. as[fn# ] a result of this, flidais was accustomed each seventh day from the produce of her cows to support the men of ireland, in order that during the raid she might provide them with the means of life. this then was the herd of flidais. [fn# ] l.l. and egerton give "for him used every seventh day," &c. in consequence[fn# ] of all this flidais went with fergus to his home, and he received the lordship of a part of ulster, even mag murthemni (the plain of murthemne), together with that which had been in the hands of cuchulain, the son of sualtam. so flidais died after some time at trag bàli (the shore of bali), and the state of fergus' household was none the better for that. for she used to supply all fergus' needs whatsoever they might be (lit. she used to provide for fergus every outfit that he desired for himself). fergus died after some time in the land of connaught, after the death of his wife, after he had gone there to obtain knowledge of a story. for, in order to cheer himself, and to fetch home a grant of cows from ailill and medb, he had gone westwards to cruachan, so that it was in consequence of this journey that he found his death in the west, through the jealousy of ailill. [fn# ] l.l. and egerton give "thereafter," adopted in verse translation. this, then, is the story of the tain bo flidais; it[fn# ] is among the preludes of the tain bo cualnge. [fn# ] this sentence does not occur in the leabhar na h-uidhri. it is given as in the egerton version: the book of leinster gives "it is among the preludes of the tain." the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain (tain bo regamna) introduction this tale is given by the same two manuscripts that give the tain bo dartada and the tain bo regamon; namely the yellow book of lecan, and egerton . the text of both is given by windisch, irische texte, ii. pp. - ; he gives a translation of the version in the yellow book, with a few insertions from the egerton ms., where the version in y.b.l. is apparently corrupt: miss hull gives an english translation of windisch's rendering, in the cuchullin saga, pages to . the prose version given here is a little closer to the irish than miss hull's, and differs very little from that of windisch. the song sung by the morrigan to cuchulain is given in the irish of both versions by windisch; he gives no rendering, as it is difficult and corrupt: i can make nothing of it, except that it is a jeering account of the war of cualgne. the title tain bo regamna is not connected with anything in the tale, as given; windisch conjectures "tain bo morrigna," the driving of the cow of the great queen (morrigan); as the woman is called at the end of the egerton version. the morrigan, one of the three goddesses of war, was the chief of them: they were morrigan, badb, and macha. she is also the wife of the dagda, the chief god of the pagan irish. the yellow book version calls her badb in this tale, but the account in the tain bo cualnge (leabhar na h-uidhri facsimile, pp. and ), where the prophecies are fulfilled, agrees with the egerton version in calling the woman of this tale the morrigan or the great queen. the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain (also called "tain bo regamna") from the yellow book of lecan (fourteenth century) at dun imrid lay cuchulain,[fn# ] and slept, when a cry rang out; and in fear he heard from the north-land come ringing that terrible shout: he fell, as he woke from his slumber, with the thud of a weight, to the ground, from his couch on that side of the castle that the rising sun first found. he left his arms in the castle, as the lawns round its walls he sought, but his wife, who followed behind him, apparel and arms to him brought: then he saw his harnessed chariot, and laeg,[fn# ] his charioteer, from ferta laig who drave it: from the north the car drew near: "what bringeth thee here?" said cuchulain: said laeg, "by a cry i was stirred, that across the plain came sounding." "and whence was the cry thou hast heard?" "from the north-west quarter it travelled, it crossed the great cayll[fn# ] cooen road!" "follow on, on that track," said cuchulain, "till we know what that clamour may bode!" [fn# ] pronounced cu-hoolin. [fn# ] pronounced layg. [fn# ] spelt caill cuan. at the ford of the double wonder, at ah[fn# ] fayrta, the car made stand for a chariot rattled toward them, from the clay-soiled coolgarry[fn# ] land and before them came that chariot; and strange was the sight they saw: for a one-legged chestnut charger was harnessed the car to draw; and right through the horse's body the pole of the car had passed, to a halter across his forehead was the pole with a wedge made fast: a red woman sat in the chariot, bright red were her eyebrows twain a crimson cloak was round her: the folds of it touched the plain: two poles were behind her chariot: between them her mantle flowed; and close by the side of that woman a mighty giant strode; on his back was a staff of hazel, two-forked, and the garb he wore was red, and a cow he goaded, that shambled on before. [fn# ] spelt ath ferta, or more fully ath da ferta, the ford of the two marvels. [fn# ] spelt culgaire. to that woman and man cried cuchulain, "ye who drive that cow do wrong, for against her will do ye drive her!" "not to thee doth that cow belong," said the woman; "no byre of thy comrades or thy friends hath that cow yet barred." "the kine of the land of ulster," said cuchulain, "are mine to guard!" "dost thou sit on the seat of judgment?" said the dame, "and a sage decree on this cow would'st thou give, cuchulain?--too great is that task for thee!" said the hero, "why speaketh this woman? hath the man with her never a word?" "'twas not him you addressed," was her answer, "when first your reproaches we heard." "nay, to him did i speak," said cuchulain, "though 'tis thou to reply who would'st claim!" 'ooer-gay-skyeo-loo-ehar-skyeo[fn# ] is the name that he bears," said the dame. [fn# ] spelt uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo "'tis a marvellous name!" said cuchulain, "if from thee all my answer must come, let it be as thou wishest; thy comrade, this man, as it seemeth, is dumb. tell me now of thine own name, o woman." "faebor-bayg-byeo-ill,"[fn# ] said the man. "coom-diewr-folt-skayv-garry-skyeo-ooa is her name, if pronounce it you can!" then cuchulain sprang at the chariot: "would ye make me a fool with your jest?" he cried, as he leapt at the woman; his feet on her shoulders he pressed, and he set on her head his spear-point: "now cease from thy sharp weapon-play!" cried the woman. cuchulain made answer: thy name to me truth fully say!" "then remove thyself from me!" she answered: i am skilled in satirical spells; the man is called darry i mac feena[fn# ]: in the country of cualgne[fn# ] he dwells; i of late made a marvellous poem; and as fee for the poem this cow do i drive to my home." "let its verses," said cuchulain," be sung to me now!" "then away from me stand!" said the woman: "though above me thou shakest thy spear, it will naught avail thee to move me." then he left her, but lingered near, between the poles of her chariot: the woman her song then sang; and the song was a song of insult. again at the car he sprang, but nothing he found before him: as soon as the car he had neared, the woman, the horse, and the chariot, the cow, and the man disappeared. [fn# ] spelt faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-seenb-gairit-sceo-uath. [fn# ] spelt daire mac fiachna: he is the owner of the dun of cualgne in the great tain. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. at a bird on a bough, as they vanished, a glance by cuchulain was cast, and he knew to that bird's black body the shape of the woman had passed: as a woman of danger i know you," he cried, "and as powerful in spell!" from to-day and for ever," she chanted, "this tale in yon clay-land shall dwell!" and her word was accomplished; that region to-day is the grella dolloo,[fn# ] the clay-land of evil: its name from the deeds of that woman it drew. [fn# ] spelt grellach dolluid. "had i known it was you," said cuchulain, "not thus had you passed from my sight!" and she sang, "for thy deed it is fated that evil shall soon be thy plight!" thou canst. do naught against me," he answered. "yea, evil in sooth can i send; of thy bringer of death i am guardian, shall guard it till cometh thine end: from the under-world country of croghan this cow have i driven, to breed by the dun bull of darry[fn# ] mae feena, the bull that in cualgne doth feed. so long as her calf be a yearling, for that time thy life shall endure; but, that then shall the raid have beginning, the dread raid of cualgne, be sure." [fn# ] spelt daire mac fiachna. "nay, clearer my fame shall be ringing," the hero replied," for the raid: all bards, who my deeds shall be singing, must tell of the stand that i made, each warrior in fight shall be stricken, who dares with my valour to strive: thou shalt see me, though battle-fields thicken, from the tain bo returning alive!" "how canst thou that strife be surviving?" the woman replied to his song, "for, when thou with a hero art striving, as fearful as thou, and as strong, who like thee in his wars is victorious, who all of thy feats can perform, as brave, and as great, and as glorious, as tireless as thou in a storm, then, in shape of an eel round thee coiling, thy feet at the ford i will bind, and thou, in such contest when toiling, a battle unequal shalt find." "by my god now i swear, by the token that ulstermen swear by," he cried; "on a green stone by me shall be broken that eel, to the ford if it glide: from woe it shall ne'er be escaping, till it loose me, and pass on its way!" and she said: "as a wolf myself shaping, i will spring on thee, eager to slay, i will tear thee; the flesh shall be rended from thy chest by the wolf's savage bite, till a strip be torn from thee, extended from the arm on thy left to thy right! with blows that my spear-shaft shall deal thee," he said, "i will force thee to fly till thou quit me; my skill shall not heal thee, though bursts from thy head either eye!" i will come then," she cried, "as a heifer, white-skinned, but with ears that are red, at what time thou in fight shalt endeavour the blood of a hero to shed, whose skill is full match for thy cunning; by the ford in a lake i will be, and a hundred white cows shall come running, with red ears, in like fashion to me: as the hooves of the cows on thee trample, thou shalt test 'truth of men in the fight': and the proof thou shalt have shall be ample, for from thee thy head they shall smite!" said cuchulain: "aside from thee springing, a stone for a cast will i take, and that stone at thee furiously slinging, thy right or thy left leg will break: till thou quit me, no help will i grant thee." morreegan,[fn# ] the great battle queen, with her cow to rath croghan departed, and no more by cuchulain was seen. for she went to her under-world country: cuchulain returned to his place. the tale of the great raid of cualgne this lay, as a prelude, may grace. [fn# ] spelt morrigan. the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain literal translation when cuchulain lay in his sleep at dun imrid, there he heard a cry from the north; it came straight towards him; the cry was dire, and most terrifying to him. and he awaked in the midst of his sleep, so that he fell, with the fall of a heavy load, out of his couch,[fn# ] to the ground on the eastern side of his house. he went out thereupon without his weapons, so that he was on the lawns before his house, but his wife brought out, as she followed behind him, his arms and his clothing. then he saw laeg in his harnessed chariot, coming from ferta laig, from the north; and "what brings thee here?" said cuchulain. "a cry," said laeg, "that i heard sounding over the plains. "on what side was it?" said cuchulain. "from the north-west it seemed," said laeg, "that is, across the great road of caill cuan."[fn# ] "let us follow after to know of it (lit. after it, to it for us)," said cuchulain. [fn# ] or "out of his room." the word is imda, sometimes rendered "bed," as here by windisch sometimes also "room," as in the bruidne da derga by whitley stokes. [fn# ] lough cuan was the old name for strangford lough. they went out thereupon till they came to ath da ferta. when they were there, straightway they heard the rattle of a chariot from the quarter of the loamy district of culgaire. then they saw the chariot come before them, and one chestnut (lit. red) horse in it. the horse was one footed, and the pole of the chariot passed through the body of the horse, till a wedge went through it, to make it fast on its forehead. a red[fn# ] woman was in the chariot, and a red mantle about her, she had two red eye-brows, and the mantle fell between the two ferta[fn# ] of her chariot behind till it struck upon the ground behind her. a great man was beside her chariot, a red[fn# ] cloak was upon him, and a forked staff of hazel at his back, he drove a cow in front of him. [fn# ] the above is the egerton text: the text of y.b.l. gives "a red woman there, with her two eyebrows red, and her cloak and her raiment: the cloak fell," &c. [fn# ] it is not known certainly what the ferta were: windisch translates "wheels," but does not give this meaning in his dictionary: the ferta were behind the car, and could be removed to sound the depth of a ford. it is suggested that they were poles, projecting behind to balance the chariot; and perhaps could be adjusted so as to project less or farther. [fn# ] this is the egerton text; the y.b.l. text gives "a tunic forptha on him the meaning of forptha is unknown. "that cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said cuchulain. "the cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any friend or acquaintance of yours." "the cows of ulster," said cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "dost thou give a decision about the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is set, o cuchulain." "why is it the woman who answers me?" said cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "it was not the man whom you addressed," said the woman. "ay," said cuchulain, "(i did address him), though thyself hath answered for him:" "h-uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[fn# ] is his name," said she. [fn# ] cold-wind-and-much-rushes. "alas! his name is a wondrous one," said cuchulain. "let it be thyself who answers,[fn# ] since the man answers not. what is thine own name?" said cuchulain. "the woman to whom thou speakest," said the man, "is faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[fn# ] "do ye make a fool of me?" cried cuchulain, and on that cuchulain sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "play not sharp weapons on me!" "name thyself then by thy true name!" said cuchulain. "depart then from me!" said she: "i am a female satirist in truth," she said, "and he is daire mac fiachna from cualnge: i have brought the cow as fee for a master-poem." "let me hear the poem then," said cuchulain. "only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is none[fn# ] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head." thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her chariot, and she sang to him[fn# ] . . . . . . cuchulain threw a spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the chariot, nor the man, nor the cow. [fn# ] y.b.l. corrupt; egerton version adopted here. [fn# ] little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour. [fn# ] not is it better for thee that" is in egerton alone. [fn# ] see the introduction for the omission of the poem. then he saw that she had become a black bird upon a branch near to him. "a dangerous[fn# ] (or magical) woman thou art," said cuchulain: "henceforward," said the woman, "this clay-land shall be called dolluid (of evil,)" and it has been the grellach dolluid ever since. "if only i had known it was you," said cuchulain, "not thus should we have separated." "what thou hast done," said she, "shall be evil to thee from it." "thou hast no power against me," said cuchulain. "i have power indeed," said the woman; "it is at the guarding of thy death that i am; and i shall be," said she. "i brought this cow out of the fairy-mound of cruachan, that she might breed by the black bull[fn# ] of cualnge, that is the bull of daire mae fiachna. it is up to that time that thou art in life, so long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling; and it is this that shall lead to the tain bo cualnge." "i shall myself be all the more glorious for that tain," said cuchulain: "i shall slay their warriors: i shall break their great hosts: i shall be survivor of the tain." [fn# ] windisch is doubtful about the meaning of this word. he gives it as "dangerous" in his translation; it may also mean "magical," though he thinks not. in a note he says that the meaning "dangerous" is not certain. [fn# ] in egerton "the dun of cualnge." "in what way canst thou do this?" said the woman, "for when thou art in combat against a man of equal strength (to thee), equally rich in victories, thine equal in feats, equally fierce, equally untiring, equally noble, equally brave, equally great with thee, i will be an eel, and i will draw a noose about thy feet in the ford, so that it will be a great unequal war for thee." "i swear to the god that the ulstermen swear by," said cuchulain, "i will break thee against a green stone of the ford; and thou shalt have no healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "i will in truth be a grey wolf against thee," said she, "and i will strip a stripe[fn# ] from thee, from thy right (hand) till it extends to thy left." [fn# ] this word is left doubtful in windisch's translation. the word is breth in y.b.l. and breit in egerton. breit may be a strip of woollen material, or a strip of land; so the meaning of a strip of flesh seems possible. "i will beat thee from me," said he, "with the spear, till thy left or thy right eye bursts from thy head, and thou shalt never have healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "i shall in truth," she said, "be for thee as a white heifer with red ears, and i will go into a lake near to the ford in which thou art in combat against a man who is thine equal in feats, and one hundred white, red-eared cows shall be behind me and 'truth of men' shall on that day be tested; and they shall take thy head from thee." "i will cast at thee with a cast of my sling," said cuchulain, "so as to break either thy left or thy right leg from under thee; and thou shalt have no help from me if thou leavest me not." they[fn# ] separated, and cuchulain went back again to dun imrid, and the morrigan with her cow to the fairy mound of cruachan; so that this tale is a prelude to the tain bo cualnge. [fn# ] all this sentence up to "so that this tale" is from the egerton version. the yellow book of lecan gives "the badb thereon went from him, and cuchulain went to his own house, so that," &c. text of leabhar na h-uidhri giving the conclusion of the "courtship of etain" introduction the following pages give, with an interlinear word for word[fn# ] translation, the text of leabhar na h-uidhri, page b. line to the end of page a. of the facsimile. the text corresponds to the end of the tale of the court ship of etain in vol. i., from page , line , to the end of the story; it also contains the poem which is in that volume placed on page , but occurs in the manuscript at the place where the first line of it is quoted on page of vol. i. [fn# ] the irish idiom of putting the adjective after the noun is not always followed in the translation. it is hoped that the text may be found to be convenient by scholars: special care has been taken to make it accurate, and it has not, with the exception of the poem just referred to, been published before except in the facsimile; the remainder of the text of the l.u. version of the courtship of etain, together with the poem, has been given by windisch in the first volume of the irische texte. the immediate object of the publication of this text, with its interlinear translation, is however somewhat different; it was desired to give any who may have become interested in the subject, from the romances contained in the two volumes of this collection, some idea of their exact form in the original, and of the irish constructions and metres, as no irish scholarship is needed to follow the text, when supplemented by the interlinear translation. the translation may be relied on, except for a few words indicated by a mark of interrogation. the passage is especially well suited to give an idea of the style of irish composition, as it contains all the three forms used in the romances, rhetoric, regular verse, and prose: the prose also is varied in character, for it includes narrative, rapid dialogue, an antiquarian insertion, and two descriptive passages. the piece of antiquarian information and the resume of the old legend immediately preceding the second rhetoric can be seen to be of a different character to the flowing form of the narrative proper; the inserted passage being full of explanatory words, conid, issairi, is aice, &c., and containing no imagery. the two descriptions, though short, are good examples of two styles of description which occur in some other romances; neither of these styles is universal, nor are they the only styles; the favour shown to one or the other in a romance may be regarded as a characteristic of its author. the first style, exemplified by the description of mider's appearance, consists of a succession of images presented in short sentences, sometimes, as in this case, with no verb, sometimes with the verb batar or a similar verb repeated in each sentence, but in all cases giving a brilliant word-picture, absolutely clear and definite, of what it is intended to convey. the second style, exemplified here by the description of the horses that mider offers to eochaid, consists of a series of epithets or of substantives, and is often imitated in modern irish. these passages are usually difficult to translate, as many words appear to be coined for the purpose of the descriptions; but, in the best writings, the epithets are by no means arbitrary; they are placed so as to contrast sharply with each other, and in many cases suggest brilliant metaphors; the style being in this respect more like latin than english. absolutely literal translations quite fail to bring out the effect of such passages; for not only is the string of adjectives a distinctively irish feature, but both in english and in greek such metaphors are generally expressed more definitely and by short sentences. there is also a third style of description which does not appear in the prose of any of the romances in this collection, but appears often in other romances, as in the bruidne da derga, bricriu's feast, and the great tain; it resembles the first style, but the sentences are longer, yet it does not give clear descriptions, only leaving a vague impression. this style is often used for descriptions of the supernatural; it may be regarded as actual reproductions of the oldest pre-christian work, but it is also possible that it is the result of legends, dimly known to the authors of the tales, and represented by them in the half-understood way in which they were apprehended by them: the druidic forms may have been much more clear. such passages are those which describe cuchulain's distortions; the only passage of the character in this collection is in the verse of the sick-bed, vol. i. page . five of the romances in the present collection have no descriptive passages in the prose; the combat at the ford and the tain bo fraich show examples of both the first and the second form, but more often the first; the tain bo regamna, though a very short piece, also shows one example of each; for the description of the goblins met by cuchulain is quite clear, and cannot be regarded as belonging to the third form. there is also one case of the second form in the tain bo dartada, and two other cases of the first in the court ship of etain-one in the egerton, one in the leabhar na h-uidhri version. the best example of the first style is in the egerton version of etain (vol. i. page ); the best example of the second is the description of cuchulain's horses (vol. i. page ); a still better example of contrasts in such a description is in the courtship of ferb (nutt, page ). the piece of regular verse contained in the extract should give a fair idea of the style of this form of composition. description is common in the verse, and it is in this case a prominent feature. it may be noted that lines , , , will not scan unless the present diphthongs are divided, also that the poem has fewer internal rhymes than is usual in this regular verse. the two passages in rhetoric, for so i take them to be, are good examples of the style. an attempt has been made to divide them into lines, but this division is open to criticism, especially as some lines in one of the two passages cannot be translated, and the translation of some other lines is doubtful: the division suggested does, however, appear to me to give a rough metre and occasional rhymes. it is possible that, if attention is called to those lines which are at present untranslatable, something may be done for them. the verse translations given in vol. i. pages and , give the meaning that i take the irish to bear where i can get any meaning at all. as to the text, the usual abbreviation for n has in general not been italicized, nor has that for fri; all other abbreviations, including acht, final n in the symbol for con, and that for or in the recognized symbol for for, have been italicized. in the rhetorics, owing to their difficulty, the abbreviation for n has been italicized throughout; the symbol for ocus is not italicised. a few conjectures have been inserted, the text being given as a foot-note; a conjectured letter supposed to be missing has been inserted in brackets, and a restoration by professor strachan of a few letters where the ms. is torn are similarly placed in brackets. the rest of the text is carefully copied from the facsimile, including the glosses, which are inserted above the words in the same places that they occupy in the manuscript. text with interlinear translation fecht n-aile asraracht eochaid airem ri temrach la n-alaind another time arose eochaid airem. king of tara on a beautiful day i n-amsir samrata frisocaib[fn# ] for sosta na temrach do imcaisiu maigi breg, in time of summer, mounted on heights of tara for viewing of plain of breg, [fn# ] a conjecture: ms. fosrocaib= fo-s-ro-od-gaib, an unknown compound. boi fo a li ocus fo bluth cach datha. am-imracacha inti was good its colour, and good blossom of every hue. when looked about the aforesaid eochaid imbi, co acca inn oclaech n-ingnad for sin sossad[fn# ] inna eoebaid around him, he saw the young warrior unknown on the height beside [fn# ] a conjecture: ms. tossad. chomairi. fuan corcair imbi, ocus mong or-budi fair co brainni him. tunic purple about him, and hair gold-yellow on him to edges a da imdae. rosc cainlech glas ina chind. sleg coicrind ina laim. of his two shoulders. eye lustrous gray in his head. spear five-pointed in his hand. sciath taulgel ina laim con gemaib oir forri. sochtais eochaid, ar ni shield white-bossed in his hand with gems of gold on it. was silent eochaid, for not fitir a bith isin temraig inn aidehi riam, ocus ni orslaiethe ind lis he knew of his being in the tara the night before, and not was opened the liss in trath sin. tolluid ar inchaib eochoda iarsain asbert eochaid iarom, at that hour. he came under protection of eochaid thereon; said eochaid then, fochen dond laech nad athgenmar. is ed doroehtmar or in welcome to the hero whom we know not. it is for that we have come, said the t-oclaech. ni tathgenmar or eochaid. atotgensa chetus ol in (young) warrior. we know thee not, said eochaid. i know thee indeed, said the t-oclaech. cia th'ainm seo? ol eochaid. ni airdairc son, ol se, warrior. what (is) thy own name? said eochaid. not illustrious that, said he, mider breg leith. cid dotroacht ol eochaid. do imbert fidcille mider of bri leith. what brought thee? said eochaid. to play at chess frit-su ol se. am maith se em, ol eochaid for fithchill. a fromad with thee, said he. i am good myself truly, said eochaid, at chess-play. its essaying dun ol mider. ata ol eochaid, ind rigan ina cotlud, is le in tech to us! said mider. is, said eochaid, the queen in her sleep, it is hers the house ata ind fithchell. ata sund chenae, ol mider, fidchell nad where is the chessboard. there is here yet, said mider, a chessboard which is not messo. ba fir on, clar n-argit ocus fir oir, ocus fursunnud cacha worse. was true that, a board of silver and men of gold, and shining in every hairidi for sin clar di liic logmair, ocus fer-bolg di figi rond credumae. direction on that board of costly stones, and a men-bag of woven chains of brass. ecraid mider in fidchill iarsin. imbir ol mider. ni immer acht set out mider the chessboard thereupon. play! said mider. not will i play, except di giull ol eochaid. cid gell bias and? ol mider. cumma lim ol for a stake, said eochaid. what stake shall be here? said mider. equal to me, said eochaid. rot-bia lim-sa ol mider mad tu beras mo thochell, eochaid. thou shalt have from me, said mider, if thou carry off my stake, l. gabur n-dub-glas ite cend-brecca, croderga, biruich, horses of dark-gray, and they with dappled heads, blood-red, with ears pricked high, bruin-lethain, bolg(s)roin, coss choela, comrassa, faeborda,[fn# ] femendae,[fn# ] chests broad, nostrils distended, feet thin, strong, keen, ? vehement, aurarda, aignecha, so-(a)staidi,[fn# ] so very high, spirited, easily stopped, [fn# ] see bruidne da derga (stokes), , , faeborda, lit. with an edge on them; femendae? = lat. vehemens; soaistidi is the form adopted by stokes in his edition of the bruidne; egerton ms. gives soastaide. there is a gap here, a complete column being torn from the manuscript. the lost part obviously describes the issue of the chess game or games, and the penalties demanded by bochaid: what these penalties were is plain from the succeeding story. the work of mider and his folk in paying these penalties must also have been described: the next column (leabhar na h- uidhri, b. of the facsimile) opens thus: iarsin doberar uir ocus grian ocus clocha for sin monai. fri etna thereupon is, placed earth and gravel and stones on the bog. over foreheads dam dano-batar fedmand la firu h-erind cosind n-aidchi sin, co of oxen then were yokes among men of ireland till that very night, when n-aicces la lucht in t-side for a formnaib. dognith it was seen (tblat they were) among people of the mounds on their shoulders. it was done samlaid la eochaid, conid de ata do som. echaid airem, ar so by eochaid, so that hence is to himself (the name of) echaid airem, for is aice toisech tucad cuing for muinelaib dam do ferand h-erind. is it is by him first was put yoke on necks of oxen for land of ireland. this ed dino and food ro boi im belaib in t-sluaig oc denam in tocuir: is then there word which was on lips of the host at making of the causeway: rhetoric-- cuire illaim, put into hand tochra illaim, place (it) into hand aurdairc damrad trathaib iar fuin noble (are) oxen for hours after sunset for trom ailges very heavy request ni fes cuich les it is not known to whom (is) gain cuich amles de thochur dar moin lamraige. to whom harm from the causeway over moor of lamrach. ni biad isin bith tochur bad ferr mani bethe oca there would not be in the world a causeway which is better, if not (men) had been at n-descin forracbad de bochtae and iartain. iarsin dolluid the seeing them. was left on that account a breach there thenceforth. thereupon came in rechtaire co echaid ocus adfet scela in mor fedma, atconnaire the steward to echaid, and made known tales of the great serving band, that he saw fiadai, ocus asbert nad rabi for fertas in betha cumachta before him, and said that there was not on the chariot pole of life a power dodrosce de. am batar for a m-briathraib co n-accatar mider that excelled it. when they were at their talking they saw mider (come) chucu. ard chustal ocus droch gne fair. atrigestar eochaid, to them. high ? girt (he was), and evil face (was) on him.? rose ?[fn# ] eochaid, [fn# ] this is a possible rendering, taking the word as a deponent form of atregaim. it would be more natural to take the word as from adagur; being equivalent to ad-d-raigestar, and to mean "feared him," but this does not agree with eoebaid's general attitude. ocus ferais faelti fri. is ed dorochtmar ol mider. is toreda ocus is and gave welcome to him. it is for that we have come, said mider. it is cruel and is di-cheill no tai frim, mor decrai ocus mor aingcessa do thabairt form senseless thou art to me, great hardship and great suffering thy bestowing on me adethaind ni bad maith lat chena acht is bairnech mo menma frit. i used to get what seemed good to thee still but is angry my mind against thee. ni bara fri bure dait-siu on do-gignestar do menma for eochaid. not anger against anger: to thyself the thing that shall choose thy mind, said eochaid. gebthar dano, ol mider. inn imberam fidchill? for mider. cid gell it shall be done then, said mider. shall we play at chess? said mider. what stake bias and? for eochaid. gell adcobra cechtar da lina for shall be there? said eochaid. the stake that wishes each of the two parties, said mider. berar tochell n-echdach alla sin. rucais mo mider. is carried off stake of echaid in that very place. thou hast carried off my thocell, for eebaid. mad ail dam no-beraind o chianaib, stake, said echaid. if wish to me (had been) i could have carried it off long since, for mider. cacht cid adcobrai form-sa? for echaid. di laim im said mider. question what wishest thou from myself? said echaid. two arms about etain, ocus poc di ol mider. sochtais echaid la, sodain, ocus asbert, etain, and a kiss from her, said mider. was silent echaid thereon, and said, tis dia mis on diu, doberthar dait ani sin. in thou shalt come in a month from to-day, (and) shall be given to thee that very thing. the bliadain ria tuidecht do mider co echaid do imbert na fidehille boi oc year before the coming of mider to echaid for playing of the chess was he at tochmarc etaine, ocus nis n-etad leis. is ed ainm dobered mider wooing of etain, and nothing was found by him. this is the name used to give mider di: befind conide asbert: to her: fair-haired lady, so that thence he said: a be find in raga lim o fair-haired lady, wilt thou come with me i tir n-ingnad hi fil rind into a land marvellous, that is music? is barr sobarche folt and (thus) is the top of the head, of primrose the hair there, is dath snechta corp co ind: is colour of snow the body to the head: is and nad bi mui na tai, it is there not will be 'mine' or 'thine,' gela det and, dubai brai, white teeth there, black eyebrows, is li sula lin ar sluag,[fn# ] is colour of eyes number of our hosts, [fn# ] a conjecture by windisch. text gives sluaig the genitive singular, which does not rhyme. [fn# ]no is brece is dath sion and cech gruad: or is many-coloured is hue of foxglove there each cheek: [fn# ] the three glosses are interesting. it may be noted that the last two certainly follow the word (above the line in which it occurs) that they seem to gloss: it is therefore probable that the first does so too; the two lines of a couplet are on the same line in the manuscript. it {footnote p. } seems then possible that the gloss "it is many-coloured" refers, not to the foxglove, but to the preceding line, "the colour of eyes is number of our hosts," and that the writer of this gloss gave the same meaning to the rather hard description of the colour of the eyes as is given in the verse translation (vol. i. p. ), i.e. that the eyes had changing lights and shapes. we must hope, for the credit of his taste, that he did not think of the cheeks as many-coloured or freckled, but his gloss of lossa does not seem happy. the meaning "growth" is taken from o'reilly's dictionary. no lossa is corcair maige cach muin,[fn# ] or growth? is purple of a plain each neck, [fn# ] a conjecture (str.), main, treasure, is in the text: this does not rhyme, nor give good sense; note, however, that muin has no accent-the text gives one. no is dath is li sula ugai luin: or is hue is colour of eyes (that of) eggs of a blackbird: cid cain deicsiu maigi fail though pleasant (is) seeing plains of fal (isle of destiny) annam iar gnais maige mair. a wilderness[fn# ] after knowledge of the great plain. [fn# ] this meaning for annam is doubtful; the sense of "seldom" is established for the word; the line possibly means "it will seldom be so after," &c. cid mesc lib coirm inse fail, though intoxicating to you (is) ale of the island fal, is mescu coirm tire mair, is more intoxicating the ale of the country great, amra tire tir asbiur, a wonder of a land the land i mention, ni theit oac and re siun. not goes a young man there before an old man. srotha teith millsi tar tir, streams warm (and) sweet through the land, rogu de mid ocus fin, choice of mead and wine, doini delgnaidi, cen on, men ? handsome, without blemish, combart cen pecead, cen col. conception without sin without crime. atchiam cach for each leth, we see all on every side, ocus ni-conn acci nech; and yet not sees us anyone temel imorbais adaim the cloud of the sin of adam do-don-archeil[fn# ] ar araim encompasses us from reckoning [fn# ] from tairchellaim. a ben dia ris mo thuaith tind, o woman, if thou wilt come to my people strong, is barr oir bias fort chind, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, inue ur, laith, lemnacht la lind pork unsalted, ale, new milk for drink rot bia lim and, a be find, a be find. shall be to thee with me there, o woman fair-haired. [a gap, letters lost] i atumchotaise om aithech tige rag-sa, [a gap, thou obtainest me from my master of the house i will go, [ letters lost] fetai, ni rag. is iarsin dolluid mider (l.u. a.) co canst, not will i go. it is thereon came mider to echaid, ocus damair a thochell fochetoir co m-beth fôlo acai echaid, and yields his stake immediately that may be (cause) of reproach for him do echaid, is airi roic na comada mora, ocus issairi is to echaid, it is therefore he paid the great stakes, and on that account it is (that) fo anfis con atig a gell. conid iarsin giull adrubrad in tan tra under ignorance that he asked his wager. so that after that wager it was said when now ro boi mider cona muinter oc ic comad na aidehi, i. in tochor, ocus was mider and his folk at paying the stake of the night, that is, the causeway, and di-chlochad midi, ocus luachair tetbai, ocus fid dar breg: isse[fn# ] seo clearing stones off meath, and rushes of tethba and forest over breg: it is he this [fn# ] grammar not clear: perhaps the irish is corrupt (str.). an no foclad boi oca muinter amal atbert lebor drom snechta: what used to say was with his folk as says book of drom-snechta: rhetoric-- cuirthe illand: put on the field: tochre illand: put close on the field airderg dararad: very red oxen: trom in choibden: heavy the troop clunithar fir ferdi. which hears ?really-manly buidni balc-thruim crand-chuir troops for strong heavy setting of trees forderg saire fedar of very red ?oaks[fn# ] are led [fn# ] reading daire for saire. sechuib slimprib snithib past them on twisted wattles: scitha lama: weary are hands, ind rosc cloina: the eye ?slants aside? fobith oen mna because of one woman duib in digail: to you the revenge, duib in trom-daim:[fn# ] to you the heavy ?oxen [fn# ] a conjecture. ms. gives trom-daim. tairthim flatho fer ban: splendour of sovereignty over white men: fomnis, fomnis, in fer m-braine cerpae fomnis diad dergæ ? ? ? fer arfeid solaig ? fri aiss esslind ? fer bron for-ti ? sorrow shall, come on the man? i. more ertechta inde ? lamnado luachair rushes for di thethbi over?two tethbas di-chlochad[fn# ] midi clearing stones from meath [fn# ] a conjecture. ms. gives dilecad (str.) indracht ? coich les, coich amles to whom the benefit, to whom the harm thocur dar clochach? moin.[fn# ] causeway over stony moor. [fn# ] the last line in the ms. is t d c m. dalis mider dia mis fochiallastar (i. rotinoil). echaid formna mider appointed a meeting for the end of a month. echaid assembled (i.e. collected)troops. laech la-erend com batar hi temrach, ocus an ro po dech do fiannaib of heroes of ireland so that they were in tara, and what was best of champions h-erind, cach cuaird imm araile im temrach immedon ocus a nechtair, of ireland, each ring about another, around tara im the middle, and outside it ocus is-tig. ocus in ri ocus in rigan immedon in taigi, ocus ind lis and within. and the king and the queen in the middle of the house, and its liss iatai fo glassaib, ar ro fetatar do t-icfad fer in mar cumacht. etain shut under locks, for they knew that would comie of insen the great might. etain boi ocon dail ind aidehi sin forsna flathi, ar ba sain dana disi dal. was dispensing that night to the princes, for it was meet then for her pouring (of the wine) am batar iarom fora. m-briathraib, co accatar mider chucu for when they were thereon at their talking they saw mider (come) to them on lar ind rigthige. ba cain som dogres ba caini dana inn aidehi sin. the floor of the royal palace. he was fair always, was fairer then on that night. tosbert im mod na slûag ateonnairc. sochsit uli iarom ocus he brought to amazement the hosts that he saw.[fn# ] were silent all thereon, and [fn# ] reading atcondairc (str.). ferais in ri faelti fris. is ed dorochtmar ol mider. an ro gella the king gave welcome to him. it is this we have come for, said mider. what was promised dam-sa or se, tucthar dam. is fiach ma gelltar, an ro gellad to myself, said he, let it be given to me. it is a debt if a promise is given, tucus dait-siu. ni imrordusa for echaid, ani sin co se. i have given to thee. not have i thought on, said echaid, that very thing up to now. atrugell etain fein dam-sa, ol mider, ticht uait-siu. thou hast promised etain herself to me, said mider, message (lit. a coming) from you. imdergthar im etain la, sodain. na imdergthar imut for mider, ni there was a blush on etain thereupon. let there be no blush on thee, said mider, not droch banas duit-siu. atu-sa, ol si, bliadain oc do chuingid com evil marriage-feast to thee. i am myself, said he, a year at seeking thee with mainib ocus setaib at aildem in ere, ocus ni tucus-sa treasures and jewels that are the most beautiful in ireland and not i took thee comad chomarlecud do echaid. ni -la-deoas damsa ce till there should be permission of echaid. not by good-will to me any dotchotaind. atrubart-sa frit-su ol si, conom rire echaid, getting thee. i myself said to thyself, said she, until echaid gives me up nit rius. atometha lat ar mo chuit fein, dia nom rire echaid. not will i come to thee. take me with thee for my own part, if me echaid will give up. nit ririub immorro, for echaid, acht tabrad a di laim not thee will i give up however, said echaid, but (i give) a placing of his two hands imut for lar in tige, amal ro gabais. dogentar for mider. about thee on floor of the house, as thou art. it shall be done! said mider. i. mider atetha a gaisced ina laim cli, ocus gabais in mnai fo a leth-oxail dess, that is, mider he took his weapons in his hand left, and took the woman under his shoulder right, ocus focois-le for forles in tige. conerget in-t-sluaig imon rig and carried her off over skylight of the house. pose up the hosts, about the king iar melacht forro, co n-accatar in da ela timchell na temra. is ed after a disgrace on them, they saw the two swans around tara. it is this, ro gabsat do sid ar femun. ocus luid echaid co fomno they took (the road) to elfmound about about femun. and went echaid with a troop fer n-erend imbi do sith ar femun i. sid ban-find. of men of ireland about him to elf mound about femun i.e. elfmound of the fair-haired women. b (a si com)[fn# ] arli fer n-erend, fochlaid each sid [a gap, letters lost] that was the counsel of the men of ireland, he dug up each elf-mound. [fn# ] the letters in parentheses are a conjecture by strachan, to fill up a gap in the manuscript. tised a ben. do uadib, foce [a gap of letters, rest of the version lost.] should come his wife to him from them. this ebook was produced by john b. hare and carrie lorenz. heroic romances of ireland translated into english prose and verse, with preface, special introductions and notes by a. h. leahy in two volumes vol. i preface at a time like the present, when in the opinion of many the great literatures of greece and rome are ceasing to hold the influence that they have so long exerted upon human thought, and when the study of the greatest works of the ancient world is derided as "useless," it may be too sanguine to hope that any attention can be paid to a literature that is quite as useless as the greek; which deals with a time, which, if not actually as far removed from ours as are classical times, is yet further removed in ideas; a literature which is known to few and has yet to win its way to favour, while the far superior literature of greece finds it hard to defend the position that it long ago won. it may be that reasons like these have weighed with those scholars who have opened up for us the long-hidden treasures of celtic literature; despairing of the effort to obtain for that literature its rightful crown, and the homage due to it from those who can appreciate literary work for itself, they have been contented to ask for the support of that smaller body who from philological, antiquarian, or, strange as it may appear, from political reasons, are prepared to take a modified interest in what should be universally regarded as in its way one of the most interesting literatures of the world. the literary aspect of the ancient literature of ireland has not indeed been altogether neglected. it has been used to furnish themes on which modern poems can be written; ancient authority has been found in it for what is essentially modern thought: modern english and irish poets have claimed the old irish romances as inspirers, but the romances themselves have been left to the scholars and the antiquarians. this is not the position that irish literature ought to fill. it does undoubtedly tell us much of the most ancient legends of modern europe which could not have been known without it; but this is not its sole, or even its chief claim to be heard. it is itself the connecting-link between the old world and the new, written, so far as can be ascertained, at the time when the literary energies of the ancient world were dead, when the literatures of modern europe had not been born,[fn# ] in a country that had no share in the ancient civilisation of rome, among a people which still retained many legends and possibly a rudimentary literature drawn from ancient celtic sources, and was producing the men who were the earliest classical scholars of the modern world. [fn# ] the only possible exceptions to this, assuming the latest possible date for the irish work, and the earliest date for others, are the kindred welsh literature and that of the anglo-saxon invaders of britain. the exact extent of the direct influence of irish literature upon the development of other nations is hard to trace, chiefly because the influence of ireland upon the continent was at its height at the time when none of the languages of modern europe except welsh and anglo-saxon had reached a stage at which they might be used for literary purposes, and a continental literature on which the irish one might have influence simply did not exist. its subsequent influence, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, upon welsh, and through welsh upon the early breton literature (now lost) appears to be established; it is usually supposed that its action upon the earliest french compositions was only through the medium of these languages, but it is at least possible that its influence in this case also was more direct. in merovingian and early carlovingian times, when french songs were composed, which are now lost but must have preceded the extant chansons de geste, the irish schools were attracting scholars from the neighbouring countries of europe; ireland was sending out a steady stream of "learned men" to france, germany, and italy; and it is at least possible that some who knew the irish teachers realized the merit of the literary works with which some of these teachers must have been familiar. the form of the twelfth-century french romance, "aucassin and nicolete," is that of the chief irish romances, and may well have been suggested by them; whilst the variety of the rhythm and the elaborate laws of the earliest french poetry, which, both in its northern and southern form, dates from the first half of the twelfth century, almost imply a pre-existing model; and such a model is more easily traced in irish than in any other vernacular literature that was then available. it is indeed nearly as hard to suppose that the beautiful literature of ireland had absolutely no influence upon nations known to be in contact with it, as it would be to hold to the belief that the ancient cretan civilisation had no effect upon the liter ary development that culminated in the poems of homer. before speaking of what the irish literature was, it may be well to say what it was not. the incidents related in it date back, according to the "antiquaries" of the ninth to the twelfth centuries, some to the christian era, some to a period long anterior to it; but occasional allusions to events that were unknown in ireland before the introduction of christianity, and a few to classical personages, show that the form of the present romances can hardly be pre-christian, or even close translations into old or middle irish of druidic tales. it has therefore been the fashion to speak of the romances as inaccurate survivals of pre-christian works, which have been added to by successive generations of "bards," a mode of viewing our versions of the romances which of course puts them out of the category of original literature and hands them over to the antiquarians; but before they suffer this fate, it is reasonable to ask that their own literary merit should be considered in a more serious manner than has yet been attempted. the idea that our versions of the romances are inaccurate reproductions of druidic tales is not at all borne out by a study of the romances themselves; for each of these, except for a few very manifestly late insertions, has a style and character of its own. there were, undoubtedly, old traditions, known to the men who in the sixth and seventh centuries may have written the tales that we have, known even to men who in the tenth and eleventh centuries copied them and commented upon them; but the romances as they now stand do not look like pieces of patchwork, but like the works of men who had ideas to convey; and to me at least they seem to bear approximately the same relation to the druid legends as the works of the attic tragedians bear to the archaic greek legends on which their tragedies were based. in more than one case, as in the "courtship of etain," which is more fully discussed below, there are two versions of the same tale, the framework being the same in both, while the treatment of the incidents and the view of the characters of the actors is essentially different; and when the story is treated from the antiquarian point of view, that which regards both versions as resting upon a common prehistoric model, the question arises, which of the two more nearly represents the "true" version? there is, i would submit, in such cases, no true version. the old druidic story, if it could be found, would in all probability contain only a very small part of either of our two versions; it would be bald, half-savage in tone, like one of the more ancient greek myths, and producing no literary effect; the literary effect of both the versions that we have, being added by men who lived in christian times, were influenced by christian ideals, and probably were, like many of their contemporaries, familiar with the literary bequests of the ancient world.[fn# ] [fn# ] it seems to be uncertain whether or not the writers of the irish romances shared in the classical learning for which ireland was noted in their time. the course of study at the schools established for the training of the fili in the tenth and eleventh centuries was certainly, as has been pointed out, very different from that of the ecclesiastical schools (see joyce, vol. i. p. ). no classical instruction was included in this training, but it is not certain that this separation of studies was so complete before what is called the "antiquarian age" set in. cormac mac cuninan, for example, was a classical scholar, and at the same time skilled in the learning of the fili. it should also be observed that the course at the ecclesiastical schools, as handed down to us, hardly seems to be classical enough to have produced a columbanus or an erigena; the studies that produced these men must have been of a different kind, and the lay schools as originally established by sanchan torpest may have included much that afterwards gave place to a more purely irish training. the tale of troy seems to have been known to the fili, and there are in their works allusions to greek heroes, to hercules and hector, but it has been pointed out by mr. nutt that there is little if any evidence of influence produced by latin or greek literature on the actual matter or thought of the older irish work. on this point reference may be made to a note on "mae datho's boar" in this volume (p. ), but even if this absence of classical influence is established (and it is hard to say what will not be found in irish literature), it is just possible that the same literary feeling which made irish writers of comparatively late tales keep the bronze weapons and chariots of an earlier date in their accounts of ancient wars, while they described arms of the period when speaking of battles of their own time, affected them in this instance also; and that they had enough restraint to refrain from introducing classical and christian ideas when speaking of times in which they knew these ideas would have been unfamiliar. it may be, and often is, assumed that the appearance of grotesque or savage passages in a romance is an indication of high antiquity, and that these passages at least are faithful reproductions of druidic originals, but this does not seem to be quite certain. some of these passages, especially in the case of romances preserved in the leabhar na h-uidhri (the book of the dun cow), look like insertions made by scribes of an antiquarian turn of mind,[fn# ] and are probably of very ancient date; in other cases, as for example in the "boar of mac datho," where conall dashes anluan's head into ket's face, the savagery is quite in 'keeping with the character of the story, and way have been deliberately invented by an author living in christian times, to add a flavour to his tale, although in doing so he probably imitated a similar incident in some other legend. to take a classical parallel, the barbarity shown by aeneas in aeneid x. - , in sacrificing four youths on the funeral pyre of pallas, an act which would have been regarded with horror in virgil's own day, does not prove that there was any ancient tale of the death of pallas in which these victims were sacrificed, nor even that such victims were sacrificed in ancient latium in pallas' day; but it does show that virgil was familiar with the fact that such victims used in some places to be sacrificed on funeral pyres; for, in a sense, he could not have actually invented the incident. [fn# ] see the exhibition of the tips of tongues in the "sick-bed of cuchulain," page . thus the appearance of an archaic element in an irish romance is in itself no proof of the druidic origin of that form of the romance, nor even of the existence of that element in the romance's earliest form: upon such a principle the archaic character of the motif of the "oedipus coloneus" would prove it to be the oldest of the greek tragedies, while as a matter of fact it seems to be doubtful whether the introduction of this motif into the story of oedipus was not due to sophocles himself, although of course he drew the idea of it, if not from the original legend of oedipus, from some other early legend. the most satisfactory test of the authorship of an irish romance, and one of the most satisfactory tests of its date, is its literary character; and if we look at the literary character of the best of the irish romances, there is one point that is immediately apparent, the blending of prose and verse. one, the most common, explanation of this, is that the verse was added to the original tale, another that the verse is the older part, the prose being added to make a framework for the verse, but a general view of some of the original romances appears to lead to a very different conclusion. it seems much more probable that the irish authors deliberately chose a method of making their work at once literary and suited to please a popular audience; they told their stories in plain prose, adding to them verse, possibly chanted by the reciters of the stories, so that while the prose told the story in simple language, the emotions of pity, martial ardour, and the like were awakened by the verse. they did not use the epic form, although their knowledge of classical literature must have made them familiar with it; the irish epic form is romance. they had, besides the prose and what may be called the "regular" verse, a third form, that of rose, or as it is sometimes called rhetoric, which is a very irregular form of verse. sometimes it rhymes, but more often not; the lines are of varying lengths, and to scan them is often very difficult, an alliteration taking the place of scansion in many cases. the rhetoric does not in general develop the story nor take the form of description, it usually consists of songs of triumph, challenges, prophecies, and exhortations, though it is sometimes used for other purposes. it does not conform to strict grammatical rules like the more regular verse and the prose, and many of the literal translations which irish scholars have made for us of the romances omit this rhetoric entirely, owing to the difficulty in rendering it accurately, and because it does not develop the plots of the stories. notable examples of such omissions are in miss faraday's translation of the leabhar na h-uidhri version of the "great tain," and in whitley stokes' translation of the "destruction of da derga's hostel." with all respect to these scholars, and with the full consciousness of the difficulty of the task that has naturally been felt by one who has vainly attempted to make sense of what their greater skill has omitted, it may be suggested that the total omission of such passages injures the literary effect of a romance in a manner similar to the effect of omitting all the choric pieces in a greek tragedy: the rhetoric indeed, on account of its irregularity, its occasional strophic correspondence, its general independence of the action of the tale, and its difficulty as compared with the other passages, may be compared very closely to a greek "chorus." few of the romances written in prose and verse are entirely without rhetoric; but some contain very little of it; all the six romances of this character given in the present volume (counting as two the two versions of "etain") contain some rhetoric, but there are only twenty-one such passages in the collection altogether, ten of which are in one romance, the "sick-bed of cuchulain." the present collection is an attempt to give to english readers some of the oldest romances in english literary forms that seem to correspond to the literary forms which were used in irish to produce the same effect, and has been divided into two parts. the first part contains five separate stories, all of which are told in the characteristic form of prose and verse: they are the "courtship of etain," the "boar of mac datho," the "sick-bed of cuchulain," the "death of the sons of usnach" (book of leinster version), and the "combat at the ford" out of the book of leinster version of the "tain bo cuailnge." two versions are given of the "courtship of etain "; and the "sick-bed of cuchulain," as is pointed out in the special preface prefixed to it, really consists of two independent versions. it was at first intended to add the better-known version of the "death of the sons of usnach" known as that of the glenn masain ms., but the full translation of this has been omitted, partly to avoid making the volume too bulky, partly because this version is readily attainable in a literal form; an extract from it has, however, been added to the book of leinster version for the purpose of comparison. in the renderings given of these romances the translation of the prose is nearly literal, but no attempt has been made to follow the irish idiom where this idiom sounds harsh in english; actives have been altered to passive forms and the reverse, adjectives are sometimes replaced by short sentences which give the image better in english, pronouns, in which irish is very rich, are often replaced by the persons or things indicated, and common words, like iarom, iarsin, iartain, immorro, and the like (meaning thereafter, moreover, &c.), have been replaced by short sentences that refer back to the events indicated by the words. nothing has been added to the irish, except in the leabhar na h-uidhri version of "etain," where there is a lacuna to be filled up, and there are no omissions. the translations of the verse and of the rhetoric are, so far as is possible, made upon similar lines; it was at first intended to add literal renderings of all the verse passages, but it was found that to do so would make the volume of an unmanageable size for its purpose. literal renderings of all the verse passages in "etain," the first of the tales in volume i., are given in the notes to that story; the literal renderings of deirdre's lament in the "sons of usnach," and of two poems in "the combat at the ford," are also given in full as specimens, but in the case of most of the poems reference is made to easily available literal translations either in english or german: where the literal rendering adopted differs from that referred to, or where the poem in question has not before been translated, the literal rendering has been given in the notes. these examples will, it is believed, give a fair indication of the relation between my verse translations and the originals, the deviations from which have been made as small as possible. the form of four-line verse divided into stanzas has generally been used to render the passages in four-lined verse in the irish, the only exception to this rule being in the verses at the end of the "boar of mac datho": these are in the nature of a ballad version of the whole story, and have been rendered in a ballad metre that does not conform to the arrangement in verses of the original. the metre of all the irish four-lined verses in this volume is, except in two short pieces, a seven-syllabled line, the first two lines usually rhyming with each other, and the last two similarly rhyming,[fn# ] in a few cases in the "boar of mac datho" these rhymes are alternate, and in the extract from the glenn masain version of the "sons of usnach" there is a more complicated rhyme system. it has not been thought necessary to reproduce this metre in all cases, as to do so would sound too monotonous in english; the metre is, however, reproduced once at least in each tale except in that of the "death of the sons of usnach." the eight-lined metre that occurs in five of the verse passages in the "combat at the ford" has in one case been reproduced exactly, and in another case nearly exactly, but with one syllable added to each line; the two passages in this romance that are in five-syllabled lines have been reproduced exactly in the irish metre, in one case with the rhyme-system of the original. with the rhetoric greater liberty has been used; sometimes the original metre has been followed, but more often not; and an occasional attempt has been made to bring out the strophic correspondence in the irish. [fn# ] an example of this metre is as follows:-- all the elves of troom seem dead, all their mighty deeds are fled; for their hound, who hounds surpassed, elves have bound in slumber fast. in the first volume of the collection the presentation has then been made as near as may be to the form and matter of the irish; in the second volume, called "versified romances," there is a considerable divergence from the irish form but not from its sense. this part includes the five "tains" or cattle-forays of fraech, dartaid, regamon, flidais, and regamna; which in the originals differ from the five tales in volume i, in that they include no verse, except for a few lines in regamna, most of which are untranslatable. the last four of these are short pieces written in a prose extremely rapid in its action, and crowded with incident. they are all expressly named as "fore-tales," remscela, or preludes to the story of the great war of cualnge, which is the central event in the ulster heroic cycle, and appear suited for rapid prose recitations, which were apparently as much a feature in ancient as they are in modern irish. such pieces can hardly be reproduced in english prose so as to bring out their character; they are represented in english by the narrative ballad, and they have been here rendered in this way. literal translations in prose are printed upon the opposite page to the verse, these translations being much more exact than the translations in the first volume, as the object in this case is to show the literal irish form, not its literal english equivalent, which is in this case the verse. the "tain bo fraich" is also, in a sense, a "fore-tale" to the great raid, but is of a different character to the others. it consists of two parts, the second of which is not unlike the four that have just been mentioned, but the first part is of a much higher order, containing brilliant descriptions, and at least one highly poetic passage although its irish form is prose. fraech has been treated like the other fore-tales, and rendered in verse with literal prose opposite to the verse for the purpose of comparison. the notes to all the five tana in the second volume accompany the text; in the first volume all the notes to the different romances are collected together, and placed at the end of the volume. the second volume also includes a transcript from the facsimile of that part of the irish text of the tale of etain which has not before been published, together with an interlinear literal translation. it is hoped that this arrangement may assist some who are not middle irish scholars to realise what the original romances are. the manuscript authorities for the eleven different romances (counting as two the two versions of "etain") are all old; seven are either in the leabhar na h-uidhri, an eleventh-century manuscript, or in the book of leinster, a twelfth-century one; three of the others are in the fourteenth-century yellow book of lecan, which is often, in the case of texts preserved both in it and the leabhar na h-uidhri, regarded as the better authority of the two; and the remaining one, the second version of "etain," is in the fifteenth-century manuscript known as egerton, , which gives in an accurate form so many texts preserved in the older manuscripts that it is very nearly as good an authority as they. the sources used in making the translations are also stated in the special introductions, but it may be mentioned as a summary that the four "preludes," the tana of dartaid, regamon, flidais, and regamna, are taken from the text printed with accompanying german translations by windisch in irische texte, vol. ii.; windisch's renderings being followed in those portions of the text that he translates; for the "tain bo fraich" and the "combat at the ford" the irish as given by o'beirne crowe and by o'curry, with not very trustworthy english translations, has been followed; in the case of the fragment of the glenn masain version of "deirdre" little reference has been made to the irish, the literal translation followed being that given by whitley stokes. the remaining five romances, the "boar of mac datho," the leinster version of "deirdre," the "sick-bed of cuchulain," the egerton version of "etain," and the greater part of the leabbar na h-uidhri version of the same, are taken from the irish text printed without translation in irische texte, vol. i., the end of the leabhar na h-uidhri version omitted by windisch being taken from the facsimile of the manuscript published by the royal irish academy. i have to acknowledge with gratitude many corrections to o'beirne crowe's translation of the "tain bo fraich" kindly given me by professor kuno meyer; in the case of o'curry's translation of the "combat at the ford," similar help kindly given me by mr. e. j. quiggin; and in the case of the two versions of "etain," more especially for the part taken direct from the facsimile, i have to express gratitude for the kind and ready help given to me by professor strachan. professor strachan has not only revised my transcript from the facsimile, and supplied me with translations of the many difficult passages in this of which i could make no sense, but has revised all the translation which was made by the help of windisch's glossary to the irische texte of both the versions of "etain," so that the translations given of these two romances should be especially reliable, although of course i may have made some errors which have escaped professor strachan's notice. the three other romances which have been translated from the irish in irische texte have not been similarly revised, but all passages about which there appeared to be doubt have been referred to in the notes to the individual romances. it remains to add some remarks upon the general character of the tales, which, as may be seen after a very cursory examination, are very different both in tone and merit, as might indeed be expected if we remember that we are probably dealing with the works of men who were separated from each other by a gap of hundreds of years. those who have read the actual works of the ancient writers of the irish romances will not readily indulge in the generalisations about them used by those to whom the romances are only known by abstracts or a compilation. perhaps the least meritorious of those in this collection are the "tains" of dartaid, regamon, and flidais, but the tones of these three stories are very different. dartaid is a tale of fairy vengeance for a breach of faith; flidais is a direct and simple story of a raid like a border raid, reminding us of the "riding ballads" of the scottish border, and does not seem to trouble itself much about questions of right or wrong; regamon is a merry tale of a foray by boys and girls; it troubles itself with the rights of the matter even less than flidais if possible, and is an example of an irish tale with what is called in modern times a "good ending." it may be noted that these last two tales have no trace of the supernatural element which some suppose that the irish writers were unable to dispense with. the "tain bo regamna," the shortest piece in the collection, is a grotesque presentation of the supernatural, and is more closely associated with the great tain than any of the other fore-tales to it, the series of prophecies with which it closes exactly following the action of the part of the tain, to which it refers. some of the grotesque character of regamna appears in the "boar of mac datho," which, however, like regamon and flidais, has no supernatural element; its whole tone is archaic and savage, relieved by touches of humour, but the style of the composition is much superior to that of the first three stories. a romance far superior to "mae datho" is the leinster version of the well-known deirdre story, the "death of the sons of usnach." the opening of the story is savage, the subsequent action of the prose is very rapid, while the splendid lament at the end, one of the best sustained laments in the language, and the restraint shown in its account of the tragic death of deirdre, place this version of the story in a high position. as has been already mentioned, parts of the fifteenth-century version of the story have been added to this version for purposes of comparison: the character of the deirdre of the leinster version would not have been in keeping with the sentiment of the lament given to her in the later account. the remaining five romances (treating as two the two versions of "etain") all show great beauty in different ways. three of the four tales given in them have "good endings," and the feeling expressed in them is less primitive than that shown in the other stories, although it is an open question whether any of them rises quite so high as deirdre's lament. "fraech" has, as has been mentioned before, two quite separate parts; the second part is of inferior quality, showing, however, an unusual amount of knowledge of countries lying outside celtdom, but the first is a most graceful romance; although the hero is a demi-god, and the fairies play a considerable part in it, the interest is essentially human; and the plot is more involved than is the case in most of the romances. it abounds in brilliant descriptions; the description of the connaught palace is of antiquarian interest; and one of the most beautiful pieces of celtic mythology, the parentage of the three fairy harpers, is included in it. the "sick-bed of cuchulain" and the leabhar na h-uidhri version of the "courtship of etain" seem to have had their literary effect injured by the personality of the compiler of the manuscript from which the leabhar na h-uidhri was copied. seemingly an antiquarian, interested in the remains of the old celtic religion and in old ceremonies, he has inserted pieces of antiquarian information into several of the romances that he has preserved for us, and though these are often of great interest in themselves, they spoil the literary effect of the romances in which they appear. it is possible that both the leabhar na h-uidhri version of "etain" and the "sick-bed" might be improved by a little judicious editing; they have, however, been left just as they stand in the manuscript. the "sick-bed," as is pointed out in the special introduction to it, consists of two separate versions; the first has plainly some of the compiler's comments added to it, but the second and longer part seems not to have been meddled with; and, although a fragment, it makes a stately romance, full of human interest although dealing with supernatural beings; and its conclusion is especially remarkable in early literature on account of the importance of the action of the two women who are the heroines of this part of the tale. the action of fand in resigning her lover to the weaker mortal woman who has a better claim upon him is quite modern in its tone. the nearest parallel to the longer version of the "sick-bed" is the egerton version of "etain," which is a complete one, and makes a stately romance. it is full of human interest, love being its keynote; it keeps the supernatural element which is an essential to the original legend in the background, and is of quite a different character to the earlier leabhar na h-uidhri version, although there is no reason to assume that the latter is really the more ancient in date. in the leabbar na h-uidhri version of "etain," all that relates to the love-story is told in the baldest manner, the part which deals with the supernatural being highly descriptive and poetic. i am inclined to believe that the antiquarian compiler of the manuscript did here what he certainly did in the case of the "sick-bed of cuchulain," and pieced together two romances founded upon the same legend by different authors. the opening of the story in fairyland and the concluding part where mider again appears are alike both in style and feeling, while the part that comes between is a highly condensed version of the love-story of the egerton manuscript, and suggests the idea of an abstract of the egerton version inserted into the story as originally composed, the effect being similar to that which would be produced upon us if we had got aeschylus' "choaphorae" handed down to us with a condensed version of the dialogue between electra and chrysothemis out of sophocles' "electra" inserted by a conscientious antiquarian who thought that some mention of chrysothemis was necessary. this version of the legend, however, with its strong supernatural flavour, its insistence on the idea of re-birth, its observation of nature, and especially the fine poem in which mider invites etain to fairyland, is a most valuable addition to the literature, and we have to lament the gap in it owing to the loss of a column in that part of the leabhar na h-uidhri manuscript which has been preserved. the last piece to be mentioned is the extract from the "tain be cuailnge" known as the "combat at the ford." this seems to me the finest specimen of old irish work that has been preserved for us; the brilliance of its descriptions, the appropriate changes in its metres, the chivalry of its sentiments, and the rapidity of its action should, even if there were nothing to stand beside it in irish literature, give that literature a claim to be heard: as an account of a struggle between two friends, it is probably the finest in any literature. it has been stated recently, no doubt upon sound authority, that the grammatical forms of this episode show it to be late, possibly dating only to the eleventh century. the manuscript in which it appears, however, is of the earlier part of the twelfth century; no literary modem work other than irish can precede it in time; and if it is the work of an eleventh-century author, it does seem strange that his name or the name of some one of that date who could have written it has not been recorded, as macliag's name has been as the traditional author of the eleventh-century "wars of the gaedhill and the gaill," for the names of several irish authors of that period axe well known, and the early middle irish texts of that period are markedly of inferior quality. compare for example the boromaean tribute which stokes considers to take high rank among texts of that period (revue celtique, xiii. p. ). one would certainly like to believe that this episode of the "combat at the ford" belongs to the best literary period, with which upon literary grounds it seems to be most closely connected. but, whether this comparative lateness of the "combat at the ford" be true or not, it, together with all the varied work contained in this collection, with the possible exception of the short extract from the glenn masain "deirdre," is in the actual form that we have it, older than the norman conquest of ireland, older than the norse sagas. its manuscript authority is older than that of the volsunga saga; its present form precedes the birth of chretien de troyes, the first considerable name in french literature, and, in a form not much unlike that in which we have it, it is probably centuries older than its actual manuscript date. the whole thing stands at the very beginning of the literature of modern europe, and compares by no means unfavourably with that which came after, and may, in part, have been inspired by it. surely it deserves to be raised from its present position as a study known only to a few specialists, and to form part of the mental equipment of every man who is for its own sake interested in and a lover of literature. introduction in verse 'tis hard an audience now to win for lore that ireland's tales can teach; and faintly, 'mid the modern din, is heard the old heroic speech. for long the tales in silence slept; the ancient tomes by few were read; e'en those who still its knowledge kept have thought the living music dead. and some, to save the lore from death, with modern arts each tale would deck, inflate its rhymes with magic breath, as if to buoy a sinking wreck. they graft new morbid magic dreams on tales where beating life is felt: in each romance find mystic gleams, and traces of the "moody celt." yet, though with awe the grassy mound that fairies haunt, is marked to-day; and though in ancient tales are found dim forms of gods, long passed away; though later men to magic turned, inserting many a druid spell; and ill the masters' craft had learned who told the tales, and told them well; no tale should need a magic dress or modern art, its life to give: each for itself, or great, or less, should speak, if it deserves to live. think not a dull, a scribal pen dead legends wrote, half-known, and feared: in lettered lands to poet men romance, who lives to-day, appeared. for when, in fear of warrior bands, had learning fled the western world, and, raised once more by irish hands, her banner stood again unfurled; 'twas there, where men her laws revered, that learning aided art's advance; and ireland bore, and ireland reared these eldest children of romance. her poets knew the druid creeds; yet not on these their thoughts would rest: they sang of love, of heroes' deeds, of kingly pomp, of cheerful jest. not as in greece aspired their thought, they joyed in battles wild and stern; yet pity once to men they taught from whom a fiercer age could learn. their frequent theme was war: they sang the praise of chiefs of courage high; yet, from their harps the accents rang that taught to knighthood chivalry. their heroes praise a conquered foe, oppose their friends for honour's sake, to weaker chieftains mercy show, and strength of cruel tyrants break. their nobles, loving fame, rejoice in glory, got from bards, to shine; yet thus ascends cuchulain's voice: "no skill indeed to boast is mine!" they sang, to please a warlike age, of wars, and women's wild lament, yet oft, restraining warriors' rage, their harps to other themes were bent. they loved on peaceful pomp to dwell, rejoiced in music's magic strains,. all nature's smiling face loved well, and "glowing hues of flowery plains." though oft of fairy land they spoke, no eerie beings dwelled therein, 'twas filled throughout with joyous folk like men, though freed from death and sin. and sure those bards were truest knights whose thoughts of women high were set, nor deemed them prizes, won in fights, but minds like men's, and women yet. with skilful touch they paint us each, etain, whose beauty's type for all; scathach, whose warriors skill could teach emer, whose words in wisdom fall; deirdre the seer, by love made keen; flidais, whose bounty armies feeds the prudent mugain, conor's queen; crund's wife, more swift than conor's steeds; finnabar, death for love who dared; revengeful ferb, who died of grief fand, who a vanquished rival spared; queen maev, who connaught led, its chief. not for the creeds their lines preserve should ireland's hero tales be known their pictured pages praise deserve from all, not learned men alone. their works are here; though flawed by time, to all the living verses speak of men who taught to europe rhyme, who knew no masters, save the greek. in forms like those men loved of old, naught added, nothing torn away, the ancient tales again are told, can none their own true magic sway? pronunciation of proper names the following list of suggested pronunciations does not claim to be complete or to be necessarily correct in all cases. some words like ferdia and conchobar (conor) have an established english pronunciation that is strictly speaking wrong; some, like murthemne are doubtful; the suggestions given here are those adopted by the editor for such information as is at his disposal. it seems to be unnecessary to give all the names, as the list would be too long; this list contains those names in the first volume as are of frequent occurrence; names that occur less commonly, and some of those in the following list, have a pronunciation indicated in foot-notes. the most important names are in small capitals. list of names aife (ee-fa), pp. , , , , an instructress of cuchulain, ferdia, and others in the art of war. cathbad (cah-ba), pp. , , , , a druid. cualgne (kell-ny), mentioned in the preface, introductions, the "combat" and elsewhere; a district corresponding to county louth. cuchulain (cu-hoo-lin), the hero of the "sick-bed" and the "combat," and of the ulster heroic cycle in general. deirdre (dire-dree), the heroine of the "exile of the sons of usnach." dubhtach (doov-ta), pp. , , , , an ulster hero. eochaid airem (yeo-hay arrem), the king in the "courtship of etain." eochaid juil (yeo-hay yool), pp. , , , , a fairy king killed by cuchulain. eogan mac durthacht (yeogan mac door-ha), pp. , , , , , ; an ulster hero, the slayer of the sons of usnach. etain (et-oyn), the heroine of the "courtship of etain." ferdia (fer-dee-a), cuchulain's opponent in the "combat at the ford." the true pronunciation is probably fer-deed. fuamnach (foom-na), pp. , , , , a sorceress. laeg (layg), son of riangabra (reen-gabra), the charioteer and friend of cuchulain, frequently mentioned in the "sick-bed" and the "combat at the ford." laegaire (leary), pp. , , , an ulster hero. leabhar na h-uidhri (lyow-er na hoorie), frequently mentioned, the oldest irish manuscript of romance. it means the "book of the dun cow," sometimes referred to as l.u. mac datho (mac da-ho), king of leinster in the "boar of mac datho," the word means "son of two mutes." murthemne (moor-temmy), pp. , , , , , , a district in ulster, with which cuchulain is connected in the "sick-bed" (in the "combat" he is "cuchulain of cualgne"). naisi (nay-see), the hero of the "exile of the sons of usnach." scathach (ska-ha), pp. , ) , , , , a sorceress in the isle of skye, instructress of cuchulain in war. uathach (oo-ha), pp. , , ; ) , daughter of scathach. other prominent characters, in the pronunciation of whose names as given in the text no special assistance is required, are: ailill mac mata (al-ill), king of connaught. ailill anglonnach, lover of etain, in the "courtship of etain." conall cernach, conall the victorious, second champion of ulster after cuchulain. conor (properly spelt conchobar and pronounced con-ower), king of ulster. emer, wife of cuchulain, appears often in the "sick-bed." this name is by some pronounced a-vair, probably from a different spelling. fand, the fairy princess, in love with cuchulain, in the "sick-bed." fergus, son of rog, prominent in the "exile of the sons of usnach," and in "combat"; step-father to king conor, he appears in most of the romances. ket (spelt cet), son of mata, the connaught champion, appears in the "boar of mac datho." maev (spelt medb), the great queen of connaught. mider, etain's fairy lover, in the "courtship of etain." contents the courtship of etain mac datho's boar the sick-bed of cuchulain the exile of the sons of usnach the combat at the ford special note on the combat at the ford general notes the courtship of etain introduction the date which tradition assigns to the events related in the tale of the "courtship of etain" is about b.c. , two or, according to some accounts, three generations before the king conaire mor, or conary, whose death is told in the tale called the "destruction of da derga's hostel." this king is generally spoken of as a contemporary of the chief personages of what is called more especially the "heroic age" of ireland; and the two versions of the "courtship of etain" given in this volume at once introduce a difficulty; for the sub-kings who were tributary to eochaid, etain's husband, are in both versions stated to be conor, ailill mac mata, mesgegra, and curoi, all of whom are well-known figures in the tales of the heroic age. as conary is related to have ruled sixty years, and several of the characters of the heroic age survived him, according to the tale that describes his death, the appearance of the names of conor and ailill in a tale about his grandfather (or according to the egerton version his great-grandfather) introduces an obvious discrepancy. it appears to be quite impossible to reconcile the dates given to the actors in the tales of the heroic and preceding age. they seem to have been given in the "antiquarian age" of the tenth and eleventh centuries; not only do they differ according to different chronologers by upwards of a hundred years, but the succession of kings in the accounts given by the same chronologer is often impossible in view of their mutual relationships. the real state of things appears to be that the "courtship of etain," together with the story of conary, the lost tale of the destruction of the fairy hill of nennta,[fn# ] and the tale of the bull-feast and election of lugaid red-stripes as king of ireland, forms a short cycle of romance based upon ancient legends that had originally no connection at all with those on which the romances of the heroic age were built. the whole government of the country is essentially different in the two cycles; in the etain cycle the idea is that of a land practically governed by one king, the vassal kings being of quite small importance; in the tales of the heroic age proper, the picture we get is of two, if not of four, practically independent kingdoms, the allusions to any over-king being very few, and in great part late. but when the stories of etain and of conary assumed their present forms, when the writers of our romances formed them out of the traditions which descended to them from pro-christian sources, both cycles of tradition were pretty well known; and there was a natural tendency to introduce personages from one cycle into the other, although these personages occupy a subordinate position in the cycle to which they do not properly belong. even conall cernach, who is a fairly prominent figure in the tale of the death of conary, has little importance given to him compared with the people who really belong to the cycle, and the other warriors of the heroic age mentioned in the tale are little but lay figures compared with conary, ingcel, and mac cecht. a wish to connect the two cycles probably accounts for the connection of lugaid red-stripes with cuchulain, the introduction of conor and ailill into the story of etain may be due to the same cause, and there is no need to suppose that the authors of our versions felt themselves bound by what other men had introduced into the tale of conary. the practice of introducing heroes from one cycle into another was by no means uncommon, or confined to ireland; greek heroes' names sometimes appear in the irish tales; cuchulain, in much later times, comes into the tales of finn; and in greece itself, characters who really belong to the time of the trojan war appear in tales of the argonauts. [fn# ] a short account of this is in the story of king dathi (o'curry lectures, p. ). the tale seems to be alluded to in the quatrain on p. of this volume. there are very few corresponding allusions to personages from the small etain cycle found in the great cycle of romances that belong to the heroic age, but maccecht's name appears in a fifteenth-century manuscript which gives a version of the tale of flidais; and i suspect an allusion to the etain story in a verse in the "sick-bed of cuchulain" (see note, p. ). it may be observed that the introduction of conor and his contemporaries into the story of conary's grandparents is an additional piece of evidence that our form of the story of etain precedes the "antiquarian age"; for at that time the version which we have of the story of conary must have been classical and the connection of conor's warriors with conary well-known. a keen eye was at that time kept on departures from the recognised historical order (compare a note by mr. nutt in the "voyage of bran," vol. ii. p. ); and the introduction of conor into our version of the tale of etain must have been at an earlier date. the two versions of the "courtship of etain," the egerton one, and that in the leabhar na h-uidhri, have been compared in the general preface to the volume, and little more need be said on this point; it may, however, be noted that eight pages of the egerton version (pp. to ) are compressed into two pages in l.u. (pp. and ). references to the etain story are found in different copies of the "dindshenchas," under the headings of rath esa, rath croghan, and bri leith; the principal manuscript authorities, besides the two translated here, are the yellow book of lecan, pp. to , and the book of leinster, b (facsimile). these do not add much to our versions; there are, however, one or two new points in a hitherto untranslated manuscript source mentioned by o'curry ("manners and customs," vol. ii. p to ). the leabhar na h-uidhri version is defective both at the beginning and at the end; there is also a complete column torn from the manuscript, making the description of the chess match defective. these three gaps have been filled up by short passages enclosed in square brackets, at the commencement of the prologue, on p. , and at the end of the l.u. version. the two first of these insertions contain no matter that cannot be found by allusions in the version itself; the conclusion of the tale is drawn, partly from the "dindshenchas" of rath esa, partly from the passage in o'curry's "manners and customs." the only alteration that has been made is that, following a suggestion in windisch (irische texte, i. p. ), the poem on page has been placed four pages earlier than the point at which it occurs in the manuscript. three very difficult lines (leabhar na h-uidhri, a, lines to ) have not been attempted; there are no other omissions, and no insertions except the three noted above. the prologue out of the l.u. version has been placed first, as it is essential to the understanding of any version, then follows the egerton version as the longer of the two, then the l.u. version of the courtship, properly so called. prologue in fairyland from the leabhar na h-uidhri etain of the horses, the daughter of ailill, was the wife of mider, the fairy dweller in bri leith.[fn# ] now mider had also another wife named fuamnach[fn# ] who was filled with jealousy against etain, and sought to drive her from her husband's house. and fuamnach sought out bressal etarlam the druid and besought his aid; and by the spells of the druid, and the sorcery of fuamnach, etain was changed into the shape of a butterfly that finds its delight among flowers. and when etain was in this shape she was seized by a great wind that was raised by fuamnach's spells; and she was borne from her husband's house by that wind for seven years till she came to the palace of angus mac o'c who was son to the dagda, the chief god of the men of ancient erin. mac o'c had been fostered by mider, but he was at enmity with his foster-father, and he recognised etain, although in her transformed shape, as she was borne towards him by the force] of the wind. and he made a bower for etain with clear windows for it through which she might pass, and a veil of purple was laid upon her; and that bower was carried about by mac o'c wherever he went. and there each night she slept beside him by a means that he devised, so that she became well-nourished and fair of form; for that bower was filled with marvellously sweet-scented shrubs, and it was upon these that she thrived, upon the odour and blossom of the best of precious herbs. [fn# ] pronounced bree lay. [fn# ] pronounced foom-na. now to fuamnach came tidings of the love and the worship that etain had from mac o'c, and she came to mider, and "let thy foster-son," said she, "be summoned to visit thee, that i may make peace between you two, and may then go to seek for news of etain." and the messenger from mider went to mac o'c, and mac o'c went to mider to greet him; but fuamnach for a long time wandered from land to land till she was in that very mansion where etain was; and then she blew beneath her with the same blast as aforetime, so that the blast carried her out of her bower, and she was blown before it, as she had been before for seven years through all the land of erin, and she was driven by the wind of that blast to weakness and woe. and the wind carried her over the roof of a house where the men of ulster sat at their ale, so that she fell through the roof into a cup of gold that stood near the wife of etar the warrior, whose dwelling-place was near to the bay of cichmany in the province that was ruled over by conor. and the woman swallowed etain together with the milk that was in the cup, and she bare her in her womb, till the time came that she was born thereafter as in earthly maid, and the name of etain, the daughter of etar, was given to her. and it was one thousand and twelve years since the time of the first begetting of etain by ailill to the time when she was born the second time as the daughter of etar. now etain was nurtured at inver cichmany in the house of etar, with fifty maidens about her of the daughters of the chiefs of the land; and it was etar himself who still nurtured and clothed them, that they might be companions to his daughter etain. and upon a certain day, when those maidens were all at the river-mouth to bathe there, they saw a horseman on the plain who came to the water towards them. a horse he rode that was brown, curvetting, and prancing, with a broad forehead and a curly mane and tail. green, long, and flowing was the cloak that was about him, his shirt was embroidered with embroidery of red gold, and a great brooch of gold in his cloak reached to his shoulder on either side. upon the back of that man was a silver shield with a golden rim; the handle for the shield was silver, and a golden boss was in the midst of the shield: he held in his hand a five-pointed spear with rings of gold about it from the haft to the head. the hair that was above his forehead was yellow and fair; and upon his brow was a circlet of gold, which confined the hair so that it fell not about his face. he stood for a while upon the shore of the bay; and he gazed upon the maidens, who were all filled with love for him, and then he sang this song: west of alba, near the mound[fn# ] where the fair-haired women play, there, 'mid little children found, etain dwells, by cichmain's bay. she hath healed a monarch's eye by the well of loch-da-lee; yea, and etar's wife, when dry, drank her: heavy draught was she! chased by king for etain's sake, birds their flight from teffa wing: 'tis for her da-arbre's lake drowns the coursers of the king. echaid, who in meath shall reign, many a war for thee shall wage; he shall bring on fairies bane, thousands rouse to battle's rage. etain here to harm was brought, etain's form is beauty's test; etain's king in love she sought: etain with our folk shall rest! [fn# ] the metre of these verses is that of the irish. and after that he had spoken thus, the young warrior went away from the place where the maidens were; and they knew not whence it was that he had come, nor whither he departed afterwards. moreover it is told of mac o'c, that after the disappearance of etain he came to the meeting appointed between him and mider; and when he found that fuamnach was away: "'tis deceit," said mider, "that this woman hath practised upon us; and if etain shall be seen by her to be in ireland, she will work evil upon etain." "and indeed," said mac o'c, "it seemeth to me that thy guess may be true. for etain hath long since been in my own house, even in the palace where i dwell; moreover she is now in that shape into which that woman transformed her; and 'tis most likely that it is upon her that fuamnach hath rushed." then mac o'c went back to his palace, and he found his bower of glass empty, for etain was not there. and mac o'c turned him, and he went upon the track of fuamnach, and he overtook her at oenach bodbgnai, in the house of bressal etarlam the druid. and mac o'c attacked her, and he struck off her head, and he carried the head with him till he came to within his own borders. yet a different tale hath been told of the end of fuamnach, for it hath been said that by the aid of manannan both fuamnach and mider were slain in bri leith, and it is of that slaying that men have told when they said: think on sigmall, and bri with its forest: little wit silly fuamnach had learned; mider's wife found her need was the sorest, when bri leith by manannan was burned. the courtship of etain egerton version once there was a glorious and stately king who held the supreme lordship over all the land of ireland. the name of the king was eochaid airemm, and he was the son of finn, who was the son of finntan; who was the son of rogan the red; who was the son of essamain; who was the son of blathecht; who was the son of beothecht; who was the son of labraid the tracker; who was the son of enna the swift; who was the son of angus of tara, called the shamefaced; who was the son of eochaid the broad-jointed; who was the son of ailill of the twisted teeth; who was the son of connla the fair; who was the son of irer; who was the son of melghe the praiseworthy; who was the son of cobhtach the slender from the plain of breg; who was the son of ugaine the great; who was the son of eochaid the victorious. now all the five provinces of ireland were obedient to the rule of eochaid airemm: for conor the son of ness, the king of ulster, was vassal to eochaid; and messgegra the king of leinster was his vassal; and so was curoi, the son of dare, king of the land of munster; and so were ailill and maev, who ruled over the land of connaught. two great strongholds were in the hands of eochaid: they were the strongholds of fremain in meath, and of fremain in tethba; and the stronghold that he had in tethba was more pleasing to him than any of those that he possessed. less than a year had passed since eochaid first assumed the sovereignty over erin, when the news was proclaimed at once throughout all the land that the festival of tara should be held, that all the men of ireland should come into the presence of their king, and that he desired full knowledge of the tributes due from, and the customs proper to each. and the one answer that all of the men of ireland made to his call was: "that they would not attend the festival of tara during such time, whether it be long or short, that the king of ireland remained without a wife that was worthy of him;" for there is no noble who is a wifeless man among the men of ireland; nor can there be any king without a queen; nor does any man go to the festival of tara without his wife; nor does any wife go thither without her husband. thereupon eochaid sent out from him his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and his couriers of the boundaries throughout all ireland; and they searched all ireland as they sought for a wife that should be worthy of the king, in her form, and her grace, and her countenance, and her birth. and in addition to all this there yet remained one condition: that the king would take as his wife none who had been before as a wife to any other man before him. and after that they had received these commands, his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries went out; and they searched all ireland south and north; and near to the bay of cichmany they found a wife worthy of the king; and her name was etain the daughter of etar, who was the king of echrad. and his messengers returned to eochaid, and they told him of the maiden, of her form, and her grace, and her countenance. and eochaid came to that place to take the maiden thence, and this was the way that he took; for as he crossed over the ground where men hold the assembly of bri leith, he saw the maiden at the brink of the spring. a clear comb of silver was held in her hand, the comb was adorned with gold; and near her, as for washing, was a bason of silver whereon four birds had been chased, and there were little bright gems of carbuncle on the rims of the bason. a bright purple mantle waved round her; and beneath it was another mantle, ornamented with silver fringes: the outer mantle was clasped over her bosom with a golden brooch. a tunic she wore, with a long hood that might cover her head attached to it; it was stiff and glossy with green silk beneath red embroidery of gold, and was clasped over her breasts with marvellously wrought clasps of silver and gold; so that men saw the bright gold and the green silk flashing against the sun. on her head were two tresses of golden hair, and each tress had been plaited into four strands; at the end of each strand was a little ball of gold. and there was that maiden, undoing her hair that she might wash it, her two arms out through the armholes of her smock. each of her two arms was as white as the snow of a single night, and each of her cheeks was as rosy as the foxglove. even and small were the teeth in her head, and they shone like pearls. her eyes were as blue as a hyacinth, her lips delicate and crimson; very high, soft, and white were her shoulders. tender, polished, and white were her wrists; her fingers long, and of great whiteness; her nails were beautiful and pink. white as the snow, or as the foam of the wave, was her side; long was it, slender, and as soft as silk. smooth and white were her thighs; her knees were round and firm and white; her ankles were as straight as the rule of a carpenter. her feet were slim, and as white as the ocean's foam; evenly set were her eyes; her eyebrows were of a bluish black, such as ye see upon the shell of a beetle. never a maid fairer than she, or more worthy of love, was till then seen by the eyes of men; and it seemed to them that she must be one of those who have come from the fairy mounds: it is of this maiden that men have spoken when it hath been said: "all that's graceful must be tested by etain; all that's lovely by the standard of etain." grace with etain's grace compare! etain's face shall test what's fair! and desire of her seized upon the king; and he sent a man of his people in front of him to go to her kindred, in order that she might abide to await his coming. and afterwards the king came to the maiden, and he sought speech from her: "whence art thou sprung, o maiden?" says eochaid, "and whence is it that thou hast come?" "it is easy to answer thee," said the maiden: "etain is my name, the daughter of the king of echrad; 'out of the fairy mound' am i" "shall an hour of dalliance with thee be granted to me?" said eochaid. "'tis for that i have come hither under thy safeguard," said she. "and indeed twenty years have i lived in this place, ever since i was born in the mound where the fairies dwell, and the men who dwell in the elf-mounds, their kings and their nobles, have been a-wooing me: yet to never a one of them was granted sleep with me, for i have loved thee, and have set my love and affection upon thee; and that ever since i was a little child, and had first the gift of speech. it was for the high tales of thee, and of thy splendour, that i have loved thee thus; and though i have never seen thee before, i knew thee at once by reason of the report of thee that i had heard; it is thou, i know, to whom we have attained." "it is no evil-minded lover who now inviteth thee," says eochaid. "thou shalt be welcomed by me, and i will leave all women for thy sake, and thine alone will i be so long as it is pleasing to thee." "let the bride-price that befits me be paid," said the maiden, "and after that let my desire be fulfilled." "it shall be as thou hast said," the king answered her; and he gave the value of seven cumals to be her brideprice; and after that he brought her to tara, whereon a fair and hearty welcome was made to her. now there were three brothers of the one blood, all sons of finn, namely, eochaid airem, and eochaid, and ailill anglonnach, or ailill of the single stain, because the only stain that was upon him was the love that he had for his brother's wife. and at that time came all the men of ireland to hold the festival of tara; they were there for fourteen days before samhain, the day when the summer endeth, and for fourteen days after that day. it was at the feast of tara that love for etain the daughter of etar came upon ailill anglonnach; and ever so long as they were at the tara feast, so long he gazed upon the maid. and it was there that the wife of ailill spoke to him; she who was the daughter of luchta of the red hand, who came from the province of leinster: "ailill," said she, "why dost thou gaze at her from afar? for long gazing is a token of love." and ailill gave blame to himself for this thing, and after that he looked not upon the maid. now it followed that after that the feast of tara had been consumed, the men of ireland parted from one another, and then it was that ailill became filled with the pangs of envy and of desire; and he brought upon himself the choking misery of a sore sickness, and was borne to the stronghold of fremain in tethba after that he had fallen into that woe. there also, until a whole year had ended, sickness long brooded over ailill, and for long was he in distress, yet he allowed none to know of his sickness. and there eochaid came to learn of his brother's state, and he came near to his brother, and laid his hand upon his chest; and ailill heaved a sigh. "why," said eochaid, "surely this sickness of thine is not such as to cause thee to lament; how fares it with thee?" "by my word," said ailill, "'tis no easier that i grow; but it is worse each day, and each night." "why, what ails thee?" said eochaid, "by my word of truth," said ailill, "i know not." "bring one of my folk hither," said eochaid, "one who can find out the cause of this illness." then fachtna, the chief physician of eochaid, was summoned to give aid to ailill, and he laid his hand upon his chest, and ailill heaved a sigh. "ah," said fachtna, "there is no need for lament in this matter, for i know the cause of thy sickness; one or other of these two evils oppresseth thee, the pangs of envy, or the pangs of love: nor hast thou been aided to escape from them until now." and ailill was full of shame, and he refused to confess to fachtna the cause of his illness, and the physician left him. now, after all this, king eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of ireland, and he left etain behind him in his fortress; and "lady," said he, "deal thou gently with ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die," said he, "do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of ogham." then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of ireland, and ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of fremain of tethba; there to pass away and to die. now upon a certain day that followed, the lady etain came to the house where ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him: "what is it," she said, "that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it." it was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and ailill in song made answer to her: etain young man, of the strong step and splendid, what hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? thou hast long been on sick-bed extended, though around thee the sunshine was fair. ailill there is reason indeed for my sighing, i joy naught at my harp's pleasant sound; milk untasted beside me is lying; and by this in disease am i bound. etain tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing; for a maiden am i that is wise; is there naught, that to heal thee availing, thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise ailill if i told thee, thou beautiful maiden, my words, as i formed them, would choke, for with fire can eyes' curtains be laden: woman-secrets are evil, if woke. etain it is ill woman-secrets to waken; yet with love, its remembrance is long; and its part by itself may be taken, nor a thought shall remain of the wrong. ailill i adore thee, white lady, as grateful; yet thy bounty deserve i but ill: to my soul is my longing but hateful, for my body doth strive with me still. eocho fedlech,[fn# ] his bride to him taking, made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: for my head and my body are aching, and all ireland my weakness must know. etain if, among the white women who near me abide, there is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide; to thy side will i bring her, if thus i may please; and in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease. ah lady! said ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished: long ago did my passion begin, a full year it exceeds in its length; and it holds me, more near than my skin, and it rules over wrath in its strength. and the earth into four it can shake, can reach up to the heights of the sky and a neck with its might it can break, nor from fight with a spectre would fly. in vain race up to heaven 'tis urged; it is chilled, as with water, and drowned: 'tis a weapon, in ocean submerged; 'tis desire for an echo, a sound. 'tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus i strive in vain to win the heart of her whose love i long so much to gain. [fn# ] pronounced yeo-ho fayllya, see note, p. . and the lady stood there in that place, and she looked upon ailill, and the sickness in which he lay was perceived by her; and she was grieved on account of it: so that upon a certain day came the lady to ailill, and "young man," she said, "arouse thyself quickly, for in very truth thou shalt have all that thou desirest; and thereon did she make this lay: now arouse thyself, ailill the royal: let thy heart, and thy courage rise high; every longing thou hast shall be sated, for before thee, to heal thee, am i. is my neck and its beauty so pleasing? 'tis around it thine arms thou shalt place; and 'tis known as a courtship's beginning when a man and a woman embrace. and if this cometh not to content thee, o thou man, that art son to a king! i will dare to do crime for thy healing, and my body to please thee will bring. there were steeds, with their bridles, one hundred, when the price for my wedding was told; and one hundred of gay-coloured garments, and of cattle, and ounces of gold. of each beast that men know, came one hundred; and king eocho to grant them was swift: when a king gave such dowry to gain me, is't not wondrous to win me, as gift? now each day the lady came to ailill to tend him, and to divide for him the portion of food that was allotted to him; and she wrought a great healing upon him: for it grieved her that he should perish for her sake. and one day the lady spoke to ailill: "come thou to-morrow," said she, "to tryst with me at the break of day, in the house which lieth outside, and is beyond the fort, and there shalt thou have granted thy request and thy desire." on that night ailill lay without sleep until the coming of the morning; and when the time had come that was appointed for his tryst, his sleep lay heavily upon him; so that till the hour of his rising he lay deep in his sleep. and etain went to the tryst, nor had she long to wait ere she saw a man coming towards her in the likeness of ailill, weary and feeble; but she knew that he was not ailill, and she continued there waiting for ailill. and the lady came back from her tryst, and ailill awoke, and thought that he would rather die than live; and he went in great sadness and grief. and the lady came to speak with him, and when he told her what had befallen him: "thou shalt come," said she, "to the same place, to meet with me upon the morrow." and upon the morrow it was the same as upon the first day; each day came that man to her tryst. and she came again upon the last day that was appointed for the tryst, and the same man met her. "'tis not with thee that i trysted," said she, "why dost thou come to meet me? and for him whom i would have met here; neither from desire of his love nor for fear of danger from him had i appointed to meet him, but only to heal him, and to cure him from the sickness which had come upon him for his love of me." "it were more fitting for thee to come to tryst with me," says the man, "for when thou wast etain of the horses, and when thou wast the daughter of ailill, i myself was thy husband. "why," said she, "what name hast thou in the land? that is what i would demand of thee." "it is not hard to answer thee," he said; "mider of bri leith is my name." "and what made thee to part from me, if we were as thou sayest?" said etain. "easy again is the answer," said mider; "it was the sorcery of fuamnach and the spells of bressal etarlam that put us apart." and mider said to etain: "wilt thou come with me?" "nay," answered etain, "i will not exchange the king of all ireland for thee; for a man whose kindred and whose lineage is unknown." "it was i myself indeed," said mider, "who filled all the mind of ailill with love for thee: it was i also who prevented his coming to the tryst with thee, and allowed him not thine honour to spoil it." after all this the lady went back to her house, and she came to speech with ailill, and she greeted him. "it hath happened well for us both," said ailill, "that the man met thee there: for i am cured for ever from my illness, thou also art unhurt in thine honour, and may a blessing rest upon thee!" "thanks be to our gods," said etain, "that both of us do indeed deem that all this hath chanced so well." and after that eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he asked at once for his brother; and the tale was told to him from the beginning to the end, and the king was grateful to etain, in that she had been gracious to ailill; and, "what hath been related in this tale," said eochaid, "is well-pleasing to ourselves." and, for the after history of eochaid and etain, it is told that once when eochaid was in fremain, at such time as the people had prepared for themselves a great gathering and certain horse-races; thither also to that assembly came etain, that she might see the sight. thither also came mider, and he searched through that assembly to find out where etain might be; and he found etain, and her women around her, and he bore her away with him, also one of her handmaidens, called crochen the ruddy: hideous was the form in which mider approached them. and the wives of the men of ireland raised cries of woe, as the queen was carried off from among them; and the horses of ireland were loosed to pursue mider, for they knew not whether it was into the air or into the earth he had gone. but, as for mider, the course that he had taken was the road to the west, even to the plain of croghan; and as he came thither, "how shall it profit us," said crochen the ruddy, "this journey of ours to this plain?" "for evermore," said mider, "shall thy name be over all this plain:" and hence cometh the name of the plain of croghan, and of the fort of croghan. then mider came to the fairy mound of croghan; for the dwellers in that mound were allied to him, and his friends; and for nine days they lingered there, banqueting and feasting; so that "is this the place where thou makest thy home?" said crochen to mider. "eastwards from this is my dwelling," mider answered her; "nearer to the rising-place of the sun;" and mider, taking etain with him, departed, and came to bri leith, where the son of celthar had his palace. now just at the time when they came to this palace, king eochaid sent out from him the horsemen of ireland, also his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, that they might search through ireland, and find out where his wife might be; and eochaid himself wandered throughout ireland to seek for his wife; and for a year from that day until the same day upon the year that followed he searched, and he found nothing to profit him. then, at the last, king eochaid sent for his druid, and he set to him the task to seek for etain; now the name of the druid was dalan. and dalan came before him upon that day; and he went westwards, until he came to the mountain that was after that known as slieve dalan; and he remained there upon that night. and the druid deemed it a grievous thing that etain should be hidden from him for the space of one year, and thereupon he made three wands of yew; and upon the wands he wrote an ogham; and by the keys of wisdom that he had, and by the ogham, it was revealed to him that etain was in the fairy mound of bri leith, and that mider had borne her thither. then dalan the druid turned him, and went back to the east; and he came to the stronghold of fremain, even to the place where the king of ireland was; and eochaid asked from the druid his news. thither also came the horsemen, and the wizards, and the officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, to the king of ireland, and he asked them what tidings they had, and whether they had found news of mider and etain. and they said that they had found nothing at all; until at the last said his druid to him: "a great evil hath smitten thee, also shame, and misfortune, on account of the loss of thy wife. do thou assemble the warriors of ireland, and depart to bri leith, where is the palace of the son of celthar; let that palace be destroyed by thy hand, and there thou shalt find thy wife: by persuasion or by force do thou take her thence." then eochaid and the men of ireland marched to bri leith, and they set themselves to destroy that fairy dwelling, and to demand that etain be brought to them, and they brought her not. then they ruined that fairy dwelling, and they brought etain out from it; and she returned to fremain, and there she had all the worship that a king of ireland can bestow, fair wedded love and affection, such as was her due from eochaid airemm. this is that eochaid who ruled over ireland for twelve years, until the fire burned him in fremain; and this tale is known by the name of the "sick-bed of ailill," also as "the courtship of etain." etain bore no children to eochaid airemm, save one daughter only; and the name of her mother was given to her, and she is known by the name of etain, the daughter of eochaid airemm. and it was her daughter messbuachalla who was the mother of king conary the great, the son of eterscel, and it was for this cause that the fairy host of mag breg and mider of bri leith violated the tabus of king conary, and devastated the plain of breg, and out off conary's life; on account of the capture of that fairy dwelling, and on account of the recovery of etain, when she was carried away by violence, even by the might of eochaid airemm. the courtship of etain leabhar na h-uidhri version eochaid airemon took the sovereignty over erin, and the five provinces of ireland were obedient to him, for the king of each province was his vassal. now these were they who were the kings of the provinces at that time, even conor the son of ness, and messgegra, and tigernach tetbannach, and curoi, and ailill the son of mata of muresc. and the royal forts that belonged to eochaid were the stronghold of fremain in meath, and the stronghold of fremain in tethba; moreover the stronghold of fremain in tethba was more pleasing to him than any other of the forts of erin. now a year after that eochaid had obtained the sovereignty, he sent out his commands to the men of ireland that they should come to tara to hold festival therein, in order that there should be adjusted the taxes and the imposts that should be set upon them, so that these might be settled for a period of five years. and the one answer that the men of ireland made to eochaid was that they would not make for the king that assembly which is the festival of tara until he found for himself a queen, for there was no queen to stand by the king's side when eochaid first assumed the kingdom. then eochaid sent out the messengers of each of the five provinces to go through the land of ireland to seek for that woman or girl who was the fairest to be found in erin; and he bade them to note that no woman should be to him as a wife, unless she had never before been as a wife to any one of the men of the land. and at the bay of cichmany a wife was found for him, and her name was etain, the daughter of etar; and eochaid brought her thereafter to his palace, for she was a wife meet for him, by reason of her form, and her beauty, and her descent, and her brilliancy, and her youth, and her renown. now finn the son of findloga had three sons, all sons of a queen, even eochaid fedlech, and eochaid airemm, and ailill anguba. and ailill anguba was seized with love for etain at the festival of tara, after that she had been wedded to eochaid; since he for a long time gazed upon her, and, since such gazing is a token of love, ailill gave much blame to himself for the deed that he was doing, yet it helped him not. for his longing was too strong for his endurance, and for this cause he fell into a sickness; and, that there might be no stain upon his honour, his sickness was concealed by him from all, neither did he speak of it to the lady herself. then fachtna, the chief physician of eochaid, was brought to look upon ailill, when it was understood that his death might be near, and thus the physician spoke to him: "one of the two pangs that slay a man, and for which there is no healing by leechcraft, is upon thee; either the pangs of envy or the pangs of love. and ailill refused to confess the cause of his illness to the physician, for he was withheld by shame and he was left behind in fremain of tethba to die; and eochaid went upon his royal progress throughout all erin, and he left etain behind him to be near ailill, in order that the last rites of ailill might be done by her; that she might cause his grave to be dug, and that the keen might be raised for him, and that his cattle should be slain for him as victims. and to the house where ailill lay in his sickness went etain each day to converse with him, and his sickness was eased by her presence; and, so long as etain was in that place where he was, so long was he accustomed to gaze at her. now etain observed all this, and she bent her mind to discover the cause, and one day when they were in the house together, etain asked of ailill what was the cause of his sickness. "my sickness," said ailill, "comes from my love for thee." "'tis pity," said she, "that thou hast so long kept silence, for thou couldest have been healed long since, had we but known of its cause." "and even now could i be healed," said ailill, "did i but find favour in thy sight." "thou shalt find favour," she said. each day after they had spoken thus with each other, she came to him for the fomenting of his head, and for the giving of the portion of food that was required by him, and for the pouring of water over his hands; and three weeks after that, ailill was whole. then he said to etain: "yet is the completion of my cure at thy hands lacking to me; when may it be that i shall have it?" "'tis to-morrow it shall be," she answered him, "but it shall not be in the abode of the lawful monarch of the land that this felony shall be done. thou shalt come," she said, "on the morrow to yonder hill that riseth beyond the fort: there shall be the tryst that thou desirest." now ailill lay awake all that night, and he fell into a sleep at the hour when he should have kept his tryst, and he woke not from his sleep until the third hour of the day. and etain went to her tryst, and she saw a man before her; like was his form to the form of ailill, he lamented the weakness that his sickness had caused him, and he gave to her such answers as it was fitting that ailill should give. but at the third hour of the day, ailill himself awoke: and he had for a long time remained in sorrow when etain came into the house where he was; and as she approached him, "what maketh thee so sorrowful?" said etain. "'tis because thou wert sent to tryst with me," said ailill, "and i came not to thy presence, and sleep fell upon me, so that i have but now awakened from it; and surely my chance of being healed hath now gone from me." "not so, indeed," answered etain, "for there is a morrow to follow to-day." and upon that night he took his watch with a great fire before him, and with water beside him to put upon his eyes. at the hour that was appointed for the tryst, etain came for her meeting with ailill; and she saw the same man, like unto ailill, whom she had seen before; and etain went to the house, and saw ailill still lamenting. and etain came three times, and yet ailill kept not his tryst, and she found that same man there every time. "'tis not for thee," she said, "that i came to this tryst: why comest thou to meet me? and as for him whom i would have met, it was for no sin or evil desire that i came to meet him; but it was fitting for the wife of the king of ireland to rescue the man from the sickness under which he hath so long been oppressed." "it were more fitting for thee to tryst with me myself," said the man, "for when thou wert etain of the horses, the daughter of ailill, it was i who was thy husband. and when thou camest to be wife to me, thou didst leave a great price behind thee; even a marriage price of the chief plains and waters of ireland, and as much of gold and of silver as might match thee in value." "why," said she, "what is thy name?" "'tis easy to say," he answered; "mider of bri leith is my name." "truly," said she; "and what was the cause that parted us?" "that also is easy," he said; "it was the sorcery of fuamnach, and the spells of bressal etarlam. and then mider said to etain: wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? to dwell in the marvellous land of the musical spell, where the crowns of all heads are, as primroses, bright, and from head to the heel all men's bodies snow-white. in that land of no "mine" nor of "thine" is there speech, but there teeth flashing white and dark eyebrows hath each; in all eyes shine our hosts, as reflected they swarm, and each cheek with the pink of the foxglove is warm. with the heather's rich tint every blushing neck glows, in our eyes are all shapes that the blackbird's egg shows; and the plains of thine erin, though pleasing to see, when the great plain is sighted, as deserts shall be. though ye think the ale strong in this island of fate, yet they drink it more strong in the land of the great; of a country where marvel abounds have i told, where no young man in rashness thrusts backward the old. there are streams smooth and luscious that flow through that land, and of mead and of wine is the best at each hand; and of crime there is naught the whole country within, there are men without blemish, and love without sin. through the world of mankind, seeing all, can we float, and yet none, though we see them, their see-ers can note; for the sin of their sire is a mist on them flung, none may count up our host who from adam is sprung. lady, come to that folk; to that strong folk of mine; and with gold on thy head thy fair tresses shall shine: 'tis on pork the most dainty that then thou shalt feed, and for drink have thy choice of new milk and of mead. "i will not come with thee," answered etain, "i will not give up the king of ireland for thee, a man who knows not his own clan nor his kindred." "it was indeed myself," said mider, "who long ago put beneath the mind of ailill the love that he hath felt for thee, so that his blood ceased to run, and his flesh fell away from him: it was i also who have taken away his desire, so that there might be no hurt to thine honour. but wilt thou come with me to my land," said mider, "in case eochaid should ask it of thee?" "i would come in such case," answered to him etain. after all this etain departed to the house. "it hath indeed been good, this our tryst," said ailill, "for i have been cured of my sickness; moreover, in no way has thine honour been stained." "'tis glorious that it hath fallen out so," answered etain. and afterwards eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he was grateful for that his brother's life had been preserved, and he gave all thanks to etain for the great deed she had done while he was away from his palace. now upon another time it chanced that eochaid airemm, the king of tara, arose upon a certain fair day in the time of summer; and he ascended the high ground of tara to behold the plain of breg; beautiful was the colour of that plain, and there was upon it excellent blossom, glowing with all hues that are known. and, as the aforesaid eochaid looked about and around him, he saw a young strange warrior upon the high ground at his side. the tunic that the warrior wore was purple in colour, his hair was of a golden yellow, and of such length that it reached to the edge of his shoulders. the eyes of the young warrior were lustrous and grey; in the one hand he held a five-pointed spear, in the other a shield with a white central boss, and with gems of gold upon it. and eochaid held his peace, for he knew that none such had been in tara on the night before, and the gate that led into the liss had not at that hour been thrown open. the warrior came, and placed himself under the protection of eochaid; and "welcome do i give," said eochaid, "to the hero who is yet unknown." "thy reception is such as i expected when i came," said the warrior. "we know thee not," answered eochaid. "yet thee in truth i know well!" he replied. "what is the name by which thou art called?" said eochaid. "my name is not known to renown," said the warrior; "i am mider of bri leith." "and for what purpose art thou come?" said eochaid. "i have come that i may play a game at the chess with thee," answered mider. "truly," said eochaid, "i myself am skilful at the chess-play." "let us test that skill! said mider. "nay," said eochaid, the queen is even now in her sleep; and hers is the palace in which the chessboard lies." "i have here with me," said mider, "a chessboard which is not inferior to thine." it was even as he said, for that chessboard was silver, and the men to play with were gold; and upon that board were costly stones, casting their light on every side, and the bag that held the men was of woven chains of brass. mider then set out the chessboard, and he called upon eochaid to play. "i will not play," said eochaid, "unless we play for a stake." "what stake shall we have upon the game then?" said mider. "it is indifferent to me," said eochaid. "then," said mider, "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake, i will bestow on thee fifty steeds of a dark grey, their heads of a blood-red colour, but dappled; their ears pricked high, and their chests broad; their nostrils wide, and their hoofs slender; great is their strength, and they are keen like a whetted edge; eager are they, high-standing, and spirited, yet easily stopped in their course." [many games were played between eochaid and mider; and, since mider did not put forth his whole strength, the victory on all occasions rested with eochaid. but instead of the gifts which mider had offered, eochaid demanded that mider and his folk should perform for him services which should be of benefit to his realm; that he should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of meath, should remove the rushes which made the land barren around his favourite fort of tethba, should cut down the forest of breg, and finally should build a causeway across the moor or bog of lamrach that men might pass freely across it. all these things mider agreed to do, and eochaid sent his steward to see how that work was done. and when it came to the time after sunset, the steward looked, and he saw that mider and his fairy host, together with fairy oxen, were labouring at the causeway over the bog;] and thereupon much of earth and of gravel and of stones was poured into it. now it had, before that time, always been the custom of the men of ireland to harness their oxen with a strap over their foreheads, so that the pull might be against the foreheads of the oxen; and this custom lasted up to that very night, when it was seen that the fairy-folk had placed the yoke upon the shoulders of the oxen, so that the pull might be there; and in this way were the yokes of the oxen afterwards placed by eochaid, and thence cometh the name by which he is known; even eochaid airemm, or eochaid the ploughman, for he was the first of all the men of ireland to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen, and thus it became the custom for all the land of ireland. and this is the song that the host of the fairies sang, as they laboured at the making of the road: thrust it in hand! force it in hand! nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand: hard is the task that is asked, and who from the bridging of lamrach shall gain, or rue? not in all the world could a road have been found that should be better than the road that they made, had it not been that the fairy folk were observed as they worked upon it; but for that cause a breach hath been made in that causeway. and the steward of eochaid thereafter came to him; and he described to him that great labouring band that had come before his eyes, and he said that there was not over the chariot-pole of life a power that could withstand its might. and, as they spake thus with each other, they saw mider standing before them; high was he girt, and ill-favoured was the face that he showed; and eochaid arose, and he gave welcome to him. "thy welcome is such as i expected when i came," said mider. "cruel and senseless hast thou been in thy treatment of me, and much of hardship and suffering hast thou given me. all things that seemed good in thy sight have i got for thee, but now anger against thee hath filled my mind!" "i return not anger for anger," answered eochaid; "what thou wishest shall be done." "let it be as thou wishest," said mider; "shall we play at the chess?" said he. "what stake shall we set upon the game?" said eochaid. "even such stake as the winner of it shall demand," said mider. and in that very place eochaid was defeated, and he forfeited his stake. "my stake is forfeit to thee," said eochaid. "had i wished it, it had been forfeit long ago," said mider. "what is it that thou desirest me to grant?" said eochaid. "that i may hold etain in my arms, and obtain a kiss from her!" answered mider. eochaid was silent for a while and then he said: "one month from this day thou shalt come, and the very thing that thou hast asked for shall be given to thee." now for a year before that mider first came to eochaid for the chess-play, had he been at the wooing of etain, and he obtained her not; and the name which he gave to etain was befind, or fair-haired woman, so it was that he said: wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? as has before been recited. and it was at that time that etain said: "if thou obtainest me from him who is the master of my house, i will go; but if thou art not able to obtain me from him, then i will not go." and thereon mider came to eochaid, and allowed him at the first to win the victory over him, in order that eochaid should stand in his debt; and therefore it was that he paid the great stakes to which he had agreed; and therefore also was it that he had demanded of him that he should play that game in ignorance of what was staked. and when mider and his folk were paying those agreed-on stakes, which were paid upon that night; to wit, the making of the road, and the clearing of the stones from meath, the rushes from around tethba, and of the forest that is over breg, it was thus that he spoke, as it is written in the book of drom snechta: pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: red are the oxen around who toil: heavy the troops that my words obey; heavy they seem, and yet men are they. strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed red are the wattles above them laced: tired are your hands, and your glances slant; one woman's winning this toil may grant! oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; men who are white shall your servants be: rushes from teffa are cleared away: grief is the price that the man shall pay: stones have been cleared from the rough meath ground; whose shall the gain or the harm be found? now mider appointed a day at the end of the month when he was to meet eochaid, and eochaid called the armies of the heroes of ireland together, so that they came to tara; and all the best of the champions of ireland, ring within ring, were about tara, and they were in the midst of tara itself, and they guarded it, both without and within; and the king and the queen were in the midst of the palace, and the outer court thereof was shut and locked, for they knew that the great might of men would come upon them. and upon the appointed night etain was dispensing the banquet to the kings, for it was her duty to pour out the wine, when in the midst of their talk they saw mider standing before them in the centre of the palace. he was always fair, yet fairer than he ever was seemed mider to be upon that night. and he brought to amazement all the hosts on which he gazed, and all thereon were silent, and the king gave a welcome to him. "thy reception is such as i expected when i came," said mider; "let that now be given to me that hath been promised. 'tis a debt that is due when a promise hath been made; and i for my part have given to thee all that was promised by me." "i have not yet considered the matter," said eochaid. "thou hast promised etain's very self to me," said mider; "that is what hath come from thee." etain blushed for shame when she heard that word. "blush not," said mider to etain, "for in nowise hath thy wedding-feast been disgraced. i have been seeking thee for a year with the fairest jewels and treasures that can be found in ireland, and i have not taken thee until the time came when eochaid might permit it. 'tis not through any will of thine that i have won thee." "i myself told thee," said etain, "that until eochaid should resign me to thee i would grant thee nothing. take me then for my part, if eochaid is willing to resign me to thee." "but i will not resign thee!" said eochaid; "nevertheless he shall take thee in his arms upon the floor of this house as thou art." "it shall be done!" said mider. he took his weapons into his left hand and the woman beneath his right shoulder; and he carried her off through the skylight of the house. and the hosts rose up around the king, for they felt that they had been disgraced, and they saw two swans circling round tara, and the way that they took was the way to the elf-mound of femun. and eochaid with an army of the men of ireland went to the elf-mound of femun, which men call the mound of the fair-haired-women. and he followed the counsel of the men of ireland, and he dug up each of the elf-mounds that he might take his wife from thence. [and mider and his host opposed them and the war between them was long: again and again the trenches made by eochaid were destroyed, for nine years as some say lasted the strife of the men of ireland to enter into the fairy palace. and when at last the armies of eochaid came by digging to the borders of the fairy mansion, mider sent to the side of the palace sixty women all in the shape of etain, and so like to her that none could tell which was the queen. and eochaid himself was deceived, and he chose, instead of etain, her daughter messbuachalla (or as some say esa.) but when he found that he had been deceived, he returned again to sack bri leith, and this time etain made herself known to eochaid, by proofs that he could not mistake, and he bore her away in triumph to tara, and there she abode with the king.] mac datho's boar introduction the tale of "mac datho's boar" seems to deal with events that precede the principal events of the heroic period; most of the characters named in it appear as the chief actors in other romances; conor and ailill are as usual the leaders of ulster and connaught, but the king of leinster is mesroda mac datho, not his brother mesgegra, who appears in the "siege of howth" (see hull, cuchullin saga, p. ), and the ulster champion is not cuchulain, but his elder comrade, conall cernach. the text followed is that of the book of leinster as printed by windisch in irische texte, vol. i.; the later harleian manuscript's readings given by windisch have been taken in a few cases where the leinster text seems untranslatable. there is a slightly different version, given by kuno meyer in the anecdota oxoniensia, taken from rawlinson, b. , a fifteenth-century manuscript, but the text is substantially that of the leinster version, and does not give, as in the case of the tale of etain, a different view of the story. the verse passages differ in the two versions; two verse passages on pages and have been inserted from the rawlinson manuscript, otherwise the rendering follows the leinster text. the style of the tale is more barbaric than that of the other romances, but is relieved by touches of humour; the only supernatural touch occurs in one of the variations of the rawlinson manuscript. some of the chief variations en in this manuscript are pointed out in the notes; the respectful men on of curoi mac dari, who seems to have been a munster hero, overshadowed in the accepted versions by the superior glory of ulster, may be noted; also the remark that ferloga did not get his cepoc, which seems to have been inserted by a later band of a critic who disapproved of the frivolity of the original author, or was jealous for the honour of the ulster ladies. mac datho's boar from the book of leinster (twelfth-century ms.) with some additions from rawlinson, b. , written about a glorious king once hold rule over the men of leinster; his name was mesroda mac datho. now mac datho had among his possessions a hound which was the guardian of all leinster; the name of the hound was ailbe, and all of the land of leinster was filled with reports of the fame of it, and of that hound hath it been sung: mesroda, son of datho, was he the boar who reared; and his the hound called ailbe; no lie the tale appeared! the splendid hound of wisdom, the hound that far is famed, the hound from whom moynalvy for evermore is named. by king ailill and queen maev were sent folk to the son of datho to demand that hound, and at that very hour came heralds from conor the son of ness to demand him; and to all of these a welcome was bid by the people of mac datho, and they were brought to speak with mac datho in his palace. at the time that we speak of, this palace was a hostelry that was the sixth of the hostelries of ireland.; there were beside it the hostelry of da derga in the land of cualan in leinster; also the hostelry of forgall the wily, which is beside lusk; and the hostelry of da reo in breffny; and the hostelry of da choca in the west of meath; and the hostelry of the landholder blai in the country of the men of ulster. there were seven doors to that palace, and seven passages ran through it; also there stood within it seven cauldrons, and in every one of the cauldrons was seething the flesh of oxen and the salted flesh of swine. every traveller who came into the house after a journey would thrust a fork into a cauldron, and whatsoever he brought out at the first thrust, that had he to eat: if he got nothing at the first thrust, no second attempt was allowed him. they brought the heralds before mac datho as he sat upon his throne, that he might learn of their requests before they made their meal, and in this manner they made known their message. "we have come," said the men who were sent from connaught, "that we might ask for thy hound; 'tis by ailill and maev we are sent. thou shalt have in payment for him six thousand milch cows, also a two-horsed chariot with its horses, the best to be had in connaught, and at the end of a year as much again shall be thine." "we also," said the heralds from ulster, "have come to ask for thy hound; we have been sent by conor, and conor is a friend who is of no less value than these. he also will give to thee treasures and cattle, and the same amount at the end of a year, and he will be a stout friend to thee." now after he had received this message mac datho sank into a deep silence, he ate nothing, neither did he sleep, but tossed about from one side to another, and then said his wife to him: "for a long time hast thou fasted; food is before thee, yet thou eatest not; what is it that ails thee? and mac datho made her no answer, whereupon she said: the wife[fn# ] gone is king mac datho's sleep, restless cares his home invade; though his thoughts from all he keep, problems deep his mind hath weighed. he, my sight avoiding, turns towards the wall, that hero grim; well his prudent wife discerns sleep hath passed away from him. [fn# ] the irish metre is followed in the first four verses. mac datho crimthann saith, nar's sister's son, "secrets none to women tell. woman's secret soon is won; never thrall kept jewel well." the wife why against a woman speak till ye test, and find she fails? when thy mind to plan is weak, oft another's wit avails. mac datho at ill season indeed came those heralds who his hound from mac datho would take; in more wars than by thought can be counted fair-haired champions shall fall for its sake. if to conor i dare to deny him, he shall deem it the deed of a churl nor shall cattle or country be left me by the hosts he against me can hurl. if refusal to ailill i venture, with all ireland my folk shall he sack; from our kingdom mac mata shall drive us, and our ashes may tell of his track. the wife here a counsel i find to deliver, and in woe shall our land have no share; of that hound to them both be thou giver, and who dies for it little we care. mac datho ah! the grief that i had is all ended, i have joy for this speech from thy tongue surely ailbe from heaven descended, there is none who can say whence he sprung. after these words the son of datho rose up, and he shook himself, and may this fall out well for us," said he, "and well for our guests who come here to seek for him." his guests abode three days and three nights in his house, and when that time was ended, he bade that the heralds from connaught be called to confer with him apart, and he spoke thus: "i have been," he said, "in great vexation of spirit, and for long have i hesitated before i made a decision what to do. but now have i decided to give the hound to ailill and maev, let them come with splendour to bear it away. they shall have plenty both to eat and to drink, and they shall have the hound to hold, and welcome shall they be." and the messengers from connaught were well pleased with this answer that they had. then he went to where the heralds from ulster were, and thus he addressed them: "after long hesitation," said he, "i have awarded the hound to conor, and a proud man should he be. let the armies of the nobles of ulster come to bear him away; they shall have presents, and i will make them welcome;" and with this the messengers from ulster were content. now mac datho had so planned it that both those armies, that from the east and that from the west, should arrive at his palace upon the selfsame day. nor did they fail to keep their tryst; upon the same day those two provinces of ireland came to mac datho's palace, and mac datho himself went outside and greeted them: "for two armies at the same time we were not prepared; yet i bid welcome to you, ye men. enter into the court of the house." then they went all of them into the palace; one half of the house received the ulstermen, and the other half received the men of connaught. for the house was no small one: it had seven doors and fifty couches between each two doors; and it was no meeting of friends that was then seen in that house, but the hosts that filled it were enemies to each other, for during the whole time of the three hundred years that preceded the birth of christ there was war between ulster and connaught. then they slaughtered for them mac datho's boar; for seven years had that boar been nurtured upon the milk of fifty cows, but surely venom must have entered into its nourishment, so many of the men of ireland did it cause to die. they brought in the boar, and forty oxen as side-dishes to it, besides other kind of food; the son of datho himself was steward to their feast: "be ye welcome!" said he; "this beast before you hath not its match; and a goodly store of beeves and of swine may be found with the men of leinster! and, if there be aught lacking to you, more shall be slain for you in the morning." "it is a mighty boar," said conor. "'tis a mighty one indeed," said ailill. "how shall it be divided, o conor?" said he. "how?" cried down bricriu,[fn# ] the son of carbad, from above; "in the place where the warriors of ireland are gathered together, there can be but the one test for the division of it, even the part that each man hath taken in warlike deeds and strife: surely each man of you hath struck the other a buffet on the nose ere now!" "thus then shall it be," said ailill. "'tis a fair test," said conor in assent; "we have here a plenty of lads in this house who have done battle on the borders." "thou shalt lose thy lads to-night, conor," said senlaech the charioteer, who came from rushy conalad in the west; "often have they left a fat steer for me to harry, as they sprawled on their backs upon the road that leadeth to the rushes of dedah." "fatter was the steer that thou hadst to leave to us," said munremur,[fn# ] the son of gerrcind; "even thine own brother, cruachniu, son of ruadlam; and it was from conalad of cruachan that he came." "he was no better," cried lugaid the son of curoi of munster, "than loth the great, the son of fergus mac lete; and echbel the son of dedad left him lying in tara luachra."[fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced brik-roo. [fn# ] pronounced moon-raymer. [fn# ] pronounced looch-ra. "what sort of a man was he whom ye boast of?" cried celtchar of ulster. "i myself slew that horny-skinned son of dedad, i cut the head from his shoulders." at the last it fell out that one man raised himself above all the men of ireland; he was ket, the son of mata, he came from the land of connaught. he hung up his weapons at a greater height than the weapons of any one else who was there, he took a knife in his hand, and he placed himself at the side of the boar. "find ye now," said he, "one man among the men of ireland who can equal my renown, or else leave the division of the boar to me." all of the ulstermen were thrown into amazement. "seest thou that, o laegaire?"[fn# ] said conor. [fn# ] pronounced leary. "never shall it be," said laegaire the triumphant, "that ket should have the division of this boar in the face of us all." "softly now, o laegaire!" said ket; "let me hold speech with thee. with you men of ulster it hath for long been a custom that each lad among you who takes the arms of a warrior should play first with us the game of war: thou, o laegaire, like to the others didst come to the border, and we rode against one another. and thou didst leave thy charioteer, and thy chariot and thy horses behind thee, and thou didst fly pierced through with a spear. not with such a record as that shalt thou obtain the boar;" and laegaire sat himself down. "it shall never come to pass," said a great fair-haired warrior, stepping forward from the bench whereon he had sat, "that the division of the boar shall be left to ket before our very eyes." "to whom then appertains it?" asked ket. "to one who is a better warrior than thou," he said, "even to angus, the son of lama gabaid (hand-in-danger) of the men of ulster." "why namest thou thy father 'hand-in-danger?" said ket. "why indeed, i know not," he said. "ah! but i know it!" said ket. "long ago i went upon a journey in the east, a war-cry was raised against me, all men attacked me, and lama gabaid was among them. he made a cast of a great spear against me, i hurled the same spear back upon him, and the spear cut his hand from him so that it lay upon the ground. how dares the son of that man to measure his renown with mine?" and angus went back to his place. "come, and claim a renown to match mine," said ket; "else let me divide this boar." "it shall never be thy part to be the first to divide it," said a great fair-haired warrior of the men of ulster. "who then is this?" said ket. "'tis eogan, son of durthacht,"[fn# ] said they all; "eogan, the lord of fernmay." "i have seen him upon an earlier day," said ket. "where hast thou seen me?" said eogan. "it was before thine own house," said ket. "as i was driving away thy cattle, a cry of war was raised in the lands about me; and thou didst come out at that cry. thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and it was fixed in my shield; but i hurled the same spear back against thee, and it tore out one of thy two eyes. all the men of ireland can see that thou art one-eyed; here is the man that struck thine other eye out of thy head," and he also sat down. "make ye ready again for the strife for renown, o ye men of ulster!" cried ket. "thou hast not yet gained the right to divide the boar," said munremur, gerrcind's son. "is that munremur?" cried ket; "i have but one short word for thee, o munremur! not yet hath the third day passed since i smote the heads off three warriors who came from your lands, and the midmost of the three was the head of thy firstborn son!" and munremur also sat down. "come to the strife for renown!" cried ket. "that strife will i give to thee," said mend the son of salcholcam (the sword-heeled). "who is this?" asked ket. "'tis mend," said all who were there. "hey there!" cried ket. "the son of the man with the nickname comes to measure his renown with mine! why, mend, it was by me that the nickname of thy father came; 'twas i who cut the heel from him with my sword so that he hopped away from me upon one leg! how shall the son of that one-legged man measure his renown with mine?" and he also sat down. [fn# ] pronounced yeogan, son of doorha. "come to the strife for renown!" cried ket. "that warfare shalt thou have from me!" said an ulster warrior, tall, grey, and more terrible than the rest. "who is this?" asked ket. "'tis celtchar, the son of uitechar," cried all. "pause thou a little, celtchar," said ket, "unless it be in thy mind to crush me in an instant. once did i come to thy dwelling, o celtchar, a cry was raised about me, and all men hurried up at that cry, and thou also camest beside them. it was in a ravine that the combat between us was held; thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and against thee i also hurled my spear; and my spear pierced thee through the leg and through the groin, so that from that hour thou hast been diseased, nor hath son or daughter been born to thee. how canst thou strive in renown with me?" and he also sat down. "come to the strife for renown!" cried ket. "that strife shalt thou have," said cuscrid the stammerer, of macha, king conor's son. "who is this?" said ket. "'tis cuscrid," said all; "he hath a form which is as the form of a king." "nor hath he aught to thank thee for," said the youth. "good!" said ket. "it was against me that thou didst come on the day when thou didst first make trial of thy weapons, my lad: 'twas in the borderland that we met. and there thou didst leave the third part of thy folk behind thee, and thou didst fly with a spear-thrust through thy throat so that thou canst speak no word plainly, for the spear cut in sunder the sinews of thy neck; and from that hour thou hast been called cuscrid the stammerer." and in this fashion did ket put to shame all the warriors of the province of ulster. but as he was exulting near to the boar, with his knife in his hand, all saw conall, the victorious enter the palace; and conall sprang into the midst of the house, and the men of ulster hailed him with a shout; and conor himself took his helmet from his head, and swung it on high to greet him. "'tis well that i wait for the portion that befalls me!" said conall. who is he who is the divider of the boar for ye?" "that office must be given to the man who stands there," said conor, "even to ket, the son of mata." "is this true, o ket?" said conall. "art thou the man to allot this boar?" and then sang ket: conall, all hail! hard stony spleen wild glowing flame! ice-glitter keen! blood in thy breast rageth and boils; oft didst thou wrest victory's spoils: thou scarred son of finuchoem,[fn# ] thou truly canst claim to stand rival to me, and to match me in fame! and conall replied to him: hail to thee, ket! well are we met! heart icy-cold, home for the bold! ender of grief! car-riding chief! sea's stormy wave! bull, fair and brave! ket! first of the children of matach! the proof shall be found when to combat we dart, the proof shall be found when from combat we part; he shall tell of that battle who guardeth the stirks, he shall tell of that battle at handcraft who works; and the heroes shall stride to the wild lion-fight, for by men shall fall men in this palace to-night: welcome, ket![fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced finn-hoom. [fn# ] the short lines of this rhetoric have the metre of the original irish. "rise thou, and depart from this boar," said conall. "what claim wilt thou bring why i should do this?" said ket. "'tis true indeed," said conall, "thou art contending in renown with me. i will give thee one claim only, o ket! i swear by the oath of my tribe that since the day that i first received a spear into my hand i have seldom slept without the head of a slain man of connaught as my pillow; and i have not let pass a day or a night in which a man of connaught hath not fallen by my hand." "'tis true indeed," said ket, "thou art a better warrior than i. were but anluan here, he could battle with thee in another fashion; shame upon us that he is not in this house!" "aye, but anluan is here! "cried conall, and therewith he plucked anluan's head from his belt. and he threw the head towards ket, so that it smote him upon the chest, and a gulp of the blood was dashed over his lips. and ket came away from the boar, and conall placed himself beside it. "now let men come to contend for renown with me!" cried conall. but among the men of connaught there was none who would challenge him, and they raised a wall of shields, like a great vat around him, for in that house was evil wrangling, and men in their malice would make cowardly casts at him. and conall turned to divide the boar, and he took the end of the tail in his mouth. and although the tail was so great that it was a full load for nine men, yet he sucked it all into his mouth so that nothing of it was left; and of this hath been said: strong hands on a cart thrust him forward; his great tail, though for nine men a load, was devoured by the brave conall cernach, as the joints he so gaily bestowed. now to the men of connaught conall gave nothing except the two fore-legs of the boar, and this share seemed to be but small to the men of connaught, and thereon they sprang up, and the men of ulster also sprang up, and they rushed at each other. they buffeted each other so that the heap of bodies inside the house rose as high as the side-walls of it; and streams of blood flowed under the doors. the hosts brake out through the doors into the outer court, and great was the din that uprose; the blood upon the floor of the house might have driven a mill, so mightily did each man strike out at his fellow. and at that time fergus plucked up by the roots a great oak-tree that stood in the outer court in the midst of it; and they all burst out of the court, and the battle went on outside. then came out mac datho, leading the hound by a leash in his hand, that he might let him loose between the two armies, to see to which side the sense of the hound would turn. and the hound joined himself with the men of ulster, and he rushed on the defeated connaughtmen, for these were in flight. and it is told that in the plain of ailbe, the hound seized hold of the poles of the chariot in which ailill and maev rode: and there fer-loga, charioteer to ailill and maev, fell upon him, so that he cast his body to one side, and his head was left upon the poles of the chariot. and they say that it is for that reason that the plain of ailbe is so named, for from the hound ailbe the name hath come. the rout went on northwards, over ballaghmoon, past rurin hill, over the midbine ford near to mullaghmast, over drum criach ridge which is opposite to what is kildare to-day, over rath ingan which is in the forest of gabla, then by mac lugna's ford over the ridge of the two plains till they came to the bridge of carpre that is over the boyne. and at the ford which is known as the ford of the hound's head, which standeth in the west of meath, the hound's head fell from the chariot. and, as they went over the heather of meath, ferloga the charioteer of ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized conor by the head. "i claim a boon from thee if i give thee thy life, o conor!" said he. "i choose freely to grant that boon," said conor. "'tis no great matter," said ferloga. "take me with thee to emain macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of ulster serenade me[fn# ] with the song: 'ferloga is my darling.'" [fn# ] literally, "sing me a cepoc," or a choral song. and the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of conor; and at the end of a year ferloga crossed byathlone into connaught, and he took with him two of conor's horses bridled with golden reins. and concerning all this hath it been sung: hear truth, ye lads of connaught; no lies your griefs shall fill, a youth the boar divided; the share you had was ill. of men thrice fifty fifties would win the ailbe hound; in pride of war they struggled, small cause for strife they found. yet there came conquering conor, and ailill's hosts, and ket; no law cuchulain granted, and brooding bodb[fn# ] was met. dark durthacht's son, great eogan, shall find that journey hard; from east came congal aidni, and fiaman,[fn# ] sailor bard; three sons of nera, famous for countless warlike fields; three lofty sons of usnach, with hard-set cruel shields. from high conalad croghan wise senlaech[fn# ] drave his car; and dubhtach[fn# ] came from emain, his fame is known afar; and illan came, whom glorious for many a field they hail: loch sail's grim chief, munremur; berb baither, smooth of tale; [fn# ] pronounced bobe, with sound of 'robe.' [fn# ] pronounced feeman. [fn# ] pronounced senlay, with the light final ch. [fn# ] pronounced doov-ta. and celtchar, lord in ulster; and conall's valour wild; and marcan came; and lugaid of three great hounds the child. fergus, awaiting the glorious hound, spreadeth a cloak o'er his mighty shield, shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground, red was the woe the red cloak concealed. yonder stood cethern,[fn# ] of finntan son, holding them back; till six hours had flown connaughtmen's slaughter his hand hath done, pass of the ford he hath held alone. armies with feidlim[fn# ] the war sustain, laegaire the triumpher rides on east, aed, son of morna, ye hear complain, little his thought is to mourn that beast. high are the nobles, their deeds show might, housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight; champions of strength upon clans bring doom, great are the captives, and vast the tomb. [fn# ] pronounced kay-hern. [fn# ] pronounced fay-lim. the sick-bed of cuchulain introduction the romance called the "sick-bed of cuchulain," the latter part of which is also known as the "jealousy of emer," is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which is the eleventh-century leabhar na h-uidhri, the other a fifteenth century manuscript in the trinity college library. these two manuscripts give substantially the same account, and are obviously taken from the same source, but the later of the two is not a copy of the older manuscript, and sometimes preserves a better reading. the eleventh-century manuscript definitely gives a yet older book, the yellow book of slane, now lost, as its authority, and this may be the ultimate authority for the tale as we have it. but, although there is only one original version of the text, it is quite plain from internal evidence that the compiler of the yellow book of slane, or of an earlier book, had two quite different forms of the story to draw from, and combined them in the version that we have. the first, which may be called the "antiquarian" form, relates the cause of cuchulain's illness, tells in detail of the journey of his servant laeg to fairyland, in order to test the truth of a message sent to cuchulain that he can be healed by fairy help, and then breaks off. in both the leabhar na h-uidhri and in the fifteenth-century manuscript, follows a long passage which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, consisting of an account how lugaid red-stripes was elected to be king over ireland, and of the bull feast at which the coming of lugaid is prophesied. both manuscripts then give the counsel given by cuchulain to lugaid on his election (this passage being the only justification for the insertion, as cuchulain is supposed to be on his sick-bed when the exhortation is given); and both then continue the story in a quite different form, which may be called the "literary" form. the cause of the sickness is not given in the literary form, which commences with the rousing of cuchulain from his sick-bed, this rousing being due to different agency from that related in the antiquarian form, for in the latter cuchulain is roused by a son of the fairy king, in the former b his wife emer. the journey of laeg to fairyland is then told in the literary form with different detail to that given in the antiquarian one, and the full conclusion is then supplied in this form alone; so that we have, although in the same manuscript version, two quite distinct forms of the original legend, the first defective at the end of the story, the other at its beginning. not only are the incidents of the two forms of the story different in many respects, but the styles are so absolutely different that it would seem impossible to attribute them to the same author. the first is a mere compilation by an antiquarian; it is difficult to imagine that it was ever recited in a royal court, although the author may have had access to a better version than his own. he inserts passages which do not develop the interest of the story; hints at incidents (the temporary absence of fergus and conall) which are not developed or alluded to afterwards, and is a notable early example of the way in which irish literature can be spoiled by combining several different independent stories into one. there is only one gem, strictly so called, and that not of a high order; the only poetic touches occur in the rhetoric, and, although in this there is a weird supernatural flavour, that may have marked the original used by the compiler of this form ' the human interest seems to be exceptionally weak. the second or literary form is as different from the other as it is possible for two compositions on the same theme to be. the first few words strike the human note in cuchulain's message to his wife: "tell her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour;" the poems are many, long, and of high quality; the rhetoric shows a strophic correspondence; the greek principle of letting the messenger tell the story instead of relating the facts, in a narrative of events (the method followed in the antiquarian version) is made full use of; the modest account given by cuchulain of his own deeds contrasts well with the prose account of the same deeds; and the final relation of the voluntary action of the fairy lady who gives up her lover to her rival, and her motives, is a piece of literary work centuries in advance of any other literature of modern europe. some modern accounts of this romance have combined the two forms, and have omitted the irrelevant incidents in the antiquarian version; there are literary advantages in this course, for the disconnected character of the antiquarian opening, which must stand first, as it alone gives the beginning of the story, affords little indication of the high quality of the better work of the literary form that follows; but, in order to heighten the contrast, the two forms are given just as they occur in the manuscripts, the only omissions being the account of the election of lugaid, and the exhortation of cuchulain to the new king. thurneysen, in his sagen aus dem alten irland, places the second description of fairyland by laeg with the antiquarian form, and this may be justified not only by the allusion to ethne, who does not appear elsewhere in the literary form, but from the fact that there is a touch of rough humour in this poem, which appears in the antiquarian form, but not elsewhere in the literary one, where the manuscripts place this poem. but on the other hand the poetry of this second description, and its vividness, come much closer to the literary form, and it has been left in the place that the manuscript gives to it. the whole has been translated direct from the irish in irische texte, vol. i., with occasional reference to the facsimile of the leabhar na h-uidhri; the words marked as doubtful by windisch in his glossary, which are rather numerous, being indicated by marks of interrogation in the notes, and, where windisch goes not indicate a probable meaning, a special note is made on the word, unless it has been given in dictionaries subsequent to that of windisch. thurneysen's translation has sometimes been made use of, when there is no other guide; but he omits some passages, and windisch has been followed in the rendering given in his glossary in cases where there would seem to be a difference, as thurneysen often translates freely. the sick-bed of cuchulain transcribed from the lost yellow book of slane by maelmuiri mac ceileachair into the leabhar na h-uidhri in the eleventh century every year the men of ulster were accustomed to hold festival together; and the time when they held it was for three days before samhain, the summer-end, and for three days after that day, and upon samhain itself. and the time that is spoken of is that when the men of ulster were in the plain of murthemne, and there they used to keep that festival every year; nor was there an thing in the world that they would do at that time except sports, and marketings, and splendours, and pomps, and feasting and eating; and it is from that custom of theirs that the festival of the samhain has descended, that is now held throughout the whole of ireland. now once upon a time the men of ulster held festival upon the murthemne plain, and the reason that this festival was held was that every man of them should then give account of the combats he had made and of his valour every summer-end. it was their custom to hold that festival in order to give account of these combats, and the manner in which they gave that account was this: each man used to cut off the tip of the tongue of a foe whom he had killed, and he bore it with him in a pouch. moreover, in order to make more great the numbers of their contests, some used to bring with them the tips of the tongues of beasts, and each man publicly declared the fights he had fought, one man of them after the other. and they did this also--they laid their swords over their thighs when they declared the strifes, and their own swords used to turn against them when the strife that they declared was false; nor was this to be wondered at, for at that time it was customary for demon beings to scream from the weapons of men, so that for this cause their weapons might be the more able to guard them. to that festival then came all the men of ulster except two alone, and these two were fergus the son of rog, and conall the victorious. "let the festival be held!" cried the men of ulster. "nay," said cuchulain, "it shall not be held until conall and fergus come," and this he said because fergus was the foster-father of cuchulain, and conall was his comrade. then said sencha: "let us for the present engage in games of chess; and let the druids sing, and let the jugglers play their feats;" and it was done as he had said. now while they were thus employed a flock of birds came down and hovered over the lake; never was seen in ireland more beautiful birds than these. and a longing that these birds should be given to them seized upon the women who were there; and each of them began to boast of the prowess of her husband at bird-catching. "how i wish," said ethne aitencaithrech, conor's wife, "that i could have two of those birds, one of them upon each of my two shoulders." "it is what we all long for," said the women; and "if any should have this boon, i should be the first one to have it," said ethne inguba, the wife of cuchulain. "what are we to do now?" said the women. "'tis easy to answer you," said leborcham, the daughter of oa and adarc; "i will go now with a message from you, and will seek for cuchulain." she then went to cuchulain, and "the women of ulster would be well pleased," she said, "if yonder birds were given to them by thy hand." and cuchulain made for his sword to unsheathe it against her: "cannot the lasses of ulster find any other but us," he said, "to give them their bird-hunt to-day?" "'tis not seemly for thee to rage thus against them," said leborcham, "for it is on thy account that the women of ulster have assumed one of their three blemishes, even the blemish of blindness." for there were three blemishes that the women of ulster assumed, that of crookedness of gait, and that of a stammering in their speech, and that of blindness. each of the women who loved conall the victorious had assumed a crookedness of gait; each woman who loved cuscraid mend, the stammerer of macha, conor's son, stammered in her speech; each woman in like manner who loved cuchulain had assumed a blindness of her eyes, in order to resemble cuchulain; for he, when his mind was angry within him, was accustomed to draw in the one of his eyes so far that a crane could not reach it in his head, and would thrust out the other so that it was great as a cauldron in which a calf is cooked. "yoke for us the chariot, o laeg!" said cuchulain. and laeg yoked the chariot at that, and cuchulain went into the chariot, and he cast his sword at the birds with a cast like the cast of a boomerang, so that they with their claws and wings flapped against the water. and they seized upon all the birds, and they gave them and distributed them among the women; nor was there any one of the women, except ethne alone, who had not a pair of those birds. then cuchulain returned to his wife; and "thou art enraged," said he to her. "i am in no way enraged," answered ethne, "for i deem it as being by me that the distribution was made. and thou hast done what was fitting," she said, "for there is not one of these woman but loves thee; none in whom thou hast no share; but for myself none hath any share in me except thou alone." "be not angry," said cuchulain, "if in the future any birds come to the plain of murthemne or to the boyne, the two birds that are the most beautiful among those that come shall be thine." a little while after this they saw two birds flying over the lake, linked together by a chain of red gold. they sang a gentle song, and a sleep fell upon all the men who were there; and cuchulain rose up to pursue the birds. "if thou wilt hearken to me," said laeg, and so also said ethne, "thou shalt not go against them; behind those birds is some especial power. other birds may be taken by thee at some future day." "is it possible that such claim as this should be made upon me?" said cuchulain. "place a stone in my sling, o laeg!" laeg thereon took a stone, and he placed it in the sling, and cuchulain launched the stone at the birds, but the cast missed. "alas!" said he. he took another stone, and he launched this also at the birds, but the stone flew past them. "wretched that i am," he cried, "since the very first day that i assumed arms, i have never missed a cast until this day!" and he cast his spear at them, and the spear went through the shield of the wing of one of the birds, and the birds flew away, and went beneath the lake. after this cuchulain departed, and he rested his back against a stone pillar, and his soul was angry within him, and a sleep fell upon him. then saw he two women come to him; the one of them had a green mantle upon her, and upon the other was a purple mantle folded in five folds. and the woman in the green mantle approached him, and she laughed a laugh at him, and she gave him a stroke with a horsewhip. and then the other approached him, and she also laughed at him, and she struck him in the like manner; and for a long time were they thus, each of them in turn coming to him and striking him until he was all but dead; and then they departed from him. now the men of ulster perceived the state in which cuchulain was in; and they cried out that he should be awakened; but "nay," said fergus, "ye shall not move him, for he seeth a vision;" and a little after that cuchulain came from his sleep. "what hath happened to thee?" said the men of ulster; but he had no power to bid greeting to them. "let me be carried," he said, "to the sick-bed that is in tete brecc; neither to dun imrith, nor yet to dun delga." "wilt thou not be carried to dun delga to seek for emer?" said laeg. "nay," said he, "my word is for tete brecc;" and thereon they bore him from that place, and he was in tete brecc until the end of one year, and during all that time he had speech with no one. now upon a certain day before the next summer-end, at the end of a year, when the men of ulster were in the house where cuchulain was, fergus being at the side-wall, and conall cernach at his head, and lugaid red-stripes at his pillow, and ethne inguba at his feet; when they were there in this manner, a man came to them, and he seated himself near the entrance of the chamber in which cuchulain lay. "what hath brought thee here?" said conall the victorious. "no hard question to answer," said the man. "if the man who lies yonder were in health, he would be a good protection to all of ulster; in the weakness and the sickness in which he now is, so much the more great is the protection that they have from him. i have no fear of any of you," he said, "for it is to give to this man a greeting that i come." "welcome to thee, then, and fear nothing," said the men of ulster; and the man rose to his feet, and he sang them these staves: ah! cuchulain, who art under sickness still, not long thou its cure shouldst need; soon would aed abra's daughters, to heal thine ill, to thee, at thy bidding, speed. liban, she at swift labra's right hand who sits, stood up on cruach's[fn# ] plain, and cried: "'tis the wish of fand's heart, she the tale permits, to sleep at cuchulain's side. [fn# ] pronounced something like croogh. "'if cuchulain would come to me,' fand thus told, 'how goodly that day would shine! then on high would our silver be heaped, and gold, our revellers pour the wine. "'and if now in my land, as my friend, had been cuchulain, of sualtam[fn# ] son, the things that in visions he late hath seen in peace would he safe have won. "'in the plains of murthemne, to south that spread, shall liban my word fulfil: she shall seek him on samhain, he naught need dread, by her shall be cured his ill.'" [fn# ] pronounced sooltam. "who art thou, then, thyself?" said the men of ulster. "i am angus, the son of aed abra," he answered; and the man then left them, nor did any of them know whence it was he had come, nor whither he went. then cuchulain sat up, and he spoke to them. "fortunate indeed is this!" said the men of ulster; "tell us what it is that hath happened to thee." "upon samhain night last year," he said, "i indeed saw a vision;" and he told them of all he had seen. "what should now be done, father conor?" said cuchulain. "this hast thou to do," answered conor, "rise, and go until thou comest to the pillar where thou wert before." then cuchulain went forth until he came to the pillar, and then saw he the woman in the green mantle come to him. "this is good, o cuchulain!" said she. "'tis no good thing in my thought," said cuchulain. "wherefore camest thou to me last year?" he said. "it was indeed to do no injury to thee that we came," said the woman, "but to seek for thy friendship. i have come to greet thee," she said, "from fand, the daughter of aed abra; her husband, manannan the son of the sea, hath released her, and she hath thereon set her love on thee. my own name is liban, and i have brought to thee a message from my spouse, labraid the swift, the sword-wielder, that he will give thee the woman in exchange for one day's service to him in battle against senach the unearthly, and against eochaid juil,[fn# ] and against yeogan the stream." "i am in no fit state," he said, "to contend with men to-day." "that will last but a little while," she said; "thou shalt be whole, and all that thou hast lost of thy strength shall be increased to thee. labraid shall bestow on thee that boon, for he is the best of all warriors that are in the world." [fn# ] pronounced, nearly, yeo-hay yool. "where is it that labraid dwelleth?" asked cuchulain. "in mag mell,[fn# ] the plain of delight," said liban; "and now i desire to go to another land," said she. [fn# ] pronounced maw mel. "let laeg go with thee," said cuchulain, "that he may learn of the land from which thou hast come." "let him come, then," said liban. they departed after that, and they went forward until they came to a place where fand was. and liban turned to seek for laeg, and she set him upon her shoulder. "thou wouldest never go hence, o laeg!" said liban, "wert thou not under a woman's protection." "'tis not a thing that i have most been accustomed to up to this time," said laeg, "to be under a woman's guard." "shame, and everlasting shame," said liban, "that cuchulain is not where thou art." "it were well for me," answered laeg, "if it were indeed he who is here." they passed on then, and went forward until they came opposite to the shore of an island, and there they saw a skiff of bronze lying upon the lake before them. they entered into the skiff, and they crossed over to the island, and came to the palace door, and there they saw the man, and he came towards them. and thus spoke liban to the man whom they saw there: say where he, the hand-on-sword, labra swift, abideth? he who, of the triumphs lord, in strong chariot rideth. when victorious troops are led, labra hath the leading; he it is, when spears are red, sets the points a-bleeding. and the man replied to her, and spoke thus: labra, who of speed is son, comes, and comes not slowly; crowded hosts together run, bent on warfare wholly. soon upon the forest plain shall be set the killing; for the hour when men are slain fidga's[fn# ] fields are filling![fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced, nearly, feega. [fn# ] irish metre approximately imitated in these stanzas. they entered then into the palace, and they saw there thrice fifty couches within the palace, and three times fifty women upon the couches, and the women all bade laeg welcome, and it was in these words that they addressed him: hail! for the guide, laeg! of thy quest: laeg we beside hail, as our guest! "what wilt thou do now?" said liban; "wilt thou go on without a delay, and hold speech with fand?" "i will go," he answered, "if i may know the place where she is." "that is no hard matter to tell thee," she answered; "she is in her chamber apart." they went therein, and they greeted fand, and she welcomed laeg in the same fashion as the others had done. fand is the daughter of aed abra; aed means fire, and he is the fire of the eye: that is, of the eye's pupil: fand moreover is the name of the tear that runs from the eye; it was on account of the clearness of her beauty that she was so named, for there is nothing else in the world except a tear to which her beauty could be likened. now, while they were thus in that place, they heard the rattle of labraid's chariot as he approached the island. "the spirit of labraid is gloomy to-day," said liban, "i will go and greet him." and she went out, and she bade welcome to labraid, and she spoke as follows: hail! the man who holdeth sword, the swift in fight! heir of little armies, armed with javelins light; spears he drives in splinters; bucklers bursts in twain; limbs of men are wounded; nobles by him slain. he for error searcheth, streweth gifts not small, hosts of men destroyeth; fairer he than all! heroes whom he findeth feel his fierce attack; labra! swiftest sword-hand! welcome to us back! labraid made no reply to her, and the lady spoke again thus: welcome! swift labra, hand to sword set! all win thy bounty, praise thou shalt get; warfare thou seekest, wounds seam thy side; wisely thou speakest, law canst decide; kindly thou rulest, wars fightest well; wrong-doers schoolest, hosts shalt repel. labraid still made no answer, and she sang another lay thus: labra! all hail! sword-wielder, swift: war can he wage, warriors can sift; valiant is he, fighters excels; more than in sea pride in him swells; down in the dust strength doth he beat; they who him trust rise to their feet weak ones he'll raise, humble the strong; labra! thy praise peals loud and long! "thou speakest not rightly, o lady," said labraid; and he then spoke to her thus: o my wife! naught of boasting or pride is in me; no renown would i claim, and no falsehood shall be: lamentation alone stirs my mind, for hard spears rise in numbers against me: dread contest appears: the right arms of their heroes red broadswords shall swing; many hosts eochaid juil holds to heart as their king: let no pride then be ours; no high words let there be; pride and arrogance far should be, lady, from me! "let now thy mind be appeased," said the lady liban to him. "laeg, the charioteer of cuchulain, is here; and cuchulain hath sent word to thee that he will come to join thy hosts." then labraid bade welcome to laeg, and he said to him: "welcome, o laeg! for the sake of the lady with whom thou comest, and for the sake of him from whom thou hast come. do thou now go to thine own land, o laeg!" said labraid, "and liban shall accompany thee." then laeg returned to emain, and he gave news of what he had seen to cuchulain, and to all others beside; and cuchulain rose up, and he passed his hand over his face, and he greeted laeg brightly, and his mind was strengthened within him for the news that the lad had brought him. [at this point occurs the break in the story indicated in the preface, and the description of the bull-feast at which lugaid red-stripes is elected king over all ireland; also the exhortation that cuchulain, supposed to be lying on his sick-bed, gives to lugaid as to the duties of a king. after this insertion, which has no real connection with the story, the story itself proceeds, but from another point, for the thread is taken up at the place where cuchulain has indeed awaked from his trance, but is still on his sick-bed; the message of angus appears to have been given, but cuchulain does not seem to have met liban for the second time, nor to have sent laeg to inquire. ethne has disappeared as an actor from the scene; her place is taken by emer, cuchulain's real wife; and the whole style of the romance so alters for the better that, even if it were not for the want of agreement of the two versions, we could see that we have here two tales founded upon the same legend but by two different hands, the end of the first and the beginning of the second alike missing, and the gap filled in by the story of the election of lugaid. now as to cuchulain it has to be related thus: he called upon laeg to come to him; and "do thou go, o laeg!" said cuchulain, "to the place where emer is; and say to her that women of the fairies have come upon me, and that they have destroyed my strength; and say also to her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour, and bid her to come and seek me;" and the young man laeg then spoke these words in order to hearten the mind of cuchulain: it fits not heroes lying on sick-bed in a sickly sleep to dream: witches before thee flying of trogach's fiery plain the dwellers seem: they have beat down thy strength, made thee captive at length, and in womanish folly away have they driven thee far. arise! no more be sickly! shake off the weakness by those fairies sent: for from thee parteth quickly thy strength that for the chariot-chiefs was meant: thou crouchest, like a youth! art thou subdued, in truth? have they shaken thy prowess and deeds that were meet for the war yet labra's power hath sent his message plain: rise, thou that crouchest: and be great again. and laeg, after that heartening, departed; and he went on until he came to the place where emer was; and he told her of the state of cuchulain: "ill hath it been what thou hast done, o youth!" she said; "for although thou art known as one who dost wander in the lands where the fairies dwell; yet no virtue of healing hast thou found there and brought for the cure of thy lord. shame upon the men of ulster!" she said, "for they have not sought to do a great deed, and to heal him. yet, had conor thus been fettered; had it been fergus who had lost his sleep, had it been conall the victorious to whom wounds had been dealt, cuchulain would have saved them." and she then sang a song, and in this fashion she sang it: laeg! who oft the fairy hill[fn# ] searchest, slack i find thee still; lovely dechtire's son shouldst thou by thy zeal have healed ere now. ulster, though for bounties famed, foster-sire and friends are shamed: none hath deemed cuchulain worth one full journey through the earth. yet, if sleep on fergus fell, such that magic arts dispel, dechtire's son had restless rode till a druid raised that load. aye, had conall come from wars, weak with wounds and recent scars; all the world our hound would scour till he found a healing power. were it laegaire[fn# ] war had pressed, erin's meads would know no rest, till, made whole from wounds, he won mach's grandchild, conna's son. had thus crafty celthar slept, long, like him, by sickness kept; through the elf-mounds, night and day, would our hound, to heal him, stray. furbaid, girt by heroes strong, were it he had lain thus long; ah! our hound would rescue bear though through solid earth he fare. [fn# ] the metre of these verses is that of the irish. [fn# ] pronounced leary. all the elves of troom[fn# ] seem dead; all their mighty deeds have fled; for their hound, who hounds surpassed, elves have bound in slumber fast. ah! on me thy sickness swerves, hound of smith who conor serves! sore my heart, my flesh must be: may thy cure be wrought by me. ah! 'tis blood my heart that stains, sick for him who rode the plains: though his land be decked for feast, he to seek its plain hath ceased. he in emain still delays; 'tis those shapes the bar that raise: weak my voice is, dead its tone, he in evil form is shown. month-long, year-long watch i keep; seasons pass, i know not sleep: men's sweet speech strikes not mine ear; naught, riangabra's[fn# ] son, i hear. [fn# ] spelt truim. [fn# ] pronounced reen-gabra. and, after that she had sung that song, emer went forward to emain that she might seek for cuchulain; and she seated herself in the chamber where cuchulain was, and thus she addressed him: "shame upon thee!" she said, "to lie thus prostrate for a woman's love! well may this long sickbed of thine cause thee to ail!" and it was in this fashion that she addressed him, and she chanted this lay: stand up, o thou hero of ulster! wake from sleep! rise up, joyful and sound! look on conor the king! on my beauty, will that loose not those slumbers profound? see the ulstermen's clear shining shoulders! hear their trumpets that call to the fight! see their war-cars that sweep through the valleys, as in hero-chess, leaping each knight. see their chiefs, and the strength that adorns them, their tall maidens, so stately with grace; the swift kings, springing on to the battle, the great queens of the ulstermen's race! the clear winter but now is beginning; lo! the wonder of cold that hangs there! 'tis a sight that should warn thee; how chilly! of what length i yet of colour how bare! this long slumber is ill; it decays thee: 'tis like "milk for the full" the saw saith hard is war with fatigue; deadly weakness is a prince who stands second to death. wake! 'tis joy for the sodden, this slumber; throw it off with a great glowing heat: sweet-voiced friends for thee wait in great number: ulster's champion! stand up on thy feet! and cuchulain at her word stood up; and he passed his hand over his face, and he cast all his heaviness and his weariness away from him, and then he arose, and went on his way before him until he came to the enclosure that he sought; and in that enclosure liban appeared to him. and liban spoke to him, and she strove to lead him into the fairy hill; but "what place is that in which labraid dwelleth?" said cuchulain. it is easy for me to tell thee!" she said: labra's home's a pure lake, whither troops of women come and go; easy paths shall lead thee thither, where thou shalt swift labra know. hundreds his skilled arm repelleth; wise be they his deeds who speak: look where rosy beauty dwelleth; like to that think labra's cheek. head of wolf, for gore that thirsteth, near his thin red falchion shakes; shields that cloak the chiefs he bursteth, arms of foolish foes he breaks. trust of friend he aye requiteth, scarred his skin, like bloodshot eye; first of fairy men he fighteth; thousands, by him smitten, die. chiefs at echaid[fn# ] juil's name tremble; yet his land-strange tale-he sought, he whose locks gold threads resemble, with whose breath wine-scents are brought. more than all strife-seekers noted, fiercely to far lands he rides; steeds have trampled, skiffs have floated near the isle where he abides. labra, swift sword-wielder, gaineth fame for actions over sea; sleep for all his watch sustaineth! sure no coward hound is he. the chains on the necks of the coursers he rides, and their bridles are ruddy with gold: he hath columns of crystal and silver besides, the roof of his house to uphold. [fn# ] pronounced, apparently, ech-ay, the ch like the sound in "loch." "i will not go thither at a woman's call," said cuchulain. "let laeg then go," said the lady, "and let him bring to thee tidings of all that is there." "let him depart, then," said cuchulain; and laeg rose up and departed with liban, and they came to the plain of speech, and to the tree of triumphs, and over the festal plain of emain, and over the festal plain of fidga, and in that place was aed abra, and with him his daughters. then fand bade welcome to laeg, and "how is it," said she, "that cuchulain hath not come with thee?" "it pleased him not," said laeg, "to come at a woman's call; moreover, he desired to know whether it was indeed from thee that had come the message, and to have full knowledge of everything." "it was indeed from me that the message was sent," she said; "and let now cuchulain come swiftly to seek us, for it is for to-day that the strife is set." then laeg went back to the place where he had left cuchulain, and liban with him; and "how appeareth this quest to thee, o laeg?" said cuchulain. and laeg answering said, "in a happy hour shalt thou go," said he, "for the battle is set for to-day;" and it was in this manner that he spake, and he recited thus: i went gaily through regions, though strange, seen before: by his cairn found i labra, a cairn for a score. there sat yellow-haired labra, his spears round him rolled; his long bright locks well gathered round apple of gold. on my five-folded purple his glance at length fell, and he said, "come and enter where failbe doth dwell." in one house dwells white failbe, with labra, his friend; and retainers thrice fifty each monarch attend. on the right, couches fifty, where fifty men rest; on the left, fifty couches by men's weight oppressed. for each couch copper frontings, posts golden, and white; and a rich flashing jewel as torch, gives them light. near that house, to the westward, where sunlight sinks down, stand grey steeds, with manes dappled and steeds purple-brown. on its east side are standing three bright purple trees whence the birds' songs, oft ringing the king's children please. from a tree in the fore-court sweet harmony streams; it stands silver, yet sunlit with gold's glitter gleams. sixty trees' swaying summits now meet, now swing wide; rindless food for thrice hundred each drops at its side. near a well by that palace gay cloaks spread out lie, each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye. they who dwell there, find flowing a vat of glad ale: 'tis ordained that for ever that vat shall not fail. from the hall steps a lady well gifted, and fair: none is like her in erin; like gold is her hair. and so sweet, and so wondrous her words from her fall, that with love and with longing she breaks hearts of all. "who art thou?" said that lady, "for strange thou art here; but if him of murthemne thou servest, draw near." slowly, slowly i neared her; i feared for my fame: and she said, "comes he hither, of dechtire who came?" ah! long since, for thy healing, thou there shouldst have gone, and have viewed that great palace before me that shone. though i ruled all of erin and yellow breg's hill, i'd give all, no small trial, to know that land still. "the quest then is a good one?" said cuchulain. "it is goodly indeed," said laeg, "and it is right that thou shouldest go to attain it, and all things in that land are good." and thus further also spoke laeg, as he told of the loveliness of the fairy dwelling: i saw a land of noble form and splendid, where dwells naught evil; none can speak a lie: there stands the king, by all his hosts attended, brown labra, swift to sword his hand can fly. we crossed the plain of speech, our steps arrested near to that tree, whose branches triumphs bear; at length upon the hill-crowned plain we rested, and saw the double-headed serpent's lair. then liban said, as we that mount sat under: "would i could see--'twould be a marvel strange-- yet, if i saw it, dear would be that wonder, if to cuchulain's form thy form could change." great is the beauty of aed abra's daughters, unfettered men before them conquered fall; fand's beauty stuns, like sound of rushing waters, before her splendour kings and queens seem small. though i confess, as from the wise ones hearing, that adam's race was once unstained by sin; - yet did i swear, when fand was there appearing, none in past ages could such beauty win. i saw the champions stand with arms for slaying, right splendid was the garb those heroes bore; gay coloured garments, meet for their arraying, 'twas not the vesture of rude churls they wore. women of music at the feast were sitting, a brilliant maiden bevy near them stood; and forms of noble youths were upwards flitting through the recesses of the mountain wood. i saw the folk of song; their strains rang sweetly, as for the lady in that house they played; had i not i fled away from thence, and fleetly, hurt by that music, i had weak been made. i know the hill where ethne took her station, and ethne inguba's a lovely maid; but none can drive from sense a warlike nation save she alone, in beauty then displayed. and cuchulain, when he had heard that report, went on with liban to that land, and he took his chariot with him. and they came to the island of labraid, and there labraid and all the women that were there bade them welcome; and fand gave an especial welcome to cuchulain. "what is there now set for us to do?" said cuchulain. "no hard matter to answer," said labraid; "we must go forth and make a circuit about the army." they went out then, and they came to the army, and they let their eyes wander over it; and the host seemed to them to be innumerable. "do thou arise, and go hence for the present," said cuchulain to labraid; and labraid departed, and cuchulain remained confronting the army. and there were two ravens there, who spake, and revealed druid secrets, but the armies who heard them laughed. "it must surely be the madman from ireland who is there," said the army; "it is he whom the ravens would make known to us;" and the armies chased them away so that they found no resting-place in that land. now at early morn eochaid juil went out in order to bathe his hands in the spring, and cuchulain saw his shoulder through the hood of his tunic, and he hurled his spear at him, and he pierced him. and he by himself slew thirty-and-three of them, and then senach the unearthly assailed him, and a great fight was fought between them, and cuchulain slew him; and after that labraid approached, and he brake before him those armies. then labraid entreated cuchulain to stay his hand from the slaying; and "i fear now," said laeg, "that the man will turn his wrath upon us; for he hath not found a war to suffice him. go now," said laeg, "and let there be brought three vats of cold water to cool his heat. the first vat into which he goeth shall boil over; after he hath gone into the second vat, none shall be able to bear the heat of it: after he hath gone into the third vat, its water shall have but a moderate heat." and when the women saw cuchulain's return, fand sang thus: fidga's[fn# ] plain, where the feast assembles, shakes this eve, as his car he guides; all the land at the trampling trembles; young and beardless, in state he rides. blood-red canopies o'er him swinging chant, but not as the fairies cry; deeper bass from the car is singing, deeply droning, its wheels reply. steeds are bounding beneath the traces, none to match them my thought can find; wait a while! i would note their graces: on they sweep, like the spring's swift wind. high in air, in his breath suspended, float a fifty of golden balls; kings may grace in their sports have blended, none his equal my mind recalls. [fn# ] pronounced, nearly, fee-ga. dimples four on each cheek are glowing, one seems green, one is tinged with blue, one dyed red, as if blood were flowing, one is purple, of lightest hue. sevenfold light from his eyeballs flashes, none may speak him as blind, in scorn; proud his glances, and dark eyelashes black as beetle, his eyes adorn. well his excellence fame confesses, all through erin his praise is sung; three the hues of his high-piled tresses; beardless yet, and a stripling young. red his blade, it hath late been blooded; shines above it its silver hilt; golden bosses his shield have studded, round its rim the white bronze is spilt. o'er the slain in each slaughter striding, war he seeketh, at risk would snatch: heroes keen in your ranks are riding, none of these is cuchulain's match. from murthemne he comes, we greet him, young cuchulain, the champion strong; we, compelled from afar to meet him, daughters all of aed abra, throng. every tree, as a lordly token, stands all stained with the red blood rain war that demons might wage is woken, wails peal high as he raves again. liban moreover bade a welcome to cuchulain, and she chanted as follows: hail to cuchulain! lord, who canst aid; murthemne ruling, mind undismayed; hero-like, glorious, heart great and still battle-victorious, firm rock of skill; redly he rageth, foemen would face; battle he wageth meet for his race! brilliant his splendour, like maidens' eyes, praises we render: praise shall arise! "tell us now of the deeds thou hast done, o cuchulain! cried liban, and cuchulain in this manner replied to her: from my hand flew a dart, as i made my cast, through the host of stream-yeogan the javelin passed; not at all did i know, though great fame was won, who my victim had been, or what deed was done. whether greater or less was his might than mine i have found not at all, nor can right divine; in a mist was he hid whom my spear would slay, yet i know that he went not with life away. a great host on me closed, and on every side rose around me in hordes the red steeds they ride; from manannan, the son of the sea, came foes, from stream-yeogan to call them a roar arose. and i went to the battle with all at length, when my weakness had passed, and i gat full strength; and alone with three thousands the fight i fought, till death to the foes whom i faced was brought. i heard echaid juil's groan, as he neared his end, the sound came to mine ears as from lips of friend; yet, if truth must be told, 'twas no valiant deed, that cast that i threw, if 'twas thrown indeed. now, after all these things had passed, cuchulain slept with the lady, and he abode for a month in her company, and at the end of the month he came to bid her farewell. "tell me," she said, "to what place i may go for our tryst, and i will be there;" and they made tryst at the strand that is known as the strand of the yew-tree's head. now word was brought to emer of that tryst, and knives were whetted by emer to slay the lady; and she came to the place of the tryst, and fifty women were with her. and there she found, cuchulain and laeg, and they were engaged in the chess-play, so that they perceived not the women's approach. but fand marked it, and she cried out to laeg: "look now, o laeg!" she said, "and mark that sight that i see." "what sight is that of which thou speakest?" said laeg, and he looked and saw it, and thus it was that the lady, even fand, addressed him: laeg! look behind thee! close to thine ear wise, well-ranked women press on us near; bright on each bosom shines the gold clasp; knives, with green edges whetted, they grasp: as for the slaughter chariot chiefs race, comes forgall's daughter; changed is her face. "have no fear," said cuchulain, "no foe shalt thou meet; enter thou my strong car, with its sunny bright seat: i will set thee before me, will guard thee from harm against women, from ulster's four quarters that swarm: though the daughter of forgall the war with thee vows, though her dear foster-sisters against thee she rouse, no deed of destruction bold emer will dare, though she rageth against thee, for i will be there." moreover to emer he said: i avoid thee, o lady, as heroes avoid to meet friends in a strife; the hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure, nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife; for the wrath pent within thee that rageth is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: it were hard if the war my might wageth must be quenched by a weak woman's might! "speak! and tell me, cuchulain," cried emer, "why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? before women of ulster dishonoured i stand, and all women who dwell in the wide irish land, and all folk who love honour beside: though i came on thee, secretly creeping, though oppressed by thy might i remain, and though great is thy pride in the battle, if thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make? "speak thou, emer, and say," said cuchulain, "should i not with this lady delay? for this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled, a fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled, and the billows of ocean can ride: she is lovely in countenance, lofty in race, and with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace, hath a mind that with firmness can guide: and in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle doth she own; there is naught under sky a dear wife for a spouse should be keeping but that gift with this lady have i: though the vow that i made thee i break, thou shalt ne'er find champion rich, like me, in scars; ne'er such worth, such brilliance, none who wins my wars." "in good sooth," answered emer, "the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am i myself! yet fair seems all that's red; seems white what's new alone; and bright what's set o'erhead; and sour are things well known! men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time! o youth!" she said, "once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only i could find favour in thy sight!" and her grief weighed heavily upon her. "by my word," said cuchulain, "thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as i am in life." "desert me, then!" cried fand. "nay," said emer, "it is more fitting that i should be the deserted one." "not so, indeed," said fand. "it is i who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar." and an eagerness for lamentation seized upon fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: mighty need compels me, i must go my way; fame for others waiteth, would i here could stay! sweeter were it resting guarded by thy power, than to find the marvels in aed abra's bower. emer! noble lady! take thy man to thee: though my arms resign him, longing lives in me. oft in shelters hidden men to seek me came; none could win my trysting, i myself was flame. ah! no maid her longing on a man should set till a love full equal to her own she get. fifty women hither, emer! thou hast brought thou wouldst fand make captive, hast on murder thought. till the day i need them waits, my home within; thrice thy host! fair virgins, these my war shall win. now upon this it was discerned by manannan that fand the daughter of aed abra was engaged in unequal warfare with the women of ulster, and that she was like to be left by cuchulain. and thereon manannan came from the east to seek for the lady, and he was perceived by her, nor was there any other conscious of his presence saving fand alone. and, when she saw manannan, the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind and by grief, and being thus, she made this song: lo! the son of the sea-folk from plains draws near whence yeogan, the stream, is poured; 'tis manannan, of old he to me was dear, and above the fair world we soared. yet to-day, although excellent sounds his cry, no love fills my noble heart, for the pathways of love may be bent awry, its knowledge in vain depart. when i dwelt in the bower of the yeogan stream, at the son of the ocean's side, of a life there unending was then our dream, naught seemed could our love divide. when the comely manannan to wed me came, to me, as a spouse, full meet; not in shame was i sold, in no chessmen's game the price of a foe's defeat. when the comely manannan my lord was made, when i was his equal spouse, this armlet of gold that i bear he paid as price for my marriage vows. through the heather came bride-maids, in garments brave of all colours, two score and ten; and beside all the maidens my bounty gave to my husband a fifty men. four times fifty our host; for no frenzied strife in our palace was pent that throng, where a hundred strong men led a gladsome life, one hundred fair dames and strong. manannan draws near: over ocean he speeds, from all notice of fools is he free; as a horseman he comes, for no vessel he needs who rides the maned waves of the sea. he hath passed near us now, though his visage to view is to all, save to fairies, forbid; every troop of mankind his keen sight searcheth through, though small, and in secret though hid. but for me, this resolve in my spirit shall dwell, since weak, being woman's, my mind; since from him whom so dearly i loved, and so well, only danger and insult i find. i will go! in mine honour unsullied depart, fair cuchulain! i bid thee good-bye; i have gained not the wish that was dear to my heart, high justice compels me to fly. it is flight, this alone that befitteth my state, though to some shall this parting be hard: o thou son of riangabra! the insult was great: not by laeg shall my going be barred. i depart to my spouse; ne'er to strife with a foe shall manannan his consort expose; and, that none may complain that in secret i go, behold him! his form i disclose! then that lady rose behind manannan as he passed, and manannan greeted her: "o lady!" he said, "which wilt thou do? wilt thou depart with me, or abide here until cuchulain comes to thee?" "by my troth," answered fand, "either of the two of ye were a fitting spouse to adhere to; and neither of you two is better than the other; yet, manannan, it is with thee that i go, nor will i wait for cuchulain, for he hath betrayed me; and there is another matter, moreover, that weigheth with me, o thou noble prince!" said she, "and that is that thou hast no consort who is of worth equal to thine, but such a one hath cuchulain already." and cuchulain saw the lady as she went from him to manannan, and he cried out to laeg: "what meaneth this that i see?" "'tis no hard matter to answer thee," said laeg. "fand goeth away with manannan the son of the sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight!" then cuchulain bounded three times high into the air, and he made three great leaps towards the south, and thus he came to tara luachra,[fn# ] and there he abode for a long time, having no meat and no drink, dwelling upon the mountains, and sleeping upon the high-road that runneth through the midst of luachra. then emer went on to emain, and there she sought out king conor, and she told conor of cuchulain's state, and conor sent out his learned men and the people of skill, and the druids of ulster, that they might seek for cuchulain, and might bind him fast, and bring him with them to emain. and cuchulain strove to slay the people of skill, but they chanted wizard and fairy songs against him, and they bound fast his feet and his hands until he came a little to his senses. then he begged for a drink at their hands, and the druids gave him a drink of forgetfulness, so that afterwards he had no more remembrance of fand nor of anything else that he had then done; and they also gave a drink of forgetfulness to emer that she might forget her jealousy, for her state was in no way better than the state of cuchulain. and manannan shook his cloak between cuchulain and fand, so that they might never meet together again throughout eternity. [fn# ] pronounced looch-ra: tara luachra is on the borders of limerick and kerry. the exile of the sons' of usnach introduction the version given in the following pages of the well-known tale of deirdre has been translated from the irish text of the book of leinster version as printed by windisch in irische texte, vol. i. readings from the two parallel texts of the book of lecan, and egerton, , have been used where the leinster text is deficient or doubtful, but the older ms. has in the main been followed, the chief alterations being indicated in the notes. the only english translation hitherto given of this version is the unreliable one in atlantis, vol. iii. there is a german translation in thurneysen's sagen aus dem alten irland which may be consulted for literal renderings of most of the verse portions, which, however, are sometimes nearer the original than thurneysen's renderings. it was at first intended to place beside this version the much better known version of the tale given by the glenn masain manuscript and its variants; but, as this version is otherwise available in english,[fn# ] it has been thought better to omit most of it: a verse translation of deirdre's final lament in this version has, however, been added for the purpose of comparing it with the corresponding lament in the leinster text. these two poems are nearly of the same length, but have no other point in common; the lament in the leinster version strikes the more personal note, and it has been suggested that it shows internal evidence that it must have been written by a woman. the idea of deirdre as a seer, which is so prominent in the glenn masain version of the tale, does not appear in the older leinster text; the supernatural druidic mist, which even in the glenn masain version only appears in the late manuscript which continues the story after the fifteenth-century manuscript breaks off, does not appear in the book of leinster; and the later version introduces several literary artifices that do not appear in the earlier one. that portion of the glenn masain version immediately following after deirdre's lament is given as an instance of one of these, the common artifice of increase of horror at a catastrophe by the introduction of irrelevant matter, the tragedy of deirdre's death being immediately followed by a cheerful account of the relationships of the chief heroes of the heroic period; a still better example of this practice in the old irish literature is the almost comic relief that is introduced at the most tragic part of the tale of the murder of the son of ronan. [fn# ] see irische texte, vol. ii., and the celtic review, vol. i. - . the exile of the sons of usnach book of leinster version in the house of feidlimid,[fn# ] the son of dall, even he who was the narrator of stories to conor the king, the men of ulster sat at their ale; and before the men, in order to attend upon them, stood the wife of feidlimid, and she was great with child. round about the board went drinking-horns, and portions of food; and the revellers shouted in their drunken mirth. and when the men desired to lay themselves down to sleep, the woman also went to her couch; and, as she passed through the midst of the house, the child cried out in her womb, so that its shriek was heard throughout the whole house, and throughout the outer court that lay about it. and upon that shriek, all the men sprang up; and, head closely packed by head, they thronged together in the house, whereupon sencha, the son of ailill, rebuked them: "let none of you stir!" cried he, "and let the woman be brought before us, that we may learn what is the meaning of that cry." then they brought the woman before them, and thus spoke to her feidlimid, her spouse: what is that, of all cries far the fiercest, in thy womb raging loudly and long? through all ears with that clamour thou piercest; with that scream, from bides swollen and strong: of great woe, for that cry, is foreboding my heart; that is torn through with terror, and sore with the smart. [fn# ] pronounced feylimid. then the woman turned her, and she approached cathbad[fn# ] the druid, for he was a man of knowledge, and thus she spoke to him: [fn# ] pronounced cah-ba. give thou ear to me, cathbad, thou fair one of face, thou great crown of our honour, and royal in race; let the man so exalted still higher be set, let the druid draw knowledge, that druids can get. for i want words of wisdom, and none can i fetch; nor to felim a torch of sure knowledge can stretch: as no wit of a woman can wot what she bears, i know naught of that cry from within me that tears. and then said cathbad: 'tis a maid who screamed wildly so lately, fair and curling shall locks round her flow, and her eyes be blue-centred and stately; and her cheeks, like the foxglove, shall glow. for the tint of her skin, we commend her, in its whiteness, like snow newly shed; and her teeth are all faultless in splendour and her lips, like to coral, are red: a fair woman is she, for whom heroes, that fight in their chariots for ulster, to death shall be dight. 'tis a woman that shriek who hath given, golden-haired, with long tresses, and tall; for whose love many chiefs shall have striven, and great kings for her favours shall call. to the west she shall hasten, beguiling a great host, that from ulster shall steal: red as coral, her lips shall be smiling, as her teeth, white as pearls, they reveal: aye, that woman is fair, and great queens shall be fain of her form, that is faultless, unflawed by a stain. then cathbad laid his hand upon the body of the woman; and the little child moved beneath his hand: "aye, indeed," he said, "it is a woman child who is here: deirdre shall be her name, and evil woe shall be upon her." now some days after that came the girl child into the world; and then thus sang cathbad: o deirdre! of ruin great cause thou art; though famous, and fair, and pale: ere that felim's hid daughter from life shall part, all ulster her deeds shall wail. aye, mischief shall come, in the after-time, thou fair shining maid, for thee; hear ye this: usna's sons, the three chiefs sublime, to banishment forced shall be. while thou art in life, shall a fierce wild deed in emain, though late, be done: later yet, it shall mourn it refused to heed the guard of rog's powerful son. o lady of worth! it is to thee we owe that fergus to exile flies; that a son of king conor we hail in woe, when fiachna[fn# ] is hurt, and dies. o lady of worth! it is all thine the guilt! gerrc, illadan's son, is slain; and when eogan mac doorha's great life is spilt, not less shall be found our pain. grim deed shalt thou do, and in wrath shalt rave against glorious ulster's king: in that spot shall men dig thee thy tiny grave; of deirdre they long shall sing. [fn# ] pronounced feena. "let that maiden be slain!" cried out the young men of ulster; but "not so!" said conor; "she shall in the morning be brought to me, and shall be reared according to my will, and she shall be my wife, and in my companionship shall she dwell." the men of ulster were not so hardy as to turn him from his purpose, and thus it was done. the maiden was reared in a house that belonged to conor, and she grew up to be the fairest maid in all ireland. she was brought up at a distance from the king's court; so that none of the men of ulster might see her till the time came when she was to share the royal couch: none of mankind was permitted to enter the house where she was reared, save only her foster-father, and her foster-mother; and in addition to these levorcham, to whom naught could any refuse, for she was a witch. now once it chanced upon a certain day in the time of winter that the foster-father of deirdre had employed himself in skinning a calf upon the snow, in order to prepare a roast for her, and the blood of the calf lay upon the snow, and she saw a black raven who came down to drink it. and "levorcham," said deirdre, "that man only will i love, who hath the three colours that i see here, his hair as black as the raven, his cheeks red like the blood, and his body as white as the snow." "dignity and good fortune to thee!" said levorcham; "that man is not far away. yonder is he in the burg which is nigh; and the name of him is naisi, the son of usnach." "i shall never be in good health again," said deirdre, "until the time come when i may see him." it befell that naisi was upon a certain day alone upon the rampart of the burg of emain, and he sent his warrior-cry with music abroad: well did the musical cry ring out that was raised by the sons of usnach. each cow and every beast that heard them, gave of milk two-thirds more than its wont; and each man by whom that cry was heard deemed it to be fully joyous, and a dear pleasure to him. goodly moreover was the play that these men made with their weapons; if the whole province of ulster had been assembled together against them in one place, and they three only had been able to set their backs against one another, the men of ulster would not have borne away victory from those three: so well were they skilled in parry and defence. and they were swift of foot when they hunted the game, and with them it was the custom to chase the quarry to its death. now when this naisi found himself alone on the plain, deirdre also soon escaped outside her house to him, and she ran past him, and at first he know not who she might be. "fair is the young heifer that springs past me!" he cried. "well may the young heifers be great," she said, "in a place where none may find a bull." "thou hast, as thy bull," said he, "the bull of the whole province of ulster, even conor the king of ulster." "i would choose between you two," she said, "and i would take for myself a younger bull, even such as thou art." "not so indeed," said naisi, "for i fear the prophecy of cathbad." "sayest thou this, as meaning to refuse me?" said she. "yea indeed," he said; and she sprang upon him, and she seized him by his two ears. "two ears of shame and of mockery shalt thou have," she cried, "if thou take me not with thee." "release me, o my wife!" said he. "that will i." then naisi raised his musical warrior-cry, and the men of ulster heard it, and each of them one after another sprang up: and the sons of usnach hurried out in order to hold back their brother. "what is it," they said, "that thou dost? let it not be by any fault of thine that war is stirred up between us and the men of ulster." then he told them all that had been done; and "there shall evil come on thee from this," said they; "moreover thou shalt lie under the reproach of shame so long as thou dost live; and we will go with her into another land, for there is no king in all ireland who will refuse us welcome if we come to him." then they took counsel together, and that same night they departed, three times fifty warriors, and the same number of women, and dogs, and servants, and deirdre went with them. and for a long time they wandered about ireland, in homage to this man or that; and often conor sought to slay them, either by ambuscade or by treachery; from round about assaroe, near to ballyshannon in the west, they journeyed, and they turned them back to benn etar, in the north-east, which men to-day call the mountain of howth. nevertheless the men of ulster drave them from the land, and they came to the land of alba, and in its wildernesses they dwelled. and when the chase of the wild beasts of the mountains failed them, they made foray upon the cattle of the men of alba, and took them for themselves; and the men of alba gathered themselves together with intent to destroy them. then they took shelter with the king of alba, and the king took them into his following, and they served him in war. and they made for themselves houses of their own in the meadows by the king's burg: it was on account of deirdre that these houses were made, for they feared that men might see her, and that on her account they might be slain. now one day the high-steward of the king went out in the early morning, and he made a cast about naisi's house, and saw those two sleeping therein, and he hurried back to the king, and awaked him: "we have," said he, "up to this day found no wife for thee of like dignity to thyself. naisi the son of usnach hath a wife of worth sufficient for the emperor of the western world! let naisi be slain, and let his wife share thy couch." "not so!" said the king, "but do thou prepare thyself to go each day to her house, and woo her for me secretly." thus was it done; but deirdre, whatsoever the steward told her, was accustomed straightway to recount it each even to her spouse; and since nothing was obtained from her, the sons of usnach were sent into dangers, and into wars, and into strifes that thereby they might be overcome. nevertheless they showed themselves to be stout in every strife, so that no advantage did the king gain from them by such attempts as these. the men of alba were gathered together to destroy the sons of usnach, and this also was told to deirdre. and she told her news to naisi: "depart hence!" said she, "for if ye depart not this night, upon the morrow ye shall he slain!" and they marched away that night, and they betook themselves to an island of the sea. now the news of what had passed was brought to the men of ulster. "'tis pity, o conor!" said they, "that the sons of usnach should die in the land of foes, for the sake of an evil woman. it is better that they should come under thy protection,[fn# ] and that the (fated) slaying should be done here, and that they should come into their own land, rather than that they should fall at the hands of foes." "let them come to us then," said conor, "and let men go as securities to them." the news was brought to them. [fn# ] literally, "it is better their protection, and their slaying, and coming for them to their own land, &c." if this reading is right (and three mss. agree), the extended words of the text seem to give the intention: it is, however, possible that the reading should be, "it is better their protection than their slaying" (oldaas for ocus), which would make sense at once. the idea of the text seems to be that the sons of usnach were, owing to cathbad's prophecy, thought of as fated men; and it was only a question where they should be put to death. "this is welcome news for us," they said; "we will indeed come, and let fergus come as our surety, and dubhtach, and cormac the son of conor." these then went to them, and they moved them to pass over the sea. but at the contrivance of conor, fergus was pressed to join in an ale-feast, while the sons of usnach were pledged to eat no food in erin, until they had eaten the food of conor. so fergus tarried behind with dubhtach and cormac; and the sons of usnach went on, accompanied by fiacha, fergus' son; until they came to the meadows around emain. now at that time eogan the son of durthacht had come to emain to make his peace with conor, for they had for a long time been at enmity; and to him, and to the warmen of conor, the charge was given that they should slay the sons of usnach, in order that they should not come before the king. the sons of usnach stood upon the level part of. the meadows, and the women sat upon the ramparts of emain. and eogan came with his warriors across the meadow, and the son of fergus took his place by naisi's side. and eogan greeted them with a mighty thrust of his spear, and the spear brake naisi's back in sunder, and passed through it. the son of fergus made a spring, and he threw both arms around naisi, and he brought him beneath himself to shelter him, while he threw himself down above him; and it was thus that naisi was slain, through the body of the son of fergus. then there began a murder throughout the meadow, so that none escaped who did not fall by the points of the spears, or the edge of the sword, and deirdre was brought to conor to be in his power, and her arms were bound behind her back. now the sureties who had remained behind, heard what had been done, even fergus and dubhtach, and cormac. and thereon they hastened forward, and they forthwith performed great deeds. dubhtach slew, with the one thrust of his spear, mane a son of conor, and fiachna the son of feidelm, conor's daughter; and fergus struck down traigthren, the son of traiglethan, and his brother. and conor was wrath at this, and he came to the fight with them; so that upon that day three hundred of the men of ulster fell and dubhtach slew the women of ulster; and, ere the day dawned, fergus set emain on fire. then they went away into exile, and betook them to the land of connaught to find shelter with ailill and maev, for they knew that that royal pair would give them good entertainment. to the men of ulster the exiles showed no love: three thousand stout men went with them; and for sixteen years never did they allow cries of lamentation and of fear among the ulstermen to cease: each night their vengeful forays caused men to quake, and to wail. deirdre lived on for a year in the household of conor; and during all that time she smiled no smile of laughter; she satisfied not herself with food or with sleep, and she raised not her head from her knee. and if any one brought before her people of mirth, she used to speak thus: though eager troops, and fair to see,[fn# ] may home return, though these ye wait: when usna's sons came home to me, they came with more heroic state. with hazel mead, my naisi stood: and near our fire his bath i'd pour; on aindle's stately back the wood; on ardan's ox, or goodly boar. though sweet that goodly mead ye think that warlike conor drinks in hall, i oft have known a sweeter drink, where leaps in foam the waterfall: our board was spread beneath the tree, and naisi raised the cooking flame: more sweet than honey-sauced to me was meat, prepared from naisi's game. [fn# ] a literal rendering of this poem will be found in the notes, p. . though well your horns may music blow, though sweet each month your pipes may sound, i fearless say, that well i know a sweeter strain i oft have found. though horns and pipes be sounding clear, though conor's mind in these rejoice, more magic strain, more sweet, more dear was usna's children's noble voice. like sound of wave, rolled naisi's bass; we'd hear him long, so sweet he sang: and ardan's voice took middle place; and clearly aindle's tenor rang. now naisi lies within his tomb: a sorry guard his friends supplied; his kindred poured his cup of doom, that poisoned cup, by which he died. ah! berthan dear! thy lands are fair; thy men are proud, though hills be stern: alas! to-day i rise not there to wait for usna's sons' return. that firm, just mind, so loved, alas! the dear shy youth, with touch of scorn, i loved with him through woods to pass, and girding in the early morn. when bent on foes, they boded ill, those dear grey eyes, that maids adored; when, spent with toil, his troops lay still, through irish woods his tenor soared. for this it is, no more i sleep; no more my nails with pink i stain: no joy can break the watch i keep; for usna's sons come not again. for half the night no sleep i find; no couch can me to rest beguile: 'mid crowds of thoughts still strays my mind; i find no time to eat or smile. in eastern emain's proud array no time to joy is left for me; for gorgeous house, and garments gay, nor peace, nor joy, nor rest can be. and when conor sought to soothe her; thus deirdre would answer him: ah conor! what of thee! i naught can do! lament and sorrow on my life have passed: the ill you fashioned lives my whole life through; a little time your love for me would last. the man to me most fair beneath the sky, the man i loved, in death away you tore: the crime you did was great; for, till i die, that face i loved i never shall see more. that he is gone is all my sorrow still; before me looms the shape of usna's son; though o'er his body white is yon dark hill, there's much i'd lavish, if but him i won. i see his cheeks, with meadow's blush they glow; black as a beetle, runs his eyebrows' line; his lips are red; and, white as noble snow i see his teeth, like pearls they seem to shine. well have i known the splendid garb he bears, oft among alba's warriors seen of old: a crimson mantle, such as courtier wears, and edged with border wrought of ruddy gold. of silk his tunic; great its costly price; for full one hundred pearls thereon are sewn; stitched with findruine,[fn# ] bright with strange device, full fifty ounces weighed those threads alone. gold-hilted in his hand i see his sword; two spears he holds, with spear-heads grim and green; around his shield the yellow gold is poured, and in its midst a silver boss is seen. fair fergus ruin on us all hath brought! we crossed the ocean, and to him gave heed: his honour by a cup of ale was bought; from him hath passed the fame of each high deed. if ulster on this plain were gathered here before king conor; and those troops he'd give, i'd lose them all, nor think the bargain dear, if i with naisi, usna's son, could live. break not, o king, my heart to-day in me; for soon, though young, i come my grave unto: my grief is stronger than the strength of sea; thou, conor, knowest well my word is true. "whom dost thou hate the most," said conor, "of these whom thou now seest?" "thee thyself," she answered, "and with thee eogan the son of durthacht." [fn# ] pronounced find-roony; usually translated "white bronze." "then," said conor, "thou shalt dwell with eogan for a year;" and he gave deirdre over into eogan's hand. now upon the morrow they went away over the festal plain of macha, and deirdre sat behind eogan in the chariot; and the two who were with her were the two men whom she would never willingly have seen together upon the earth, and as she looked upon them, "ha, deirdre," said conor, "it is the same glance that a ewe gives when between two rams that thou sharest now between me and eogan!" now there was a great rock of stone in front of them, and deirdre struck her head upon that stone, and she shattered her head, and so she died. this then is the tale of the exile of the sons of usnach, and of the exile of fergus, and of the death of deirdre. the lament of deirdre over the sons of usnach according to the glenn masain version also the conclusion of the tale from the same version i grieved not, usna's sons beside; but long, without them, lags the day: their royal sire no guest denied; three lions from cave hill were they. three dragons bred in mona's fort are dead: to them from life i go; three chiefs who graced the red branch court, three rocks, who broke the rush of foe. o loved by many a british maid! o swift as hawks round gullion's peak! true sons of king, who warriors swayed, to whom bent chiefs in homage meek. no vassal look those champions wore; full grief is mine that such should die! those sons, whom cathbad's daughter bore; those props, who cualgne's[fn# ] war held high. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. three bears of might, to war they came; from oona's walls, like lions, burst; three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame; three sons, on ulster's bosom nursed. twas aife[fn# ] reared them; 'neath her yoke a kingdom bowed, and tribute brought; they propped the war, when armies broke, those foster-sons, whom scathach[fn# ] taught. the three, who once from bohvan's skill all feats have learned that heroes know; king usna's glorious sons! 'tis ill that these afar from me should go. that i should live, with naisi dead, let none such shame believe of me; when ardan's life, when ainnle's fled, but short my life i knew would be. great ulster's king my hand had won; i left him, naisi's love to find; till naisi's funeral rites be done, i wait a little while behind. this widowed life no more i'll bear; the three rejoiced, when toil they faced; where'er 'twas found, the war they'd dare, and proffered fight with joy embraced. a curse on cathbad's wizard spell! 'twas naisi's death! and i the cause! none came to aid that king, who well to all the world might grant his laws. [fn# ] pronounced eefa. [fn# ] pronounced ska-ha. o man, who diggest low the grave, and from my sight my love would hide, make wide the tomb; its room i crave, i come to seek my hero's side. great load of hardship i'd endure with joy, if yet those heroes my companions were; no lack of house or fire could then annoy, no gloom i'd know with them, nor aught of care. ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear to make my couch have piled those noble three: o labouring man, their grave who diggest here, their hardened swords above well set should be. the hounds of all the three their masters lack, their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call; the three are dead, who battle's line held back who learned their skill in conall cernach's hall! their hounds i view; from out my heart that sight hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail, 'twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;, now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail. oft in the desert i and they have strayed, yet never lonely was that desert known for all the three a grave to-day is made, and here i sit, and feel indeed alone. i gazed on naisi's grave, and now am blind, for naught remains to see; the worst is spent; my soul must leave me soon, no help i find, and they are gone, the folk of my lament. 'twas guile that crushed them: they would save my life and died therefor; themselves three billows strong: ere usna's children fell in cruel strife, would i had died, and earth had held me long! to red-branch hall we made our mournful way; deceitful fergus led; our lives he stole; a soft sweet speech indeed he'd learned to say, for me, for them was ruin near that goal. all ulster's pleasures now are nothing worth i shun them all, each chief, each ancient friend; alone i sit, as left behind on earth, and soon my lonely life in death shall end. i am deirdre, the joyless, for short time alive, though to end life be evil, 'tis worse to survive. and, after she had made this lament, deirdre seated herself in the tomb, and she gave three kisses to naisi before that he was laid in his grave; and with heaviness and grief cuchulain went on to dun delga. and cathbad the druid laid a curse upon emain macha to take vengeance for that great evil, and he said that, since that treachery had been done, neither king conor nor any other of his race should hold that burg. and as for fergus, the son of rossa the red, he came to emain macha on the morrow after the sons of usnach had been slain. and, when he found that they had been slain, and that his pledge had been dishonoured, he himself, and cormac the partner of exile, king conor's own son, also dubhtach, the beetle of ulster, and the armies they had with them, gave battle to the household of conor; and they slew maine the son of conor, and three hundred of conor's people besides. and emain macha was destroyed, and burned by them, and conor's women were slain, and they collected their adherents on every side; the number of their host was three thousand warriors. and they went away to the land of connaught, even to ailill the great, who was the king of connaught at that time, and to maev of croghan, and with them they found a welcome and support. moreover fergus and cormac the partner of exile and their warriors, after that they had come to the land of connaught, never let pass one single night wherein reavers went not forth from them to harry and burn the land of ulster, so that the district which men to-day call the land of cualgne was subdued by them; and from that in the after-time came between the two kingdoms much of trouble and theft; and in this fashion they spent seven years, or, as some say, ten years; nor was there any truce between them, no, not for one single hour. and while those deeds were doing, deirdre abode by conor in his household for a whole year after the sons of usnach had been slain. and, though it might have seemed but a small thing for her to raise her head, or to let laughter flow over her lips, yet she never did these things during all that time. and when conor saw that neither sport nor kindness could hold her; and that neither jesting nor pleasing honour could raise her spirits, he sent word to eogan the son of durthacht, the lord of fernmay;[fn# ] as some tell the story, it was this eogan who had slain naisi in emain macha. and after that eogan had come to the place where conor was, conor gave command to deirdre that, since he himself had failed to turn her heart from her grief, she must depart to eogan, and spend another space of time with him. and with that she was placed behind eogan in his chariot, and conor went also in the chariot in order to deliver deirdre into eogan's hand. and as they went on their way, she cast a fierce glance at eogan in front of her, and another at conor behind her; for there was nothing in all the world that she hated more than those two men. and when conor saw this, as he looked at her and at eogan, he said: "ah deirdre! it is the glance of a ewe when set between two rams that thou castest on me and on eogan!" and when deirdre heard that, she sprang up, and she made a leap out of the chariot, and she struck her head against the stony rocks that were in front of her, and she shattered her head so that the brains leapt out, and thus came to deirdre her death. [fn# ] the irish is fernmag; written fearnmhuidh in the late manuscript of this part of the tale. this is the tree of their race, and an account of the kinships of some of the champions of the red branch, which is given here before we proceed to speak of the deeds of cuchulain: 'twas cathbad first won magach's love, and arms around her threw; from maelchro's loins, the battle chief, his princely source he drew; two, more in love she knew, of these the wrath was long and dread, fierce rossa, named the ruddy-faced, and carbre, thatched with red. to all the three were children born, and all with beauty graced, to cathbad, and to carbre red, and rossa ruddy-faced; a gracious three indeed were they to whom she gave her love, fair magach, brown the lashes were that slept her eyes above. three sons to rossa ruddy-faced as children magach bore; to carbre sons again she gave, the count of these was four; and three white shoots of grace were hers, on these no shame shall fall; to cathbad children three she bare, and these were daughters all. to cathbad, who in wizard lore and all its arts had might, three daughters lovely magach bore, each clothed in beauty white; all maids who then for grace were famed in grace those maids surpassed, and finuchoem,[fn# ] ailbhe twain he named, and deithchim named the last. [fn# ] pronounced finn-hoom, ail-vy, and die-himm. to finnchoem, wizard cathbad's child, was born a glorious son, and well she nursed him, conall wild, who every field hath won; and ailbhe glorious children bare in whom no fear had place, these ardan, ainnle, naisi were, who came of usnach's race. a son to deithchim fair was born, a bright-cheeked mother she; she bore but one: cuchulain of dun delga's hold was he: of those whom cathbad's daughters reared the names full well ye know, and none of these a wound hath feared, or therefore shunned a foe. the sons of usnach, who like shields their friends protected well, by might of hosts on battle-field to death were borne, and fell; and each was white of skin, and each his friends in love would hold, now naught remains for song to teach, the third of griefs is told. the combat at the ford introduction this version of the "combat at the ford," the best-known episode of the irish romance or romantic epic, the "war of cualnge," will hardly be, by irish scholars, considered to want a reference. it is given in the book of leinster, which cannot have been written later than a.d., and differs in many respects from the version in the fourteenth-century book of lecan, which is, for the purposes of this text, at least equal in authority to the leabbar na h-uidhri, which must have been written before a.d. mr. alfred nutt has kindly contributed a note on the comparison of the two versions, which has been placed as a special note at the end of the translation of the "combat." to this note may be added the remark that the whole of the leabhar na h-uidhri version of the "war of cualnge" seems, to be subject to the same criticisms that have to be passed on the "sickbed" and the "courtship of etain" in the same volume, viz. that it is a compilation from two or three different versions of the same story, and is not a connected and consistent romance, which the version in the book of leinster appears to be. as an illustration of this, the appearance of conall cernach as on the side of connaught in the early part of the l.u. version may be mentioned; he is never so represented in other versions of the "war." in the description of the array of ulster at the end of l.u., he is noted as being expected to be with the ulster army but as absent (following in this the book of leinster, but not a later manuscript which agrees with the book of leinster in the main); then at the end of the l.u. version conall again appears in the connaught army and saves conor from fergus, taking the place of cormac in the book of leinster version. miss faraday, in her version of the "war" as given in l.u., notes the change of style at page of her book. several difficulties similar to that of the position of conall could be mentioned; and on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the leabhar na h-uidhri and the yellow book of lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the "war," one of which is represented by the book of leinster version. this version shows no signs of patchwork, at any rate in the story of the "combat at the ford;" which has, ever since it was reintroduced to the world by o'curry, been renowned for the chivalry of its action. it forms one of the books of aubrey de vere's "foray of queen meave," and is there well reproduced, although with several additions; perhaps sufficient attention has not. been paid to the lofty position of the character, as distinguished from the prowess, that this version gives to cuchulain. the first verse, put in cuchulain's mouth, strikes a new note, contrasting alike with the muddle-headed bargaining of ferdia and maev, and the somewhat fussy anxiety of fergus. the contrast between the way in which cuchulain receives fergus's report of the valour of ferdia, and that in which ferdia receives the praises of cuchulain from his charioteer, is well worked out; cuchulain, conscious of his own strength, accepts all fergus's praises of his opponent and adds to them; ferdia cannot bear to hear of cuchulain's valour, and charges his servant with taking a bribe from his enemy in order to frighten him. ferdia boasts loudly of what he will do, cuchulain apologises for his own confidence in the issue of the combat, and gently banters fergus, who is a bit of a boaster himself, on the care he had taken to choose the time for the war when king conor was away, with a modest implication that he himself was a poor substitute for the king. cuchulain's first two stanzas in the opening dialogue between himself and ferdia show a spirit quite as truculent as that of his opponent; the reason of this being, as indicated in the first of these stanzas and more explicitly stated in the preceding prose, that his anxiety for his country is outweighing his feeling for his friend; but in the third stanza he resumes the attitude of conscious strength that marks all his answers to fergus; and this, added to a feeling of pity for his friend's inevitable fate, is maintained up to the end of the tale. in the fourth stanza, which is an answer to a most insulting speech from ferdia, he makes the first of those appeals to his former friend to abandon his purpose that come from him throughout the first three days of the fight; even in the fatal battle of the fourth day, he will not at first put forward all his strength, and only uses the irresistible gae-bulg when driven to it by his foe. the number of cuchulain's laments after the battle--there are five of these (one in prose), besides his answers to laeg--has been adversely criticised; and it is just possible that one or more of these come from some other version, and have been incorporated by a later hand than that of the author; but the only one that seems to me not to develop the interest is the "brooch of gold," which it may be noticed is very like the only lament which is preserved in the book of lecan text of the l.u. version. cuchulain's allusion to aife's only son in the first verse lament is especially noticeable (see note, p. ). ferdia's character, although everywhere inferior to that of his victor, is also a heroic one; he is represented at the commencement of the episode as undertaking the fight for fear of disgrace if he refused; and this does appear to be represented throughout as the true reason; his early boasts and taunts are obviously intended to conquer a secret uneasiness, and the motif of a passion for finnabar with which cuchulain charges him hardly appears outside cuchulain's speeches, and has not the importance given to it in the leabhar na h-uidhri version. the motif of resentment against cuchulain for a fancied insult, invented by maev, which is given in the l.u. version as the determining cause, does not appear in the leinster version at all; and that of race enmity of the firbolg against the celt, given to him by aubrey de vere, is quite a modern idea and is in none of the old versions. his dialogue with maev suggests that, as stated in the text, he was then slightly intoxicated; his savage language to his servant gives the idea of a man who feels himself in the wrong and makes himself out to be worse than he is by attributing to himself the worst motives, the hope of pay; but as the battle proceeds he shows himself equal to cuchulain in generosity, and in the dialogue at the beginning of the third day's fight his higher character comes out, for while his old boastfulness appears in one passage of it, and is immediately repressed, the language of both heroes in this dialogue is noticeable for a true spirit of chivalry. the mutual compliments, "thy kingly might," "fair graceful hound" "gently ruling hound" recall the french "beausire"; it may be also noted that these compliments are paid even when ferdia is protesting against cuchulain's reproaches; similar language is used elsewhere, as "much thine arms excel" (page ), and "cuchulain for beautiful feats renowned" (page ). it may be considered that these passages are an indication that the episode is late, but it should be noticed that the very latest date that can possibly be assigned to it, the eleventh century, precedes that of all other known romances of chivalry by at least a hundred years. to this later attitude of ferdia, and to that maintained by cuchulain throughout the whole episode, nothing in french or welsh romance of approximately so early a date can be compared. is it not possible that the chivalric tone of the later welsh romances, like the "lady of the fountain," which is generally supposed to have come from france, really came from an irish model? and that this tone, together with the arthurian saga, passed to the continent? a great contrast to both the two heroes is afforded by the introduction of laeg with his cries of exultation, which come between the dying groans of ferdia and the fine prose lament of cuchulain, increasing the effect of both. laeg seems quite unable to see his master's point of view, and he serves as a foil for ferdia, just as the latter's inferiority increases the character of cuchulain. the consistency of the whole, and the way in which our sympathy is awakened for ferdia contrast with the somewhat disconnected character of the l.u. version, which as it stands gives a poor idea of the defeated champion; although, as mr. nutt suggests, the lost part may have improved this idea, and the version has beauties of its own. for the convenience of those readers who may be unacquainted with the story of the war, the following short introduction is given:-- at a time given by the oldest irish annalists as a.d. , the war of cualnge was undertaken by maev, queen of connaught, against the kingdom or province of ulster. gathering together men from all the other four provinces of ireland, maev marched against ulster, the leaders of her army being herself, her husband ailill, and fergus the son of rog, an exile from ulster, and formerly, according to one account, king of that province. not only had maev great superiority in force, but the time she ed chosen for the war was when conor, king of ulster, and with him nearly all his principal warriors, were on their sick-bed in accordance with a curse that had fallen on them in return for a cruel deed that he and his people had done. one hero however, cuchulain, the greatest of the ulster heroes, was unaffected by this curse; and he, with only a few followers, but with supernatural aid from demi-gods of whose race he came, had caused much loss to the queen and her army, so that maev finally made this compact: she was each day to provide a champion to oppose cuchulain, and was to be permitted to advance so long as that combat lasted; if her champion was killed, she was to halt her army until the next morning. before the combat at the ford between cuchulain and ferdia, cuchulain had killed many of maev's champions in duel, and the epic romance of the "war of cualnge" gives the full story of these combats and of the end of the war. the episode given in the following pages commences at the camp of queen maev, where her chiefs are discussing who is to be their champion against cuchulain on the following day. the combat at the ford an episode of the cattle spoil of cualnge in the book of leinster version at that time debate was held among the men of ireland who should be the man to go early in the morning of the following day to make combat and fight with cuchulain. and all agreed that ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dire, was the man who should go; even the great and valiant champion of the men of irross donnand, for the manner in which he fought and did battle was like to the manner of cuchulain. they had got their skill in arms, and valour, and bravery from the same teachers, from scathach, from uathach, and from aife[fn# ]; nor had either of them advantage over the other except that cuchulain alone could perform the feat of the gae-bulg. yet ferdia was fenced by a horny skin-protecting armour, and this should guard him when he faced a hero in battle and combat at the ford. so to ferdia were sent messengers and heralds; but ferdia denied the heralds, and he refused to depart with them, for well he knew why it was he was called; even to fight against his own friend, his comrade and fellow-pupil cuchulain; and for that cause he came not with the heralds who were sent. [fn# ] pronounced scaha, ooha, and eefa: scaha and ooha end with a slight guttural like the ch in the scotch lock, difficult to express in english. and then did maev send to ferdia druids, and satirists and revilers, in order that against him should be made three crushing reproaches, and three satires; that the stains of shame, and of blemish, and of disgrace should be raised on his face; so that even if he died not at once, death should be his within the space of nine days if he went with them not. and for the sake of his honour, ferdia came at their call; for to him it was better to fall before the shafts of valour, of bravery, and of daring than by the stings of satire, of abuse, and of reproach. and he, when he arrived, was received with all worship and service, and was served with pleasant, sweet intoxicating liquor, so that his brain reeled, and he became gently merry. and these were the great rewards that were promised to him if he consented to make that combat and fight: a chariot of the value of four times seven cumals, and the equipment of twelve men with garments of all colours, and the length and breadth of his own territory on the choice part of the plains of maw ay; free of tribute, without purchase, free from the incidents of attendance at courts and of military service, that therein his son, and his grandson, and all his descendants might dwell in safety to the end of life and time; also finnabar the daughter of maev as his wedded wife, and the golden brooch which was in the cloak of queen maev in addition to all this. and thus ran the speech of maev, and she spake these words, and thus did ferdia reply: maev of rings great treasure sending,[fn# ] wide plains and woodlands bending i grant: till time hath ending i free thy tribe and kin. o thou who oft o'ercamest! 'tis thine what gift thou namest! why hold'st thou back, nor claimest a boon that all would win? [fn# ] the metre of this dialogue and rhyme-system are taken from the irish but one syllable has been added to each line. the exact irish metre is that given on page . ferdia a bond must hold thee tightly, no force i lend thee lightly; dread strife 'twill be; for rightly he bears that name of "hound." for sharp spear-combat breaketh that morn; hard toil it waketh the war cuchulain maketh shall fearless war be found. maev our chiefs, with oaths the gravest, shall give the pledge thou cravest; for thee, of all men bravest, brave bridled steeds shall stand. from tax my word hath freed thee, to hostings none shall lead thee, as bosom friend i need thee, as first in all the land. ferdia mere words are naught availing if oaths to bind be failing; that wondrous ford-fight hailing, all time its tale shall greet: though sun, moon, sea for ever and earth from me i sever; though death i win--yet never, unpledged, that war i'll meet. maev these kings and chiefs behind me their oaths shall pledge to bind me: with boundless wealth thou'lt find me, with wealth too great to pay. 'tis thou who oaths delayest; 'tis done whate'er thou sayest; for well i know thou slayest the foe who comes to slay. ferdia ere thou to slaughter lure me, six champions' oaths procure me; till these rewards assure me i meet, for thee, no foe: if six thou grant as gages, i'll face the war he wages, and where cuchulain rages, a lesser chief, i go. maev in chariots donnal raceth, fierce strife wild neeman faceth, their halls the bards' song graceth, yet these in troth i bind. firm pledge morand is making, none carpri min knew breaking his troth: thine oath he's taking; two sons to pledge i find. ferdia much poison, maev, inflameth thy heart; no smile thee tameth but well the land thee nameth proud queen of croghan's hold; thy power no man can measure; 'tis i will do thy pleasure; now send thy silken treasure, thy silver gifts, and gold. maev this brooch, as champion's token, i give of troth unbroken; all words my lips have spoken performed shall sunday see. thou glorious chief, who darest this fight, i give thee rarest of gifts on earth, and fairest, yea greater meed shall be. for findabar my daughter; all elgga's chiefs have sought her; when thou that hound shalt slaughter, i give in love to thee. and then did maev bind ferdia in an easy task; that on the next day he was to come to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel against cuchulain; whichever of the two he should think the easier. and ferdia on his side bound her by a condition that seemed to him easy for her to fulfil: even that she should lay it upon those same six champions to see to it that all those things she had promised to him should be fulfilled, in case cuchulain should meet death at ferdia's hand. thereupon fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and cuchulain bade him welcome. i am rejoiced at your coming, o my good friend fergus," said cuchulain. and i gladly accept thy welcome, o my pupil," said fergus. but i have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand." "we shall give all heed to thy words," said cuchulain. "'tis thine own friend," said fergus, "thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour: even ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of irross donnan." "truly," said cuchulain, "i make mine oath to thee that i am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel." "therefore," said fergus, "it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the tain be cuailgne is ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dare." "i have stood here," said cuchulain, "detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of ireland since the first monday in samhain (november) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have i gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall i, as i trust, yield before him." and in this manner did fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did cuchulain reply: fergus rise, cuchulain! foes are near,[fn# ] all their covenant is clear; daman's ruddy son in rage comes the war with thee to wage. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. . cuchulain here i stand, whose valiant toil erin's bands held back from spoil; never a foot of ground they won, never a foe they found me shun. fergus fierce is he in rage; his trust in his blade's deep searching thrust: plates of horn protect his side, pierced by none his strength who tried. cuchulain fergus, much thine arms excel; cease, this tale no longer tell land is none, nor battle-field where to his my strength must yield. fergus he is fierce, with scores can fight, spear nor sword can on him bite; from that strength, a hundred's match, hard 'twill be the prize to snatch. cuchulain yea! ferdia's power i know; how from foughten field we go; how was fought our piercing war, bards shall tell to ages far. fergus loss of much i'd little mourn could i hear how, eastward borne, great cuchulain's bloody blade proud ferdia's spoils displayed. cuchulain though in boasts i count me weak, hear me now as braggart speak: daman's son, of darry's race, soon shall i, his victor, face. fergus brought by me, hosts eastward came, ulster sought to hurt my fame; here have come, to ease my grief, many a champion, many a chief. cuchulain sickness conor's might withheld, else his sight thy host had quelled; less the shouts of joy had been, raised by maev, maw scayl's high queen. fergus greater deeds than done by me o cuchulain! thine shall be: daman's son thy battle nears; hear thy friend! keep hard thy spears. then fergus returned to where the army was encamped: ferdia, also went from maev and came to his own tent; and there he found his followers, and he told them how he had been bound to maev as in an easy task, that he was on the morrow to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel with cuchulain, whichever of the two he might think the easier. also he told them how she had been bound by a condition that was easy for her to grant: that she should lay it on these same six champions to see that her promises to him of rewards should be fulfilled in case cuchulain met his death at ferdia's hand. there was no cheerfulness, or happiness, or even melancholy pleasure among the inmates of ferdia's camp that night: they were all cheerless, and sorrowful, and low in spirit; for they knew that whenever those two champions, those two slayers of hundreds met, one of the two must fall in that place, or that both of them should fall: and if one only was to fall they were sure that that one would be their own master; for it was not easy for any man to combat and fight with cuchulain on the tain bo cuailnge. now the first part of that night ferdia slept very heavily, and when the middle of the night had come his sleep had left him, and the dizziness of his brain has passed away, and care for the combat and the fight pressed heavily upon him. then he called for his charioteer to harness his horses, and to yoke his chariot; and the charioteer began to rebuke him, if haply he might turn him from his purpose. "it would be better for thee to stay!" said the charioteer. "be thou silent, o my servant!" said ferdia, and he then spoke the words that follow, and thus did his servant reply to him:-- ferdia 'tis a challenge provoking to war, and i go where the ravens' hoarse croaking shall rise for my foe: with cuchulain still seeking the strife at yon ford; till his strong body, reeking, be pierced by my sword! servant nay, thy threats show no meekness; yet here thou should'st stay; for on thee shall come weakness, woe waits on thy way: for by ulster's rock broken this battle may be, and it long shall be spoken how ill 'twas to thee. ferdia an ill word art thou saying; it fits not our race that a champion, delaying from fight, should thee grace. then thy speech, my friend, fetter, no foe will we fear; but, since valour is better, his challenge we near. then ferdia's horses were harnessed for him, and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the ford of battle; but when he had come there he found that the full light of the day had not yet dawned, and "o my servant!" said ferdia, "spread out for me the cushions and skins that are upon my chariot, that i may rest upon them till i take the deep repose of refreshing sleep, for during the latter part of this night have i taken no rest, on account of the care that i had for this combat and fight." and the servant unharnessed his horses, and he placed together the cushions and the skins that were upon the chariot, so that ferdia might rest upon them, and he sank into the deep repose of refreshing sleep. now in this place i will tell of the acts of cuchulain. he rose not at all from his couch until the full light of the day; and this he did in order that the men of ireland should not be able to say that it was from fear or from dread that he rose, if it had been early that he had arisen. and when the full daylight had come, he commanded his charioteer to harness for him his horses, and to yoke his chariot: "o my servant!" said cuchulain, "harness for us our horses, and put the yoke to our chariot, for early rises the champion who cometh to meet us this day: even ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dare." "the horses are harnessed," said the charioteer, "and the chariot is yoked; step thou into it, for it will bring no shame on thy valour." then did cuchulain, the fighter of battles, the skilful in feats, the winner of victory, that red-sworded hero, the son of sualtam, leap into his chariot. all around him screamed the bocanachs, and the bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air; for it was the custom of the people of the wizard race of danu to raise their cries about him in every battle, on every stricken field, in every duel, and in every fight to which he went, that thereby in such fight the hatred, and the fear, and the avoidance, and the terror that men felt for him should be increased. in no short time the charioteer of ferdia heard the roar of cuchulain's approach; the clamour, and the hissing, and the tramp; and the thunder, and the clatter, and the buzz: for he heard the shields that were used as missiles clank together as they touched; and he heard the spears hiss, and the swords clash, and the helmet tinkle, and the armour ring; and the arms sawed one against the other, and the javelins swung, and the ropes strained, and the wheels of the chariot clattered, and the chariot creaked, and the hoofs of the horses trampled on the ground as that warrior and champion came forward in triumph to the ford, and approached him. then that servant of ferdia arose, and he placed his hand upon his lord: "arise now, o ferdia!" said the servant, "for here they come towards thee, even to the ford;" and this was the speech of the driver of the chariot of ferdia as he stood before him: lo! a chariot yoked with silver, creaking loud, draws nigh;[fn# ] o'er the chariot-wheels a man his perfect form rears high: the warlike car rolls on from far braeg ross, from braina's bounds; past that burg they ride whose wooded side the roadway rounds; for its triumphs high in triumph cry its song resounds. [fn# ] for a literal translation of the above poem and another rendering, see the notes. urged by hero-hound, and yoked by charioteer's hand true, flies the war-car southward ever; nobler hawk ne'er flew than he who speeds his rushing steeds, that chief of stubborn might; soon the blood to flow from slaughtered foe shall meet his sight; sure for us 'tis ill, for soon with skill he gives us fight. woe to him who here on hillock stands, that hound to wait; emain macha's perfect hound is he, foretold by fate: last year i cried that him i spied who guards his land from foe: that battle-hound, on whom are found all hues to glow: 'twas then from far i heard that car: its sound i know. "o my servant!" said ferdia, "wherefore is it: that thou hast continued in thy praise of this man ever since the time that i left my tent? surely it must be a reward that thou seekest at his hand, so greatly dost thou extol him; yet ailill and maev have foretold that it is by me he shall fall. certain it is that for sake of the fee i shall gain he shall be slain quickly; and 'tis full time that the relief that we wait for should come." thus then it was that in that place he spoke these words, and thus did his servant reply: ferdia 'tis time that i grant my assistance! be still: let thy praise of him sink: peer not, like a seer, at the distance; wilt fail me on battle-field's brink? though cualgne's proud champion, displaying his gambols and pride thou dost see; full soon shalt thou witness his slaying for price to be paid down to me. servant if he who this glory is showing be champion of cualgne indeed; 'tis not in retreat he is going; to meet us he cometh with speed: he comes, nor 'tis slowly he blunders, like wind his swift journey he makes; as stream, from the cliff-top that thunders; as bolt, from the storm-cloud that breaks. ferdia 'tis pay at his hand thou hast taken, so loudly resoundeth thy praise; else why, since our tent was forsaken, hast sung with such frequence thy lays? men, like thou, who, when foes are appearing, would to chant the foe's praises begin, will attack not, when battle is nearing, but the name of base cowards shall win. now the charioteer of ferdia was not long in that place before he saw a marvellous sight; for before his eyes came the beautiful five-pointed, four-peaked chariot, skilfully driven with swiftness and power. a canopy of green overspread it; thin and well-seasoned was the body of it; lofty and long were the spears that adorned it; well was it fashioned for war. under the yokes of that chariot sped forward with great bounds two great-eared, savage, and prancing steeds; bellies had they like whales, broad were their chests, and quick-panting their hearts; their flanks were high, and their hoofs wide; their pasterns fine, their loins broad, and their spirits untamable. the horse under one of the yokes was grey, with a long mane and with broad hind quarters; swiftly he galloped, and his leaps were great; the horse beneath the other yoke was black, his mane was in tufts, his back was broad, and eager was his pace. as a hawk, on a day when the wind bloweth hard, darts up from the furrow; as the gusts of the wind in spring sweep forward over a smooth plain upon a day in march; swift as a going stag at the beginning of the chase, after he hath been roused by the cry of the hounds; such was the pace of the two steeds that bore forward cuchulain and his chariot, touching upon the soil as rapidly as if the stones that they trod on were hot with the fire, so that the whole earth trembled and shook at the violence of their going. and cuchulain reached the ford, and ferdia awaited him on the south side of it, and cuchulain halted his horses upon the north. then did ferdia bid welcome to cuchulain: "o cuchulain!" said ferdia, i rejoice to see thine approach." "thy welcome would have been received by me upon an earlier day," said cuchulain, "but this day i cannot receive it as one from a friend. and ferdia," said he, "it were more suitable that it was i who bade welcome to thee rather than that thou shouldest welcome me; for out in flight before thee are my women, and my children; my youths, and my steeds, and my mares; my flocks, and my herds, and my cattle." "ah, cuchulain!" said ferdia, "how hast thou been persuaded to come to this fight and this battle at all? for when we were with scathach, with uathach, and with aife, thou wert mine attendant; thine was the office to whet my spears, and to make ready my couch." "'tis true indeed," said cuchulain, "but it was then as thy younger in years and in standing that it was my custom to perform this office for thee; and that is not my quality to-day; for now there is not in all the world any champion with whom i would refuse to fight." and then each of them reproached the other bitterly with breach of friendship, and there ferdia spoke the words which here follow, and thus did cuchulain reply: ferdia hound! why hither faring,[fn# ] strife with strong ones daring? as if home were flaring, woe shall come on thee! blood from out thee draining shall thy steeds be staining; thou, thy home if gaining, wounded sore shalt be. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. cuchulain hot with indignation, take i battle-station, face yon warrior nation, round their warlike king: they shall see me meet thee, count the strifes that greet thee, watch, as down i beat thee, drowning, suffering. ferdia here is one to shame thee; how 'twas i o'ercame thee, they who champion name thee long the tale shall tell. ulster, near thee lying, soon shall see thee dying; all shall say, with sighing, theirs the chief who fell. cuchulain thine shall be the choosing; say, what warfare using hosts shall see thee losing at the ford this fight? swords dost choose, hard-clashing cars, in conflict crashing? spears, thy life-blood splashing? 'tis thy death in sight. ferdia ere the twilight gleameth, red thy life-blood streameth: small thy stature seemeth, like a cliff thy foe. ulster's hosts who prated, and thy pride inflated; through them feel thy hated spectre sadly go. cuchulain down a chasm appalling thou to death art falling; one thy foe: yet galling weapons press thee sore. proud thou wert but lately, strife shall change thee greatly, thee as champion stately earth shall know no more. ferdia cease this endless vaunting, speech for ever flaunting, thou a chief! a taunting, giggling child thou art. none would pay, or fee thee, i as coward see thee; strength hast none to free thee, caged bird! quaking heart! cuchulain ah! in bygone story we, as peers in glory, sports and combats gory shared when scaha taught: thou, of all who nearest to my soul appearest! clansman! kinsman dearest! woe thy fate hath brought! ferdia naught this strife avails thee, glory fades, and fails thee; cock-crow loudly hails thee, high on stake thy head! cualgne's[fn# ] hound, cuchulain! faults thy soul bear rule in: thee to bitter schooling frantic grief hath led. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. "o my friend ferdia!" said cuchulain, "it was not right for thee to have come to the combat and the fight with me, at the instigation and the meddling of ailill and maev: none of those who came before thee have gained for themselves victory or success, and they all fell at my hand; neither shalt thou win victory or success from this battle, by me shalt thou fall." and it was in this manner that he was speaking, and he recited these words, and ferdia hearkened to him: come not near, thou powerful man![fn# ] o ferdia mac daman: worst of woe on thee is hurled, though thy fate shall grieve the world. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. come not near, nor right forget in my hand thy fate is set: those recall, whom late i fought, hath their fall no wisdom taught? thou for gifts wert passed in sale, purple sash, firm coat of mail; never maid, o daman's son! in this war of thine is won. findabar, maev's lovely child, with her form thy sense beguiled: brightly though her beauty glows, she no love on thee bestows. wouldst thou win the prize they bring, findabar, the child of king? many ere now that maid could cheat here, like thee, their wounds to meet. thou hast sworn, and plighted. troth, ne'er to fight me: keep thine oath: friendship's tie thee firm should hold, come not nigh me, champion bold. fifty chiefs, who sought that maid, fought me, fell, in earth are laid; well i know that tempting bait, all have found, and earned their fate. ferbay fell, though bold his boast, him obeyed a valiant host; quickly here his rage i stilled; cast my spear but once, and killed. cruel fate srub darry slew, tales of hundred dames he knew; great his fame in days of yore; silver none, 'twas gold he wore. though that maid, whom erin's best hope to gain, my heart would charm; south and north, and east and west i would keep thee safe from harm. "and, o my friend ferdia!" said cuchulain "this is the cause why it was not thy part to come here to the combat and the fight with me. it is because that when with scathach, with uathach, and with aife we abode, it was the custom with us that together we should go to every battle, and to every field of battle; to every fight and to every skirmish; to every forest and to all wildernesses; to all things dark and difficult." these were the words of his speech, and it was in that place that he recited these staves: tuned our hearts were beating, we, where chiefs were meeting, brotherly went: when slumbering one was our couch: we sought fierce fights, and fought. oft in woods that are far away joined we stood in our skilful play; scathach our feats had taught. and ferdia replied to him thus: o cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned, though together we learned our skill; though thou tellest of friendship that once we found, from me shall come first thine ill; ah, recall not the time of our friendship's day: it shall profit thee nothing, o hound, i say. "for too long now have we thus waited," said ferdia; "tell me now o cuchulain! to what weapons shall we resort?" "thou hast the choice of the weapons till the night," said cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the ford." "hast thou any remembrance," said ferdia, "of the weapons for casting, that we were accustomed to practise the use of when we were with scathach, with uathach, and with aife?" "i do indeed remember them," said cuchulain." "if thou rememberest them, let us resort to them now," said ferdia. then they resorted to their weapons used for the casting. they took up two shields for defence, with devices emblazoned upon them, and their eight shields with sharp edges such that they could hurl, and their eight javelins, and their eight ivory-hilted dirks, and their eight little darts for the fight. to and fro from one to the other, like bees upon a sunny day, flew the weapons, and there was no cast that they threw that did not hit. each of them then continued to shoot at the other with their weapons for casting, from the dawn of the morning to the full middle of the day, until all of their weapons had been blunted against the faces and the bosses of their shields; and although their casting was most excellent, yet so good was the defence that neither of them wounded the other nor drew the other's blood during all that time. "cease now from these feats, o cuchulain!" said ferdia, "for it is not by means of these that the struggle between us shall come." "let us cease indeed," said cuchulain, "if the time for ceasing hath arrived." and they ceased from their casting, and they threw the weapons they had used for it into the hands of their charioteers. "to what weapons shall we next resort, o cuchulain?" said ferdia. "thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," said cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the ford." "then," said ferdia, "let us turn to our straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with tough cords of flax upon them." "let us do so indeed," said cuchulain. then they took two stout shields of defence, and they turned to their straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with the tough cords of flax upon them, and each of them continued to hurl his spears at the other from the middle of midday until the ninth hour of the evening: and though the defence was most excellent that each of them made, yet so good was the casting of the spears that each of them wounded the other at that time, and drew red blood from him. "let us desist from this now, o cuchulain!" said ferdia. "let us desist indeed," said cuchulain, "if the time has come." they ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands; and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. and such folk as can heal and cure came to heal and to cure them, and they applied soothing and salving herbs and plants to their bruises, and their cuts, and their gashes, and to all their many wounds. and of every soothing and salving herb and plant that was brought for the bruises, the cuts, and the gashes, and all the wounds of cuchulain, he used to send an equal portion westward across the ford to ferdia, so that in case ferdia fell at his hand the men of ireland should not be able to say that it was owing to superiority in leech-craft that he had done it. and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of ireland brought to ferdia, he would send a fair half northward across the ford to cuchulain; for the men who provided food for ferdia were more in number than they who provided food for cuchulain. all the army of the men of ireland helped to provide ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against cuchulain; yet to cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the breg. and it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. thus they remained that night, but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the ford of combat. "what weapons shall we turn to to-day, o ferdia?" said cuchulain. "thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," answered ferdia, "because it is i who had my choice of them in the day that is past." "let us then," said cuchulain, "resort to our great, broad-bladed, heavy spears this day, for nearer shall we be to our battle by the thrusting of our spears this day than we were by the throwing weapons of yesterday: let our horses be harnessed for us, and our chariots yoked, that upon this day from our chariots and our horses we may fight." "let us turn to these indeed," said ferdia. they then took to them two exceedingly stout, broad shields, and they resorted to their great, broad-bladed, heavy spears that day. and each of them continued to thrust at, and to pierce through, and to redden, and to tear the body of the other from the dawn of the morning until the ninth hour of the evening; and if it were the custom for birds in their flight to pass through the bodies of men, they could have passed through the bodies of those warriors that day, carrying with them pieces of their flesh from their wounds into the clouds and to the sky around them. so when the ninth hour of the evening was come, the horses were weary, and the charioteers were weak; and they themselves, champions and heroes of valour as they were, had themselves become weary; and "let us cease now from this, o ferdia!" said cuchulain, "for our horses are weary, and our charioteers are weak; and now that these are weary, why should not we be weary too?" and then it was that he sang this stave: not like fomorians, men of the sea, stubborn, unending our struggle should be; now that the clamour of combat must cease, quarrels forget, and between us be peace. let us cease now indeed," said ferdia, "if the time for it hath come." they ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. and such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds. and for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of ireland brought to ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to cuchulain, in the north. for the men who brought food to ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to cuchulain, for all the army of the men of ireland helped to provide ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against cuchulain; yet to cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the breg. and it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. thus they rested that night: but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the ford of combat; and cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of ferdia that day. "ill dost thou appear to me to-day, o ferdia!" said cuchulain. "thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee." "'tis from no fear or from terror of thee that i am what i am to-day," said ferdia, "for there is not in ireland to-day a champion that i am not able to subdue." and cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did ferdia reply: cuchulain is't indeed ferdia's face?[fn# ] sure his meed is dire disgrace; he, to war by woman led, comes his comrade's blood to shed. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. ferdia thou who warrior art indeed, champion tried! who wounds dost breed, i am forced the sod to see where my final grave shall be. cuchulain maev her daughter, findabar, who all maids excelleth far, gave thee, not at love's behest, she thy kingly might would test. ferdia gently ruling hound, i know that was tested long ago; none so great is known to fame, none, till now, to match it came. cuchulain all that's chanced from thee hath sprung, darry's grandchild, daman's son; woman's hest hath brought thee here swords to test with comrade dear. ferdia comrade! had i fled, nor found fight with thee, fair graceful hound, maev my word could broken call; croghan hold my fame but small. cuchulain none put meat his lips between, none to king or stainless queen yet was born, whose praise i'd gain, none whose scorn would win thy pain. ferdia thou who deep in wars dost wade, 'twas not thou, 'twas maev betrayed: back with conquest shalt thou ride, fault hast none thy fame to hide. cuchulain clots of blood my faithful heart choke; my soul is like to part: 'tis with little force my arm strikes, to do ferdia harm! "greatly although thou makest complaint against me to-day," said ferdia, "tell me to what arms shall we resort?" thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said cuchulain, "because it was i who had the choice in the day that is past." "then," said ferdia, "let us this day take to our heavy hard-smiting swords; for sooner shall we attain to the end of our strife by the edge of the sword this day than we did by the thrusts of our spears in the day that is gone." "let us do so indeed," said cuchulain. that day they took upon them two long and exceedingly great shields, and they resorted to their heavy and hard-striking swords. and each of them began to hew, and to cut, and to slaughter, and to destroy till larger than the head of a month-old child were the masses and the gobbets of flesh which each of them cut from the shoulders and the thighs and the shoulder-blades of his foe. after this fashion did each of them hew at each other from the dawn of the day until the ninth hour of the even, and then ferdia said, "let us desist from this now, o cuchulain!" "let us cease indeed," said cuchulain, "if the time has come." they ceased from their strife, and they threw from them their arms into the hands of their charioteers. pleasant and cheerful and joyous was the meeting of the two: mournfully, and sorrowfully, and unhappily did they part from each other that night. their horses were not in the same paddock, their charioteers were not at the same fire, and there they stayed for that night. it was early in the morning when ferdia arose, and he advanced alone towards the ford of combat. well did he know that the battle and the conflict would be decided that day; that upon that day and in that place one of the two would fall or that both would fall. and then, before cuchulain could come, ferdia put on the armour that he was to use for that battle in the conflict and fight. and this was the battle armour that he used for that conflict and fight; he put a kilt of striped silk, bordered with spangles of gold, next to his white skin, and over that he put his well-sewn apron of brown leather to protect the lower part of his body. upon his belly he put a great stone as large as a millstone, and over that great stone as large as a millstone he put his firm deep apron of purified iron, on account of the fear and the dread that he had of the gae-bulg that day. and his crested helmet that he used for battle and conflict and fight he put upon his head: there were upon it four jewels of carbuncle, each one of them fit to adorn it: also it was studded with enamels, with crystals, with carbuncles, and with blazing rubies that had come from the east. into his right hand he took his death-dealing sharp-pointed strong spear; upon his left side he hung his curved sword of battle with its golden hilt and its pommels of red gold: upon the slope of his back he took his great and magnificent shield with great bosses upon it: fifty was the number of the bosses, and upon each of them could be supported a full-grown hog: moreover in the centre of the shield was a great boss of red gold. upon that day ferdia displayed many noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats of arms on high; feats which he had never learned from any other, either from his nurse or his tutor, or from scathach, or from uathach, or from aife, but which he himself invented that day for his battle with cuchulain. and cuchulain approached the ford, and he saw the many, rapidly changing, wonderful feats that ferdia displayed on high; and "o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "i mark those noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats which ferdia displays, and i know that all of those feats will in turn be tried upon me; and for this reason if it be i who begin to go backwards this day, let it be thy part to rouse me by reproaches, and by evil speech, so that my rage and my wrath may be kindled, and increase. and if it be i that shall prevail, then do thou give to me praise and approval; and speak good words tome, that my courage may be the greater." "this indeed will i do, o cuchulain!" said laeg. then did cuchulain put on his battle armour that he used for the combat and fight. and that day he displayed noble, many-changing, wonderful, and many feats that he had learned from none: neither from scathach, from uathach, or from aife. and ferdia marked those feats, and he know that each in turn would be tried upon him. "o ferdia!" said cuchulain, "tell me to what arms we shall resort? "thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said ferdia. "then," said cuchulain, "let us try the feat of the ford."[fn# ] "let us do so indeed," said ferdia; but although he thus spoke, it was with sorrow that he consented, for he knew that cuchulain had ever destroyed every hero and champion who had contended with him at the feat of the ford. [fn# ] i.e. in which all weapons were allowed. mighty were the deeds that were done upon that day at the ford by those two heroes, the champions of the west of europe; by those two hands which in the north-west of the world were those that best bestowed bounty, and pay, and reward; those twin loved pillars of valour of the gael; those two keys of the bravery of the gaels, brought to fight from afar, owing to the urging and the intermeddling of ailill and maev. from the dawn till the middle of the day, each began to shoot at the other with his massive weapons; and when midday had come, the wrath of the two men became more furious, and each drew nearer to the other. and then upon a time cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, and he lit upon the boss of the shield of ferdia the son of daman, the son of dare, to strike at his head from above, over the rim of his shield. and then it was that ferdia gave the shield a blow of his left elbow, and he cast cuchulain from him like a bird, till he came down again, upon the shore of the ford. and again cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, till he lit upon the boss of the shield of ferdia the son of daman, the son of dare, to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. and ferdia, gave the shield a stroke of his left knee, and he cast cuchulain from him like a little child, till he came down on the shore of the ford. laeg saw what had been done. "ah!" said laeg, "the warrior who is against thee, casts thee away as a loose woman casts her child; he flings thee as high as the river flings its foam; he grinds thee even as a mill would grind fresh malt; pierces thee as the axe would pierce the oak that it fells; binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree; darts upon thee even as the hawk darts upon little birds, so that never until time and life shall end, shalt thou have a call, or right, or claim for prowess or for valour: thou little fairy phantom!" said laeg. up sprang cuchulain, swift as the wind; quick as the swallow; fiery as the dragon; powerful as the lion; and he bounded into the air for the third time into the troubled clouds of it, until he lit upon the boss of the shield of ferdia, the son of daman, striving to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. and the warrior shook his shield, and he threw cuchulain from him, into the middle of the ford, just as if he had never been cast off at all. and then for the first time the countenance of cuchulain was changed, and he rose in his full might, as if the air had entered into him, till he towered as a terrible and wonderful giant, with the hero-light playing about his head; rising as a wild man of the sea; that great and valiant champion, till he overtopped ferdia. and now so closely were they locked in the fight, that their heads met above them, and their feet below them; and in their middles met their arms over the rims and the bosses of their shields. so closely were they locked in the fight, that they turned and bent, and shivered their spears from the points to the hafts; and cleft and loosened their shields from the centres to the rims. so closely were they locked, that the bocanachs, and the bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air screamed from the rims of their shields, and from the hilts of their swords, and from the hafts of their spears. and so closely did they fight, that they cast the river from its bed and its course, so that there might have been a couch fit for a king and a queen to he in, there in the midst of the ford, for there was no drop of water left in it, except such as fell therein from off those two heroes and champions, as they trampled and hewed at each other in the midst of the ford. and so fierce was their fight, that the horses of the gaels, in fear and in terror, rushed away wildly and madly, bursting their chains, and their yokes, and their tethers, and their traces; and the women, and the common folk, and the followers of the camp, fled south-westwards out of the camp. all this time they fought with the edges of their swords. and then it was that ferdia found cuchulain for a moment off his guard, and he struck him with the straight edge of his sword, so that it sank into his body, till the blood streamed to his girdle, and the soil of the ford was crimson with the blood that fell from the body of that warrior so valiant in fight. and cuchulain's endurance was at an end, for ferdia continually struck at him, not attempting to guard, and his downright blows, and quick thrusts, and crushing strokes fell constantly upon him, till cuchulain demanded of laeg the son of riangabra to deliver to him the gae-bulg. now the manner of using the gae-bulg was this: it was set with its end pointing down a stream, and was cast from beneath the toes of the foot: it made the wound of one spear on entering a person's body; but it had thirty barbs to open behind, and it could not be drawn out from a man's body until he was cut open. and when ferdia heard mention of the gae-bulg, he made a stroke of his shield downwards to guard the lower part of his body. and cuchulain thrust his unerring thorny spear off the centre of his palm over the rim of the shield, and through his breast covered by horny defensive plates of armour, so that its further half was visible behind him after piercing the heart in his chest. ferdia gave an upward stroke of his shield to guard the upper part of his body, though too late came that help, when the danger was past. and the servant set the gae-bulg down the stream, and cuchulain caught it between the toes of his foot, and he threw it with an unerring cast against ferdia, and it broke through the firm deep apron of wrought iron, and it burst the great stone that was as large as a millstone into three parts, and it passed through the protection of his body into him, so that every crevice and cavity in him was filled with its barbs. "'tis enough now," said ferdia. "i have my death of that; and i have but breath enough to say that thou hast done an ill deed against me. it was not right that thy hand should be that by which i should fall." and thus did he cry, as he gasped out these words: hound, of feats so fair![fn# ] death from thee is ill: thou the blame must bear, thou my blood dost spill. help no wretch hath found down this chasm of woe: sick mine accents sound, as a ghost, i go. torn my ribs, and burst, gore my heart hath filled: this of fights is worst, hound! thou hast me killed. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. and after those words, cuchulain ran towards him, and with his arms and armour about him, carried him northwards across the ford, in order that the slain man might be on the north side of the ford, and not upon the western side together with the men of erin. then cuchulain laid ferdia down, and there it was that a trance and a faint and a weakness came upon cuchulain when he saw the body of ferdia, laeg saw his weakness, and the men of ireland all arose to come upon him. "rise up now, o cuchulain!" said laeg, "for the men of erin are coming towards us, and no single combat will they give to us, since ferdia the son of daman, the son of dare, has fallen by thy hand." "how shall i be the better for arising, o my servant!" said he, "now that he who lieth here hath fallen by me?" and it was in this manner that his servant spoke to him, and he recited these words, and thus did cuchulain reply: laeg now arise, battle-hound of emania! it is joy and not grief should be sought; for the leader of armies, ferdia, thou hast slain, and hard battle hast fought. cuchulain what availeth me triumph or boasting? for, frantic with grief for my deed, i am driven to mourn for that body that my sword made so sorely to bleed. laeg 'tis not thou shouldst lament for his dying, rejoicing should spring to thy tongue; for in malice, sharp javelins, flying for thy wounding and bleeding he flung. cuchulain i would mourn, if my leg he had severed, had he hewn through this arm that remains, that he mounts not his steeds; and for ever in life, immortality gains. laeg to the dames of red branch thou art giving more pleasure that thus he should fall: they will mourn for him dead, for thee living, nor shall count of thy victims be small. great queen maev thou hast chased, and hast fought her since the day when first cualgne was left; she shall mourn for her folk, and their slaughter, by thy hand of her champions bereft. neither sleep nor repose hast thou taken, but thy herd, her great plunder, hast chased, though by all but a remnant forsaken, oft at dawn to the fight thou didst haste. now it was in that place that cuchulain commenced his lament and his moan for ferdia, and thus it was that he spoke: "o my friend ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds i had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from laeg, the son of riangabra[fn# ] about what was due from thee to a comrade. unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of fergus. unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. and if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, o thou ruddy-cheeked son of daman!" said cuchulain. and then cuchulain stood over ferdia. "ah! ferdia," said cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. for it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the tain bo cuailnge." and thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [fn# ] pronounced reen-gabra. 'twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'tis i that moan thy fate; for aye thy doom hath caught thee, and here, alone, i wait. to scathach, glorious mother, our words, when boys, we passed; no harm for each from other should come while time should last. alas! i loved thee dearly, thy speech; thy ruddy face; thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly that shone; thy faultless grace. in wrath for strife advances no chief; none shield can rear to piercing storm of lances of daman's son the peer. since he whom aife[fn# ] bore me by me was slain in fight, no champion stood before me who matched ferdia's might. he came to fight, thus trusting might findabar be won; such hopes have madmen, thrusting with spears at sand or sun. [fn# ] pronounced eefa. see note on this line. still cuchulain continued to gaze upon ferdia. and now, o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "strip for me the body of ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that i may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." then laeg arose, and he stripped ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: ah! that brooch of gold![fn# ] bards ferdia knew: valiantly on foes with hard blows he flew. curling golden hair, fair as gems it shone; leaflike sash, on side tied, till life had gone. [fn# ] the metre and the rhyme-system is that of the irish. see notes, p. . comrade, dear esteemed! bright thy glances beamed: chess play thine, worth gold: gold from shield rim gleamed. none of friend had deemed could such tale be told! cruel end it seemed: ah! that brooch of gold! "and now, o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "open the body of ferdia, and take the gae-bulg out of him, for i cannot afford to be without my weapon." laeg came, and he opened ferdia's body, and he drew the gae-bulg out of him, and cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of ferdia, and then he spake these words: ferdia, i mourn for thy dying, thou art pale, although purple with gore: unwashed is my weapon still lying, and the blood-streams from out of thee pour. our friends in the east who have seen us, when with uathach and scathach[fn# ] we dwelled, can bear witness, no quarrel between us or with words or with weapons was held. scathach came; and to conflict inciting were her accents that smote on mine ear; "go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, german wields his green terrible spear! to ferdia, i flew with the story, to the son of fair baitan i sped, and to lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "come ye all to fight german," i said. [fn# ] pronounced ooha and scaha. where the land by loch formay lies hollowed had we come, fit for fight was the place; and beside us four hundred men followed; from the athisech isles was their race. as beside me ferdia contended against german, at door of his dun; i slew rind, who from niul[fn# ] was descended, i slew rood, of finnool was he son. [fn# ] pronounced nyool. 'twas ferdia slew bla by the water, son of cathbad red-sworded was he: and from lugaid mugarne gat slaughter, the grim lord of the torrian sea. four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, by my hand in that gateway were slain; to ferdia, of grim mountain cattle fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. then his hold to the plunderers giving, over ocean waves spangled with foam, did we german the wily, still living, to the broad-shielded scathach bring home. there an oath our great mistress devising, both our valours with friendship she bound; that no anger betwixt us uprising should 'mid erin's fair nations be found. much of woe with that tuesday was dawning, when ferdia's great might met its end; though red blood-drink i served him that morning: yet i loved, though i slew him, my friend. if afar thou hadst perished when striving with the bravest of heroes of greece, 'tis not i would thy loss be surviving; with thy death should the life of me cease. ah! that deed which we wrought won us sorrow, who, as pupils, by scathach were trained: thou wilt drive not thy chariot to-morrow; i am weak, with red blood from me drained. ah! that deed which we wrought won us anguish, who, as pupils, by scathach were taught: rough with gore, and all wounded, i languish; thou to death altogether art brought. ah! that deed that we wrought there was cruel for us pupils, from scathach who learned: i am strong; thou art slain in the duel, in that conflict, with anger we burned. "come now, cuchulain," said laeg, "and let us quit this ford, for too long have we been here." "now indeed will we depart, o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "but every other combat and fight that i have made hath been only a game and a light matter to me compared with this combat and fight with ferdia." thus it was that he spoke; and in this fashion he recited: wars were gay, and but light was fray[fn# ] ere at the ford his steeds made stay: like had we both been taught, both one kind mistress swayed; like the rewards we sought, like was the praise she paid. [fn# ] metre and rhyme-system of the irish imitated, but not exactly reproduced. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: like were our fights, oft fought, like were our haunts in play; scathach to each of us brought a shield one day. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: pillar of gold, loved well, low at the ford's side laid; he, when on troops he fell, valour unmatched displayed. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: lionlike, on he sped; high, in his wrath, he blazed; rose, as a wave of dread; ruin his onset raised. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: never, till hour of doom, ferdia's form shall fade; high as a cliff it loomed, now is but left his shade. three great armies went this raid,[fn# ] all the price of death have paid; choicest cattle, men, and steeds lie in heaps, to tell my deeds. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. widely spread their battle-line, less than half their host was mine; though to war stout croghan came, all i slew, for me a game! none the battle neared like thee, none of all whom banba nursed passed thy fame; on land, on sea, thou, of sons of kings, art first! special note on the "combat at the ford" the episode translated in the foregoing pages is not only one of the famous examples on which irish literature can fairly rest its claim to universal recognition, but it also affords an excellent instance of the problems involved when it comes to be studied critically. these problems, upon the solution of which must to some extent depend our estimate of the place of irish in the general development of european literature) axe briefly dealt with in mr. leahy's preface, as well as in his special introduction (supra, pp. , ), but may perhaps be thought worthy of somewhat more detailed examination. the existence of two markedly different versions of the "tain bo cuailnge," one, obviously older, represented by the eleventh-century ms. leabhar na h-uidhri (l.u.), and the fourteenth-century ms. yellow book of lecan (y.b.l.); the other, obviously younger, by the twelfth-century book of leinster (l.l.), was pointed out by professor heinrich zimmer twenty-seven years ago in his study of the l.u. heroic saga texts (keltische studien v.: zeitschrift für vergleichende sprachforschung, vol. xxviii.). the conclusion that he drew from the fact, as also from the peculiarities disclosed by his analysis of the l.u. texts, is substantially that stated by mr. leahy: "on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the leabhar na h-uidhri and the yellow book of lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the 'war,' one of which is represented by the book of leinster version." he furthermore emphasised a particular aspect of this compiler's activity to which mr. leahy also draws repeated attention; he (the compiler) was a man interested in the historical and antiquarian rather than in the literary side of the texts he harmonised and arranged: hence his preference for versions that retain archaic and emphasise mythical elements; hence his frequent interpolation of scraps of historical and antiquarian learning; hence his indifference to consistency in the conduct of the story, and to its artistic finish. professor zimmer urged that the "compiler" was no other than flann, abbot of monasterboice, who died in , and was regarded as the most famous representative of irish learning in his day. there has come down to us under his name a considerable mass of chronological and historical writing, partly in prose, partly in verse, and it seems certain that he was one of the chief artisans in framing that pragmatic redaction of irish myth, heroic legend, and historical tradition most fully represented by the two great compilations of the seventeenth century: the annals of the four masters, emphasising its antiquarian, historical side; keating's history, emphasising its romantic, legendary side. whilst professor zimmer's conclusion as to the personality of the l.u. compiler has been challenged, his main thesis has remained unshaken. on the whole, it can be asserted positively that the common source of l.u. and y.b.l. goes back to the early eleventh century; on the whole, that this common source itself utilised texts similar to those contained in the book of leinster. moreover, the progress of linguistic analysis during the past quarter-century has strengthened the contention that some of the elements used by flann (or another) in compiling his eleventh-century harmony are as old, in point of language, as any existing remains of irish outside the ogham inscriptions; in other words, being as old as the earliest glosses, they may date back to the eighth or even seventh century. in particular the l.u.-y.b.l. version of the "tain bo cuailnge" contains a large proportion of such elements and may, in the main, be treated as an eighth-century text. it must, however, be pointed out, and for this reason i have italicised the qualifying "on the whole," "in the main," that this conclusion does not enable us to declare dogmatically ( ) that all portions of the l.u.-y.b.l. version must go back to the eighth century; ( ) that all portions of the book of leinster version must precede the compilation of the common source of l.u. and y.b.l. for as regards ( ), not only must the definitely ascertained activity of the eleventh-century compiler be taken into account, but also the possible activity of later scribes. if we possessed the complete text of the l.u.-y.b.l. redaction in both mss., we could at least be sure concerning the possible variations introduced during the two centuries that elapsed between the writing of the yellow book (early fourteenth century) and that of l.u. (late eleventh century). but most unfortunately both mss. are imperfect, the yellow book at the opening, l.u. at the close of our tale. thus of the special episode under consideration, the "combat at the ford," the older redaction is only extant in the fourteenth-century ms., and it is always open to impugners of its archaic character to say that it has been introduced there from the rival leinster version. again, as regards ( ), whilst it is practically certain that the great mass of the leinster version was in existence before the time of the source whence both l.u. and y.b.l. are derived, and must therefore date back to the early eleventh century, it is by no means certain that this version was not considerably altered and enlarged before it came to be written down in the book of leinster some time before . the older version of the "tain bo cuailnge" has been translated by miss winifred faraday (grimm library, no. xvi. ). in her introduction (p. xvii.) miss faraday argues against the assumption "that l.l. preserves an old version of the episode," and questions "whether the whole fer diad[fn# ] episode may not be late." the truth of this one contention would by no means involve that of the other; and again, both might be true without invalidating any of the conclusions drawn by mr. leahy (supra, p. ). if the episode as we have it first took shape in the tenth century, it would be late as compared with much of the rest of the "tain," and yet it would be the earliest example in post-classic european literature of the sentiments and emotions to which it gives such fine and sympathetic expression. in comparing the two versions, the following fact is at once noticeable. the y.b.l. text occupies pp. - of miss faraday's translation, in round figures, lines of words to the line, or some words; the leinster version, omitting the verse, fills some lines of words, or words. up to a certain point, however, the actual meeting of the two champions, there is no difference between the versions in length; the prose of both runs to about words. but the whole of the actual fight (supra, pp. - in the leinster version) is compressed into a page and a half in the older redaction, some words as against over . obviously this cannot represent the original state of things; it would be psychologically impossible for any story-teller to carry on his narrative up to a given stage with the dramatic vigour, point, and artistically chosen detail displayed in the first portion of the y.b.l. version of the combat, and then to treat the culmination of the tale in such a huddled, hasty, scamped manner. the most likely explanation is that the original from which the y.b.l. scribe was copying was imperfect, and that the lacuna was supplied from memory, and from a very faulty memory. no conclusion can thus, i think, be drawn from the fact that the details of the actual combat are so bald and meagre in the only extant text of the older redaction. [fn# ] this is the spelling in y. b. l. in l.l. the name appears as one word, "ferdiad"; usually scanned as a dissyllable--though occasionally as a trisyllable. the spelling ferdia is the conventional one sanctioned by the usage of ferguson, aubrey de vere, and others; the scansion of the word as a trisyllable is on the same authority. if the two versions be compared where they are really comparable, i.e. in that portion which both narrate at approximately the same length, the older redaction will be found fuller of incident, the characters drawn with a bolder, more realistic touch, the presentment more vigorous and dramatic. ferdiad is unwilling to go against cuchulain not, apparently, solely for prudential reasons, and he has to be goaded and taunted into action by medb, who displays to the full her wonted magnificently resourceful unscrupulousness, regardless of any and every consideration, so long as she can achieve her purpose. the action of fergus is far more fully dwelt upon, and the scones between him and his charioteer, as also between him and cuchulain, are given with far greater spirit. the hero is indignant that fergus should think it necessary to warn him against a single opponent, and says roundly that it is lucky no one else came on such an errand. the tone of the older redaction is as a whole rough, animated, individualistic as compared with the smoother, more generalised, less accentuated presentment of the leinster version. but to conclude from this fact that the older redaction of the actual combat, if we had it in its original fulness instead of in a bald and fragmentary summary, would not have dwelt upon the details of the fighting, would not have insisted upon the courteous and chivalrous bearing of the two champions, would not have emphasised the inherent pathos of the situation, seems to me altogether unwarranted. on the contrary the older redaction, by touches of strong, vivid, archaic beauty lacking in the leinster version leads up to and prepares for just such a situation as the latter describes so finely. one of these touches must be quoted. cuchulain's charioteer asks him what he will do the night before the struggle, and then continues, "it is thus fer diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting and washing and bathing.... it would please me if you went to the place where you will got the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is emer of the beautiful hair.... so cuchulain went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife." there is indeed the old irish hero faring forth to battle as a lover to the love tryst! how natural, how inevitable with warriors of such absurd and magnificent susceptibility, such boyish love of swagger, how natural, i say, the free and generous emotion combined with an overmastering sense of personal honour, and a determination to win at all costs, which are so prominent in the leinster version of the fight.[fn# ] [fn# ] the trait must not be put down as a piece of story-teller's fancy. in another text of the ulster cycle, cath ruis na rig, conchobor's warriors adorn and beautify themselves in this way before the battle. the aryan celt behaved as did the aryan hellene. all readers of herodotus will recall how the comrades of leonidas prepared for battle by engaging in games and combing out their hair, and how demaretus, the counsellor of xerxes, explained to the king "that it is a custom with these men that when they shall prepare to imperil their lives; that is the time when they adorn their heads" (herodotus vii. .) the contention that the older redaction, if we had it complete, would resemble the younger one in its insistence upon the chivalrous bearing of the two opponents, may also be urged on historical grounds. the sentiment which gives reality and power to the situation is based upon the strength of the tie of blood-brotherhood; so strong is this that it almost balances the most potent element in the ideal of old irish heroism--the sense of personal honour and pre-eminence in all that befits a warrior. the tie itself and the sentiment based upon it certainly belong to pre-christian times, and must have been losing rather than gaining in strength during the historic period, say from the fourth century onwards. the episode of cuchulain's combat with ferdiad must have existed in the older redaction of the "tain" for the simple reason that a tenth and eleventh century story-teller would have found nothing in the feelings, customs, or literary conventions of his own day to suggest to him such a situation and such a manner of working it out. but--and this consideration may afford a ground of conciliation with miss faraday and the scholars who hold by the lateness of the episode--the intrinsic beauty and pathos of the situation, the fact of its constituting an artistic climax, would naturally tempt the more gifted of the story-telling class. there would be a tendency to elaborate, to adorn in the newest fashion, hence to modernise, and it is not only conceivable but most probable that the original form should be farther departed from than in the case of much else in the epic. alfred nutt. general notes the courtship of etain the translation of both versions of this romance has been revised by professor strachan, and the linguistic notes are due to him, unless otherwise stated. the rendering given in the text is noted as "doubtful," in cases where professor strachan does not assent. page @@both line ? line . "by a means that he devised," do airec memman, lit. "by a device of mind." compare airecc memman aith (meyer, hib. minora, p. ). line . "so that she became well-nourished, &c.," lit. "till there came to her fatness and form;" sult probably means "fatness," and feth "form." page line . "curvetting and prancing," tuagmar, foran. these are guesses by o'curry: curvetting may be right, but there is little authority for rendering foran as "prancing "; this word is doubtful. "with a broad forehead," forlethan, lit. "broad above," o'curry renders "broad-rumped." line . "upon the shore of the bay," forsin purt. windisch's rendering of port is "bank, harbour"; but it is doubtful whether the word means more than "place." page the literal rendering adopted for the poem runs thus: etain is here thus at the elf-mound of the fair-haired women west of alba among little children to her on the shore of the bay of cichmaine. it is she who cured the eye of the king from the well of loch da lig, it is she who was drunk in a draught by the wife of etar in a heavy draught. through war for her the king will chase the birds from tethba, and will drown his two horses in the lake da airbrech. there shall be abundant and many wars through the war for thee on echaid of meath, destruction shall be on the elf-mounds, and war upon many thousands. it is she who was hurt in the land (?), it is she who strove to win the king, it is she as compared to whom men men speak of fair women, it is she, our etain afterwards. line . "west of alba" is literally "behind alba," iar n-albai: iar is, however, also used in the sense of "west of." line is given by windisch "through the war over meath rich in horses"; this is impossible. the translation of line is not quite certain; the literal translation of the ms. seems to be "it is she who was hurt and the land." da airbrech in line may mean "of two chariots." page literal translation of the quatrain: ignorant was fuamnach, the wife of mider, sigmall and bri with its trees in bri leth: it was a full trial were burned by means of manannan. page line . "labraid the tracker." this is a very doubtful rendering, the text gives labradae luircc. line . "that he desired full knowledge of." there seems to be something with the irish here; the word is co fessta which could only be third singular subj. pass. "that it might be known," which does not make grammar. it should be co fessed or co festais, "that he (or they) might know." page line . "his officers who had the care of the roads." a very doubtful rendering; the irish is tarraluing sligeth. line . "a bright purple mantle waved round her," lit. "a bright purple curling (?) mantle," but the sense of caslechta as "curling" is not certain. line . "another mantle." the word for mantle here is folai, in the former line it was brat. page line . "as white as the snow." ba gilighuir mechto: not "whiter than the snow," as windisch's dict. gives it. line . "all that's graceful, &c.," cach cruth co hetain, coem cach co hetain. compare conid chucum bagthir cach n-delb. (l.u., b, , "courtship of emer "), and ir. text., iii. p. , . , from which it may be seen that the meaning is that etain is the test to which all beauty must be compared. page line . "so long as they were," not "so long as he was." the irish is cein ropas, and ropas is the impersonal preterite passive. line . "the choking misery, &c.," lit. "he let come to him the slaodan of a heavy sickness:" slaodan is the cough of consumption. page line . lit. "worse and worse," messa a cach. line . "his burial mound," a fert fodbuigh. compare zimmer, kuhn's zeitschrift, xxx. , for fotbuig. literal rendering of the dialogue: b. what hath happened to thee, o young man? long is thy bed of sickness, prostrate is thy full and splendid pace, however fair the weather may be. a. there is cause for my sighs; the music of my harp contents me not; neither does any milk please me, it is this that brings me into a pitiful state. e. tell me what ails thee, o man, for i am a maiden who is wise; tell me of anything which may be of benefit to thee that thy healing may be wrought by me. a. to speak of it is not possible for me (lit. "finds not room in me"), o maiden, lovely is thy form, there is fire of some one behind her eyes (?) nor are the secrets of women good. b. though the secrets of women are bad, yet, if it is love, the remembrance remains for long; from the time when the matter is taken into hand this thing is not deserving of its (?) recognition. a. a blessing on thee, o white maiden, i am not worthy of this speech to me; neither am i grateful to my own mind, my body is in opposition to me. wretched indeed is this, o wife of the king, eochaid fedlech in very truth, my body and my head are sick, it is reported in ireland. e. if there is among the troops of white women any one who is vexing thee, she shall come here, if it is pleasing to thee, there shall be made by my help her courtship. in verse , line , inniss dam gach dal, dal means no more than thing it is not an accusative from dal, a meeting. verse , line . meaning doubtful. verse , line . the confusion between eochaid airemm, the king in this story, and his brother eochaid fedlech is obvious. it may, as windisch thinks, be an indication that the poem is not part of the romance as originally composed, but other explanations are possible. line . "it is reported." not quite certain; irish is issed berair. page line . "and great gain, &c." text defective, and meaning uncertain. line . rhetoric; the literal translation seems to be as follows, but some words are uncertain: it is love that was longer enduring (?) than a year my love, it is like being under the skin, it is the kingdom of strength over destruction. it is the dividing into quarters of the earth, it is summit ( ) of heaven, it is breaking of the neck, it is a battle against a spectre. it is drowning with cold (or ? water), it is a race up heaven, it is a weapon under the ocean, it is affection for an echo; (so is) my affection and my love and my desire of the one on whom i have set (my love). page line . the translation given is windisch's, "it is sorrow under the skin is strachan's rendering. line . translation uncertain. irish is dichend nime. line . is combath fri huacht (i read husce). literal rendering of the poem: arise, o glorious ailill, great bravery is more proper to thee than anything; since thou shalt find here what was wished by thee, thy healing shall be done by me. if it should please thee in thy wise mind, place hand about my neck; a beginning of courtship, beautiful its colour, woman and man kissing each other. but, if this is not enough for thee, o good man, o son of a king, o royal prince, i will give for thy healing, o glorious crime, from my knee to my navel. a hundred cows, a hundred ounces of gold, a hundred bridled horses were collecting, a hundred garments of each variegated colour, these were brought as a price for me. a hundred of each other beast came hither, the drove was great; these to me quickly, till the sum was complete, gave eochaid at the one time. line . of poem. "were collecting," ratinol. this is the rendering in windisch's dictionary, but is a doubtful one. line . imerge means "drove," not "journey," as in windisch. line of text. "wrought a great healing, &c." irish, ro lessaig, "healed him" (windisch); "waited upon him" (strachan). page line . "for fear of danger." baegal, "danger," has sometimes the sense of "chance," "risk." line . "that is what i would demand of thee." translation not quite certain irish, cid rotiarfaiged. page line . "that both of us do indeed deem, &c." lit. "it is so indeed well to us both." line . for the incident compare bodleian dinnshenchas (nutt, p. ): the introduction of crochen is a human touch which seems to be characteristic of the author of this version. the dinnshenchas account seems to be taken from the romance, but it gives the name of sinech as mider's entertainer at mag cruachan. line . "the fairy mound of croghan." irish, co sith sínighe cruachan; for sínighe read maighe, "to the sid of mag c." page line . until the same day upon the year, &c.," on lo cu cele, "from that day to its fellow," i.e. "till the same day next year." line . "three wands of yew." this looks like an early case of a divining-rod. line . "hath smitten thee," rotirmass for ro-t-ormaiss, "hath hit thee." line . "they ruined," "docuas ar," an idiomatic phrase; "they overcame," an idiomatic phrase. compare annals of ulster under years , , . page line . "messbuachalla." this makes etain the great-grandmother of conary, the usual account makes her the grandmother, so that there is here an extra generation inserted. yet in the opening she and eochaid airem are contemporary with kings who survived conary! line . "the fairy host, &c." the order of the words in the original is misleading and difficult sithchaire and mider are the subjects to ro choillsiut and to doronsat. page line . that there should be adjusted)" fri commus, lit. "for valuation," but commus has also the sense of "adjusting." page line . "since he for a long time, &c.," fodaig dognith abairt dia sirsellad. see meyer's contributions, s.v. abairt. line . "to gaze at her." up to this point the l.u. version (exclusive of the prologue) bears the character of an abstract, afterwards the style improves. page line . "but it shall not be in the abode, &c." windisch seems to have mimed the point here, he considers these lines to be an interpolation. page line . following windisch's suggestion, this poem has been placed here instead of the later place where it occurs in the text. this famous poem has been often translated; but as there appear to be points in it that have been missed, a complete literal rendering is appended: o fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein is music (?); the top of the head there is hair of primrose, the body up to the head is colour of snow. in that country is no "mine" and no "thine"; white are teeth there, black are eyebrows, the colour of the eyes is the number of our hosts, each cheek there the hue of the foxglove. the purple of the plain is (on) each neck, the colour of the eyes is (colour of) eggs of blackbird; though pleasant to the sight are the plains of fal (ireland), they are a wilderness ( ) for a man who has known the great plain. though intoxicating to ye the ale of the island of fal, the ale of the great country is more intoxicating a wonder of a land is the land i speak of, a young man there goes not before an old man. stream smooth and sweet flow through the land, there is choice of mead and wine; men handsome (?) without blemish, conception without sin, without crime. we see all on every side, and yet no one seeth us, the cloud of the sin of adam it is that encompasses us from the reckoning. o woman, if thou wilt come to my strong people, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, unsalted pork, new milk and mead for drink shalt thou have with me there, o fair-haired woman. line . hi fil rind. the meaning of rind (?) music) is uncertain. line . is barr sobarche folt and. this line is often translated as "hair is wreathed with primrose": the image would be better, but it is not the irish. barr is "top of head," and folt is "hair." line . is and nad bi mui na tai. muisse is in old irish the possessive of the first sing when followed by a noun it becomes mo, when not so followed it is mui; tai is also found for do. o'curry gave this line as "there is no sorrow nor care." lines and . is li sula lin ar sluag and is li sula ugai luin are so similar that is li sula must mean the same in both, and cannot mean "splendour of eyes" in the first case unless it does so in the second. the idea in the first case seems to be that the hosts are reflected in the eyes; it is so rendered in the verse translation. a blackbird's egg has a blue ground, but is so thickly powdered with brown spots of all shapes that it looks brown at a distance. at first i was inclined to take the idea to be "hazel" eyes, but comparing line , it seems more likely that the idea is that all sorts of shapes appear in the pupil. line . the translation of annam as a "wilderness" is very doubtful, it more probably is "seldom"; and the line should be "seldom will it be so after knowledge of, &c." line . this has always been rendered "no youth there grows to old age." but the irish is ni thecht oac and re siun, and re siun can only mean "before an old (man)." the sense possibly is, that as men do not become feeble with advancing years, the younger man has not the same advantage over his elders in the eyes of women that he has in this world. line . teith millsi, "smooth and honey-sweet" (meyer, maccongl., p. ). line . compare a story of some magical pigs that could not be counted accurately (revue celtique, vol. xiii. p. ). line . muc ur, "unsalted pork"; see glossary to laws, p. ; also macconglinne (kuno meyer), p, . page line . "he ascended." fosrocaib for sosta: fosrocaib is an unknown compound (=fo-sro-od-gaib). perhaps frisocaib for sosta, "mounted on the heights." line . co brainni a da imdae, "to the edges of his two shoulders"; see braine, in meyer's contributions. page . line . "casting their light on every side," cacha air di = cacha airidi, "in every direction." line . "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake," mad tu beras mo thocell. for tocell see zimmer, kuhn's zeitsch., xxx. . line . "eager" (?), femendae. see bruiden da derga (stokes), , . line . "easily stopped," so-ataidi suggested for sostaidi in the text: cf. bruiden da derga. the conjecture has not strachan's authority. page line . literal translation of rhetoric: "put it in hand, place it close in hand, noble are oxen for hours after sunset, heavy is the request, it is unknown to whom the gain, to whom the loss from the causeway." line . "over the chariot-pole of life" seems to be a literal rendering of for fertas in betha. strachan renders "on the face of the world," which is of course the meaning of the simile. line . "high was he girt," ard chustal. the meaning of custal is not known; it was used of some arrangement of the dress. see ir. text., iii. ; also l.u. a, , l.l. a, ; a, ; a, . line . "eochaid arose," atrigestar eochaid. strachan thinks it much more likely that this is "eochaid feared him," the verb coming from atagur. it is, however, just possible that the word might be a deponent form from atregaim, "i arise." eochaid does not elsewhere show any fear of mider, the meaning given agrees better with the tone of the story, and is grammatically possible. page line . "all things that seemed good, &c.," lit. "i have been accustomed to get what seemed good to thee," adethaind ni bad maith. line . "anger for anger," bara fri bure. compare the word bura in meyer's contributions. line . "in order that eochaid should stand in his debt," lit. "that there might be cause of reproach for him to eochaid." line . "forest that is over breg." ms. fid dar bre, with mark of abbreviation. this is read to be dar breg. professor rhys (arthurian legend, p. ) renders "to cover darbrech with trees." line . "as it is written in the book of drom snechta. "this is a conjecture by mrs. hutton as a restoration of the words in l.u., which is torn just here: the words appear to be amal atbert lebor drums. page line . this rhetoric is very obscure; much of it cannot be translated. the text seems to be as follows, according to strachan: cuisthe illand tochre illand airderg damrad trom inchoibden clunithar fír ferdi buidni balc-thruim crandchuir forderg saire fedar sechuib slimprib snithib scítha lama indrosc cloina fo bíth oen mna. duib in dígail duib in trom daim tairthim flatho fer ban fomnis fomnis in fer mbranie cerpiae fomnis diad dergae fer arfeid soluig fria iss esslind fer bron for-tí ertechta in de lamnado luachair for di thethbi dílecud (? diclochud) midi in dracht coich les coich amles ? thocur ? dar c? moin. apparent rendering: "place on the land, place close on the land, very red oxen, heavy troop which hears, truly manlike ? troops, strong heavy placing of trees, very red . . . is led past them with twisted wattles, weary hands, the eye slants aside (squints) because of one woman. to you the vengeance, to you the heavy ? oxen ? splendour of sovereignty over white men, . . . man sorrow on thee . . . of childbirth, rushes over tethba, clearing of stones from meath . . . where the benefit where the evil, causeway over . . . moor." it seems that the oxen were transformed people of mider's race; this appears from fír-ferdi, which is taken to mean "really men"; and duib in digail duib in trom-daim, which is taken to mean "to you the vengeance, to you heavy oxen." professor strachan disagrees with this, as daim, to be "oxen," should not have the accent, he makes trom-daim "heavy companies." he also renders clunithar fír ferdi buindi, as "which hears truth, manly troops." the rest of the translation he agrees to, most of it is his own. the passage from fomnis fomnis to lamnado seems untranslatable. page line . lit. "no evil wedding feast (banais, text banas) for thee? mac datho's boar page line . the rawlinson version gives, instead of "who was the guardian of all leinster," the variant "who would run round leinster in a day." this semi-supernatural power of the hound is the only supernatural touch in either version of the tale. line . the verse "mesroda son of datho" is from the rawlinson ms. the literal version of it is in anecdota oxoniensia, mediaeval series, part viii. p. . (this reference will in future be given as a.o., p. .) line . the list of the hostelries or guest-houses of ireland includes the scene of the famous togail da derga, in the sack of which conaire, king of ireland, was killed. forgall the wily was the father of emer, cuchulain's wife. the tale of the plunder of da choca is in the ms. classed as h. , in the trinity college, dublin, library. page the literal version of the dialogue between mac datho and his wife is given in a.o., p. , following the leinster text (there are only two lines of it given in the rawlinson ms.); but i note a few divergencies in the literal version from which the verse translation was made. verse , line . asbert crimthann nia nair, "crimthann nia nair has said" (a.o.). nia is "sister's son," and has been so rendered. nia is a champion, and this is the meaning given in the coir anmann; but nia has no accent in either the leinster or harleian manuscripts of the text. the coir anmann (ir. tex., iii. ) says that nar was a witch. verse , lines , . cid fri mnai atbertha-su mani thesbad ní aire, "why wouldest thou talk to a woman if something were not amiss?" (a.o.). "why dost thou speak against a woman unless something fails on that account" seems as good a translation, and fits the sense better. verse , line . leis falmag dar sin tuaith, "by him ireland (shall be roused) over the people." the omitted verb is apparently "to be," as above. line of the same verse is left untranslated in a.o., it is ata neblai luim luaith. it seems to mean "there is nothing on the plain for bareness (luim) of ashes," more literally, "there is a no-plain for, &c." verse , lines , . isi ním dení cutal. ailbe do roid dia. "it does not make sorrow for me; as for ailbe, "god sent him" seems to be the sense; but the meaning of cutal is obscure. page line . "forty oxen as side-dishes," lit. "forty oxen crosswise to it" (dia tarsnu). the rawlinson ms. gives "sixty oxen to drag it" (dia tarraing). line . "the son of dedad." clan dedad was the munster hero clan, having their fortress in tara luachra; they correspond to the more famous clan rury of ulster, whose stronghold was emain macha. curoi of munster seems to have been a rival hero to cuchulain. page line . "pierced through with a spear." the different ways in which ket claims to have conquered his rivals or their relations may be noted; the variety of them recalls the detailed descriptions of wounds and methods of killing so common in homer. there are seven victories claimed, and in no two is the wound the same, a point that distinguishes several of the old irish romances from the less elaborate folk-tales of other nations. arthur's knights in malory "strike down" each other, very occasionally they "pierce through the breast" or "strike off a head," but there is seldom if ever more detail. in the volsunga saga men "fall," or are "slain," in a few cases of the more important deaths they are "pierced," or "cut in half," but except in the later niebelungenlied version where siegfried is pierced through the cross embroidered on his back, a touch which is essential to the plot, none of the homeric detail as to the wounds appears. the same remark applies to the saga of dietrich and indeed to most others; the only cases that i have noticed which resemble the irish in detail are in the icelandic sagas (the laxdale saga and others), and even there the feature is not at all so prominent as here, in the "tain be cuailnge," and several other irish romances, though it is by no means common to all of them. it may be noted that the irish version of the "tale of troy" shows this feature, and although it is possible that the peculiarity is due to the great clearness and sharpness of detail that characterises much of the early irish work, it may be that this is a case of an introduction into irish descriptions of homeric methods. it may be also noted that six of ket's seven rivals are named among the eighteen ulster chiefs in the great gathering of ulster on the hill of slane before the final battle of the tain, angus being the only one named here who is not in the hill of slane list. two others in the hill of slane list, fergus mac lets and feidlimid, are mentioned elsewhere in this tale. several of these are prominent in other tales: laegaire (leary) is a third with cuchulain and conall in the feast of bricriu, and again in the "courtship of emer;" cuscrid makes a third with the same two principal champions in the early part of the "sick-bed;" eogan mac durthacht is the slayer of the sow of usnach in the old version of that tale; and celtchar mac uitechar is the master of the magic spear in the "bruiden da derga," and has minor romances personal to himself. page the literal translation of the rhetoric seems to be: ket. "welcome, conall! heart of stone: wild glowing fire: sparkle of ice: wrathfully boiling blood in hero breast: the scarred winner of victory: thou, son of finnchoem, canst measure thyself with me!" conall. "welcome, ket! first-born of mata! a dwelling place for heroes thy heart of ice: end of danger ( ); chariot chief of the fight: stormy ocean: fair raging bull: ket, magach's son! that will be proved if we are in combat: that will be proved if we are separated: the goader of oxen (?) shall tell of it: the handcraftsman (?) shall testify of it: heroes shall stride to wild lion-strife: man overturns man to-night in this house." page the literal translation of the quatrain is in a.o., p. . the quatrain does not occur in the leinster version. page line . "a great oak-tree." after the plucking up of the oak-tree by fergus, the rawlinson ms. adds: "others say that it was curoi mac dari who took the oak to them, and it was then that he came to them, for there was no man of munster there (before) except lugaid the son of curoi and cetin pauci. when curoi had come to them, he carried off all alone one half of the boar from all the northern half of ireland." this exploit attributed to curoi is an example of the survival of the munster account of the heroic age, part of which may be preserved in the tales of finn mac cumhail. page the rawlinson manuscript adds, after mentioning the rewards given to ferloga but he did not get the serenade (cepoca), though he got the horses." literal translation of the final poem: o lads of connaught, i will not fill your heaviness with a lying tale; a lad, small your portion, divided the boar of mac datho. three fifties of fifty men are gone with troops of heroes; combat of pride for that ailbe, small the fault in the matter of the dog. victorious conor came (?), ailill of the hosts, and ket; bodb over the slaughters after the fight, cuchulain conceded no right. congal aidni there from the east, fiamain the man of harmony from the sea, (he who) suffered in journeys after that eogan the son of dark durthacht. three sons of nera (famous) for numbers of battle-fields, three sons of usnach, fierce shields: senlaech the charioteer, he was not foolish, (came) from high conalad cruachan; dubhtach of emain, high his dignity; berba baither of the gentle word; illan glorious for the multitude of his deeds; fierce munremur of loch sail; conall cernach, hard his valour; marcan . . . celtchar the ulsterman, man over man; lugaid of munster, son of three dogs. fergus waits great ailbe, shakes for them the . . . oak, took hero's cloak over very strong shield; red sorrow over red shield. by cethern the son of finntan they were smitten, single his number at the ford (i.& he was alone); the men of connaught's host he released not for the time of six hours. feidlimid with multitude of troops, loegaire the triumphant eastwards, was half of complaint about the dog with aed son of morna not great. great nobles, mighty (?) deeds, hard heroes, fair companions in a house, great champions, destruction of clans, great hostages, great sepulchres. @@line x ? in this poem may be noted the reference to cuchulain in line x in close connection with that to bodb the goddess of war, as indicating the original divine nature of cuchulain as a war-god also the epithet of lugaid, "son of three dogs." two of the dogs are elsewhere stated to be cu-roi and cu-chulain, the third seems uncertain. line , describing marcan, seems untranslatable; the irish is marcan sinna set rod son. the epithet of the oak in line is also obscure, the irish is dairbre n-dall. the sick-bed of cuchulain page line . "samhain." samhain was held on november st, and on its eve, "hallow-e'en". the exhibition of tips of tongues, on the principle of indian scalps, has nothing at all to do with the story, and is not mentioned in the usual descriptions of the romance. it is a piece of antiquarian information, possibly correct, and should serve to remind us that the original form of these legends was probably of a barbaric kind, before they were taken in hand by the literary men who gave to the best forms of the romances the character they now have. line . for the demons screaming from the weapons of warriors compare the book of leinster version of the "combat at the ford": pages , in this volume. page line . the delay of conall and fergus leads to nothing, it is perhaps an introduction from some third form of the story. line . leborcham is, in the story of deirdre, deirdre's nurse and confidant. line . "their three blemishes." this disfigurement of the women of ulster in honour of their chosen heroes seems to point to a worship of these heroes as gods in the original legend. it may, however, be a sort of rough humour intentionally introduced by the author of the form of the story that we call the antiquarian form; there are other instances of such humour in this form of the story. page line . "like the cast of a boomerang." this is an attempt to translate the word taithbeim, return-stroke, used elsewhere (l.u., a., ) for cuchulain's method of capturing birds. line . "i deem it as being by me that the distribution was made." the words "i deem it" are inserted, they are not in the text. it appears that what ethne meant was that the distribution by cuchulain was regarded by her as done by her through her husband. page line . "dun imrith nor yet to dun delga." dun imrith is the castle in which cuchulain was when he met the war-goddess in the "apparition of the morrigan," otherwise called the "tain bo regamna." dun delga or dundalk is the residence usually associated with cuchulain. the mention of emer here is noticeable; the usual statement about the romance is that ethne is represented as cuchulain's mistress, and emer as his wife; the mention here of emer in the antiquarian form may support this; but this form seems to be drawn from so many sources, that it is quite possible that ethne was the name of cuchulain's wife in the mind of the author of the form which in the main is followed. there is no opposition between emer and ethne elsewhere hinted at. line . the appearance of lugaid red-stripes gives a reason for his subsequent introduction in the link between the two forms of the story. line . "near the entrance of the chamber in which cuchulain lay." it does not yet seem certain whether imda was a room or a couch, and it would seem to have both meanings in the antiquarian form of this story. the expression forsind airiniuch na imdai which occurs here might be rendered "at the head of the bed"; but if we compare i n-airniuch ind rigthige which occurs twice in "bricriu's feast," and plainly means "at the entrance of the palace," it seems possible that airinech is here used in the same sense, in which case imda would mean "room," as whitley stokes takes it in the "bruiden da derga." on the other hand, the word imda translated on page , line , certainly means "couches." line . "ah cuchulain, &c." reference may be made for most of the verses in this romance to thurneysen's translation of the greater part of it in sagen aus dem alten irland but, as some of his renderings are not as close as the verse translations in the text, they require to be supplemented. the poem on pp. , is translated by thurneysen, pp. and ; but the first two lines should run:-- ah cuchulain, under thy sickness not long would have been the remaining. and lines and should be: dear would be the day if truly cuchulain would come to my land. the epithet "fair" given to aed abra's daughters in line by thurneysen is not in the irish, the rest of his translation is very close. line . "plain of cruach." cromm cruach is the name of the idol traditionally destroyed by st. patrick in the "lives." cromm cruach is also described in the book of leinster (l.l. b) as an idol to whom human sacrifices were offered. the name of this plain is probably connected with this god. page line . "hath released her," irish ros leci. these words are usually taken to mean that manannan had deserted fand, and that she had then turned to cuchulain, but to "desert" is not the only meaning of lecim. in the second form of the story, fand seems to have left manannan, and though of course the two forms are so different that it is not surprising to find a contradiction between the two, there does not seem to be any need to find one here; and the expression may simply mean that manannan left fand at liberty to pursue her own course, which divine husbands often did in other mythologies. manannan is, of course, the sea god, the celtic poseidon. page line . eogan inbir (yeogan the stream) occurs in the book of leinster version of the book of invasions as one of the opponents of the tuatha de danaan, the folk of the gods (l.l. b, , and elsewhere). line . "said liban." the text gives "said fand." this seems to be a scribal slip: there is a similar error corrected on page , line , where the word "fand" is written "emer" in the text. line . "a woman's protection." the "perilous passage," passed only by a woman's help, occurs elsewhere both in irish and in other early literatures. see maelduin, para. ; ivain (chretien de troyes), vv. sqq.; and mabinogion, "lady of the fountain" (nutt's edition, p. ). line . "labra." labraid's usual title, as given to him by liban in both forms of the romance and once by laeg in the second description of fairyland, is labraid luath lamar-claideb, the title being as closely connected with him as {greek boh`n a?gaðo`s mene'laos}with menelaus in homer. it is usually translated as "labraid quick-hand-on-sword," but the luath need not be joined to lam, it is not in any of the places in the facsimile closely joined to it, and others than liban give to labraid the title of luath or "swift," without the addition. the literal translation of the short pieces of rhetoric on pages , are, "where is labraid the swift hand-on-sword, who is the head of troops of victory? (who) triumphs from the strong frame of his chariot, who reddens red spear-points." "labraid the son of swiftness is there, he is not slow, abundant shall be the assembly of war, slaughter is set when the plain of fidga shall be full." "welcome to thee, o laeg! for the sake of her with whom thou hast come; and since thou hast come, welcome to thee for thyself!" the metre of the first two pieces is spirited and unusual. the second one runs: ata labraid luithe cland, ni ba mall bid immda tinol catha, cuirther ar, día ba ian mag fidgae. page line . "fand." the derivations of the names of fand and of aed abra are quite in keeping with the character of the antiquarian form, and would be out of place in the other form of the romance. it may perhaps be mentioned that the proper meaning of abra is "an eyelash," but the rendering "aed abra of the fiery eyebrows," which has been employed in accounts of this romance, would convey a meaning that does not seem to have been in the mind of the authors of either of the two forms. for the literal translations of the three invocations to labraid, on pp. , , thurneysen (p. ) may be referred to; but there would be a few alterations. in the first, line should be "heir of a little host, equipped with light spears," if windisch's dictionary is to be followed; line would seem to begin "he seeketh out trespasses" (oirgniu); and line should begin, "attacker of heroes," not "an attacking troop," which hardly makes sense. in the second invocation the first line should alter labraid's title to "labraid the swift hand-on-sword-of-battle;" line should end with "wounded his side." in line and again in the third line of the third invocation, thurneysen translates gus as "wrath": windisch gives the word to mean "strength." line of the third invocation is rendered "he pierceth through men" by thurneysen; the irish is criathraid ocu. criathraim is given by o'reilly as meaning "to sift": "he sifteth warriors" seems a satisfactory meaning, if o'reilly is to be relied on. page labraid's answer to the three invocations seems to run thus, but the translation is doubtful, many words are marked unknown by windisch: "i have no pride or arrogance, o lady, nor renown, it is not error, for lamentation is stirred our judgment" (reading na ardarc nid mell, chai mescthair with the second ms.), "we shall come to a fight of very many and very hard spears, of plying of red swords in right fists, for many peoples to the one heart of echaid juil (?), (let be) no anbi of thine nor pride, there is no pride or arrogance in me, o lady." i can make nothing of anbi. page thurneysen does not translate the rhetoric; the translation seems to run thus: great unprofitableness for a hero to lie in the sleep of a sick-bed; for unearthly women show themselves, women of the people of the fiery plain of trogach, and they have subdued thee, and they have imprisoned thee, and they have chased thee away (?) amid great womanish folly. rouse thyself from the contest of distress (gloss, "the sickness sent by the fairy women") for all is gone of thy vigour among heroes who ride in chariots, and thou sittest (?) in the place of the young and thou art conquered (? condit chellti if connected with tochell), and thou art disturbed (?) in thy mighty deeds, for that which labraid's power has indicated rise up, o man who sittest (?) that thou mayest be great. "chased thee away" in line , for condot ellat, perhaps connected with do-ellaim (?). page thurneysen's translation (p. ) of emer's lament may be referred to, but he misses some strong points. among these are: line . "woe to ulster where hospitality abounds." line . "till he found a druid to lift the weight." line . "were it furbaide of the heroes." line . "the hound would search through the solid earth." line . "the hosts of the sid of train are dead." line . "for the hound of the smith of conor." line . "sick for the horseman of the plains." note the familiarity with the land of the fairies which laeg is asserted to have in the first verse of the poem: this familiarity appears more than once in the literary form of the story. laeg speaks of the land of labraid as "known to him" in his- first description of that land, again in the same description laeg is recognised by labraid by his five-folded purple mantle, which seems to have been a characteristic fairy gift. also, laeg seems at the end of the tale to be the only one to recognise manannan. there is no indication of any familiarity of laeg with the fairy country in the antiquarian form. the different ulster heroes alluded to are mostly well-known; all except furbaide are in "mae datho's boar." furbaide was a son of conor; be is one of the eighteen leaders who assemble on the hill of slane in the "tain bo cuailgne." the smith of conor is of course culann, from whom cuchulain got his name. pages , a translation of emer's "awakening of cuchulain" may be found in thurneysen, p. but there are one or two points that seem to be noted as differing from the rendering there given. lines and seem to mean: "look on the king of macha, on my beauty / does not that release thee from deep sleep?" thurneysen gives "look on the king of macha, my heart! thy sleep pleases him not." mo crath can hardly mean "my heart." line is in the irish deca a churnu co comraim! "see their horns for the contest!" instead of comraim thurneysen seems to prefer the reading of the second ms., co cormaim, and translates "their horns full of beer." churnu may mean trumpets as well as drinking-horns, and emer would hardly call on cuchulain to throw off a drunken sleep (line ) and then take to beer! the following translation of lines to seems preferable to thurneysen's: "heavy sleep is decay, and no good thing; it is fatigue against a heavy war; it is 'milk for the satiated,' the sleep that is on thee; death-weakness is the tanist of death." the last line is tanaisi d'ec ecomnart. the tanist was the prince who stood next to the king; the image seems too good a one to be lost; thurneysen translates "weakness is sister to death." line seems to mean "see each wonder wrought by the cold"; emer calls cuchulain's attention to the icicles which she thinks he is in danger of resembling. page for the literal translation of liban's invitation see thurneysen, p. . line should run: "colour of eyes his skin in the fight;" the allusion is, apparently, to a bloodshot eye. page line . the plain of speech (mag luada) and the tree of triumphs (bile buada) are apparently part of the irish mythology; they appear again in laeg's second description of fairyland, which is an additional reason for keeping this poem where it is in the second version, and not following thurneysen in transferring it to the first. mag luada is sometimes translated as "moving plain," apparently deriving the word from luath, "swift." laeg's two descriptions of the fairyland are (if we except the voyage of bran) the two most definite descriptions of that country in irish literature. there is very little extravagance in these descriptions; the marvellously fruitful trees, the ever-flowing vat of mead, and the silver-branched tree may be noted. perhaps the trees of "purple glass" may be added, but for these, see note on line . the verse translation has been made to follow the original as closely as possible; for a literal translation thurneysen's versions (pp. and ) may be referred to, but some alterations may be made. the first description seems to begin thus: i went with noble sportiveness to a land wonderful, yet well-known; until i came to a cairn for twenty of troops where i found labraid the long-haired. there i found him on that hill sitting among a thousand weapons, yellow hair on him with beautiful colour, an apple of gold for the confining of it. and it ends thus: alas i that he went not long ago, and each cure (should come) at his searching, that he might see how it is the great palace that i saw. though all erin were mine and the kingship of yellow bregia, i would resign it; no slight trial; for knowledge of the place to which i came. the following points should also be noted: line of this first description is tri bile do chorcor glain. this undoubtedly means "three trees of purple glass"; but do chorcor glan would mean "of bright purple"; and this last rendering, which is quite a common expression (see etain, p. ), has been adopted in the verse translation. the order of the words in the expression in the text is unusual, and the adoption of them would give an air of artificiality to the description which is otherwise quite absent from it. lines and run thus: there are there thrice twenty trees, their tops meet, and meet not. lines , , rendering: "each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye," are literally "and a brooch of gold with its splendour in the 'ear' of each cloak." the ears of a cloak, usually described as made of the peculiar white bronze, occur elsewhere in the tales, and there are different speculations as to their use and meaning. the most probable explanation is that they were bronze rings shaped like ears, and sewn into the cloak; a brooch to fasten the cloak being passed through the rings. this explanation has been suggested by professor ridgeway, and seems to fit admirably the passages in which these "ears" occur. compare fraech, line , in the second volume; also the "courtship of ferb" (nutt), p. . there are also a few corrections necessary to thurneysen's translation of the second description. lines to should run thus: a beautiful band of women;--victory without fetters;-- are the daughters of aed abra; the beauty of fand is a rushing sound with splendour, exceeding the beauty of a queen or king. (the last line is more literally, "not excepting a queen or, &c.") i will say, since it hath been heard by me, that the seed of adam was sinless; but the beauty of fand up to my time hath not found its equal. for the allusion to adams sin, compare etain, p. . allusions like these show that the tales were composed in christian times. there seems no reason to suppose them to be insertions, especially in cases like this one, where they come in quite naturally. line is literally "with their arms for slaying"; not "who warred on each other with weapons" as in thurneysen. page for the cooling of cuchulain's battle-frenzy with water compare the similar treatment in the account of his first foray (l.u., a; miss faraday's translation, p. ). for a literal translation of faud's triumph song over cuchulain's return see thurneysen's translation on page of the work already referred to. thurneysen's translation is very close; perhaps the last verse should run: "long rain of red blood at the side of the trees, a token of this proud and masterful, high with wailing is the sorrow for his fiend-like frenzy." the description of cuchulain's appearance in verses and seems to point to a conception of him as the sun-god. compare the "sunlike" seat of his chariot on page . page the literal translation of liban's rhetoric in welcome to cuchulain seems to be, "hail to cuchulain! king who brings help, great prince of murthemne! great his mind; pomp of heroes; battle-triumphing; heart of a hero; strong rock of skill; blood-redness of wrath; ready for true foes of the hero who has the valour of ulster (?); bright his splendour; splendour of the eyes of maidens; hail to cuchulain!" torc in the second line is glossed in the ms. by "that is, a king." cuchulain's account of his own battle is omitted by thurneysen, possibly because the account that he gives differs from that in the text, as is pointed out by windisch, ir. text., vol. i. p. ). but it is quite in keeping with the hero's character that he should try to lessen his own glory; and the omission of this account destroys one of the features of the tale. the literal rendering is: i threw a cast with my light spear into the host of eogan the stream; not at all do i know, though renowned the price, the victory that i have done, or the deed. whether he was better or inferior to my strength hitherto i chanced not on for my decision, a throw, ignorance of the man in the mist, certainly he came not away a living man. a white army, very red for multitudes of horses, they followed after me on every side (?), people of manannan mac lir, eogan the stream called them. i set out in each manner when my full strength had come to me; one man to their thirty, hundreds, until i brought them to death. i heard the groan of echaid juil, lips speak in friendship, if it is really true, certainly it was not a fight (?), that cast, if it was thrown. the idea of a battle with the waves of the sea underlies the third verse of this description. page five pieces of rhetoric follow, all of which are translated by thurneysen. a few alterations may be made, but all of them would be small ones. the verse translations given are, it is believed, a little closer to the text than thurneysen's. the metres of the first three pieces are discussed by professor rhys in y cymmrodor for (pages , ). professor rhys reduces the second of these to a hexameter followed by three pentameters, then a hexameter followed by a pentameter. the other two reduce to hexameters mixed with curtailed hexameters and pentameters. the last two pieces of the five, not mentioned by professor rhys, show a strophic correspondence, which has been brought out in the verse translation; note especially their openings, and the last line of emer's speech, cia no triallta, as balancing the last line but four of cuchulain's speech, cia no comgellta. the last of these five pieces shows the greatest differences between the verse and literal translations. a literal translation of this would run: "wherefore now, o emer!" said cuchulain, "should i not be permitted to delay with this lady? for first this lady here is bright, pure, and clear, a worthy mate for a king; of many forms of beauty is the lady, she can pass over waves of mighty seas, is of a goodly shape and countenance and of a noble race, with embroidery and skill, and with handiwork, with understanding, and sense, and firmness; with plenty of horses and many cattle, so that there is nothing under heaven, no wish for a dear spouse that she doth not. and though it hath been promised (?), emer," he said, "thou never shalt find a hero so beautiful, so scarred with wounds, so battle-triumphing, (so worthy) as i myself am worthy." page line . "fair seems all that's red, &c.," is literally "fair is each red, white is each new, beautiful each lofty, sour is each known, revered is each thing absent, failure is each thing accustomed." for a translation of the poem in which fand resigns cuchulain reference may be made to thurneysen (p. ). a more accurate translation of the first verse seems to run thus: i am she who will go on a journey which is best for me on account of strong compulsion; though there is to another abundance of her fame, (and) it were dearer to me to remain. line of poem, translated by thurneysen "i was true and held my word," is in the original daig is misi rop iran. iran is a doubtful word, if we take it as a form of aur-an, aur being the intensitive prefix, a better translation may be, "i myself was greatly glowing." page line . "the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind," irish ro gab etere moir. the translation of etere is doubtful. page for the final poem, in which fand returns to manannan, reference may as before be made to thurneysen's translation; but a few changes may be noted: line should be, "see the son of the hero people of the sea." line seems to be, "although" (lit. "if") "it is to-day that his cry is excellent." line is a difficult one. thurneysen gives, "that indeed is the course of love," apparently reading rot, a road, in place of ret; but he leaves eraise untranslated; the irish is is eraise in ret in t-serc. might not eraise be "turning back," connected with eraim, and the line run: "it is turning back of the road of love"? lines to are omitted by thurneysen. they seem to mean: when the comely manannan took me, he was to me a fitting spouse; nor did he at all gain me before that time, an additional stake (?) at a game at the chess. the last line, cluchi erail (lit. "excess") ar fidchill, is a difficult allusion. perhaps the allusion is to the capture of etain by mider as prize at chess from her husband. fand may be claiming superiority over a rival fairy beauty. lines and repeat lines and . lines and are translated by thurneysen, "too hard have i been offended; laeg, son of riangabra, farewell," but there is no "farewell" in the irish. the lines seem to be: "indeed the offence was great, o laeg, o thou son of riangabra," and the words are an answer to laeg, who may be supposed to try to stop her flight. page line . "that she might forget her jealousy," lit. "a drink of forgetfulness of her jealousy," deoga dermait a heta. the translation seems to be an accepted one, and certainly gives sense, but it is doubtful whether or not eta can be regarded as a genitive of et, "jealousy "; the genitive elsewhere is eoit. there is a conclusion to this romance which is plainly added by the compiler: it is reproduced here, to show the difference between its style and the style of the original author: "this then was a token given to cuchulain that he should be destroyed by the people of the mound, for the power of the demons was great before the advent of the faith; so great was that power that the demons warred against men in bodily form, and they showed delights and secret things to them; and that those demons were co-eternal was believed by them. so that from the signs that they showed, men called them the ignorant folk of the mounds, the people of the sid." the exile of the sons of usnach page the four pieces of rhetoric, at the beginning of this text are translated by thurneysen, sagen aus dem alten irland, pp. and . in the first, third, and fourth of those, the only difference of any importance between the text adopted and thurneysen's versions is the third line of the third piece, which perhaps should run: "with stately eyes with blue pupils," segdaib suilib sellglassaib, taking the text of the yellow book of lecan. the second piece appears to run as follows: let cathbad hear, the fair one, with face that all love, the prince, the royal diadem, let he who is extolled be increased by druid arts of the druid: because i have no words of wisdom to oppose (?) to feidlimid, the light of knowledge; for the nature of woman knows not what is under her body, (or) what in the hollow of my womb cries out. these rhetorics are remarkable for the great number of the alliterations in the original. page thurneysen omits a verse of cathbad's poem. a translation of the whole seems to run thus: deirdre, great cause of destruction, though thou art fair of face, famous, pale, ulster shall sorrow in thy time, thou hidden (?) daughter of feidlimid. windisch's dict. gives "modest daughter" in the last line; the original is ingen fial. but the word might be more closely connected with fial, "a veil." "modest" is not exactly the epithet that one would naturally apply to the deirdre of the leinster version, and the epithet of "veiled" or "hidden" would suit her much better, the reference being to her long concealment by conor. there shall be mischief yet afterwards on thy account, o brightly shining woman, hear thou this! at that time shall be the exile of the three lofty sons of usnach. it is in thy time that a violent deed shall be done thereupon in emain, yet afterwards shall it repent the violation of the safeguard of the mighty son of rog. do foesam is read in the last verse, combining the leinster and the egerton texts. it is through thee, o woman with excellence, (is) the exile of fergus from the ulstermen, and a deed from which weeping will come, the wound of fiachna, the son of conor. fiachna. is grandson to conor in the book of leinster account of the battle. fiacha is conor's son in the glenn masain version. it is thy fault, o woman with excellence, the wound of gerrc son of illadan, and a deed of no smaller importance, the slaying of eogan mac durthacht. there is no account of the slaying of eogan in the book of leinster version; and eogan appears on the hill of slane in the ulster army in the war of cualgne. the sequel to the glenn masain version, however, describes eogan's death at the hand of fergus (celtic review, jan. , p. ). thou shalt do a deed that is wild and hateful for wrath against the king of noble ulster; thy little grave shall be in that place, thy tale shall be renowned, o deirdre. page line . "release me, o my wife!" eirgg uaim a ben. it is suggested that the vocative ben is "wife," not "woman." it occurs in seven other places besides this in windisch's dictionary, and in six of these it means wife (emer is addressed as wife of cuchulain in a deig-ben, in "sick-bed," ). in the remaining case ("fled bricrend," ) the word is abbreviated, and stands b in the text, which might be for be, "o lady," though we should have then expected the accent. i suggest that naisi, by giving to deirdre the name of "wife," accepts her offer, for no other sign of acceptance is indicated, and the subsequent action shows that she is regarded as his wife afterwards. line . "near to ballyshannon," and "which men to-day call the mountain of howth," are inserted as the modern names of the places. the words correspond to nothing in the irish. page line . "fiacha." fiacha, the son of fergus, corresponds to illan in the better known version. there is no one in this version who corresponds to the traitor son, buinne. page the "lament of deirdre," one of the finest of the older irish poems, has been rendered by thurneysen and by others, among which should be specially mentioned miss hull, in the cuchullin saga, pp. - . o'curry's and o'flanagan's versions seem to be very far from correct, and it will be more convenient to give that literal translation which seems nearest to the original, instead of indicating divergencies. the literal translation adopted runs as follows: though fair to you seems the keen band of heroes who march into emain that they lately left (lit "after departing"), more stately was the return to their home of the three heroic sons of usnach. naisi, with mead of delicious hazel-nuts (came), to be bathed by me at the fire, ardan, with an ox or boar of excellence, aindle, a faggot on his stately back. though sweet be the excellent mead to you which is drunk by the son of ness, the rich in strife, there has been known to me, ere now, leaping over a bank, frequent sustenance which was sweeter. line of the above stanza seems to be baithium riam reim for bra, taking reim from the egerton text. the allusion is to a cascade. when the noble naisi spread out a cooking-hearth on hero-board of tree, sweeter than any food dressed under honey[fn# ] was what was captured by the son of usnach. [fn# ] for "food dressed under honey" compare fraech, line , in the second volume. though melodious to you each month (are the) pipers and horn-blowers, it is my open statement to you to-day i have heard melody sweeter far than these. for conor, the king, is melody pipers and blowers of horns, more melodious to me, renowned, enchanting the voice given out by the sons of usnach. like the sound of the wave the voice of naisi, it was a melodious sound, one to hearken to for ever, ardan was a good barytone, the tenor of aindle rang through the dwelling-place. naisi is laid in his tomb, sad was the protection that he got; the nation by which he was reared poured out the cup of poison by which he died. dear is berthan, beautiful its lands, stately the men, though hilly the land, it is sorrowful that to-day i rise not to await the sons of usnach. dear the mind, firm, upright, dear the youth, lofty, modest, after going with him through the dark wood dear the girding (?) at early morning. dear his gray eye, which women loved, it was evil-looking against enemies, after circuit of the wood (was) a noble assembly, dear the tenor through the dark wood. i sleep not therefor, and i stain not my nails with red, joy comes not to my wakefulness, for the sons of usnach return not. the last line is the egerton reading. i sleep not for half the night on my bed, my mind wanders amidst clouds of thoughts, i eat not, nor smile. there is no leisure or joy for me in the assemblies of eastern emain; there is no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose in beholding fine houses or splendid ornaments. what, o conor, of thee? for me only sorrow under lamentation hast thou prepared, such will be my life so long as it remains to me, thy love for me will not last. the man who under heaven was fairest to me, the man who was so dear thou hast torn from me; great was the crime; so that i shall not see him until i die. his absence is the cause of grief to me, the shape of the son of usnach shows itself to me, a dark hill is above his white body which was desired before many things by me. his ruddy cheeks, more beautiful than meadows (?), red lips, eyebrows of the colour of the chafer, his teeth shining like pearls, like noble colour of snow. well have i known his splendid garb among the warrior men of alba; mantle of crimson, meet for an assembly, with a border of red gold. his tunic of satin of costly price, on it a hundred pearls could be counted, goodly the number (lit. "a smooth number" ? a round number), for its embroidery had been used, it was bright, fifty ounces of findruine (i.e. white bronze). a gold-hilted sword in his hand, two green spears with terrible points (?), a shield with border of yellow gold, and a boss of silver upon it. fair fergus brought injury upon us when inducing us to cross the sea; he has sold his honour for ale, the glory of his high deeds is departed. if there were upon this plain the warriors of ulster in the presence of conor, all of them would i give up without a struggle for the companionship of naisi, the son of usnach. break not to-day my heart (o conor!), soon shall i reach my early grave, stronger than the sea is my grief, dost thou not know it, o conor? page for the literal translations of the poems in the glenn masain version see whitley stokes in irische texte, ii. , sqq. stanzas to are not in lvi. (the manuscript which is the second authority used by stokes for this version, and is the chief authority for this part of the version). they are in the manuscript that stokes calls ii. (the version used by o'flanagan), which, like lvi., agrees pretty closely with the glenn masain text so far as the latter manuscript extends. stanza is also from o'flanagan's manuscript. this verse is not translated by stokes, but it seems worth inserting. the literal translation of it is: i am deirdre without joy, it is for me the end of my life; since to remain behind them is the worst thing, not long life to myself. page line . two passages, one describing fergus' sons born in connaught, the other summing up his deeds, are omitted, as it is not intended to reproduce this version in full. the combat at the ford the well-known translation by o'curry of this part of the book of leinster version of the "tain bo cuailgne" is given in the third volume of his "manners and customs," pp. - . there are, as has often been pointed out, many inaccuracies in the translation, and the present version does not claim to correct all or even the greater part of them; for the complete version of the great tain by windisch which has so long eagerly been expected should give us a trustworthy text, and the present translation is in the main founded on o'curry; to whose version reference may be made for literal translations for such parts of the verse passages as are not noted below. a few more obvious corrections have been made; most of those in the prose will appear by comparing the rendering with o'curry's; some of the corrections in the literal versions adopted for the poems are briefly indicated. two poems have been literally translated in full: in these the renderings which have no authority other than o'curry's are followed by a query, in order to give an indication of the extent to which the translation as given may for the present be regarded as uncertain. for all the more valuable of the corrections made to o'curry's translation i am indebted to the kindness of mr. e. j. quiggin, fellow of caius college, cambridge. page line of the first stanza. o'curry gives this as "thou hast come out of every strife," which seems to be an impossible rendering; "take whatever is thy will" seems to be nearer the sense of the passage, and has been adopted. lines to of the fourth stanza are very uncertain; and the translation given, which is in part based upon o'curry, is very doubtful; a more trustworthy one has not, however, been arrived at. line of the fifth stanza in o'curry's rendering means "here is what thou wilt not earn," i.e. "we can pay more than a full reward for thy services." lines and of the sixth stanza should be, "if my request be granted me i will advance, though i am not his match." line of the eighth stanza, "not thine a pleasant smile for a consort." brachail in the next line is "guardian." line of the last stanza. elgga is one of the names of ireland. page line . maeth n-araig, "in an easy task," the force of which o'curry seems to miss, translating it "as he thought." there are several changes to make in o'curry's rendering of the dialogue between fergus and cuchulain. it should run thus: f. o cuchulain, manifest is the bargain, i see that rising is timely for thee; here comes to thee in anger ferdiad, son of daman, of the ruddy face. c. i am here, it is no light task valiantly delaying the men of erin; i have not yielded a foot in retreat to shun the combat of any one man. f. fierce is the man in his excited (?) rage because of his blood-red sword: a horny skin is about ferdiad of the troops, against it prevails not battle or combat. c. be silent, urge not thy story, o fergus of the powerful weapons! on any field, on any ground, there is no unequal fight for me. f. fierce is the man, a war for twenties, it is not easy to vanquish him, the strength of a hundred in his body, valiant his deed (?), spears pierce him not, swords cut him not. c. should we happen to meet at a ford (i.e. a field of battle), i and ferdiad of well-known valour, the separation shall not be without history, fierce shall be our edge-combat. f. better would it be to me than reward, o cuchulain of the blood-stained sword, that it was thou who carried eastward the spoils (coscur, not corcur) of the proud ferdiad. c. i give thee my word with boasting, though i am not good at bragging, that it is i who shall gain the victory over the son of daman, the son of dare. f. it is i who gathered the forces eastwards in revenge for my dishonour by the men of ulster; with me they have come from their lands, their champions and their battle warriors. c. if conor had not been in his sickness hard would have been his nearness to thee; medb of magh in scail had not made an expedition of so loud boastings. f. a greater deed awaits thy hand, battle with ferdiad son of daman, hardened bloody weapons, friendly is my speech, do thou have with thee, o cuchulain! page line of o'curry's rendering of the first stanza should run: "so that he may take the point of a weapon through him." stanza of the poem should run thus: it would be better for thee to stay, thy threats will not be gentle, there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account, distressful will be thy departure to encounter the rock of ulster; and ill may this venture turn out; long will be the remembrance of it, woe shall be to him who goeth that journey. line of the next stanza, "i will not keep back to please you." page the literal rendering of the poem seems to be: i hear the creaking of a chariot with a beautiful silver yoke, the figure of a man with perfection (rises) from the wheels of the stout chariot; over breg row, over braine they come (?), over the highway beside the lower part of the burg of the trees; it (the chariot?) is triumphant for its victories. it is a heroic (?) hound who drives it, it is a trusty charioteer who yokes it, it is a noble hawk who scourges his horses to the south: he is a stubborn hero, he is certain (to cause) heavy slaughter, it is well-known that not with indexterity (?) is the bringing of the battle to us. woe for him who shall be upon the hillock waiting for the hound who is fitly framed (lit. in harmony"); i myself declared last year that there would come, though it be from somewhere, a hound the hound of emain macha, the hound with a form on which are hues of all colours, the hound of a territory, the hound of battle; i hear, we have heard. as a second rendering of the above in a metre a little closer to the original than that given in the text, the following may be suggested: shrieks from war-car wake my hearing, silver yokes are nigh appearing; high his perfect form is rearing, he those wheels who guides! braina, braeg ross past it boundeth, triumph song for conquests soundeth, lo! the roadway's course it roundeth, skirting wooded sides. hero hound the scourge hard plieth, trusty servant yoke-strap tieth, swift as noble hawk, he flieth, southward urging steeds! hardy chief is he, and story soon must speak his conquests gory, great for skilful war his glory; we shall know his deeds! thou on hill, the fierce hound scorning, waitest; woe for thee is dawning; fitly framed he comes, my warning spoke him thus last year: "emain's hound towards us raceth, guards his land, the fight he faceth, every hue his body graceth:" whom i heard, i hear. page in o'curry's rendering of the dialogue between ferdia and his servant, line should be, "that it be not a deed of prophecy," not "a deferred deed"; and line , with his proud sport." last stanza of the poem: it seems thou art not without rewards, so greatly hast thou praised him; why else hast thou extolled him ever since i left my house? they who now extol the man when he is in their sight come not to attack him, but are cowardly churls. page line . "as a hawk darts up from the furrow." o'curry gives "from the top of a cliff." the word in the irish is claiss. page the metre of this poem, which is also the metre of all the preceeding poems except the second in this romance, but does not occur elsewhere in the collection, may be illustrated by quoting the original of the fifth verse, which runs as follows: re funiud, re n-aidchi madit eicen airrthe, comrac dait re bairche, ni ba ban in gleo: ulaid acot gairmsiu, ra n-gabartar aillsiu, bud olc doib in taidbsiu rachthair thairsiu is treo. literal translation of the first two stanzas: what has brought thee here, o hound, to fight with a strong champion? crimson-red shall flow thy blood over the breaths of thy steeds; woe is thy journey: it shall be a kindling of fuel against a house, need shalt thou have of healing if thou reach thy home (alive). i have come before warriors who gather round a mighty host-possessing prince, before battalions, before hundreds, to put thee under the water, in anger with thee, and to slay thee in a combat of hundreds of paths of battle, so that thine shall the injury as thou protectest thy head. line of the fifth stanza, "good is thy need of height." line of the seventh stanza, "without valour, without strength." page line . literally: "whatever be the excellence of her beauty." a similar literal translation for page , line , of the dialogue; the same line occurs in verse on page , but is not rendered in the verse translation. page line . "o cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned." o'curry gives this as prose, but it is clearly verse in the original. page lines , of dialogue. "o cuchulain! who art a breeder of wounds" (lit. "pregnant with wounds"); "o true warrior! o true" (?accent probably omitted) "champion!" lines , . "there is need for some one" (i.e. himself) "to go to the sod where his final resting-place shall be." the irish of line is is eicen do neoch a thecht, which o'curry translates "a man is constrained to come," and he is followed by douglas hyde, who renders the two lines: fate constrains each one to stir, moving towards his sepulchre. but do neoch cannot possibly mean "every man," it means "some man;" usually the person in question is obvious. compare page of this romance, line , which is literally: "there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account," biaid nech diamba galar, meaning, as here, ferdia. the line is an explanation of ferdia's appearance, and is not a moral reflection. line . "o cuchulain! with floods of deeds of valour," or "brimming over with deeds, &c." page line . "four jewels of carbuncle." this is the reading of h. , ; t.c.d; which o'curry quotes as an alternative to "forty" of the book of leinster. "each one of them fit to adorn it" is by o'curry translated "in each compartment." the irish is a cach aen chumtach: apparently "for each one adornment." page line of poem. "alas for the departing of my ghost." page lines , . "though he had struck off the half of my leg that is sound, though he had smitten off half my arm." page line . "since he whom aife bore me," literally "never until now have i met, since i slew aife's only son, thy like in deeds of battle, never have i found it, o ferdia." this is o'curry's rendering; if it is correct, and it seems to be so substantially, the passage raises a difficulty. aife's only son is, according to other records, conlaoch, son of cuchulain and aife, killed by his father, who did not at the time know who conlaoch was. this battle is usually represented as having taken place at the end of cuchulain's life; but here it is represented as preceding the war of cualgne, in which cuchulain himself is represented to be a youth. the allusion certainly indicates an early date for the fight with conlaoch, and if we are to lay stress on the age of cuchulain at the time of the war, as recorded in the book of leinster, of whose version this incident is a part, the "son of aife" would not have been a son of cuchulain at all in the mind of the writer of this verse. it is possible that there was an early legend of a fight with the son of aife which was developed afterwards by making him the son of cuchulain; the oldest version of this incident, that in the yellow book of lecan, reconciles the difficulty by making conlaoch only seven years old when he took up arms; this could hardly have been the original version. line of poem is literally: "it is like thrusting a spear into sand or against the sun." the metre of the poem "ah that brooch of gold," and of that on page , commencing "hound, of feats so fair," are unique in this collection, and so far as i know do not occur elsewhere. both have been reproduced in the original metre, and the rather complicated rhyme-system has also been followed in that on page . the first verse of the irish of this is dursan, a eo oir a fhirdiad na n-dam a belc bemnig buain ba buadach do lamh. the last syllable of the third line has no rhyme beyond the echo in the second syllable of the next line; oir, "gold," has no rhyme till the word is repeated in the third line of the third verse, rhymed in the second line of the fourth, and finally repeated at the end. the second verse has two final words echoed, brass and maeth; it runs thus do barr bude brass ba cass, ba cain set; do chriss duillech maeth immut taeb gu t-ec. the rhymes in the last two verses are exactly those of the reproduction, they are cain sair, main, laim, chain, the other three end rhymes being oir, choir, and oir. line of this poem is "o hero of strong-striking blows." line . "triumphant was thine arm." page lines and of the poem. "go ye all to the swift battle that shall come to you from german the green-terrible" (? of the terrible green spear). page line . the torrian sea is the mediterranean. page line . literally: "thou in death, i alive and nimble." line . "wars were gay, &c." cluchi cach, gaine cach, "each was a game, each was little," taking gaine as gainne, the known derivative of gand, "scanty." o'curry gives the meaning as "sport," and has been followed by subsequent translators, but there does not seem any confirmation of this rendering. page line . banba is one of the names of ireland. end of vol. i. vol. ii @@{redactors note: in the original book the 'literal translation' is printed on facing pages to the poetic translation. in this etext the literal translation portions have been collated after the poetic translation, for the sake of readability. hence the page numbers are not sequential--jbh} preface to vol. ii it seems to have been customary in ancient ireland to precede by shorter stories the recital of the great tain, the central story of the irish heroic age. a list of fourteen of these "lesser tains," three of which are lost, is given in miss hull's "cuchullin saga"; those preserved are the tain bo aingen, dartada, flidais, fraich, munad, regamon, regamna, ros, ruanadh, sailin, and ere. of these, five only have been edited, viz. the tain bo dartada, flidais, fraich, regamon, and regamna; all these five are given in this volume. the last four tales are all short, and perhaps are more truly "preludes" (remscela) than the tain bo fraich, which has indeed enough of interest in itself to make it an independent tale, and is as long as the four put together. all the five tales have been rendered into verse, with a prose literal translation opposite to the verse rendering, for reasons already given in the preface to the first volume. a short introduction, describing the manuscript authority, is prefixed to each; they all seem to go back in date to the best literary period, but appear to have been at any rate put into their present form later than the great tain, in order to lead up to it. a possible exception to this may be found at the end of the tain bo flidais, which seems to give a different account of the end of the war of cualgne, and to claim that cuchulain was defeated, and that connaught gained his land for its allies. it may be mentioned that the last four tales are expressly stated in the text to be "remscela" to the great tain. introduction in verse when to an irish court of old came men, who flocked from near and far to hear the ancient tale that told cuchulain's deeds in cualgne's war; oft, ere that famous tale began, before their chiefest bard they hail, amid the throng some lesser man arose, to tell a lighter tale; he'd fell how maev and ailill planned their mighty hosts might best be fed, when they towards the cualgne land all irelands swarming armies led; how maev the youthful princes sent to harry warlike regamon, how they, who trembling, from her went, his daughters and his cattle won; how ailill's guile gained darla's cows, how vengeful fairies marked that deed; how fergus won his royal spouse whose kine all ireland's hosts could feed; how, in a form grotesque and weird, cuchulain found a power divine; or how in shapes of beasts appeared the magic men, who kept the swine; or how the rowan's guardian snake was roused by order of the king; or how, from out the water, fraech to finnabar restored her ring. and though, in greater tales, they chose speech mired with song, men's hearts to sway, such themes as these they told in prose, like speakers at the "feis" to-day. to men who spake the irish tongue that form of prose was pleasing well, while other lands in ballads sung such tales as these have loved to tell: so we, who now in english dress these irish tales would fain and seek their spirit to express, have set them down in ballad verse; and, though to celts the form be strange, seek not too much the change to blame; 'tis but the form alone we change; the sense, the spirit rest the same. contents the preludes to the raid of cualgne tain bo fraich - page the raid for dartaid's cattle - page the raid for the cattle of regamon - page the driving of the cattle of flidais - page the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain - page appendix irish text and literal translation of part of the courtship of etain - page tain bo fraich introduction the tain bo fraich, the driving of the cattle of fraech, has apparently only one version; the different manuscripts which contain it differing in very small points; most of which seem to be due to scribal errors. practically the tale consists of two quite separate parts. the first, the longer portion, gives the adventures of fraech at the court of ailill and maev of connaught, his courtship of their daughter, finnabar, and closes with a promised betrothal. the second part is an account of an expedition undertaken by fraech to the alps "in the north of the land of the long beards," to recover stolen cattle, as well as his wife," who is stated by o'beirne crowe, on the authority of the "courtship of trebland" in the book of fermoy, to have been trebland, a semi-deity, like fraech himself. except that fraech is the chief actor in both parts, and that there is one short reference at the end of the second part to the fact that fraech did, as he had promised in the first part, join ailill and maev upon the war of cualnge, there is no connection between the two stories. but the difference between the two parts is not only in the subject-matter; the difference in the style is even yet more apparent. the first part has, i think, the most complicated plot of any irish romance, it abounds in brilliant descriptions, and, although the original is in prose, it is, in feeling, highly poetic. the second part resembles in its simplicity and rapid action the other "fore tales" or preludes to the war of cualnge contained in this volume, and is of a style represented in english by the narrative ballad. in spite of the various characters of the two parts, the story seems to have been regarded as one in all the manuscripts which contain it; and the question how these two romances came to be regarded as one story becomes interesting. the natural hypothesis would be that the last part was the original version, which was in its earlier part re-written by a man of genius, possibly drawing his plot from some brief statement that finnabar was promised to fraech in return for the help that he and his recovered cattle could give in the great war; but a difficulty, which prevents us from regarding the second part as an original legend, at once comes in. the second part of the story happens to contain so many references to nations outside ireland that its date can be pretty well fixed. fraech and his companions go, over the sea from ulster, i.e. to scotland; then through "north saxon-land" to the sea of icht (i.e. the sea of wight or the english channel); then to the alps in the north of the land of the long-beards, or lombards. the long-beards do not appear in italy until the end of the sixth century; the suggestion of north saxon-land reaching down to the sea of wight suggests that there was then a south saxon-land, familiar to an irish writer, dating this part of the story as before the end of the eighth century, when both saxons and long-beards were overcome by charlemagne. the second part of the story is, then, no original legend, but belongs to the seventh or eighth century, or the classical period; and it looks as if there were two writers, one of whom, like the author of the egerton version of etain, embellished the love-story part of the original legend, leaving the end alone, while another author wrote an account of the legendary journey of the demi-god fraech in search for his stolen cattle, adding the geographical and historical knowledge of his time. the whole was then put together, like the two parts of the etain story; the difference between the two stories in the matter of the wife does not seem to have troubled the compilers. the oldest manuscript authority for the tain bo fraich is the book of leinster, written before . there are at least two other manuscript authorities, one; in egerton, (published by professor kuno meyer in the zeitschrift für celt. philologie, ); the other is in ms. xl., advocates' library, edinburgh (published in the revue celtique, vol. xxiv.). professor meyer has kindly allowed me to copy his comparison of these manuscripts and his revision of o'beirne crowe's translation of the book of leinster text. the text of the literal translation given here follows, however, in the main o'beirne crowe's translation, which is in the proceedings of the royal irish academy for ; a few insertions are made from the other mss.; when so made the insertion is indicated by a note. for those who may be interested in the subsequent history of fraech, it may be mentioned that he was one of the first of the connaught champions to be slain by cuchulain in the war of cualnge; see miss faraday's translation (grimm library, page ). persons in the story mortals ailill, king of connaught. medb (or maev), queen of connaught. findbar (or finnabar), their daughter. froech (or fraech), (pronounced fraych); son of a connaught man and a fairy mother. conall cernach (conall the victorious), champion of ulster. two irish women, in captivity in the alps, north of lombardy. lothar (or lothur), a follower of fraech. bicne, a follower of conall. immortals befind, fraech's fairy mother. boand (pronounced like "owned"), sister to befind; queen of the fairies. three fairy harpers. tain bo fraich the raid for the cattle of fraech now the news of the love of that maid to fraech, at his home where he dwelt, was brought, and he called his folk, and with all he spoke, and for speech with the maid he sought: and they counselled him thus: "let a message from thee be sent to thy fairy kin to entreat their aid when we seek that maid; a boon we may chance to win: for the wondrous robes of the fairy land, and for gifts from the fairies plead; and sure thy mother's sister's hand will give to thee all thy need." to mag breg,[fn# ] where his mother's sister dwelt, to boand he away hath gone, and she gave to him mantles of dark black-blue, like a beetle's back they shone: four dark-grey rings in each cloak she gave were sewn, and a brooch shone, bright with the good red gold in each mantle's fold; she gave tunics pale and white, and the tunics were bordered with golden loops, that forms as of beasts displayed; and a fifty she added of well-rimmed shields, that of silver white were made. [fn# ] pronounced maw brayg. then away they rode, in each hero's hand was a torch for a kingly hall, for studs of bronze, and of well-burned gold, shone bright on the spears of all; on carbuncle sockets the spears were set, their points with jewels blazed; and they lit the night, as with fair sunlight, as men on their glory gazed. by each of the fifty heroes' side was a sword with a hilt of gold; and a soft-grey mare was for each to ride, with a golden curb controlled; at each horse's throat was a silver plate, and in front of that plate was swung, with a tinkling sound to the horse's tread, a bell with a golden tongue. on each steed was a housing of purple hide, with threads of silver laced, and with spiral stitch of the silver threads the heads of beasts were traced, and each housing was buckled with silver and gold: of findruine[fn# ] was made the whip for each rider to hold, with a crook of gold where it came to the horse man's grip. [fn# ] pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. by their sides, seven chase-hounds were springing at leashes of silver they strained, and each couple a gold apple, swinging on the fetter that linked them, sustained: and their feet with bronze sheaths had been guarded, as if greaves for defence they had worn, every hue man hath seen, or hath fancied, by those chase-hounds in brilliance was borne. seven trumpeters strode on the road before, with colour their cloaks were bright, and their coats, that shone with the gauds they wore, flashed back as they met the light; on trumpets of silver and gold they blew, and sweet was the trumpets' sound, and their hair, soft and yellow, like fairy threads, shone golden their shoulders round. three jesters marched in the van, their-crowns were of silver, by gilt concealed, and emblems they. carried of quaint device, engraved on each jester's shield; they had staves which with crests were adorned, and ribs down their edges in red bronze ran; three harp-players moved by the jesters' sides, and each was a kingly man. all these were the gifts that the fairy gave, and gaily they made their start, and to croghan's[fn# ] hold, in that guise so brave, away did the host depart. [fn# ] pronounced crow-han. on the fort stands a watchman to view them, and thus news down to croghan he calls: "from yon plain comes, in fulness of numbers, a great army to croghan's high walls; and, since ailill the throne first ascended, since the day we hailed maev as our queen, never army so fair nor so splendid yet hath come, nor its like shall be seen." "'tis strange," said he," as dipped in wine, so swims, so reels my head, as o'er me steals the breath divine of perfume from them shed." "a fair youth," said he, "forth with them goeth, and the grace of such frolicsome play, and such lightness in leap as he showeth have i seen not on earth till to-day: for his spear a full shot's length he flingeth, yet the spear never reacheth to ground, for his silver-chained hounds follow after, in their jaws is the spear ever found!" the connaught hosts without the fort to see that glory rushed: sixteen within, of baser sort, who gazed, to death were crushed. to the fort came the youths, from their steeds they leapt, for the steeds and the stabling cared, and they loosed the hounds that in leash they kept, for the hunt were the hounds prepared; seven deer, seven foxes and hares, they chased to the dun on croghan's plain, seven boars they drave, on the lawn in haste the game by the youths was slain: with a bound they dashed into bree, whose flood by the lawns of croghan flows; seven otters they caught in its stream, and brought to a hill where the gateway rose. 'twas there that fraech and the princes sat at the castle-gate to rest, and the steward of croghan with fraech would speak, for such was the king's behest: of his birth it was asked, and the men he led all truth to the herald spake: "it is idath's son who is here," they said, and they gave him the name of fraech. to ailill and maev went the steward back of the stranger's name to tell; "give him welcome," said they: "of a noble race is that youth, and i know it well; let him enter the court of our house," said the king, the gateway they opened wide; and the fourth of the palace they gave to fraech, that there might his youths abide. fair was the palace that there they found, seven great chambers were ranged it round; right to the walls of the house they spread, facing the hall, where the fire glowed red: red yew planks, that had felt the plane, dappled the walls with their tangled grain: rails of bronze at the side-walls stood, plates of bronze had made firm the wood, seven brass bolts to the roof-tree good firmly the vaulting tied. all that house had of pine been made, planks, as shingles, above were laid; sixteen windows the light let pass, each in a frame of the shining brass: high through the roof was the sky seen bright; girder of brass made that opening tight, under the gap it was stretched, and light fell on its gleaming side. all those chambers in splendour excelling, the midmost of all in the ring, rose a room, set apart as the dwelling of queen maev, and of ailill the king. four brass columns the awning supported for their couch, there was bronze on the wall; and two rails, formed of silver, and gilded, in that chamber encircled it all: in the front, to mid-rafters attaining, rose in silver a wand from the floor; and with rooms was that palace engirdled, for they stretched from the door to the door. 'twas there they went to take repose, on high their arms were hung; and down they sank, and welcome rose, acclaimed by every tongue. by the queen and the king they were welcome made, the strangers they turned to greet; and their courtesy graciously fraech repaid: "'twas thus we had hoped to meet." "not for boasting to-day are ye come!" said maev; the men for the chess she set: and a lord of the court in the chess-man sport by fraech in a match was met. 'twas a marvellous board of findruine fair was prepared, when they played that game, four handles, and edges of gold it had, nor needed they candles' flame; for the jewels that blazed at the chess-board's side, a light, as from lamps, would yield; and of silver and gold were the soldiers made, who engaged on that mimic field. "get ye food for the chiefs!" said the king; said maev, "not yet, 'tis my will to stay, to sit with the strangers, and here with fraech in a match at the chess to play!" "let thy game be played!" said ailill then, "for it pleaseth me none the less:" and queen maev and fraech at the chess-board sate, and they played at the game of chess. now his men, as they played, the wild beasts late caught were cooking, they thought to feed; and said ailill to fraech, "shall thy harpmen play?" "let them play," said fraech, "indeed:" now those harpers were wondrous men, by their sides they had sacks of the otter's skin, and about their bodies the sacks were tied, and they carried their harps within, with stitches of silver and golden thread each case for a harp was sewed; and, beneath the embroidery gleaming red, the shimmer of rubies showed! the skin of a roe about them in the middle, it was as white as snow; black-grey eyes in their centre. cloaks of linen as white as the tunic of a swan around these ties.[fn# ] harps of gold and silver and bronze, with figures of serpents and birds, and hounds of gold and silver: as they moved those strings those figures used to run about the men all round. [fn# ] this is the egerton version, which is clearly right here. the book of leinster gives: "these figures accordingly used to run," &c., leaving out all the first part of the sentence, which is required to make the meaning plain. they play for them then so that twelve of the people[fn# ] of ailill and medb die with weeping and sadness. [fn# ] the book of leinster omits "of ailill and medb." gentle and melodious were the triad, and they were the chants of uaithne[fn# ] (child-birth). the illustrious triad are three brothers, namely gol-traiges (sorrow-strain), and gen-traiges (joy-strain), and suan-traiges (sleep-strain). boand from the fairies is the mother of the triad: [fn# ] pronounced something like yew-ny. at every one of the harpers' waists was girded the hide of a roe, and black-grey spots in its midst were placed, but the hide was as white as snow; and round each of the three of them waved a cloak, as white as the wild swan's wings: gold, silver, and bronze were the harps they woke; and still, as they touched the strings, the serpents, the birds, and the hounds on the harps took life at the harps' sweet sound, and those figures of gold round the harpmen rose, and floated in music round. then they played, sweet and sad was the playing, twelve of ailill's men died, as they heard; it was boand[fn# ] who foretold them that slaying, and right well was accomplished her word. [fn# ] pronounced with sound of "owned." 'tis the three chants of child-birth give names to those three; of the harp of the dagda[fn# ] the children they be. [fn# ] the dagda seems to have been the chief god of the old celtic mythology. to those harpers a fairy is mother, of yore to that harp, men call child-birth, queen boand the three bore. they are three noble brothers, and well are they known; they are kindly and gentle, and tuneful of tone. one is joy-song, one sorrow's, one, "song that gives sleep," and the harp's strains, their father's, remembered they keep. for when boand was at bearing, came sorrow the first, from the harp, its strings tearing with cry, sorrow burst. then there came to her pleasure for birth of a boy; and a sweet smiling measure the harp played, 'twas joy. and she swooned in her anguish, for hard the third birth: from the harp, her pains soothing, sleep's strain came on earth. then from boand passed her slumber, and, "uaithne,"[fn# ] she cried, thy three sons, thou sharp child-birth, i take to my side. [fn# ] pronounced something like yew-ny. cows and women by ailill and maev shall be slain; for on these cometh sorrow, and joy, and sleep's strain: yea, and men, who these harpers, thy children, shall hear, by their art to death stricken, shall perish in fear." then the strains died away in the palace, the last notes seemed to sink, and to cease: "it was stately," said fergus, "that music." and on all came a silence, and peace. said fraech, "the food divide ye! come, bring ye here the meat!" and down to earth sank lothar, on floor he set his feet; he crouched, on haunches sitting, the joints with sword he split; on bones it fell unerring, no dainty part he hit! though long with sword he hewed, and long was meat by men supplied, his hand struck true; for never wrong would lothar meat divide. three days at the chess had they played; three nights, as they sat at the game, had gone: and they knew not the night for the sparkling light from the jewels of fraech that shone; but to maev turned fraech, and he joyously cried, "i have conquered thee well at the chess! yet i claim not the stake at the chess-board's side, lest thy palace's wealth be less." "for no lengthier day have i sat in such play," said maev, "since i here first came." "and well may the day have seemed long," said fraech, "for three days and three nights was the game!" then up started maev, and in shame she blushed that the chiefs she had failed to feed; to her husband, king ailill, in wrath she rushed: "we have both done a goodly deed! for none from our stores hath a banquet brought for the youths who are strangers here!" and said ailill, "in truth for the play was thy thought, and to thee was the chess more dear." "we knew not that darkness had come," said maev, "'tis not chess thou should'st thus condemn; though the day had gone, yet the daylight shone from the heart of each sparkling gem; though the game we played, all could meal have made, had men brought of the night advice, but the hours sped away, and the night and the day have approached and have fled from us thrice!" "give command," said the king, "that those wailing chants, till we give them their food, be stilled." and food to the hands of each they gave, and all with the meat were filled; and all things merrily went, for long the men with a feast were fed, for, as feasting they sat, thrice rose the day, thrice night above earth was spread. they brought fraech, when that banquet was ended, to the house of debate, which was near, and they asked of his errand: "in friendship, for a visit," said fraech, "am i here!" "and 'twas joy that we felt, when receiving this your host," said the king, "ye have brought much of pleasure to all, and with grieving, when ye go, shall your presence be sought!" "then," said fraech, "for a week we abide here." for two weeks in that dun they abode: and the connaught men pressed round to view them, as each eve home from hunting they rode. yet fraech was sad, with findabar a word he sought in vain; though he in truth from home so far had come that word to gain. fraech, as night was ending, sprang from out his bed; sought the brook, intending there to lave his head. there king ailill's daughter stood, and there her maid: they that hour from water sought the cleansing aid. "stay," he cried, and speaking caught the maiden's hand; "thee alone as seeking, i have reached this land: here am i who sought thee, stay, and hear me woo!" "ah! thy speech hath brought me joy," she said, "most true; yet, thy side if nearing, what for thee can i?" "maid!" he cried, "art fearing hence with me to fly?" "flight i hold disloyal," answered she in scorn; "i from mother royal, i to king was born; what should stay our wedding? none so mean or poor thou hast seemed, nor dreading kin of mine; be sure: i will go! 'tis spoken, thou beloved shalt be! take this ring as token, lent by maev to me! 'twas my mother who bid me to save it, for the ring she in secret would hide; 'tis as pledge of our love that i gave it, as its pledge it with thee should abide. till that ring we can freely be showing i will tell them i put it astray!" and, the love of each other thus knowing, fraech and finnabar went on their way. "i have fear," said the king, "that with fraech yon maid to his home as his wife would fly; yet her hand he may win, if he rides on the raid with his kine when the time draws nigh." then fraech to the hall of debate returned, and he cried: "through some secret chink hath a whisper passed?" and the king replied, "thou would'st fit in that space, i think!" "will ye give me your daughter?" said fraech: said the king, "in sight of our hosts she goes; if, as gift to suffice for her marriage price, thy hand what i ask bestows." "i will give thee what price thou dost name," said fraech, "and now let its sum be told!"' "then a sixty steeds do i claim," said the king, "dark-grey, and with bits of gold; and twelve milch-cows, from their udders shall come the milk in a copious stream, and by each of the cows a white calf shall run; bright red on its ears shall gleam; and thou, with thy harpers and men, shalt ride by my side on the cualgne[fn# ] raid, and when all thy kine driven here shall stand, shall the price of her hand be paid!" [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. now i swear by the edge of my sword," said fraech, "i swear by my arms and shield, i would give no such pledge, even maev to take, were it her thou wert fain to yield!" and he went from the house of debate, but maev with ailill bent low in plot: all around us our foes," said the king, "shall close, if finnabar stays here not; many kings of erin, who seek that maid, shall hear of her borne away, and in wrath they will rush on our land; 'twere best that fraech we devise to slay; ere that ruin he bring, let us make our spring, and the ill yet unwrought arrest." "it were pity such deed should be done," said maev, "and to slay in our house our guest! 'twill bring shame on us ever." "no shame to our house," said king ailill, "that death shall breed!" (and he spake the words twice)--"but now hear my advice, how i plan we should do this deed." all the plot had been planned; to their house at last king ailill and maev through the doorway passed; and the voice of the king uprose: "'tis now that the hounds should their prey pursue, come away to the hunt who the hounds would view; for noon shall that hunting close." so forth went they all, on the chase intent, and they followed till strength of the hounds was spent, and the hunters were warm; and to bathe they went where the river of croghan flows. and, "'tis told me," said ailill, "that fraech hath won a great fame for the feats he in floods hath done: wilt thou enter these streams by our side that run? we are longing to see thee swim!" and said fraech: "is it good then indeed thy stream? and said ailill: "of danger no need to dream, for many a youth from the connaught court in its current hath bathed, and hath swum it in sport, nor of any who tried have we heard report that ill hath been found by him!" then fraech from his body his garments stripped, and he sprang down the bank, and he swiftly slipped in the stream: and the king's glance fell on a belt, left by fraech on the bank; the king bent low; in the purse saw his daughter's ring, and the shape of the ring could tell. "come hither, o maev," ailill softly cried; and queen maev came up close to her husband's side "dost thou know of that ring?" in the purse she spied the ring, and she knew it well. then ailill the ring from the purse withdrew, and away from the bank the fair gem he threw; and the ring, flashing bright, through the air far flew, to be lost in the flood's swift swell. and fraech saw the gem as it brightly flashed, and a salmon rose high, at the light it dashed, and, as back in the stream with the ring he splashed, at the fish went fraech with a spring: by its jole was the salmon secured, and thrown to a nook in the bank, that by few was known; and unnoticed he threw it, to none was it shown as it fell to the earth, with the ring. and now fraech from the stream would be going: but, "come not," said the king, "to us yet: bring a branch from yon rowan-tree, showing its fair berries, with water-drops wet." then fraech, swimming away through the water, brake a branch from the dread rowan-tree, and a sigh came from ailill's fair daughter; "ah! how lovely he seemeth," said she. fair she found him, swimming through that pool so black brightly gleamed the berries, bound athwart his back. white and smooth his body, bright his glorious hair; eyes of perfect greyness, face of men most fair: soft his skin, no blemish, fault, nor spot it flawed; small his chin, and steady, brave his brow, and broad. straight he seemed, and stainless; twixt his throat and chin straying scarlet berries touched with red his skin. oft, that sight recalling, findabar would cry: "ne'er was half such beauty, naught its third came nigh!" to the bank he swam, and to ailill was thrown, with its berries, the tree's torn limb: "ah! how heavy and fair have those clusters grown; bring us more," and he turned to swim; the mid-current was reached, but the dragon was roused that was guard to that rowan-tree; and it rose from the river, on fraech it rushed: "throw a sword from the bank!" cried he. and no man on the bank gave the sword: they were kept by their fear of the queen and the king; but her clothes from her finnabar stripped, and she leapt in the river his sword to bring. and the king from above hurled his five-barbed spear; the full length of a shot it sped: at his daughter it flew, and its edge shore through two tresses that crowned her head: and fraech in his hand caught the spear as it fell, and backward its point he turned. and again to the land was the spear launched well: 'twas a feat from the champions learned. though the beast bit his side as that spear was cast, yet fiercely the dart was flung, through the purple robe of the king it passed, through the tunic that next him clung! then up sprang the youths of the court, their lord in danger they well might deem, but the strong hand of fraech had closed firm on the sword, and finnabar rose from the stream. now with sword in his hand, at the monster's head hewed fraech, on its side it sank, and he came from the river with blade stained red, and the monster he dragged to the bank. twas then bree's dub-lind in the connaught land the dark water of fraech was named, from that fight was it called, but the queen and the king went back to their dun, ashamed! "it is noble, this deed we have done!" said maev: "'tis pitiful," ailill cried: "for the hurt of the man i repent, but to her, our daughter, shall woe betide! on the morrow her lips shall be pale, and none shall be found to aver that her guilt, when the sword for his succour to fraech she gave, was the cause why her life was spilt! now see that a bath of fresh bacon broth be prepared that shall heal this prince, and bid them with adze and with axe the flesh of a heifer full small to mince: let the meat be all thrown in the bath, and there for healing let fraech be laid!" and all that he ordered was done with care; the queen his command obeyed. then arose from fraech's trumpets complaining, as his men travelled back to the dun; their soft notes lamentation sustaining, and a many their deaths from them won; and he well knew its meaning; and, "lift me, my folk," he cried, "surely that keening from boand's women broke: my mother, the fairy, is nigh." then they raised him, and bore him where wild rose the sound; to his kin they restored him; his women pressed round: and he passed from their sight out of croghan; for that night from earth was he freed, and he dwelt with his kin, the sid-dwellers in the caverns of croghan's deep sid.[fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced sheed; sid is the fairy mound. all at nine, next morrow, gazed, for back he came, round their darling pressing many a fairy dame: brave he seemed, for healing all his wounds had got; none could find a blemish, none a sear or spot. fifty fairies round him, like in age and grace; like each form and bearing; like each lovely face. all in fairy garments, all alike were dressed; none was found unequal; none surpassed the rest. and the men who stood round, as they neared them, were struck with a marvellous awe; they were moved at the sight, and they feared them, and hardly their breath they could draw. at the liss all the fairies departed, but on fraech, as they vanished, they cried: and the sound floated in of their wailing, and it thrilled through the men, and they sighed. then first that mournful measure, "the ban-shee[fn# ] wail," was heard; all hearts with grief and pleasure that air, when harped, hath stirred. [fn# ] spelt "ban side," the fairy women. to the dun came fraech, and the hosts arose, and welcome by all was shown: for it seemed as if then was his birth among men, from a world to the earth unknown! up rose for him maev and king ailill, their fault they confessed, and for grace they prayed, and a penance they did, and for all that assault they were pardoned, and peace was made. and now free from all dread, they the banquet spread, the banqueting straight began: but a thought came to fraech, and from out of his folk he called to his side a man. "now hie thee," he said, "to the river bank, a salmon thou there shalt find; for nigh to the spot where in stream i sank, it was hurled, and 'twas left behind; to finnabar take it, and bid her from me that the salmon with skill she broil: in the midst of the fish is the ring: and none but herself at the task must toil; and to-night, as i think, for her ring they call ": then he turned to the feast again, and the wine was drunk, and the revellers sunk, for the fumes of it seized their brain, and music and much of delights they had; but the king had his plans laid deep, "bring ye all of my jewels," he cried-on the board they were poured in a dazzling heap. "they are wonderful, wonderful!" cried they all: "call finnabar!" said the king; and his daughter obeyed, and her fifty maids stood round in a lovely ring. my daughter," said ailill, "a ring last year i gave thee, is't here with thee yet? bring it hither to show to the chiefs, and anon in thy hand shall the gem be set." "that jewel is lost," said the maid, "nor aught of the fate of the ring i know!" then find it," said ailill, "the ring must be brought, or thy soul from thy limbs must go!" "now, nay!" said they all, "it were cruel that such fate for such fault should be found: thou hast many a fair-flashing jewel in these heaps that lie scattered around!" and said fraech: "of my jewels here glowing take thy fill, if the maid be but freed; 'tis to her that my life i am owing, for she brought me the sword in my need." "there is none of thy gems that can aid her," said ailill, "nor aught thou canst give; there is one thing alone that shall save her; if the ring be restored, she shall live! said finnabar; "thy treasure to yield no power is mine: do thou thy cruel pleasure, for strength, i know, is thine." "by the god whom our connaught land haileth, i swear," answered ailill the king, "that the life on thy lips glowing faileth, if thou place in my hand not the ring!" and that hard," he laughed softly, "the winning of that jewel shall be, know i well; they who died since the world had beginning shall come back to the spot where they fell ere that ring she can find, and can bear it to my hand from the spot where 'twas tossed, and as knowing this well, have i dared her to restore what for aye hath been lost!" "no ring for treasure thus despised," she said, "exchanged should be; yet since the king its worth hath prized, i'll find the gem for thee!" not thus shalt thou fly," said the king, "to thy maid let the quest of the ring be bid!" and his daughter obeyed, and to one whom she sent she told where the ring was hid: "but," finnabar cried, "by my country's god i swear that from out this hour, will i leave this land, and my father's hand shall no more on my life have power, and no feasting shall tempt me to stay, no draughts of wine my resolve shall shake!" "no reproach would i bring, if as spouse," said the king, "thou a groom from my stalls would'st take! but that ring must be found ere thou goest! "then back came her maid, and a dish she bore: and there lay a salmon well broiled, as sauce with honey 'twas garnished o'er: by the daughter of ailill herself with skill had the honey-sweet sauce been made. and high on the breast of the fish, the ring of gold that they sought was laid. king ailill and maev at the ring gazed hard; fraech looked, in his purse he felt: now it seemeth," he said, "'twas to prove my host that i left on the bank my belt, and ailill now i challenge all truth, as king to tell; what deed his cunning fashioned, and what that ring befell." "there is naught to be hidden," said ailill; "it was mine, in thy purse though it lay and my daughter i knew as its giver: so to river i hurled it away. now fraech in turn i challenge by life and honour's claim: say how from yon dark water that ring to draw ye came." "there is naught to be hidden," he answered, "the first day that i came, on the earth, near the court round thy house, was that jewel; and i saw all its beauty and worth: in my purse then i hid it; thy daughter, who had lost it, with care for it sought; and the day that i went to that water was the news of her search to me brought: and i asked what reward she would give me, if the gem in her hand should be placed; and she answered that i, if i found it, for a year by her love should be graced. but not then could the ring be delivered: for afar in my chamber it lay: till she gave me the sword in the river, we met not again on that day. 'twas then i saw thee open my purse, and take the ring: i watched, and towards the water that gem i saw thee fling: i saw the salmon leaping, the ring it caught, and sank: i came behind, and seized it; and brought the fish to bank. then i wrapped it up close in my mantle; and 'twas hid from inquisitive eyes; and in finnabar's hand have i placed it: and now there on the platter it lies!" now all who this or that would know to ask, and praise began: said finnabar, "i'll never throw my thoughts on other man!" now hear her word," her parents cried, "and plight to her thy troth, and when for cualgne's[fn# ] kine we ride do thou redeem thine oath. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. and when with kine from out the east ye reach our western land; that night shall be thy marriage feast; and thine our daughter's hand." "now that oath will i take," answered back to them fraech, "and the task ye have asked will do!" so he tarried that night till the morning's light; and they feasted the whole night through; and then homewards bound, with his comrades round, rode fraech when the night was spent, and to ailill and maev an adieu he gave, and away to their land they went. tain bo fraich part i literal translation fraech, son of idath of the men of connaught, a son he to befind from the side: a sister she to boand. he is the hero who is the most beautiful that was of the men of eriu and of alba, but he was not long-lived. his mother gave him twelve cows out of the sid (the fairy mound), they are white-eared. he had a good housekeeping till the end of eight years without the taking of a wife. fifty sons of kings, this was the number of his household, co-aged, co-similar to him all between form and instruction. findabair, daughter of ailill and medb, loves him for the great stories about him. it is declared to him at his house. eriu and alba were full of his renown and the stories about him. to fraech[fn# ] was idath[fn# ] father, a connaught man was he: and well we know his mother who dwells among the shee;[fn# ] befind they call her, sister to boand,[fn# ] the fairy queen; and alba ne'er, nor erin, such grace as fraech's hath seen. yet wondrous though that hero's grace, his fairy lineage high, for years but few his lovely face was seen by human eye. [fn# ] pronounced fraych. [fn# ] pronounced eeda. [fn# ] the fairies. [fn# ] pronounced with the sound of "owned." fraech had twelve of white-eared fairy-cattle, 'twas his mother those cattle who gave: for eight years in his home he dwelt wifeless, and the state of his household was brave; fifty princes, whose age, and whose rearing, and whose forms were as his, with him played; and his glory filled alba and erin till it came to the ears of a maid: for maev and ailill's[fn# ] lovely child, fair findabar, 'twas said, by tales of fraech to love beguiled, with fraech in love would wed. [fn# ] pronounced al-ill. after this going to a dialogue with the maiden occurred to him; he discussed that matter with his people. "let there be a message then sent to thy mother's sister, so that a portion of wondrous robing and of gifts from the side (fairy folk) be given thee from her." he goes accordingly to the sister, that is to boand, till he was in mag breg, and he carried away fifty dark-blue cloaks, and each of them was like the back of a black chafer,[fn# ] and four black-grey, rings on each cloak, and a brooch of red gold on each cloak, and pale white tunics with loop-animals of gold around them. and fifty silver shields with edges, and a candle of a king's-house in the hand of them (the men), and fifty studs of findruine[fn# ] on each of them (the lances), fifty knobs of thoroughly burned gold on each of them; points (i.e. butt-ends) of carbuncle under them beneath, and their point of precious stones. they used to light the night as if they were the sun's rays. [fn# ] the book of leinster gives "fifty blue cloaks, each like findruine of art." [fn# ] pronounced "find-roony," the unknown "white-bronze" metal. and there were fifty gold-hilted swords with them, and a soft-grey mare under the seat of each man, and bits of gold to them; a plate of silver with a little bell of gold around the neck of each horse. fifty caparisons[fn# ] of purple with threads of silver out of them, with buckles of gold and silver and with head-animals (i.e. spiral ornaments). fifty whips of findruine, with a golden hook on the end of each of them. and seven chase-hounds in chains of silver, and an apple of gold between each of them. greaves of bronze about them, by no means was there any colour which was not on the hounds. [fn# ] the word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. it is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. see irische texts, iii. seven trumpeters with them with golden and silver trumpets with many coloured garments, with golden fairy-yellow heads of hair, with shining tunics. there were three jesters before them with silver diadems under gilding. shields with engraved emblems (or marks of distinction) with each of them; with crested staves, with ribs of bronze (copper-bronze) along their sides. three harp-players with a king's appearance about each of them opposite to these.[fn# ] they depart for cruachan with that appearance on them. [fn# ] the word for caparisons is "acrann," the usual word for a shoe. it is suggested that here it may be a caparison of leather: "shoes" seem out of place here. see irische texts, iii. . p. . the watchman sees them from the dun when they had come into the plain of cruachan. "a multitude i see," he says, "(come) towards the dun in their numbers. since ailill and maev assumed sovereignty there came not to them before, and there shall not come to them, a multitude, which is more beautiful, or which is more splendid. it is the same with me that it were in a vat of wine my head should be, with the breeze that goes over them. "the manipulation and play that the young hero who is in it makes--i have not before seen its likeness. he shoots his pole a shot's discharge from him; before it reaches to earth the seven chase-hounds with their seven silver chains catch it." at this the hosts come from the dun of cruachan to view them. the people in the dun smother one another, so that sixteen men die while viewing them. they alight in front of the dun. they tent their steeds, and they loose the chase-hounds. they (the hounds) chase the seven deer to rath-cruachan, and seven foxes, and seven hares, and seven wild boars, until the youths kill them in the lawn of the dun. after that the chase-hounds dart a leap into brei; they catch seven otters. they brought them to the elevation in front of the chief rath. they (fraech and his suite) sit down there. a message comes from the king for a parley with them. it is asked whence they came, they name themselves according to their true names, "fraech, son of idath this," say they. the steward tells it to the king and queen. "welcome to them," say ailill and maev; "it is a noble youth who is there," says ailill, "let him come into the liss (outer court)." the fourth of the house is allotted to them. this was the array of the house, a seven fold order in it; seven apartments from fire to side-wall in the house all round. a rail (or front) of bronze to each apartment; a partitioning of red yew under variegated planing all. three plates of bronze in the skirting of each apartment. seven plates of brass from the ceiling (?) to the roof-tree in the house. of pine the house was made; it is a covering of shingle it had externally. there were sixteen windows in the house, and a frame of brass, to each of them; a tie of brass across the roof-light. four beams of brass on the apartment of ailill and medb, adorned all with bronze, and it in the exact centre of the house. two rails of silver around it under gilding. in the front a wand of silver that reached the middle rafters of the house. the house was encircled all round from the door to the other.[fn# ] [fn# ] it should be noted that it is not certain whether the word "imdai," translated apartments, really means "apartments" or "benches." the weight of opinion seems at present to take it as above. they hang up their arms in that house, and they sit, and welcome is made to them. "welcome to you," say ailill and medb. "it is that we have come for," says fraech. "it shall not be a journey for boasting[fn# ] this," says medb, and ailill and medb arrange the chess-board after that. fraech then takes to the playing of chess with a man of their (?) people. [fn# ] this is the rendering in the yellow book of lecan, considered by meyer to be the true reading. the book of leinster text gives "aig-baig," a word of doubtful meaning. the eg. ms. has also a doubtful word. it was a beauty of a chess-board. a board of findruine in it with four ears[fn# ] and edges of gold. a candle of precious stones at illuminating for them. gold and silver the figures that were upon the table. "prepare ye food for the warriors," said ailill. "not it is my desire," said medb, but to go to the chess yonder against fraech." "get to it, i am pleased," said ailill, and they play the chess then, and fraech. [fn# ] the "ears" were apparently handles shaped like ears. the same word is used for the rings in the cloaks, line above. his people were meanwhile at cooking the wild animals. "let thy harpers play for us," says ailill to fraech. "let them play indeed!" says fraech. a harp-bag[fn# ] of the skins of otters about them with their adornment of ruby (or coral), beneath their adornment of gold and silver. [fn# ] meyer translates this: "the concave part of the harp." it is from the music which uaithne, the dagda's harp, played that the three are named. the time the woman was at the bearing of children it had a cry of sorrow with the soreness of the pangs at first: it was smile and joy it played in the middle for the pleasure of bringing forth the two sons: it was a sleep of soothingness played the last son, on account of the heaviness of the birth, so that it is from him that the third of the music has been named. boand awoke afterwards out of the sleep. "i accept," she says, "thy three sons o uaithne of full ardour, since there is suan-traide and gen-traide, and gol-traide on cows and women who shall fall by medb and ailill, men who shall perish by the hearing of art from them." they cease from playing after that in the palace: "it is stately it has come," says fergus. "divide ye to us," says fraech to his people, "the food, bring ye it into the house." lothur went on the floor of the house: he divides to them the food. on his haunches he used to divide each joint with his sword, and he used not to touch the food part: since he commenced dividing, he never hacked the meat beneath his hand. they were three days and three nights at the playing of the chess on account of the abundance of the precious stones in the household of fraech. after that fraech addressed medb. "it is well i have played against thee (i.e. have beaten thee)," he says, "i take not away thy stake from the chess-board that there be not a decay of hospitality for thee in it." "since i have been in this dun this is the day which i deem longest in it ever," says medb. "this is reasonable," says fraech, "they are three days and three nights in it." at this medb starts up. it was a shame with her that the warriors were without food. she goes to ailill: she tells it to him. "a great deed we have done," said she, "the stranger men who have come to us to be without food." "dearer to thee is playing of the chess," says ailill. "it hinders not the distribution to his suite throughout the house. they have been three days and three nights in it but that we perceived not the night with the white light of the precious stones in the house." "tell them," says ailill, "to cease from the lamenting until distribution is made to them." distribution is then made to them, and things were pleasing to them, and they stayed three days and three nights in it after that over the feasting. it is after that fraech was called into the house of conversation, and it is asked of him what brought him. "a visit with you," said he, "is pleasing to me." "your company is indeed not displeasing with the household," said ailill, "your addition is better than your diminution." "we shall stay here then," says fraech, "another week." they stay after that till the end of a fortnight in the dun, and they have a hunt every single day towards the dun. the men of connaught used to come to view them. it was a trouble with fraech not to have a conversation with the daughter: for that was the profit that had brought him. a certain day he starts up at the end of night for washing to the stream. it is the time she had gone and her maid for washing. he takes her hand. "stay for my conversing," he says; "it is thou i have come for." "i am delighted truly," says the daughter; "if i were to come, i could do nothing for thee." "query, wouldst thou elope with me?" he says. "i will not elope," says she, "for i am the daughter of a king and a queen. there is nothing of thy poverty that you should not get me (i.e. thy poverty is not so great that thou art not able to get me) from my family; and it shall be my choice accordingly to go to thee, it is thou whom i have loved. and take thou with thee this ring," says the daughter, "and it shall be between us for a token. my mother gave it to me to put by, and i shall say that i put it astray." each of them accordingly goes apart after that. "i fear," says ailill, "the eloping of yon daughter with fraech, though she would be given to him on solemn pledge that he would come towards us with his cattle for aid at the spoil." fraech goes to them to the house of conversation. "is it a secret (cocur, translated "a whisper" by crowe) ye have?" says fraech. "thou wouldest fit in it," says ailill. "will ye give me your daughter?" says fraech. "the hosts will clearly see she shall be given," says ailill, "if thou wouldest give a dowry as shall be named." "thou shalt have it," says fraech. "sixty black-grey steeds to me, with their bits of gold to them, and twelve milch cows, so that there be milked liquor of milk from each of them, and an ear-red, white calf with each of them; and thou to come with me with all thy force and with thy musicians for bringing of the cows from cualgne; and my daughter to be given thee provided thou dost come" (or as soon as[fn# ] thou shalt come). "i swear by my shield, and by my sword, and by my accoutrement, i would not give that in dowry even of medb." he went from them out of the house then. ailill and medb hold a conversation. "it shall drive at us several of the kings of erin around us if he should carry off the daughter. what is good is, let us dash after him, and let us slay him forthwith, before he may inflict destruction upon us." "it is a pity this," says medb, "and it is a decay of hospitality for us." "it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, it shall not be a decay of hospitality for us, the way i shall prepare it." [fn# ] this is thurneysen's rendering ("sagen aus dem alten irland," p. ). ailill and medb go into the palace. "let us go away," says ailill, that we may see the chase-hounds at hunting till the middle of the day, and until they are tired." they all go off afterwards to the river to bathe themselves. "it is declared to me," says ailill, "that thou art good in water. come into this flood, that we may see thy swimming." "what is the quality of this flood?" he says. "we know not anything dangerous in it," says ailill, "and bathing in it is frequent." he strips his clothes off him then, and he goes into it, and he leaves his girdle above. ailill then opens his purse behind him, and the ring was in it. ailill recognises it then. "come here, o medb," says ailill. medb goes then. "dost thou recognise that?" says ailill. "i do recognise," she says. ailill flings it into the river down. fraech perceived that matter. he sees something, the salmon leaped to meet it, and caught it in his mouth. he (fraech) gives a bound to it, and he catches its jole, and he goes to land, and he brings it to a lonely[fn# ] spot on the brink of the river. he proceeds to come out of the water then. "do not come," says ailill, "until thou shalt bring me a branch of the rowan-tree yonder, which is on the brink of the river: beautiful i deem its berries." he then goes away, and breaks a branch off the trees and brings it on his back over the water. the remark of find-abair was: "is it not beautiful he looks?" exceedingly beautiful she thought it to see fraech over a black pool: the body of great whiteness, and the hair of great loveliness, the face of great beauty, the eye of great greyness; and he a soft youth without fault, without blemish, with a below-narrow, above-broad face; and he straight, blemishless; the branch with the red berries between the throat and the white face. it is what find-abair used to say, that by no means had she seen anything that could come up to him half or third for beauty. [fn# ]"hidden spot" (windisch after that he throws the branches to them out of the water. "the berries are stately and beautiful, bring us an addition of them." he goes off again until he was in the middle of the water. the serpent catches him out of the water. "let a sword come to me from you," he says; and there was not on the land a man who would dare to give it to him through fear of ailill and medb. after that find-abair strips off her clothes, and gives a leap into the water with the sword. her father lets fly a five-pronged spear at her from above, a shot's throw, so that it passes through her two tresses, and that fraech caught the spear in his hand. he shoots the spear into the land up, and the monster in his side. he lets it fly with a charge of the methods of playing of championship, so that it goes through the purple robe and through the tunic (? shirt) that was about ailill. at this the youths who were about ailill rise to him. find-abair goes out of the water and leaves the sword in fraech's hand, and he cuts the head off the monster, so that it was on its side, and he brought the monster with him to land. it is from it is dub-lind fraech in brei, in the lands of the men of connaught. ailill and medb go to their dun afterwards. "a great deed is what we have done," says medb. "we repent," says ailill, "of what we have done to the man; the daughter however," he says, "her lips shall perish [common metaphor for death] to-morrow at once, and it shall not be the guilt of bringing of the sword that shall be for her. let a bath be made by you for this man, namely, broth of fresh bacon and the flesh of a heifer to be minced in it under adze and axe, and he to be brought into the bath." all that thing was done as he said. his trumpeters then before him to the dun. they play then until thirty of the special friends of ailill die at the long-drawn (or plaintive) music. he goes then into the dun, and he goes into the bath. the female company rise around him at the vat for rubbing, and for washing his head. he was brought out of it then, and a bed was made. they heard something, the lament-cry on cruachan. there were seen the three times fifty women with crimson tunics, with green head-dresses, with brooches of silver on their wrists. a messenger is sent to them to learn what they had bewailed. "fraech, son of idath," says the woman, "boy-pet of the king of the side of erin." at this fraech heard their lament-cry. thirty men whom king ailill loved dearly by that music were smitten to die; and his men carried fraech, and they laid him in that bath, for his healing to lie. around the vat stood ladies, they bathed his limbs and head; from out the bath they raised him, and soft they made his bed. then they heard a strange music; the wild croghan "keen"; and of women thrice fifty on croghan were seen. they had tunics of purple, with green were they crowned; on their wrists glistened silver, where brooches were bound. and there neared them a herald to learn why they wailed; "'tis for fraech," was their answer, "by sickness assailed; 'tis for fraech, son of idath,[fn# ] boy-darling is he of our lord, who in erin is king of the shee!"[fn# ] and fraech heard the wail in their cry; [fn# ] pronounced eeda. [fn# ] the fairies. "lift me out of it," he says to his people; "this is the cry of my mother and of the women of boand." he is lifted out at this, and he is brought to them. the women come around him, and bring him from them to the sid of cruachan (i.e. the deep caverns, used for burial at cruachan). they saw something, at the ninth hour on the morrow he comes, and fifty women around him, and he quite whole, without stain and without blemish; of equal age (the women), of equal form, of equal beauty, of equal fairness, of equal symmetry, of equal stature, with the dress of women of the fairies about them so that there was no means of knowing of one beyond the other of them. little but men were suffocated around them. they separate in front of the liss.[fn# ] they give forth their lament on going from him, so that they troubled[fn# ] the men who were in the liss excessively. it is from it is the lament-cry of the women of the fairies with the musicians of erin. [fn# ] the liss is the outer court of the palace. [fn# ] "oo corastar tar cend," "so that they upset, or put beside themselves." meyer takes literally, "so that they fell on their backs" (?) he then goes into the dun. all the hosts rise before him, and bid welcome to him, as if it were from another world he were coming. ailill and medb arise, and do penance to him for the attack they had made at him, and they make peace. feasting commenced with them then at once. fraech calls a servant of his suite: "go off," he says, "to the spot at which i went into the water. a salmon i left there--bring it to find-abair, and let herself take charge over it; and let the salmon be well broiled by her, and the ring is in the centre of the salmon. i expect it will be asked of her to-night." inebriety seizes them, and music and amusement delight them. ailill then said: "bring ye all my gems to me." they were brought to him then, so that the were before him. "wonderful, wonderful," says every one. "call ye find-abair to me," he says. find-abair goes to him, and fifty maidens around her. "o daughter," says ailill, "the ring i gave to thee last year, does it remain with thee? bring it to me that the warriors may see it. thou shalt have it afterwards." "i do not know," she says, "what has been done about it." "ascertain then," says ailill, "it must be sought, or thy soul must depart from thy body." "it is by no means worth," say the warriors, "there is much of value there, without that." "there is naught of my jewels that will not go for the maid," says fraech, "because she brought me the sword for pledge of my soul." "there is not with thee anything of gems that should aid her unless she returns the ring from her," says ailill. "i have by no means the power to give it," says the daughter, "what thou mayest like do it in regard to me." "i swear to the god to whom my people swear, thy lips shall be pale (literally, shall perish) unless thou returnest it from thee," says ailill. "it is why it is asked of thee, because it is impossible; for i know that until the people who have died from the beginning of the world. come, it comes not out of the spot in which it was flung." "it shall not come for a treasure which is not appreciated,"[fn# ] says the daughter, "the ring that is asked for here, i go that i may bring it to thee, since it is keenly it is asked." "thou shalt not go," says ailill; "but let one go from thee to bring it." [fn# ] this is windisch's rendering (irische texte, i. p. : s.v. main). the daughter sends her maid to bring it. "i swear to the god to whom my territories swear, if it shall be found, i shall by no means be under thy power any longer though i should be at great drinking continually." (?)[fn# ] "i shall by no means prevent you from doing that, namely even if it were to the groom thou shouldst go if the ring is found," says ailill. the maid then brought the dish into the palace, and the broiled salmon on it, and it dressed under honey which was well made by the daughter; and the ring of gold was on the salmon from above. [fn# ] "dian dumroib for sar-ol mogreis." meyer gives "if there is any one to protect me." the above is crowe's rendering. ailill and medb view it. after that fraech looks at it, and looks at his purse. "it seems to me it was for proof that i left my girdle," says fraech. "on the truth of the sovereignty," says fraech, "say what thou did'st about the ring." "this shall not be concealed from thee," says ailill; "mine is the ring which was in thy purse, and i knew it is find-abair gave it to thee. it is therefore i flung it into the dark pool. on the truth of thine honour and of thy soul, o fraech, declare thou what way the bringing of it out happened." "it shall not be concealed on thee," says fraech. "the first day i found the ring in front of the outer court, and i knew it was a lovely gem. it is for that reason i put it up industriously in my purse. i heard, the day i went to the water, the maiden who had lost it a-looking for it. i said to her: 'what reward shall i have at thy hands for the finding of it?' she said to me that she would give a year's love to me. "it happened i did not leave it about me; i had left it in the house behind me. we met not until we met at the giving of the sword into my hand in the river. after that i saw the time thou open'st the purse and flungest the ring into the water: i saw the salmon which leaped for it, so that it took it into its mouth. i then caught the salmon, took it up in the cloak, put it into the hand of the daughter. it is that salmon accordingly which is on the dish." the criticising and the wondering at these stories begin in the house hold. "i shall not throw my mind on another youth in erin after thee," says find-abair. "bind thyself for that," say ailill and medb, "and come thou to us with thy cows to the spoil of the cows from cualnge; and when thou shalt come with thy cows from the east back, ye shall wed here that night at once and find-abair." "i shall do that thing," says fraech. they are in it then until the morning. fraech sets about him self with his suite. he then bids farewell to ailill and medb. they depart to their own territories then. tain bo fraich part ii unto fraech it hath chanced, as he roved from his lands that his cattle were stolen by wandering bands: and there met him his mother, and cried, "on thy way thou hast tarried, and hard for thy slackness shalt pay! in the alps of the south, the wild mountains amid, have thy children, thy wife, and thy cattle been hid: and a three of thy kine have the picts carried forth, and in alba they pasture, but far to the north!" "now, alack!" answered fraech, "what is best to be done?" "rest at home," said his mother, "nor seek them my son; for to thee neither cattle, nor children, nor wife can avail, if in seeking thou losest thy life; and though cattle be lacking, the task shall be mine to replace what is lost, and to grant thee the kine." "nay, not so," answered fraech, "by my soul i am sworn, that when cattle from cualgne by force shall be torn to king ailill and maev on my faith as their guest i must ride with those cattle for war to the west!" "now but vainly," she said, "is this toil on thee cast; thou shalt lose what thou seekest", and from him she passed. three times nine of his men for that foray were chosen, and marched by his side, and a hawk flew before, and for hunting, was a hound with a hunting-leash tied; to ben barchi they went, for the border of ulster their faces were set: and there, of its marches the warder, the conquering conall they met. fraech hailed him, the conquering conall, and told him the tale of his spoil; "'tis ill luck that awaits thee," said conall, "thy quest shall be followed with toil! "'twill be long ere the goal thou art reaching, though thy heart in the seeking may be." "conall cernach,[fn# ] hear thou my beseeching said fraech, "let thine aid be to me; i had hoped for this meeting with conall, that his aid in the quest might be lent." "i will go with thee truly," said conall: with fraech and his comrades he went. [fn# ] pronounced cayr-nach. three times nine, fraech and conall before them, over ocean from ireland have passed; through the land of north saxony bore them, and the south sea they sighted at last. and again on the sea billows speeding, they went south, over ichtian foam; and marched on: southward still was their leading: to the land where the long-beards have home: but when lombardy's bounds they were nearing they made stand; for above and around were the high peaks of alpa appearing, and the goal that they sought had been found. on the alps was a woman seen straying, and herding the flocks of the sheep, "let our warriors behind be delaying," said conall, "and south let us keep: 'twere well we should speak with yon woman, perchance she hath wisdom to teach!" and with conall went fraech at that counsel; they neared her, and held with her speech. "whence have come you?" she said: "out of ireland are we," answered conall: "ill luck shall for irishmen be in this country," she cried, "yet thy help i would win; from thy land was my mother; thou art to me kin!" "of this land we know naught, nor where next we should turn," answered conall.; "its nature from thee we would learn." "'tis a grim land and hateful," the woman replied, "and the warriors are restless who forth from it ride; for full often of captives, of women and herd of fair kine by them taken is brought to me word." "canst thou say what latest spoil," said fraech, "they won?" "ay," she said, "they harried fraech, of idath[fn# ] son he in erin dwelleth, near the western sea; kine from him they carried, wife, and children three here his wife abideth, there where dwells the king, turn, and see his cattle, yonder pasturing." [fn# ] pronounced eeda. out spoke conall cernach;[fn# ] "aid us thou" he cried: "strength i lack," she answered, "i can only guide." "here is fraech," said conall, "yon his stolen cows": "fraech!" she asked him, "tell me, canst thou trust thy spouse?" "why," said fraech, "though trusty, doubtless, when she went; now, since here she bideth, truth may well be spent." "see ye now yon woman?" said she, "with your herd, tell to her your errand, let her hear your word; trust in her, as irish-sprung ye well may place; more if ye would ask me, ulster reared her race." [fn# ] pronounced cayr-nach. to that woman they went, nor their names from her hid; and they greeted her; welcome in kindness she bid: "what hath moved you," she said, "from your country to go?" "on this journey," said conall, "our guide hath been woe: all the cattle that feed in these pastures are ours, and from us went the lady that's kept in yon towers." "'tis ill-luck," said the woman, "that waits on your way, all the men of this hold doth that lady obey; ye shall find, amid dangers, your danger most great in the serpent who guardeth the liss at the gate." "for that lady," said fraech, "she is none of my she is fickle, no trust from me yet did she win: but on thee we rely, thou art trusty, we know; never yet to an ulsterman ulster was foe." "is it men out of ulster," she said, "i have met?" "and is conall," said fraech, "thus unknown to you yet? of all heroes from ulster the battle who faced conall cernach is foremost." his neck she embraced, and she cried, with her arms around conall: "of old of the conquering conall our prophets have told; and 'tis ruin and doom to this hold that you bring; for that conall shall sack it, all prophecies sing." "hear my rede," she told him: "when at fall of day come the kine for milking, i abroad will stay; i the castle portal every eve should close: ye shall find it opened, free for tread of foes: i will say the weakling calves awhile i keep; 'tis for milk, i'll tell them: come then while they sleep; come, their castle enter, all its wealth to spoil; only rests that serpent, he our plans may foil: him it rests to vanquish, he will try you most; surely from that serpent swarms a serpent host!" "trust us well," answered conall, "that raid will we do! and the castle they sought, and the snake at them flew: for it darted on conall, and twined round his waist; yet the whole of that castle they plundered in haste, and the woman was freed, and her sons with her three and away from her prison she went with them free: and of all of the jewels amassed in that dun the most costly and beauteous the conquerors won. then the serpent from conall was loosed, from his belt it crept safely, no harm from that serpent he felt: and they travelled back north to the pictish domains, and a three of their cattle they found on the plains; and, where olla mae briuin[fn# ] his hold had of yore, by dunolly their cattle they drove to the shore. [fn# ] pronounced "brewin." it chanced at ard uan echach,[fn# ] where foam is hurled on high, that doom on bicne falling, his death he came to die: 'twas while the cows were driven that bicne's life was lost: by trampling hooves of cattle crushed down to death, or tossed; to him was loegaire[fn# ] father, and conall cernach chief and inver-bicne's title still marks his comrades' grief. [fn# ] pronounced "ard oon ay-ha," [fn# ] pronounced "leary." across the stream of bicne the cows of fraech have passed, and near they came to benchor, and there their horns they cast: 'tis thence the strand of bangor for aye is named, 'tis said: the strand of horns men call it; those horns his cattle shed. to his home travelled fraech, with his children, and and his cattle, and there with them lived out his life, till the summons of ailill and maev he obeyed; and when cualgne was harried, he rode on the raid. tain bo fraich part ii literal translation it happened that his cows had been in the meanwhile stolen. his mother came to him. "not active (or "lucky") of journey hast thou gone; it shall cause much of trouble to thee," she says. "thy cows have been stolen, and thy three sons, and thy wife, so that they are in the mountain of elpa. three cows of them are in alba of the north with the cruthnechi (the picts)." "query, what shall i do?" he says to his mother. "thou shalt do a non-going for seeking them; thou wouldest not give thy life for them," she says. "thou shalt have cows at my hands besides them." "not so this," he says: "i have pledged my hospitality and my soul to go to ailill and to medb with my cows to the spoil of the cows from cualnge." "what thou seekest shall not be obtained," says his mother. at this she goes off from him then. he then sets out with three nines, and a wood-cuckoo (hawk), and a hound of tie with them, until he goes to the territory of the ulstermen, so that he meets with conall cernach (conall the victorious) at benna bairchi (a mountain on the ulster border). he tells his quest to him. "what awaits thee," says the latter, "shall not be lucky for thee. much of trouble awaits thee," he says, "though in it the mind should be." "it will come to me," says fraech to connall, "that thou wouldest help me any time we should meet." (?) "i shall go truly," says conall cernach. they set of the three (i.e. the three nines) over sea, over saxony of the north, over the sea of icht (the sea between england and france), to the north of the long-bards (the dwellers of lombardy), until they reached the mountains of elpa. they saw a herd-girl at tending of the sheep before them. "let us go south," says conall, "o fraech, that we may address the woman yonder, and let our youths stay here." they went then to a conversation. she said, "whence are ye?" "of the men of erin," says conall. "it shall not be lucky for the men of erin truly, the coming to this country. from the men of erin too is my mother. aid thou me on account of relationship." "tell us something about our movements. what is the quality of the land we have to come to?" "a grim hateful land with troublesome warriors, who go on every side for carrying off cows and women as captives," she says. "what is the latest thing they have carried off?" says fraech. "the cows of fraech, son of idath, from the west of erin, and his wife, and his three sons. here is his wife here in the house of the king, here are his cows in the country in front of you." "let thy aid come to us," says conall. little is my power, save guidance only." "this is fraech," says conall, and they are his cows that have been carried off." "is the woman constant in your estimation?" she says. "though constant in our estimation when she went, perchance she is not constant after coming." "the woman who frequents the cows, go ye to her; tell ye of your errand; of the men of ireland her race; of the men of ulster exactly." they come to her; they receive her, and they name themselves to her, and she bids welcome to them. "what hath led you forth?" she says. "trouble hath led us forth," says conall; "ours are the cows and the woman that is in the liss." "it shall not be lucky for you truly," she says, "the going up to the multitude of the woman; more troublesome to you than everything," she says, "is the serpent which is at guarding of the liss." "she is not my country-name(?)," says fraech, "she is not constant in my estimation; thou art constant in my estimation; we know thou wilt not lead us astray, since it is from the men of ulster thou art." "whence are ye from the men of ulster?" she says. "this is conall cernach here, the bravest hero with the men of ulster," says fraech. she flings two hands around the throat of conall cernach. "the destruction has come in this expedition," she says, "since he has come to us; for it is to him the destruction of this dun has been prophesied. i shall go out to my house,"[fn# ] she says, "i shall not be at the milking of the cows. i shall leave the liss opened; it is i who close it every night.[fn# ] i shall say it is for drink the calves were sucking. come thou into the dun, when they are sleeping; only trouble. some to you is the serpent which is at the dun; several tribes are let loose from it." [fn# ] "to my house" is in the egerton ms. only. [fn# ] "every night" is in the egerton ms. only. "we will go truly," says conall. they attack the liss; the serpent darts leap into the girdle of conall cernach, and they plunder the dun at once. they save off then the woman and the three sons, and they carry away whatever was the best of the gems of the dun, and conall lets the serpent out of his girdle, and neither of them did harm to the other. and they came to the territory of the people of the picts, until they saw three cows of their cows in it. they drove off to the fort of ollach mac briuin (now dunolly near oban) with them, until they were at ard uan echach (high-foaming echach). it is there the gillie of conall met his death at the driving of the cows, that is bicne son of loegaire; it is from this is (the name of) inver bicne (the bicne estuary) at benchor. they brought their cows over it thither. it is there they flung their horns from them, so that it is thence is (the name of) tracht benchoir (the strand of horn casting, perhaps the modern bangor?). fraech goes away then to his territory after, and his wife, and his sons, and his cows with him, until he goes with ailill and medb for the spoil of the cows from cualnge. the raid for dartaid's cattle introduction this tale is given by windisch (irische texte, ii. pp. - ), from two versions; one, whose translation he gives in full, except for one doubtful passage, is from the manuscript in the british museum, known as egerton, (dated ); the other is from the yellow book of lecan (fourteenth century), in the library of trinity college, dublin. the version in the yellow book is sometimes hard to read, which seems to be the reason why windisch prefers to translate the younger authority, but though in some places the egerton version is the fuller, the yellow book version (y.b.l.) often adds passages, some of which windisch has given in notes; some he has left untranslated. in the following prose version as much of y.b.l. as adds anything to the egerton text has been translated, with marks of interrogation where the attempted rendering is not certain: variants from the text adopted are placed below the prose version as footnotes. the insertions from y.b.l. are indicated by brackets; but no note is taken of cases where the egerton version is fuller than y.b.l. the opening of the story (the first five lines in the verse rendering) is in the eleventh century book of the dun cow: the fragment agrees closely with the two later texts, differing in fact from y.b.l. in one word only. all three texts are given in the original by windisch. the story is simple and straightforward, but is a good example of fairy vengeance, the description of the appearance of the troop recalls similar descriptions in the tain bo fraich, and in the courtship of ferb. the tale is further noticeable from its connection with the province of munster: most of the heroic tales are connected with the other three provinces only. orlam, the hero of the end of the tale, was one of cuchulain's earliest victims in the tain bo cualgne. the raid for dartaid's cattle from the egerton ms. (early fifteenth-century), and the yellow book of lecan (fourteenth-century) eocho bec,[fn# ] the son of corpre, reigning in the land of clew,[fn# ] dwelt in coolny's[fn# ] fort; and fostered sons of princes not a few: forty kine who grazed his pastures gave him milk to rear his wards; royal blood his charges boasted, sprung from munster's noblest lords. maev and ailill sought to meet him: heralds calling him they sent: "seven days hence i come" said eocho; and the heralds from him went. now, as eocho lay in slumber, in the night a vision came; by a youthful squire attended, rose to view a fairy dame: "welcome be my greeting to you!" said the king: "canst thou discern who we are?" the fairy answered, "how didst thou our fashion learn?" "surely," said the king, "aforetime near to me hath been thy place!" "very near thee have we hovered, yet thou hast not seen my face." "where do ye abide?" said eocho. "yonder dwell we, with the shee:[fn# ] "in the fairy mound of coolny!" "wherefore come ye hereto me?" "we have come," she said, "a counsel as a gift to thee to bring!" "speak! and tell me of the counsel ye have brought me," said the king. "noble gifts," she said, "we offer that renown for thee shall gain when in foreign lands thou ridest; worship in thine own domain; for a troop shall circle round thee, riding close beside thy hand: stately it shall be, with goodly horses from a foreign land!" "tell me of that troop," said eocho, "in what numbers should we ride? " fifty horsemen is the number that befits thee," she replied: [fn# ] pronounced yeo-ho bayc. [fn# ] cliu, a district in munster. [fn# ] spelt cuillne, in y.b.l. it is cuille. [fn# ] the fairies, spelt sidh. "fifty horses, black in colour; gold and silver reins and bits; fifty sets of gay equipment, such as fairies well befits; these at early dawn to-morrow shall my care for thee provide: let thy foster-children with thee on the road thou makest ride! rightly do we come to help thee, who so valiantly in fray guardest for us soil and country!" and the fairy passed away. eocho's folk at dawn have risen; fifty steeds they all behold: black the horses seemed; the bridles, stiff with silver and with gold, firmly to the gate were fastened; fifty silver breeches there heaped together shone, encrusted all with gold the brooches were: there were fifty knightly vestments, bordered fair with golden thread: fifty horses, white, and glowing on their ears with deepest red, nigh them stood; of reddish purple were the sweeping tails and manes; silver were the bits; their pasterns chained in front with brazen chains: and, of fair findruine[fn# ] fashioned, was for every horse a whip, furnished with a golden handle, wherewithal the goad to grip. [fn# ] pronounced "findroony." then king eocho rose, and ready made him; in that fair array forth they rode, nor did they tarry till they came to croghan[fn# ] ay. scarcely could the men of connaught bear to see that sight, amazed at the dignity and splendour of the host on which they gazed; for that troop was great; in serried ranks the fifty riders rode, splendid with the state recounted; pride on all their faces glowed. "name the man who comes!" said ailill; "easy answer!" all replied, eocho bee, in clew who ruleth, hither to thy court would ride": court and royal house were opened; in with welcome came they all; three long days and nights they lingered, feasting in king ailill's hall. then to ailill, king of connaught, eocho spake: "from out my land { } wherefore hast thou called me hither?" "gifts are needed from thy hand," ailill said; "a heavy burden is that task upon me laid, to maintain the men of ireland when for cualgne's kine we raid." [fn# ] pronounced crow-han. eocho spoke: "what gift requirest thou from me?" "for milking-kine," ailill said, "i ask"; and eocho, "few of these indeed are mine! forty sons of munster's princes have i in my halls to rear; these, my foster-sons, beside me m my troop have journeyed here; fifty herdsmen guard the cattle, forty cows my wards to feed, seven times twenty graze beside them, to supply my people's need." "if, for every man who follows thee as liege, and owns a farm, thou a cow wilt yield," said ailill, "then from foes with power to harm i will guard thee in the battle!" "keep then faithfully thy vows," eocho said, "this day as tribute shall to croghan come the cows." thrice the sun hath set and risen while they feasting there abide, maev and ailill's bounty tasting, homeward then they quickly ride: but the sons of glaschu met them, who from western donnan came; donnan, from the seas that bound it, irross donnan hath for name; seven times twenty men attacked them, and to battle they were brought, at the isle of o'canàda, fiercely either party fought; with his foster children round him, eocho bec in fight was killed, all the forty princes perished, with that news the land was filled; all through ireland lamentation rose for every youthful chief; four times twenty munster princes, weeping for them, died of grief. now a vision came to ailill, as in sleep he lay awhile, or a youth and dame approached him, fairer none in erin's isle: "who are ye?" said ailill; "conquest," said the fairy, "and defeat "though defeat i shun," said ailill, "conquest joyfully i meet." "conquest thou shalt have!" she answered: "of the future i would ask, canst thou read my fate?" said ailill: "light indeed for me the task," said the dame: "the kine of dartaid, eocho's daughter, may be won: forty cows she owns; to gain them send to her thy princely son, orlam, whom that maiden loveth: let thy son to start prepare, forty youths from connaught with him, each of them a prince's heir: choose thou warriors stout and stately; i will give them garments bright, even those that decked the princes who so lately fell in fight: bridles, brooches, all i give thee; ere the morning sun be high thou shalt count that fairy treasure: to our country now we fly." swiftly to the son of tassa sped they thence, to corp the gray: on the northern bank of naymon was his hold, and there he lay; and before the men of munster, as their champion did he stand: he hath wrought-so runs the proverb-evil, longer than his hand. as to corp appeared the vision: "say," he cried, "what names ye boast!" "ruin, one is called," they answered; "one, the gathering of the host!" an assembled host i welcome," answered them the gray corp lee; "ruin i abhor": "and ruin," they replied, "is far from thee; thou shalt bring on sons of nobles, and of kings a ruin great": "fairy," said corp lee, the gray one, "tell me of that future fate." "easy is the task," she answered, "youths of every royal race that in connaught's land hath dwelling, come to-morrow to this place; munster's kine they hope to harry, for the munster princes fell yesterday with connaught fighting; and the hour i plainly ten: at the ninth hour of the morning shall they come: the band is small: have thou valiant men to meet them, and upon the raiders fall! munster's honour hath been tarnished! clear it by a glorious deed! thou shalt purge the shame if only in the foray thou succeed." "what should be my force?" he asked her: "take of heroes seven score for that fight," she said, "and with them seven times twenty warriors more: far from thee we now are flying; but shall meet thee with thy power when to-morrow's sun is shining; at the ninth, the fated hour." at the dawn, the time appointed, all those steeds and garments gay were in connaught, and they found them at the gate of croghan ay; all was there the fay had promised, all the gifts of which we told: all the splendour that had lately decked the princes they behold. doubtful were the men of connaught; some desired the risk to face; some to go refused: said ailill, "it should bring us to disgrace if we spurned such offered bounty": orlam his reproaches felt; sprang to horse; and towards the country rode, where eocho's daughter dwelt: and where flows the shannon river, near that water's southern shore, found her home; for as they halted, moated clew[fn# ] rose high before. [fn# ] spelt cliu. dartaid met them ere they halted, joyful there the prince to see: all the kine are not assembled, of their count is lacking three!" "tarry not for search," said orlam, "yet provision must we take on our steeds, for hostile munster rings us round. wilt home forsake, maiden? wilt thou ride beside us?" "i will go indeed," she said. then, with all thy gathered cattle, come with us; with me to wed! so they marched, and in the centre of their troop the kine were set, and the maiden rode beside them: but corp lee, the gray, they met; seven times twenty heroes with him; and to battle they must go, and the connaught nobles perished, fighting bravely with the foe: all the sons of connaught's princes, all the warriors with them died: orlam's self escaped the slaughter, he and eight who rode beside: yet he drave the cows to croghan; ay, and fifty heifers too! but, when first the foe made onset, they the maid in battle slew. near a lake, did eocho's[fn# ] daughter, dartaid, in the battle fall, from that lake, and her who perished, hath been named that region all: emly darta is that country; tain bo dartae is the tale: and, as prelude, 'tis recited, till the cualgne[fn# ] raid they hail. [fn# ] pronounced yeo-ho. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. the raid for dartaid's cattle literal translation the passages that occur only in the yellow book (y.b.l.) are indicated by being placed in square brackets. eocho bec, the son of corpre, king of cliu, dwelt in the dun of cuillne,[fn# ] and with him were forty fosterlings, all sons of the kings of munster; he had also forty milch-cows for their sustenance. by ailill and medb messengers were sent, asking him to come to a conference. "[in a week,"][fn# ] said eocho, "i will go to that conference;" and the messengers departed from him. [fn# ] the eleventh century ms., the leabhar na h-uidhri, which gives the first four lines of this tale as a fragment, adds here as a note: "this is in the land of the o'cuanach": apparently the o'briens of cuanach. [fn# ] at samhuin day (egerton). one night eocho lay there in his sleep, when he saw something approach him; a woman, and a young man in her attendance. "ye are welcome!" said eocho. ["knowest thou us?"] said she, "where hast thou learned to know us?" "it seems to me as if i had been near to you." "i think that we have been very near to one another, though we have not seen each other face to face!" "in what place do ye dwell?" said eocho. "yonder in sid cuillne (the fairy mound of cuillne)," said she. "and, wherefore have ye come?" "in order to give thee counsel," said she. for what purpose is the counsel," said he, "that thou givest me?" "something," she said, "that will bring thee honour and renown on thy journey at home and abroad. a stately troop shall be round thee, and goodly foreign horses shall be under thee."[fn# ] "with how many shall i go?" said eocho. "fifty horsemen is the number that is suitable for thee," she answered. [fn# ] y.b.l. adds a passage that windisch does not translate: it seems to run thus: "unknown to thee is the half of what thou hast met: it seems to us that foreign may be thy splendour"(?) "to-morrow in the morning fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver, shall come to thee from me; and with them fifty sets of equipment of the equipment of the side; and all of thy foster-children shall go with thee; well it becomes us to help thee, because thou art valiant in the defence of our country and our soil." then the woman left him. early in the morning they arise, there they see something: the fifty black horses, furnished with bridles of gold and silver tied fast to the gate of the castle, also fifty breeches of silver with embellishment of gold; and fifty youths' garments with their edges of spun gold, and fifty white horses with red ears and long tails, purple-red were all their tails and their manes, with silver bits (?)[fn# ] and foot-chains of brass upon each horse; there were also fifty whips of white bronze (findruine), with end pieces of gold that thereby they might be taken into hands.[fn# ] [fn# ] co m-belgib (?) windisch translates "bridles," the same as cona srianaib above. [fn# ] y.b.l. adds, "through wizardry was all that thing: it was recited (?) how great a thing had appeared, and he told his dream to his people." then king eocho arises, and prepares himself (for the journey): they depart with this equipment to cruachan ai:[fn# ] and the people were well-nigh overcome with their consequence and appearance: their troop was great, goodly, splendid, compact: [fifty heroes, all with that appearance that has just been related. "how is that man named?" said ailill. "not hard, eocho bec, the king of cliu." they entered the liss (outer court), and the royal house; welcome was given to them, he remained there three days and three nights at the feasting.] [fn# ] egerton here gives "ailill and medb made them welcome;" it omits the long passage in square brackets. "wherefore have i have been invited to come?" said eocho to ailill: "to learn if i can obtain a gift from thee," said ailill; "for a heavy need weighs upon me, even the sustenance of the men of ireland for the bringing of the cattle from cualgne." "what manner of gift is it that thou desirest?" said eocho. "nothing less than a gift of milking-kine," said ailill. "there is no superfluity of these in my land," said eocho; "i have forty fosterlings, sons of the kings of munster, to bring them up (to manhood); they are here in my company, there are forty cows to supply the needs of these, to supply my own needs are seven times twenty milch-cows [there are fifty men for this cause watching over them]. "let me have from thee," said ailill, "one cow from each farmer who is under thy lordship as my share; moreover i will yield thee assistance if at any time thou art oppressed by superior might." "thus let it be as thou sayest," said eocho; "moreover, they shall come to thee this very day." for three days and three nights they were hospitably entertained by ailill and medb, and then they departed homewards, till they met the sons of glaschu, who came from irross donnan (the peninsula of donnan, now mayo); the number of those who met them was seven times twenty men, and they set themselves to attack each other, and to strive with each other in combat, and [at the island of o'conchada (inse ua conchada)] they fought together. in that place fell the forty sons of kings round eocho bec, and that news was spread abroad over all the land of ireland, so that four times twenty kings' sons, of the youths of munster, died, sorrowing for the deaths of these princes. on another night, as ailill lay in his sleep, upon his bed, he saw some thing, a young man and a woman, the fairest that could be found in ireland. "who are ye?" said ailill. "victory and defeat are our names," she said. "victory indeed is welcome to me, but not so defeat," said ailill. "victory shall be thine in each form!" said she. ["what is the next thing after this that awaits us?" said ailill. "not hard to tell thee," said she] "let men march out from thy palace in the morning, that thou mayest win for thyself the cattle of dartaid, the daughter of eocho. forty is the number of her milch-cows, it is thine own son, orlam mac ailill, whom she loves. let orlam prepare for his journey with a stately troop of valiant men, also forty sons of those kings who dwell in the land of connaught; and by me shall be given to them the same equipment that the other youths had who fell in yon fight, bridles and garments and brooches; [early in the morning shall count of the treasure be made, and now we go to our own land," said she]. then they depart from him, and forthwith they go to [corp[fn# ] liath (the gray),] who was the son of tassach. his castle was on the bank of the river nemain, upon the northern side, he was a champion of renown for the guarding of the men of munster; longer than his hand is the evil he hath wrought. to this man also they appeared, and "what are your names?" said he: "tecmall and coscrad (gathering of hosts, and destruction)," said they. "gathering of hosts is indeed good," said corp liath, "an evil thing is destruction": "there will be no destruction for thee, and thou shalt destroy the sons of kings and nobles": "and what," said corp liath, "is the next thing to be done?" [fn# ] the egerton ms. gives the name, corb cliach. "that is easy to say," they said;[fn# ] "each son of a king and a queen, and each heir of a king that is in connaught, is now coming upon you to bear off cows from your country, for that the sons of your kings and queens have fallen by the hand of the men of connaught. to-morrow morning, at the ninth hour they will come, and small is their troop; so if valiant warriors go thither to meet them, the honour of munster shall be preserved; if indeed thine adventure shall meet with success." [fn# ] y.b.l. gives the passage thus: "assemble with you the sons of kings, and heirs of kings, that you may destroy the sons of kings and heirs of kings." "who are they?" said corp liath. "a noble youth it is from connaught: he comes to yon to drive your cows before him, after that your young men were yesterday destroyed by him, at the ninth hour of the morning they will come to take away the cows of darta, the daughter of eocho." "with what number should i go?" he said. "seven times twenty heroes thou shouldest take with thee," she replied, ["and seven times twenty warriors besides"]: "and now" said the woman, "we depart to meet thee to-morrow at the ninth hour." at the time (appointed), when morning had come, the men of connaught saw the horses and the raiment of which we have spoken, at the gate of the fort of croghan, [even as she (the fairy) had foretold, and as we have told, so that at that gate was all she had promised, and all that had been seen on the sons of kings aforetime], and there was a doubt among the people whether they should go on that quest or not. "it is shame," said ailill, "to refuse a thing that is good"; and upon that orlam departed [till[fn# ] he came to the house of dartaid, the daughter of eocho, in cliu classach (cliu the moated), on the shannon upon the south (bank). [fn# ] egerton version has only "towards chu till he came to the home of dartaid, the daughter of eocho: the maiden rejoiced," &c. from this point to the end the version in the yellow book is much fuller. [there they halted], and the maiden rejoiced at their coming: "three of the kine are missing." "we cannot wait for these; let the men take provision on their horses, [for rightly should we be afraid in the midst of munster. wilt thou depart with me, o maiden?" said he. "i will indeed go with thee," said she]. "come then thou," said he, "and with thee all of thy cows." [then the young men go away with the cows in the midst, and the maiden was with them; but corp liath, the son of tassach, met them with seven times twenty warriors to oppose their march. a battle was fought], and in that place fell the sons of the kings of connaught, together with the warriors who had gone with them, all except orlam and eight others,[fn# ] who carried away with them the kine, even the forty milch-cows, and fifty heifers, [so that they came into the land of connaught]; but the maiden fell at the beginning of the fight. [fn# ] y.b.l. inserts dartaid's death at this point: "and dartaid fell at the beginning of the fight, together with the stately sons of connaught." hence is that place called imlech dartaid, (the lake shore of darta), in the land of cliu, [where dartaid, the daughter of eocho, the son of corpre, fell: and for this reason this story is called the tain bo dartae, it is one of the preludes to the tain bo cualnge]. the raid for the cattle of regamon introduction the two versions of this tale, given by windisch in the irische texte, ii. pp. - , are from the same manuscripts as the two versions of the raid of the cattle of dartaid; namely the yellow book of lecan, and the egerton ms. . in the case of this tale, the yellow book version is more legible, and, being not only the older, but a little more full than the other version, windisch has translated this text alone: the prose version, as given here, follows this manuscript, nearly as given by windisch, with only one addition from the egerton ms.; the omissions in the egerton ms. are not mentioned, but one or two changes in words adopted from this ms. are mentioned in the foot-notes to the prose rendering. the whole tone of the tale is very unlike the tragic character of those romances, which have been sometimes supposed to represent the general character of old irish literature: there is not even a hint of the super-natural; the story contains no slaughter; the youthful raiders seem to be regarded as quite irresponsible persons, and the whole is an excellent example of an old celtic: romance with what is to-day called a "good ending." the raid for the cattle of regamon from the yellow book of lecan (a manuscript of the fourteenth century) when ailill and maev in the connaught land abode, and the lordship held, a chief who many a field possessed in the land of connaught dwelled: a great, and a fair, and a goodly herd of kine had the chieftain won: and his fame in the fight was in all men's word; his name was regamon. now seven daughters had regamon; they dwelt at home with their sire: yet the seven sons of king ailill and maev their beauty with love could fire: all those seven sons were as mani[fn# ] known; the first was as morgor hailed, for his love was great: it was mingar's fate that in filial love he failed: the face was seen of the mother-queen on the third; and his father's face did the fourth son show: they the fifth who know cannot speak all his strength and grace: the sixth son spoke, from his lips the words like drops of honey fell: and last came one who all gifts possessed that the tongue of a man can tell; for his father's face that mani had, in him was his mother seen; and in him abode every grace bestowed on the king of the land or the queen. [fn# ] pronounced mah-nee. of the daughters of regamon now we speak: two names those maidens bore: for as dunnan three ever known shall be; dunlaith[fn# ] was the name for four: and in breffny's land is the ford dunlaith, and the fame of the four recalls; the three ye know where the dunnan's flow in western connaught falls. with fergus, ailill and maev were met: as at council all conferred; "it were well for our folk," thus ailill spoke, "if the lord of that cattle-herd, that strays in the fields of regamon, would tribute to us pay: and to gain that end, let us heralds send, to his burg who may make their way, and bear to our court that tribute back; for greatly we soon shall need such kine when we in the time of war our hosts shall have to feed; and all who share in our counsels know that a burden will soon be mine, when the men must be fed of ireland, led on the raid for the cuailgne[fn# ] kine!" thus ailill spoke; and queen maev replied, "the men to perform that task right well i know; for our sons will go, if we for their aid but ask! the seven daughters of regamon do the mani in love now seek: if those maidens' hands they can gain by the deed, they will heed the words we speak." to his side king ailill has called his sons, his mind to the youth he shows. "best son," says maev, "and grateful he, from filial love who goes!" and morgor said, "for the love that we owe, we go at our sire's behest:" "yet a greater reward," thus mingar spake, "must be ours, if we go on this quest! for naught have we of hero-craft; and small shall be found our might; and of valiant breed are the men," said he, "with whom we shall have to fight. [fn# ] pronounced dun-lay. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. as men from the shelter of roof who go, and must rest in the open field, so thy sons shall stand, if they come to a land where a foe might be found concealed! we have dwelt till now in our father's halls, too tenderly cared for far: nor hath any yet thought, that to us should be taught the arts that belong to war!" queen maev and ailill their sons have sped, away on the quest they went, with seven score men for the fight, whom the queen for help of her sons had sent: to the south of the connaught realm they reached, the burg that they sought was plain for to ninnus land they had come, and were nigh to the corcomroe domain. "from our band," said mani morgor, "some must go, of that burg to learn how entrance we may attain to win, and back with the news return we must test the strength of the maidens' love!" on mingar the task was set, and with two beside him, he searched the land, till three of the maids they met: by springs of water they found the maids, drew swords, and against them leapt! "o grant our lives!" was the maiden's cry, "and your lives shall be safely kept!" "for your lives," he said, "will ye grant a boon, set forth in three words of speech?" "at our hands," said she, "shall granted be, whatever thy tongue shall teach; yet ask not cattle; those kine have we no power to bestow, i fear": "why, 'tis for the sake of the kine," he said, "that all of us now are here!" "who art thou then?" from her faltering broke: "mani mingar am i," he replied; i am son to king ailill and maev: and to me thou art welcome," the maiden cried; "but why have ye come to this land?" said she: for kine and for brides," he said, have we come to seek: and 'tis right," said she, such demands in a speech to wed: yet the boon that you ask will our folk refuse, and hard will your task be found; for a valiant breed shall you meet, i fear, in the men who guard this ground!" "give your aid," he said, "then as friends: but time," said she, "we must have for thought; for a plan must be made, e'er thy word be obeyed, and the kine to thy hands be brought: have ye journeyed here with a force of men? how great is the strength of your band?" "seven score are there here for the fight," he said, "the warriors are near at hand!" "wait here," said she; "to my sisters four i go of the news to tell: "and with thee we side!" all the maidens cried, "and we trust we shall aid thee well," away from the princes the maidens sped, they came to their sisters four, and thus they spoke: "from the connaught land come men, who are here at your door; the sons of ailill and maev have come; your own true loves are they!" "and why have they come to this land?" they said; "for kine and for brides, they say, have they come to seek:" "and with zeal their wish would we joyfully now fulfil if but powers to aid were but ours," they said, "which would match with our right good will: but i fear the youths in this burg who dwell, the plans that we make may foil; or far from the land may chase that band, and drive them away from their spoil!" "will ye follow us now, with the prince to speak?" they willingly gave consent, and together away to the water-springs the seven maidens went. they greeted mani; "now come!" said he, "and bring with you out your herds: and a goodly meed shall reward your deed, if you but obey my words; for our honour with sheltering arms is nigh, and shall all of you safely keep, ye seven daughters of regamon!" the cattle, the swine, and sheep together the maidens drove; none saw them fly, nor to stay them sought, till safe to the place where the mani stood, the herd by the maids was brought. the maidens greeted the sons of maev, and each by her lover stood; and then morgor spoke: "into twain this herd of kine to divide were good, at the briuin[fn# ] ford should the hosts unite; too strait hath the path been made for so vast a herd": and to morgor's word they gave heed, and his speech obeyed. now it chanced that regamon, the king, was far from his home that day, for he to the corco baiscinn land had gone, for a while to stay; [fn# ] pronounced brewin. with the firbolg[fn# ] clans, in debate, he sat; and a cry as the raiders rode, was behind him raised: to the king came men, who the news of that plunder showed: then the king arose, and behind his foes he rode, and o'ertook their flight, and on mani morgor his host pressed hard, and they conquered his men in the fight. "to unite our band," thus morgor cried, "fly hence, and our comrades find! call the warriors back from the cattle here, and leave the maids behind; bid the maidens drive to our home the herd as far as the croghan fort, and to ailill and maev of our perilous plight let the maidens bear report." the maidens went to the croghan fort, to maev with their news they pressed: "thy sons, o maev, at the briuin ford are pent, and are sore distressed, and they pray thee to aid them with speed": and maev her host for the war prepared, with ailill the warriors of connaught came; and fergus beside them fared, and the exiles came, who the ulster name still bore, and towards that ford all that host made speed, that their friends in need might escape from the vengeful sword. [fn# ] pronounced feer-bol. now ailill's sons, in the pass of that ford, had hurdles strongly set: and regamon failed through the ford to win, ere ailill's troops were met: of white-thorn and of black-thorn boughs were the hurdles roughly framed, and thence the name of the ford first came, that the hurdle ford is named; for, where the o'feara[fn# ] aidne folk now dwell, can ye plainly see in the land of beara[fn# ] the less, that ford, yet called ath[fn# ] clee maaree, in the north doth it stand; and the connaught land divideth from corcomroe; and thither, with regamon's troops to fight, did ailill's army go. [fn# ] pronounced o'fayra ain-ye. [fn# ] pronounced bayra. [fn# ] spelt ath cliath medraidi. ath is pronounced like ah. then a truce they made; to the youths, that raid who designed, they gave back their lives; and the maidens fair all pardoned were, who had fled with the youths, as wives, who had gone with the herd, by the maids conferred on the men who the kine had gained: but the kine, restored to their rightful lord, in regamon's hands remained; the maiden band in the connaught land remained with the sons of maev; and a score of cows to each maiden's spouse the maidens' father gave: as his daughters' dower, did their father's power his right in the cows resign, that the men might be fed of ireland, led on the raid for the cualgne[fn# ] kine. this tale, as the tain bo regamon, is known in the irish tongue; and this lay they make, when the harp they wake, ere the cualgne raid be sung. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. the raid for the cattle of regamon literal translation in the time of ailill and medb, a glorious warrior and holder of land dwelt in the land of connaught, and his name was regamon. he had many herds of cattle, all of them fair and well-shaped: he had also seven daughters with him. now the seven sons of ailill and medb loved these (daughters): namely the seven maine, these were maine morgor (maine with great filial love), maine mingar (maine with less filial love), maine aithremail (maine like his father), maine mathremail (maine like his mother), maine milbel (maine with the mouth of honey),[fn# ] maine moepert (maine too great to be described), maine condageb-uile (maine who combined all qualities): now this one had the form both of father and mother, and had all the glory that belonged to both parents. [fn# ] the name of maine annai, making an eighth son, is given in y.b.l., but not in the egerton ms. the seven daughters of regamon were the three dunann, and the four dunlaith;[fn# ] from the names of these is the estuary of dunann in western connaught, and the ford of dunlaith in breffny. [fn# ] so egerton, which windisch follows here; the reading of y.b.l. is dunmed for the daughters, and dumed for the corresponding ford. now at a certain time, ailill and medb and fergus held counsel together. "some one from us," said ailill, "should go to regamon, that a present of cattle may be brought to us from him; to meet the need that there is on us for feeding the men of ireland, when the kine are raided from cualgne." "i know," said medb, "who would be good to go thither, if we ask it of them; even the maine; on account of their love for the daughters." his sons were called to ailill, and he spoke with them. "grateful is he, and a better journey does he go," said maev, "who goes for the sake of his filial love." "truly it shall be that it is owing to filial love that we go," said mani morgor. "but the reward should (also) for this be the better," said mani mingar; "it stands ill with our heroism, ill with our strength. it is like going from a house into the fields, (going) into the domains or the land of foes. too tenderly have we been brought up; none hath let us learn of wars; moreover the warriors are valiant towards whom we go!" they took leave of ailill and medb, and betook themselves to the quest. they set out, seven times twenty heroes was the number, till they were in the south of connaught, in the neighbourhood of the domain of corcomroe[fn# ] in the land of ninnus, near to the burg. "some of you," said mani morgor, "should go to find out how to enter into the burg; and to test the love of maidens." mani mingar, with two others, went until he came upon three of the maidens at the water-springs, and at once he and his comrades drew their swords against them. "give life for life!" said the maiden. "grant to me then my three full words!" said mani mingar. "whatever thy tongue sets forth shall be done," said the maiden, "only let it not be cows,[fn# ] for these have we no power to give thee." "for these indeed," said mani, "is all that now we do."[fn# ] [fn# ] properly "coremodruad," the descendants of modh ruadh, third son of fergus by maev; now corcomroe in county clare. [fn# ]"only let it not be cows" is in the egerton ms. alone. [fn# ] "that we do" is egerton ms. (cich indingnem), y.b.l. has "cechi m-bem." "who art thou?" said she: "mani mingar, son of ailill and medb," said he: "welcome then," she said, "but what hath brought with you here?" "to take with us cattle and maidens," he said: "'tis right," she said, "to take these together; (but) i fear that what has been demanded will not be granted, the men are valiant to whom you have come." "let your entreaties be our aid!" he said. "we would desire," she said, "that it should be after that counsel hath been taken that we obey you." "what is your number?" said she: "seven times twenty heroes," he said, "are with us." "remain here," she said, "that we may speak with the other maidens": "we shall assist you," said the maidens, "as well as we can." they went from them, and came to the other maidens, and they said to them: "young heroes from the lands of connaught are come to you, your own true loves, the seven sons of ailill and medb." "wherefore are they come?" "to take back with them cattle and wives." "that would we gladly have, if only we could; (but) i fear that the warriors will hinder them or drive them away," said she. "go ye out, that ye may speak with the man." "we will speak with him," they said. the seven maidens went to the well, and they greeted mani. "come ye away," he said, "and bring your cattle with you. that will be a good deed. we shall assist you with our honour and our protection, o ye daughters of regamon," said he.[fn# ] the maidens drove together their cows and their swine, and their sheep, so that none observed them; and they secretly passed on till they came to the camp of their comrades. the maidens greeted the sons of ailill and medb, and they remained there standing together. "the herd must be divided in two parts," said mani merger, "also the host must divide, for it is too great to travel by the one way; and we shall meet again at ath briuin (the ford of briuin)." so it was done. [fn# ] windisch conjectures this instead of "said the warriors," which is in the text of y.b.l. king regamon was not there on that day. he was in the domain of corco baiscinn,[fn# ] to hold a conference with the firbolgs. his people raised a cry behind him, message was brought to regamon, and he went in pursuit with his army. the whole of the pursuing host overtook mani morgor, and brought defeat upon him. [fn# ] in the south-west of clare. "we all," said mani, "must go to one place, and some of you shall be sent to the cattle to summon the young men hither, and the maidens shall drive the cattle over the ford to cruachan, and shall give ailill and medb tidings of the plight in which we are here." the maidens went to cruachan, and told all the tale. "thy sons are at ath briuin in distress, and have said that help should be brought to them." the men of connaught with ailill, and medb, and fergus, and the banished men of ulster went to ath briuin to help their people. the sons of ailill had for the moment made hurdles of white-thorn and black-thorn in the gut[fn# ] of the ford, as defence against regamon and his people, so that they were unable to pass through the ford ere ailill and his army came; so thence cometh the name ath cliath medraidi[fn# ] (the hurdle ford of medraide), in the country of little bethra in the northern part of the o'fiachrach aidne between connaught and corcomroe. there they met together with all their hosts. [fn# ] literally "mouth." [fn# ] ath cliath oc medraige, now maaree, in ballycourty parish, co. galway (stokes, bodleian dinnshenchus, ). it may be mentioned that in the dinnshenchus, the cattle are said to have been taken "from dartaid, the daughter of regamon in munster," thus confusing the raids of regamon and dartaid, which may account for o'curry's incorrect statement in the preface to leabhar na h-uidhri, p. xv. a treaty was then made between them on account of the fair young men who had carried off the cattle, and on account of the fair maidens who had gone with them, by whose means the herd escaped. restitution of the herd was awarded to regamon, and the maidens abode with the sons of ailill and medb; and seven times twenty milch-cows were given up, as a dowry for the maidens, and for the maintenance of the men of ireland on the occasion of the assembly for the tain bo cualnge; so that this tale is called the tain bo regamon, and it is a prelude to the tale of the tain bo cualnge. finit, amen. the driving of the cattle of flidais introduction the tain bo flidais, the driving of the cows of flidais, does not, like the other three preludes to the tain bo cualnge, occur in the yellow book of lecan; but its manuscript age is far the oldest of the four, as it occurs in both the two oldest collections of old irish romance, the leabbar na h-uidhri (abbreviated to l.u.), and the book of leinster (abbreviated to l.l.), besides the fifteenth century egerton ms., that contains the other three preludes. the text of all three, together with a translation of the l.u. text, is given by windisch in irische texte, ii. pp. - ; the first part of the story is missing in l.u. and is supplied from the book of leinster (l.l.) version. the prose translation given here follows windisch's translation pretty closely, with insertions occasionally from l.l. the egerton version agrees closely with l.l., and adds little to it beyond variations in spelling, which have occasionally been taken in the case of proper names. the leabhar na h-uidhri version is not only the oldest, but has the most details of the three; a few passages have, however, been supplied from the other manuscripts which agree with l.u. in the main. the whole tale is much more like an old border riding ballad than are the other three preludes; it resembles the tone of regamon, but differs from it in having a good deal of slaughter to relate, though it can hardly be called tragic, like deirdre and ferb, the killing being taken as a matter of course. there is nothing at all supernatural about the story as contained in the old manuscripts, but a quite different' version of the story given in the glenn masain manuscript, a fifteenth century manuscript now in the advocates' library, edinburgh, gives another complexion to the tale. the translation of this manuscript is at present being made in the celtic review by professor mackinnon; the version it gives of the story is much longer and fuller than that in the leabhar na h-uidhri, and its accompanying manuscripts. the translation as printed in the celtic review is not as yet (july ) completed, but, through professor mackinnon's kindness, an abstract of the general features of the end of the story may be given here. the glenn masain version makes bricriu, who is a subordinate character in the older version, one of the principal actors, and explains many of the allusions which are difficult to understand in the shorter version; but it is not possible to regard the older version as an abridgment of that preserved in the glenn masain ms., for the end of the story in this manuscript is absolutely different from that in the older ones, and the romance appears to be unique in irish in that it has versions which give two quite different endings, like the two versions of kipling's the light that failed. the glenn masain version commences with a feast held at cruachan, when fergus and his exiles had joined their forces with connaught as a result of the murder of the sons of usnach, as told in the earlier part of the manuscript. at this feast bricriu. engages in conversation with fergus, reproaching him for his broken promises to the ulstermen who had joined him, and for his dalliance with queen maev. bricriu, who in other romances is a mere buffoon, here appears as a distinguished poet, and a chief ollave; his satire remains bitter, but by no means scurrilous, and the verses put into his mouth, although far beneath the standard of the verses given to deirdre in the earlier part of the manuscript, show a certain amount of dignity and poetic power. as an example, the following satire on fergus's inability to keep his promises may be cited:-- fergus, hear thy friend lamenting! blunted is thy lofty mind; thou, for hire, to maev consenting, hast thy valour's pride resigned. ere another year's arriving, should thy comrades, thou didst vow, three-score chariots fair be driving, shields and weapons have enow! when thy ladies, bent on pleasure, crowd towards the banquet-hall, thou of gold a goodly measure promised hast to grant to all! ill to-night thy friends are faring, naught hath fergus to bestow; he a poor man's look is wearing, never yet was greater woe! after the dialogue with fergus, bricriu, with the poets that attend him, undertakes a journey to ailill the fair, to obtain from him the bounty that fergus had promised but was unable to grant. he makes a fairly heavy demand upon ailill's bounty, but is received hospitably, and gets all he had asked for, as well as honour for his poetic talents. he then asks about ailill's wife flidais, and is told about her marvellous cow, which was able to supply milk to more than three hundred men at one night's milking. flidais returns from a journey, is welcomed by bricriu, who produces a poem in honour of her and her cow, and is suitably recompensed. a long conversation is then recorded between flidais and bricriu in which bricriu extols the great deeds of fergus, supplying thereby a commentary on the short statement at the beginning of the older version, that flidais' love to fergus was on account of the great deeds which had been told her that he had done. flidais declares to bricriu her love for fergus, and bricriu, after a vain attempt to dissuade the queen from her purpose, consents to bring a message to fergus that flidais and her cow will come to him if he comes to her husband's castle to seek her. he then returns to connaught laden with gifts. the story now proceeds somewhat upon the lines of the older version. bricriu approaches fergus on his return, and induces him to go in the guise of an ambassador to ailill the fair, with the secret intention of carrying off flidais. fergus receives the sanction of maev and her husband for his errand, and departs, but not as in the older version with a few followers; all the ulster exiles are with him. dubhtach, by killing a servant of maev, embroils fergus with the queen of connaught; and the expedition reaches ailill the fair's castle. fergus sends bricriu, who has most unwillingly accompanied him, to ask for hospitality; he is hospitably received by ailill, and when under the influence of wine reveals to ailill the plot. ailill does not, as in the older version, refuse to receive fergus, but seats him beside himself at a feast, and after reproaching him with his purpose challenges him to a duel in the morning. the result of the duel, and of the subsequent attack on the castle by fergus' friends, is much as stated in the older version, but the two stories end quite differently. the l.u. version makes flidais assist in the war of cualgne by feeding the army of ailill each seventh day with the produce of her cows; she dies after the war as wife of fergus; the glenn masain version, in the "pursuit of the cattle of flidais," makes the gamanrad clan, the hero-clan of the west of ireland, pursue maev and fergus, and rescue flidais and her cow; flidais then returns to the west with muiretach menn, the son of her murdered husband, ailill the fair. the comparison of these two versions, from the literary point of view, is most interesting. the stress laid on the supernatural cow is peculiar to the version in the later manuscript, the only analogy in the eleventh century version is the semi-supernatural feeding of the army of ireland, but in this it is a herd (buar), not a single animal, that is credited with the feat, and there is really nothing supernatural about the matter; it is only the other version that enables us to see the true bearing of the incident. the version in the glenn masain manuscript looks much more ancient in idea than that in the older texts, and is plainly capable of a mythic interpretation. it is not of course suggested that the glenn masain version is ancient as it stands: there are indeed enough obvious allusions in the text to comparatively late works to negative such a supposition, independently of linguistic evidence, but it does look as if the author of the eleventh century text had a super natural tale to work upon, some of whose incidents are preserved in the glenn masain version, and that he succeeded in making out of the traditional account a story that practically contains no supernatural element at all, so that it requires a knowledge of the other version to discover the slight trace of the supernatural that he did keep, viz. the feeding of the army of ireland by the herd (not the cow) of flidais. it is possible that the common origin of the two versions is preserved for us in another place, the coir annam, which, though it as it stands is a middle irish work, probably keeps ancient tradition better than the more finished romances. in this we find, following stokes' translation, given in irische texte, iii. p. , the following entries:-- "adammair flidaise foltchain, that is flidais the queen, one of the tribe of the god-folk (the tuatha de danaan), she was wife of adammair, the son of fer cuirp, and from her cometh the name buar flidaise, the cattle of flidais. "nia segamain, that is seg (deer) are a main (his treasure), for in his time cows and does were milked in the same way every day, so that he had great wealth in these things beyond that of all other kings. the flidais spoken of above was the mother of nia segamain, adammair's son, for two kinds of cattle, cows and does, were milked in the days of nia segamain, and by his mother was that fairy power given to him." it seems, then, not impossible that the original legend was much as stated in the coir annam, viz. that flidais was a supernatural being, milking wild deer like cows, and that she was taken into the ulster cycle and made part of the tale of fergus. this adoption was done by an author who made a text which may be regarded as the common original of the two versions; in his tale the supernatural character of flidais was retained. the author of the l.u. version cut out the supernatural part, and perhaps the original embassy of bricriu; it may, however, be noted that the opening of the older version comes from the l.l. text, which is throughout shorter than that in l.u., and the lost opening of l.u. may have been fuller. the author of the glenn masain version kept nearer to the old story, adding, however, more modern touches. where the new character of bricriu comes from is a moot point; i incline to the belief that the idea of bricriu as a mere buffoon is a later development. but in neither version is the story, as we have it, a pre-christian one. the original pre-christian idea of flidais was, as in the coir annam, that of a being outside the ulster cycle altogether. the driving of the cattle of flidais from the leabhar na h-uidhri (eleventh-century ms.), the beginning and a few additions from the book of leinster (twelfth century) a land in west roscommon, as kerry known of old, was ruled by ailill fair-haired; of him a tale is told: how flidais,[fn# ] ailill's[fn# ] consort, each week, and near its end, to ro's great son, to fergus, her herald still would send; 'twas fergus' love she sought for; the deeds by fergus done, in glorious tales recited, had flidais' fancy won. [fn# ] pronounced flid-das. [fn# ] pronounced al-ill. when fergus fled from ulster, and connaught's land he sought, to ailill, king of connaught, this tale of love he brought: "now give me rede," said fergus, "how best we here should act, that connaught's fame and honour by none may stand attacked; say, how can i approach them, and strip thy kingdom bare, and yet the fame of ailill, that country's monarch, spare?" "'tis hard indeed to teach thee," cried ailill, sore perplexed; "let maev come nigh with counsel what course to follow next!" "send thou to ailill fair-haired to ask for aid!" said maev, "he well may meet a herald, who comes his help to crave let fergus go to crave it: no harm can there be seen; and better gifts from ailill shall fergus win, i ween!" so forth to ailill fair-haired went fergus, son of ro; and thirty, dubhtach[fn# ] leading, he chose with him to go; and yet another fergus his aid to fergus brought; mac oonlama[fn# ] men called him; his sire one-handed fought. [fn# ] pronounced doov-ta. [fn# ] spelt mac oenlama, son of the one-handed one. beside the ford of fenna, in kerry's north they came, they neared the hold, and from it rang welcome's loud acclaim: "what quest," said ailill fair-haired, "hath brought these warriors here?" "of ailill, son of magach, we stand," they said, "in fear; a feud we hold against him; with thee would fain abide!" "for each of these," said ailill, "who fergus march beside, if they were foes to connaught, for long they here might stay, and ne'er till peace was granted, i'd drive these men away: for fergus, naught i grant him a tale of him men tell that fergus 'tis whom flidais, my wife, doth love too well!" "it is kine that i ask for," said fergus, "and hard is the task on me set: for the men who have marched here beside me, the means to win life i must get." "i will give no such present," said ailill," thou comest not here as my guest: men will say, 'twas from fear that i gave it, lest my wife from my arms thou should'st wrest: yet an ox of my herds, and some bacon, if thou wilt, shall my hand to thee give; that the men who have marched here beside thee on that meat may be stayed, and may live!" "i eat no bread thus thrown me!" fierce fergus straight replied: "i asked a gift of honour; that gift thine hand denied." "avoid my house," said ailill in wrath, "now get thee hence! "we go indeed," said fergus; "no siege we now commence: yet here," he cried, "for duel beside yon ford i wait, if thou canst find a champion to meet me at thy gate." then up and answered ailill: "'tis mine this strife must be and none shall hurt mine honour, or take this task from me: none hold me back from battle!"--the ford for fight he sought: "now dubhtach, say," said fergus, "to whom this war is brought! or thou or i must meet him." and dubhtach said, "i go; for i am younger, fergus, and bolder far with foe." to the ford for the battle with ailill he hies, and he thrust at him fiercely, and pierced through his thighs; but a javelin by ailill at dubhtach was cast, and right through his body the shaft of it passed: and a shield over dubhtach, laid low in the dust, spread fergus; and ailill his spear at him thrust; and through fergus' shield had the spear made its way, when fergus mae oonlama joined in the fray, and his shield he uplifted, his namesake to guard; but at fergus mac oonlama ailill thrust hard, and he brake through the fence of mac oonlama's shield; and he leaped in his pain; as they lay on the field, on his comrades he fell: flidais forth to them flew, and her cloak on the warriors to shield them she threw. then against all the comrades of fergus turned ailill the fair-haired to fight, and he chased them away from his castle, and slew as they scattered in flight; a twenty he reached, and he slew them: they fell, on that field to remain; and but seven there were of that thirty who fled, and their safety could gain: they came to the palace of croghan, they entered the gates of that hold, and to maev and to ailill of connaught the tale of the slaughter they told. then roused himself king ailill, of connaught's land the king, with maev to march to battle, their aid to friends to bring: and forth from connaught's kingdom went many a lord of worth, beside them marched the exiles who gat from ulster birth: so forward went that army, and reached to kerry's land, and near the ford of fenna they came, and there made stand. while this was done, the wounded three within the hold lay still, and flidais cared for all, for she to heal their wounds had skill. to ailill fair-haired's castle the connaught host was led, and toward the foeman's ramparts the connaught herald sped; he called on ailill fair-haired to come without the gate, and there to meet king ailill, and with him hold debate. "i come to no such meeting," the angry chief replied; "yon man is far too haughty: too grossly swells his pride!" yet 'twas peaceful meeting, so the old men say, ailill willed; whose greeting heralds bore that day. fergus, ere he perished, first he sought to aid he that thought who cherished friendship's claims obeyed: then his foe he vainly hoped in truce to bind: peace, 'tis said, was plainly dear to connaught's mind! the wounded men, on litters laid, without the walls they bore to friendly hands, with skill to aid, and fainting health restore. at the castle of ailill the fair-haired the connaught-men rushed in attack, and to win it they failed: from his ramparts in defeat were his foes driven back: for long in that contest they struggled, yet naught in the fight they prevailed - for a week were the walls of the castle of ailill the fair-haired assailed, seven score of the nobles of connaught, and all of them warriors of might, for the castle of ailill contended, and fell as they strove in the fight. "'tis sure that with omen of evil this castle was sought by our folk!" thus bricroo,[fn# ] the poisonous scoffer, in mockery, jeering them, spoke: "the taunt," answered ailill mae mata, "is true, and with grief i confess that the fame of the heroes of ulster hereafter is like to be less, for a three of the ulstermen's champions in stress of the fight have been quelled; and the vengeance we wait for from ulster hath long been by ulster withheld; as a pillar of warfare each hero, 'twas claimed, could a battle sustain; yet by none of the three in this battle hath a foeman been conquered, or slain! in the future for all of these champions shall scorn and much mocking befall: one man hath come forth from yon castle; alone he hath wounded them all-- such disgrace for such heroes of valour no times that are past ever saw, for three lords of the battle lie conquered by mannikins, fashioned of straw!" [fn# ] spelt bricriu. the usual epithet of bricriu, "bricriu of the poison tongue," is indicated in the verse rendering. "ah! woe is me," said bricroo, "how long, thus stretched on ground, the length of father fergus hath here by all been found! but one he sought to conquer; a single fight essayed, and here he met his victor, and low on land is laid." then rose the men of ulster a hardy war to wage, and forward rushed, though naked, in strong and stubborn rage: against the castle gateway in wrathful might they dashed, and down the shattered portal within the castle crashed. then close by ulster's champions was connaught's battle formed; and connaught's troops with ulster by might the castle stormed; but fitly framed for battle were men whom there they met, wild war, where none showed pity between the hosts was set: and well they struck; each hero commenced with mighty blows to crush and slay, destruction was heaped by foe on foes. of the wounding at length and the slaughter all weary the champions had grown, and the men who the castle of ailill had held were at length over thrown: of those who were found in that castle, and its walls had defended so well, seven hundred by warriors of ulster were smitten to death, and they fell: and there in his castle fell ailill the fair-haired, and fighting he died, and a thirty of sons stood about him, and all met their death by his side. the chief of those who perished, by ailill's side who stood within his hold, were noodoo;[fn# ] and awley[fn# ] named the good; and feeho[fn# ] called the broad-backed; and corpre cromm the bent; an ailill, he from breffny to help of ailill went; a three whose name was angus-fierce was each warrior's face; three eochaid, sea-girt donnan[fn# ] had cradled erst their race; and there fell seven breslen, from plains of ay[fn# ] who came; and fifty fell beside them who all had donnell's name. [fn# ] spelt nuado. [fn# ] spelt amalgaid. [fn# ] spelt fiacho. [fn# ] irross donnan, the promontory of donnan (now mayo). [fn# ] mag ai, a plain in roscommon. for to ailill the fair-haired for warfare had marched all the gamanra[fn# ] clan, and his friends from the sea-girded donnan had sent to his aid every man; all these had with ailill been leaguered, their help to him freely they brought, and that aid from them ailill. took gladly, he knew that his hold would be sought; he knew that the exiles of ulster his captives from prison would save, and would come, their surrender demanding; that ailill mac mata and maev would bring all connaught's troops to the rescue: for fergus that aid they would lend, and fergus the succour of connaught could claim, and with right, as a friend. [fn# ] spelt gamanrad. hero clans in erin three of old were found; one in irross donnan, oceans donnan bound, thence came clan gamanra; deda's warlike clan nursed in tara loochra[fn# ] many a fighting man. deda sprang from munster; far in ulster's north oft from emain macha rury's[fn# ] clan went forth: vainly all with rury strove to fight, the twain rury's clan hath vanquished; rury all hath slain! [fn# ] temair luachra, an ancient palace near abbeyfeale, on the borders of the counties of limerick and kerry. "tara," as is well known, is a corruption of temair, but is now established. [fn# ] spelt rudraige. then rose up the warriors of ulster, the hold they had conquered to sack; and the folk of queen maev and king ailill followed close on the ulstermen's track: and they took with them captives; for flidais away from her castle they tore; and the women who dwelt in the castle away to captivity bore: and all things therein that were precious they seized on as booty; the gold and the silver they seized, and the treasures amassed by the men of that hold: the horns, and the goblets for drinking, the vats for the ale, and the keys, the gay robes with all hues that were glowing lay there for the raiders to seize: and much cattle they took; in that castle were one hundred of milk giving kine; and beside them a seven score oxen; three thousand of sheep and of swine. then flidais went with fergus, his wedded wife to be; for thus had maev and ailill pronounced their high decree: they bade that when from cualgne to drive the kine they went, from those who then were wedded should aid for war be sent. and thus it fell thereafter: when ireland went that raid, by milk from cows of flidais, the lives of all were stayed; each seventh day she sent it; and thus fulfilled her vows, and thus the tale is ended, men tell of flidais' cows. then, all that raid accomplished, with fergus flidais dwell and he of ulster's kingdom a part in lordship held: he ruled in mag i murthemne[fn# ], yea, more than that, he won the land where once was ruler cuchulain, sualtam's son: and by the shore of bali thereafter flidais died, and naught of good for fergus did flidais' death betide: for worse was all his household; if fergus aught desired, from flidais' wealth and bounty came all his soul required. in the days that followed, when his wife was dead, fergus went to connaught; there his blood was shed: there with maev and ailill he a while would stay; men had made a story, he would learn the lay! there he went to cheer him, hearing converse fair: kine beside were promised; home he these would bear: so he went to croghan, 'twas a deadly quest, there he found his slaughter, death within the west: slain by jealous ailill, fergus low was laid: flidais' tale is ended: now comes cualgne's raid! [fn# ] pronounced maw moortemmy the driving of the cattle of flidais literal translation flidais was the wife of ailill finn (the fair-haired) in the district of kerry.[fn# ] she loved fergus the son of rog on account of the glorious tales about him; and always there went messengers from her to him at the end of each week. [fn# ] kerry is the district now called castlereagh, in the west of the present county of roscommon. so, when he came to connaught, he brought this matter before[fn# ] ailill: "what[fn# ] shall i do next in this matter?" said fergus: "it is hard for me to lay bare your land, without there being loss to thee of honour and renown therewith." "yes, what shall we do next in the matter?" said ailill; "we will consider this in counsel with maev." "let one of us go to ailill finn," (said maev), "that he may help us, and as this involves a meeting of some one with him, there is no reason why it should not be thyself who goest to him: the gift will be all the better for that!" [fn# ] i.e. ailill of connaught. [fn# ] this sentence to the end is taken from the egerton version, which seems the clearer; the book of leinster gives: "what shall i do next, that there be no loss of honour or renown to thee in the matter?" then fergus set out thereon, in number thirty men; the two ferguses (i.e. fergus mac rog, and fergus mac oen-lama) and dubhtach; till they were at the ford of fenna in the north of the land of kerry. they go to the burg, and welcome is brought to them.[fn# ] "what brings you here?" said ailill finn. "we had the intention of staying with you on a visit, for we have a quarrel with ailill the son of magach." [fn# ] the book of the dun cow (leabhar na h-uidhri) version begins at this point. "if it were one of thy people who had the quarrel, he should stay with me until he had made his peace. but thou shalt not stay," said ailill finn, "it has been told me that my wife loves thee!" "we must have a gift of cows then," said fergus, "for a great need lies on us, even the sustenance of the troop who have gone with me into exile." "thou shalt carry off no such present from me," he said, "because thou art not remaining with me on a visit. men will say that it is to keep my wife that i gave thee what thou hast required. i[fn# ] will give to your company one ox and some bacon to help them, if such is your pleasure." "i will eat not thy bread although offered (lit. however)," said fergus, "because i can get no present of honour from thee!" [fn# ] l.l. and egerton make the end of this speech part of the story: "there was given to them one ox with bacon, with as much as they wished of beer, as a feast for them." "out of my house with you all, then!" said ailill. "that shall be," said fergus; "we shall not begin to lay siege to thee and they betake themselves outside. "let a man come at once to fight me beside a ford at the gate of this castle!" said fergus. "that[fn# ] will not for the sake of my honour be refused," said ailill; "i will not hand it (the strife) over to another: i will go myself," said he. he went to a ford against him. "which of us," said fergus, "o dubhtach, shall encounter this man?" "i will go," said dubhtach; "i am younger and keener than thou art!" dubhtach went against ailill. dubhtach thrust a spear through ailill so that it went through his two thighs. he (ailill) hurled a javelin at dubhtach, so that he drove the spear right through him, (so that it came out) on the other side. [fn# ] the end of the speech is from l.l.: the l.u. text gives the whole speech thus: "for my honour's sake, i could not draw back in this matter." fergus threw his shield over dubhtach. the former (ailill) thrust his spear at the shield of fergus so that he even drove the shaft right through it. fergus mac oen-laimi comes by. fergus mac oen-laimi holds a shield in front of him (the other fergus). ailill struck his spear upon this so that it was forced right through it. he leaped so that he lay there on the top of his companions. flidais comes by from the castle, and throws her cloak over the three. fergus' people took to flight; ailill pursues them. there remain (slain) by him twenty men of them. seven of them escape to cruachan ai, and tell there the whole story to ailill and medb. then ailill and medb arise, and the nobles of connaught and the exiles from ulster: they march into the district of kerry ai with their troops as far as: the ford of fenna. meanwhile the wounded men were being cared for by flidais in the castle, and their healing was undertaken by her. then the troops come to the castle. ailill finn is summoned to ailill mac mata to come to a conference with him outside the castle. "i will not go," he said; "the pride and arrogance of that man there is great." it was,[fn# ] however, for a peaceful meeting that ailill mac mata had come to ailill the fair-haired, both that he might save fergus, as it was right he should, and that he might afterwards make peace with him (ailill fair haired), according to the will of the lords of connaught. [fn# ] this passage is sometimes considered to be an interpolation by a scribe or narrator whose sympathies were with connaught. the passage does not occur in the book of leinster, nor in the egerton ms. then the wounded men were brought out of the castle, on hand-barrows, that they might be cared for by their own people. then the men attack him (ailill finn): while they are storming the castle, and they could get no hold on him, a full week long went it thus with them. seven times twenty heroes from among the nobles of connaught fell during the time that they (endeavoured) to storm the castle of ailill the fair-haired. "it was with no good omen that with which you went to this castle," said bricriu. "true indeed is the word that is spoken," said ailill mac mata. "the expedition is bad for the honour of the ulstermen, in that their three heroes fall, and they take not vengeance for them. each one (of the three) was a pillar of war, yet not a single man has fallen at the hands of one of the three! truly these heroes are great to be under such wisps of straw as axe the men of this castle! most worthy is it of scorn that one man has wounded you three!" "o woe is me," said bricriu, "long is the length upon the ground of my papa fergus, since one man in single combat laid him low!" then the champions of ulster arise, naked as they were, and make a strong and obstinate attack in their rage and in the might of their violence, so that they forced in the outer gateway till it was in the midst of the castle, and the men of connaught go beside them. they storm the castle with great might against the valiant warriors who were there. a wild pitiless battle is fought between them, and each man begins to strike out against the other, and to destroy him. then, after they had wearied of wounding and overcoming one another, the people of the castle were overthrown, and the ulstermen slay seven hundred warriors there in the castle with ailill the fair-haired and thirty of his sons; and amalgaid the good;[fn# ] and nuado; and fiacho muinmethan (fiacho the broad-backed); and corpre cromm (the bent or crooked); and ailill from brefne; and the three oengus bodbgnai (the faces of danger); and the three eochaid of irross (i.e. irross donnan); and the seven breslene from ai; and the fifty domnall. [fn# ] "the good" is in the book of leinster and the egerton text, not in the leabhar na h-uidhri: the two later texts omit nuado. for the assembly of the gamanrad were with ailill, and each of the men of domnan who had bidden himself to come to him to aid him: they were in the same place assembled in his castle; for he knew that the exiles from ulster and ailill and medb with their army would come to him to demand the surrender of fergus, for fergus was under their protection. this was the third race of heroes in ireland, namely the clan gamanrad of irross donnan (the peninsula of donnan), and (the other two were) the clan dedad in temair lochra, and the clan rudraige in emain macha. but both the other clans were destroyed by the clan rudraige. but the men of ulster arise, and with them the people of medb and of ailill; and they laid waste the castle, and take flidais out of the castle with them, and carry off the women of the castle into captivity; and they take with them all the costly things and the treasures that were there, gold and silver, and horns, and drinking cups, and keys, and vats; and they take what there was of garments of every colour, and they take what there was of kine, even a hundred milch-cows, and a hundred and forty oxen, and thirty hundred of little cattle. and after these things had been done, flidais went to fergus mac rog according to the decree of ailill and medb, that they might thence have sustenance (lit. that their sustenance might be) on the occasion of the raid of the cows of cualgne. as[fn# ] a result of this, flidais was accustomed each seventh day from the produce of her cows to support the men of ireland, in order that during the raid she might provide them with the means of life. this then was the herd of flidais. [fn# ] l.l. and egerton give "for him used every seventh day," &c. in consequence[fn# ] of all this flidais went with fergus to his home, and he received the lordship of a part of ulster, even mag murthemni (the plain of murthemne), together with that which had been in the hands of cuchulain, the son of sualtam. so flidais died after some time at trag bàli (the shore of bali), and the state of fergus' household was none the better for that. for she used to supply all fergus' needs whatsoever they might be (lit. she used to provide for fergus every outfit that he desired for himself). fergus died after some time in the land of connaught, after the death of his wife, after he had gone there to obtain knowledge of a story. for, in order to cheer himself, and to fetch home a grant of cows from ailill and medb, he had gone westwards to cruachan, so that it was in consequence of this journey that he found his death in the west, through the jealousy of ailill. [fn# ] l.l. and egerton give "thereafter," adopted in verse translation. this, then, is the story of the tain bo flidais; it[fn# ] is among the preludes of the tain bo cualnge. [fn# ] this sentence does not occur in the leabhar na h-uidhri. it is given as in the egerton version: the book of leinster gives "it is among the preludes of the tain." the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain (tain bo regamna) introduction this tale is given by the same two manuscripts that give the tain bo dartada and the tain bo regamon; namely the yellow book of lecan, and egerton . the text of both is given by windisch, irische texte, ii. pp. - ; he gives a translation of the version in the yellow book, with a few insertions from the egerton ms., where the version in y.b.l. is apparently corrupt: miss hull gives an english translation of windisch's rendering, in the cuchullin saga, pages to . the prose version given here is a little closer to the irish than miss hull's, and differs very little from that of windisch. the song sung by the morrigan to cuchulain is given in the irish of both versions by windisch; he gives no rendering, as it is difficult and corrupt: i can make nothing of it, except that it is a jeering account of the war of cualgne. the title tain bo regamna is not connected with anything in the tale, as given; windisch conjectures "tain bo morrigna," the driving of the cow of the great queen (morrigan); as the woman is called at the end of the egerton version. the morrigan, one of the three goddesses of war, was the chief of them: they were morrigan, badb, and macha. she is also the wife of the dagda, the chief god of the pagan irish. the yellow book version calls her badb in this tale, but the account in the tain bo cualnge (leabhar na h-uidhri facsimile, pp. and ), where the prophecies are fulfilled, agrees with the egerton version in calling the woman of this tale the morrigan or the great queen. the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain (also called "tain bo regamna") from the yellow book of lecan (fourteenth century) at dun imrid lay cuchulain,[fn# ] and slept, when a cry rang out; and in fear he heard from the north-land come ringing that terrible shout: he fell, as he woke from his slumber, with the thud of a weight, to the ground, from his couch on that side of the castle that the rising sun first found. he left his arms in the castle, as the lawns round its walls he sought, but his wife, who followed behind him, apparel and arms to him brought: then he saw his harnessed chariot, and laeg,[fn# ] his charioteer, from ferta laig who drave it: from the north the car drew near: "what bringeth thee here?" said cuchulain: said laeg, "by a cry i was stirred, that across the plain came sounding." "and whence was the cry thou hast heard?" "from the north-west quarter it travelled, it crossed the great cayll[fn# ] cooen road!" "follow on, on that track," said cuchulain, "till we know what that clamour may bode!" [fn# ] pronounced cu-hoolin. [fn# ] pronounced layg. [fn# ] spelt caill cuan. at the ford of the double wonder, at ah[fn# ] fayrta, the car made stand for a chariot rattled toward them, from the clay-soiled coolgarry[fn# ] land and before them came that chariot; and strange was the sight they saw: for a one-legged chestnut charger was harnessed the car to draw; and right through the horse's body the pole of the car had passed, to a halter across his forehead was the pole with a wedge made fast: a red woman sat in the chariot, bright red were her eyebrows twain a crimson cloak was round her: the folds of it touched the plain: two poles were behind her chariot: between them her mantle flowed; and close by the side of that woman a mighty giant strode; on his back was a staff of hazel, two-forked, and the garb he wore was red, and a cow he goaded, that shambled on before. [fn# ] spelt ath ferta, or more fully ath da ferta, the ford of the two marvels. [fn# ] spelt culgaire. to that woman and man cried cuchulain, "ye who drive that cow do wrong, for against her will do ye drive her!" "not to thee doth that cow belong," said the woman; "no byre of thy comrades or thy friends hath that cow yet barred." "the kine of the land of ulster," said cuchulain, "are mine to guard!" "dost thou sit on the seat of judgment?" said the dame, "and a sage decree on this cow would'st thou give, cuchulain?--too great is that task for thee!" said the hero, "why speaketh this woman? hath the man with her never a word?" "'twas not him you addressed," was her answer, "when first your reproaches we heard." "nay, to him did i speak," said cuchulain, "though 'tis thou to reply who would'st claim!" 'ooer-gay-skyeo-loo-ehar-skyeo[fn# ] is the name that he bears," said the dame. [fn# ] spelt uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo "'tis a marvellous name!" said cuchulain, "if from thee all my answer must come, let it be as thou wishest; thy comrade, this man, as it seemeth, is dumb. tell me now of thine own name, o woman." "faebor-bayg-byeo-ill,"[fn# ] said the man. "coom-diewr-folt-skayv-garry-skyeo-ooa is her name, if pronounce it you can!" then cuchulain sprang at the chariot: "would ye make me a fool with your jest?" he cried, as he leapt at the woman; his feet on her shoulders he pressed, and he set on her head his spear-point: "now cease from thy sharp weapon-play!" cried the woman. cuchulain made answer: thy name to me truth fully say!" "then remove thyself from me!" she answered: i am skilled in satirical spells; the man is called darry i mac feena[fn# ]: in the country of cualgne[fn# ] he dwells; i of late made a marvellous poem; and as fee for the poem this cow do i drive to my home." "let its verses," said cuchulain," be sung to me now!" "then away from me stand!" said the woman: "though above me thou shakest thy spear, it will naught avail thee to move me." then he left her, but lingered near, between the poles of her chariot: the woman her song then sang; and the song was a song of insult. again at the car he sprang, but nothing he found before him: as soon as the car he had neared, the woman, the horse, and the chariot, the cow, and the man disappeared. [fn# ] spelt faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-seenb-gairit-sceo-uath. [fn# ] spelt daire mac fiachna: he is the owner of the dun of cualgne in the great tain. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. at a bird on a bough, as they vanished, a glance by cuchulain was cast, and he knew to that bird's black body the shape of the woman had passed: as a woman of danger i know you," he cried, "and as powerful in spell!" from to-day and for ever," she chanted, "this tale in yon clay-land shall dwell!" and her word was accomplished; that region to-day is the grella dolloo,[fn# ] the clay-land of evil: its name from the deeds of that woman it drew. [fn# ] spelt grellach dolluid. "had i known it was you," said cuchulain, "not thus had you passed from my sight!" and she sang, "for thy deed it is fated that evil shall soon be thy plight!" thou canst. do naught against me," he answered. "yea, evil in sooth can i send; of thy bringer of death i am guardian, shall guard it till cometh thine end: from the under-world country of croghan this cow have i driven, to breed by the dun bull of darry[fn# ] mae feena, the bull that in cualgne doth feed. so long as her calf be a yearling, for that time thy life shall endure; but, that then shall the raid have beginning, the dread raid of cualgne, be sure." [fn# ] spelt daire mac fiachna. "nay, clearer my fame shall be ringing," the hero replied," for the raid: all bards, who my deeds shall be singing, must tell of the stand that i made, each warrior in fight shall be stricken, who dares with my valour to strive: thou shalt see me, though battle-fields thicken, from the tain bo returning alive!" "how canst thou that strife be surviving?" the woman replied to his song, "for, when thou with a hero art striving, as fearful as thou, and as strong, who like thee in his wars is victorious, who all of thy feats can perform, as brave, and as great, and as glorious, as tireless as thou in a storm, then, in shape of an eel round thee coiling, thy feet at the ford i will bind, and thou, in such contest when toiling, a battle unequal shalt find." "by my god now i swear, by the token that ulstermen swear by," he cried; "on a green stone by me shall be broken that eel, to the ford if it glide: from woe it shall ne'er be escaping, till it loose me, and pass on its way!" and she said: "as a wolf myself shaping, i will spring on thee, eager to slay, i will tear thee; the flesh shall be rended from thy chest by the wolf's savage bite, till a strip be torn from thee, extended from the arm on thy left to thy right! with blows that my spear-shaft shall deal thee," he said, "i will force thee to fly till thou quit me; my skill shall not heal thee, though bursts from thy head either eye!" i will come then," she cried, "as a heifer, white-skinned, but with ears that are red, at what time thou in fight shalt endeavour the blood of a hero to shed, whose skill is full match for thy cunning; by the ford in a lake i will be, and a hundred white cows shall come running, with red ears, in like fashion to me: as the hooves of the cows on thee trample, thou shalt test 'truth of men in the fight': and the proof thou shalt have shall be ample, for from thee thy head they shall smite!" said cuchulain: "aside from thee springing, a stone for a cast will i take, and that stone at thee furiously slinging, thy right or thy left leg will break: till thou quit me, no help will i grant thee." morreegan,[fn# ] the great battle queen, with her cow to rath croghan departed, and no more by cuchulain was seen. for she went to her under-world country: cuchulain returned to his place. the tale of the great raid of cualgne this lay, as a prelude, may grace. [fn# ] spelt morrigan. the apparition of the great queen to cuchulain literal translation when cuchulain lay in his sleep at dun imrid, there he heard a cry from the north; it came straight towards him; the cry was dire, and most terrifying to him. and he awaked in the midst of his sleep, so that he fell, with the fall of a heavy load, out of his couch,[fn# ] to the ground on the eastern side of his house. he went out thereupon without his weapons, so that he was on the lawns before his house, but his wife brought out, as she followed behind him, his arms and his clothing. then he saw laeg in his harnessed chariot, coming from ferta laig, from the north; and "what brings thee here?" said cuchulain. "a cry," said laeg, "that i heard sounding over the plains. "on what side was it?" said cuchulain. "from the north-west it seemed," said laeg, "that is, across the great road of caill cuan."[fn# ] "let us follow after to know of it (lit. after it, to it for us)," said cuchulain. [fn# ] or "out of his room." the word is imda, sometimes rendered "bed," as here by windisch sometimes also "room," as in the bruidne da derga by whitley stokes. [fn# ] lough cuan was the old name for strangford lough. they went out thereupon till they came to ath da ferta. when they were there, straightway they heard the rattle of a chariot from the quarter of the loamy district of culgaire. then they saw the chariot come before them, and one chestnut (lit. red) horse in it. the horse was one footed, and the pole of the chariot passed through the body of the horse, till a wedge went through it, to make it fast on its forehead. a red[fn# ] woman was in the chariot, and a red mantle about her, she had two red eye-brows, and the mantle fell between the two ferta[fn# ] of her chariot behind till it struck upon the ground behind her. a great man was beside her chariot, a red[fn# ] cloak was upon him, and a forked staff of hazel at his back, he drove a cow in front of him. [fn# ] the above is the egerton text: the text of y.b.l. gives "a red woman there, with her two eyebrows red, and her cloak and her raiment: the cloak fell," &c. [fn# ] it is not known certainly what the ferta were: windisch translates "wheels," but does not give this meaning in his dictionary: the ferta were behind the car, and could be removed to sound the depth of a ford. it is suggested that they were poles, projecting behind to balance the chariot; and perhaps could be adjusted so as to project less or farther. [fn# ] this is the egerton text; the y.b.l. text gives "a tunic forptha on him the meaning of forptha is unknown. "that cow is not joyful at being driven by you!" said cuchulain. "the cow does not belong to you," said the woman, "she is not the cow of any friend or acquaintance of yours." "the cows of ulster," said cuchulain, "are my proper (care)." "dost thou give a decision about the cow?" said the woman; "the task is too great to which thy hand is set, o cuchulain." "why is it the woman who answers me?" said cuchulain, "why was it not the man?" "it was not the man whom you addressed," said the woman. "ay," said cuchulain, "(i did address him), though thyself hath answered for him:" "h-uar-gaeth-sceo-luachair-sceo[fn# ] is his name," said she. [fn# ] cold-wind-and-much-rushes. "alas! his name is a wondrous one," said cuchulain. "let it be thyself who answers,[fn# ] since the man answers not. what is thine own name?" said cuchulain. "the woman to whom thou speakest," said the man, "is faebor-begbeoil-cuimdiuir-folt-scenbgairit-sceo-uath."[fn# ] "do ye make a fool of me?" cried cuchulain, and on that cuchulain sprang into her chariot: he set his two feet on her two shoulders thereupon, and his spear on the top of her head. "play not sharp weapons on me!" "name thyself then by thy true name!" said cuchulain. "depart then from me!" said she: "i am a female satirist in truth," she said, "and he is daire mac fiachna from cualnge: i have brought the cow as fee for a master-poem." "let me hear the poem then," said cuchulain. "only remove thyself from me," said the woman; "it is none[fn# ] the better for thee that thou shakest it over my head." thereon he left her until he was between the two poles (ferta) of her chariot, and she sang to him[fn# ] . . . . . . cuchulain threw a spring at her chariot, and he saw not the horse, nor the woman, nor the chariot, nor the man, nor the cow. [fn# ] y.b.l. corrupt; egerton version adopted here. [fn# ] little-mouthed-edge-equally-small-hair-short-splinter-much-clamour. [fn# ] not is it better for thee that" is in egerton alone. [fn# ] see the introduction for the omission of the poem. then he saw that she had become a black bird upon a branch near to him. "a dangerous[fn# ] (or magical) woman thou art," said cuchulain: "henceforward," said the woman, "this clay-land shall be called dolluid (of evil,)" and it has been the grellach dolluid ever since. "if only i had known it was you," said cuchulain, "not thus should we have separated." "what thou hast done," said she, "shall be evil to thee from it." "thou hast no power against me," said cuchulain. "i have power indeed," said the woman; "it is at the guarding of thy death that i am; and i shall be," said she. "i brought this cow out of the fairy-mound of cruachan, that she might breed by the black bull[fn# ] of cualnge, that is the bull of daire mae fiachna. it is up to that time that thou art in life, so long as the calf which is in this cow's body is a yearling; and it is this that shall lead to the tain bo cualnge." "i shall myself be all the more glorious for that tain," said cuchulain: "i shall slay their warriors: i shall break their great hosts: i shall be survivor of the tain." [fn# ] windisch is doubtful about the meaning of this word. he gives it as "dangerous" in his translation; it may also mean "magical," though he thinks not. in a note he says that the meaning "dangerous" is not certain. [fn# ] in egerton "the dun of cualnge." "in what way canst thou do this?" said the woman, "for when thou art in combat against a man of equal strength (to thee), equally rich in victories, thine equal in feats, equally fierce, equally untiring, equally noble, equally brave, equally great with thee, i will be an eel, and i will draw a noose about thy feet in the ford, so that it will be a great unequal war for thee." "i swear to the god that the ulstermen swear by," said cuchulain, "i will break thee against a green stone of the ford; and thou shalt have no healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "i will in truth be a grey wolf against thee," said she, "and i will strip a stripe[fn# ] from thee, from thy right (hand) till it extends to thy left." [fn# ] this word is left doubtful in windisch's translation. the word is breth in y.b.l. and breit in egerton. breit may be a strip of woollen material, or a strip of land; so the meaning of a strip of flesh seems possible. "i will beat thee from me," said he, "with the spear, till thy left or thy right eye bursts from thy head, and thou shalt never have healing from me, if thou leavest me not." "i shall in truth," she said, "be for thee as a white heifer with red ears, and i will go into a lake near to the ford in which thou art in combat against a man who is thine equal in feats, and one hundred white, red-eared cows shall be behind me and 'truth of men' shall on that day be tested; and they shall take thy head from thee." "i will cast at thee with a cast of my sling," said cuchulain, "so as to break either thy left or thy right leg from under thee; and thou shalt have no help from me if thou leavest me not." they[fn# ] separated, and cuchulain went back again to dun imrid, and the morrigan with her cow to the fairy mound of cruachan; so that this tale is a prelude to the tain bo cualnge. [fn# ] all this sentence up to "so that this tale" is from the egerton version. the yellow book of lecan gives "the badb thereon went from him, and cuchulain went to his own house, so that," &c. text of leabhar na h-uidhri giving the conclusion of the "courtship of etain" introduction the following pages give, with an interlinear word for word[fn# ] translation, the text of leabhar na h-uidhri, page b. line to the end of page a. of the facsimile. the text corresponds to the end of the tale of the court ship of etain in vol. i., from page , line , to the end of the story; it also contains the poem which is in that volume placed on page , but occurs in the manuscript at the place where the first line of it is quoted on page of vol. i. [fn# ] the irish idiom of putting the adjective after the noun is not always followed in the translation. it is hoped that the text may be found to be convenient by scholars: special care has been taken to make it accurate, and it has not, with the exception of the poem just referred to, been published before except in the facsimile; the remainder of the text of the l.u. version of the courtship of etain, together with the poem, has been given by windisch in the first volume of the irische texte. the immediate object of the publication of this text, with its interlinear translation, is however somewhat different; it was desired to give any who may have become interested in the subject, from the romances contained in the two volumes of this collection, some idea of their exact form in the original, and of the irish constructions and metres, as no irish scholarship is needed to follow the text, when supplemented by the interlinear translation. the translation may be relied on, except for a few words indicated by a mark of interrogation. the passage is especially well suited to give an idea of the style of irish composition, as it contains all the three forms used in the romances, rhetoric, regular verse, and prose: the prose also is varied in character, for it includes narrative, rapid dialogue, an antiquarian insertion, and two descriptive passages. the piece of antiquarian information and the resume of the old legend immediately preceding the second rhetoric can be seen to be of a different character to the flowing form of the narrative proper; the inserted passage being full of explanatory words, conid, issairi, is aice, &c., and containing no imagery. the two descriptions, though short, are good examples of two styles of description which occur in some other romances; neither of these styles is universal, nor are they the only styles; the favour shown to one or the other in a romance may be regarded as a characteristic of its author. the first style, exemplified by the description of mider's appearance, consists of a succession of images presented in short sentences, sometimes, as in this case, with no verb, sometimes with the verb batar or a similar verb repeated in each sentence, but in all cases giving a brilliant word-picture, absolutely clear and definite, of what it is intended to convey. the second style, exemplified here by the description of the horses that mider offers to eochaid, consists of a series of epithets or of substantives, and is often imitated in modern irish. these passages are usually difficult to translate, as many words appear to be coined for the purpose of the descriptions; but, in the best writings, the epithets are by no means arbitrary; they are placed so as to contrast sharply with each other, and in many cases suggest brilliant metaphors; the style being in this respect more like latin than english. absolutely literal translations quite fail to bring out the effect of such passages; for not only is the string of adjectives a distinctively irish feature, but both in english and in greek such metaphors are generally expressed more definitely and by short sentences. there is also a third style of description which does not appear in the prose of any of the romances in this collection, but appears often in other romances, as in the bruidne da derga, bricriu's feast, and the great tain; it resembles the first style, but the sentences are longer, yet it does not give clear descriptions, only leaving a vague impression. this style is often used for descriptions of the supernatural; it may be regarded as actual reproductions of the oldest pre-christian work, but it is also possible that it is the result of legends, dimly known to the authors of the tales, and represented by them in the half-understood way in which they were apprehended by them: the druidic forms may have been much more clear. such passages are those which describe cuchulain's distortions; the only passage of the character in this collection is in the verse of the sick-bed, vol. i. page . five of the romances in the present collection have no descriptive passages in the prose; the combat at the ford and the tain bo fraich show examples of both the first and the second form, but more often the first; the tain bo regamna, though a very short piece, also shows one example of each; for the description of the goblins met by cuchulain is quite clear, and cannot be regarded as belonging to the third form. there is also one case of the second form in the tain bo dartada, and two other cases of the first in the court ship of etain-one in the egerton, one in the leabhar na h-uidhri version. the best example of the first style is in the egerton version of etain (vol. i. page ); the best example of the second is the description of cuchulain's horses (vol. i. page ); a still better example of contrasts in such a description is in the courtship of ferb (nutt, page ). the piece of regular verse contained in the extract should give a fair idea of the style of this form of composition. description is common in the verse, and it is in this case a prominent feature. it may be noted that lines , , , will not scan unless the present diphthongs are divided, also that the poem has fewer internal rhymes than is usual in this regular verse. the two passages in rhetoric, for so i take them to be, are good examples of the style. an attempt has been made to divide them into lines, but this division is open to criticism, especially as some lines in one of the two passages cannot be translated, and the translation of some other lines is doubtful: the division suggested does, however, appear to me to give a rough metre and occasional rhymes. it is possible that, if attention is called to those lines which are at present untranslatable, something may be done for them. the verse translations given in vol. i. pages and , give the meaning that i take the irish to bear where i can get any meaning at all. as to the text, the usual abbreviation for n has in general not been italicized, nor has that for fri; all other abbreviations, including acht, final n in the symbol for con, and that for or in the recognized symbol for for, have been italicized. in the rhetorics, owing to their difficulty, the abbreviation for n has been italicized throughout; the symbol for ocus is not italicised. a few conjectures have been inserted, the text being given as a foot-note; a conjectured letter supposed to be missing has been inserted in brackets, and a restoration by professor strachan of a few letters where the ms. is torn are similarly placed in brackets. the rest of the text is carefully copied from the facsimile, including the glosses, which are inserted above the words in the same places that they occupy in the manuscript. text with interlinear translation fecht n-aile asraracht eochaid airem ri temrach la n-alaind another time arose eochaid airem. king of tara on a beautiful day i n-amsir samrata frisocaib[fn# ] for sosta na temrach do imcaisiu maigi breg, in time of summer, mounted on heights of tara for viewing of plain of breg, [fn# ] a conjecture: ms. fosrocaib= fo-s-ro-od-gaib, an unknown compound. boi fo a li ocus fo bluth cach datha. am-imracacha inti was good its colour, and good blossom of every hue. when looked about the aforesaid eochaid imbi, co acca inn oclaech n-ingnad for sin sossad[fn# ] inna eoebaid around him, he saw the young warrior unknown on the height beside [fn# ] a conjecture: ms. tossad. chomairi. fuan corcair imbi, ocus mong or-budi fair co brainni him. tunic purple about him, and hair gold-yellow on him to edges a da imdae. rosc cainlech glas ina chind. sleg coicrind ina laim. of his two shoulders. eye lustrous gray in his head. spear five-pointed in his hand. sciath taulgel ina laim con gemaib oir forri. sochtais eochaid, ar ni shield white-bossed in his hand with gems of gold on it. was silent eochaid, for not fitir a bith isin temraig inn aidehi riam, ocus ni orslaiethe ind lis he knew of his being in the tara the night before, and not was opened the liss in trath sin. tolluid ar inchaib eochoda iarsain asbert eochaid iarom, at that hour. he came under protection of eochaid thereon; said eochaid then, fochen dond laech nad athgenmar. is ed doroehtmar or in welcome to the hero whom we know not. it is for that we have come, said the t-oclaech. ni tathgenmar or eochaid. atotgensa chetus ol in (young) warrior. we know thee not, said eochaid. i know thee indeed, said the t-oclaech. cia th'ainm seo? ol eochaid. ni airdairc son, ol se, warrior. what (is) thy own name? said eochaid. not illustrious that, said he, mider breg leith. cid dotroacht ol eochaid. do imbert fidcille mider of bri leith. what brought thee? said eochaid. to play at chess frit-su ol se. am maith se em, ol eochaid for fithchill. a fromad with thee, said he. i am good myself truly, said eochaid, at chess-play. its essaying dun ol mider. ata ol eochaid, ind rigan ina cotlud, is le in tech to us! said mider. is, said eochaid, the queen in her sleep, it is hers the house ata ind fithchell. ata sund chenae, ol mider, fidchell nad where is the chessboard. there is here yet, said mider, a chessboard which is not messo. ba fir on, clar n-argit ocus fir oir, ocus fursunnud cacha worse. was true that, a board of silver and men of gold, and shining in every hairidi for sin clar di liic logmair, ocus fer-bolg di figi rond credumae. direction on that board of costly stones, and a men-bag of woven chains of brass. ecraid mider in fidchill iarsin. imbir ol mider. ni immer acht set out mider the chessboard thereupon. play! said mider. not will i play, except di giull ol eochaid. cid gell bias and? ol mider. cumma lim ol for a stake, said eochaid. what stake shall be here? said mider. equal to me, said eochaid. rot-bia lim-sa ol mider mad tu beras mo thochell, eochaid. thou shalt have from me, said mider, if thou carry off my stake, l. gabur n-dub-glas ite cend-brecca, croderga, biruich, horses of dark-gray, and they with dappled heads, blood-red, with ears pricked high, bruin-lethain, bolg(s)roin, coss choela, comrassa, faeborda,[fn# ] femendae,[fn# ] chests broad, nostrils distended, feet thin, strong, keen, ? vehement, aurarda, aignecha, so-(a)staidi,[fn# ] so very high, spirited, easily stopped, [fn# ] see bruidne da derga (stokes), , , faeborda, lit. with an edge on them; femendae? = lat. vehemens; soaistidi is the form adopted by stokes in his edition of the bruidne; egerton ms. gives soastaide. there is a gap here, a complete column being torn from the manuscript. the lost part obviously describes the issue of the chess game or games, and the penalties demanded by bochaid: what these penalties were is plain from the succeeding story. the work of mider and his folk in paying these penalties must also have been described: the next column (leabhar na h- uidhri, b. of the facsimile) opens thus: iarsin doberar uir ocus grian ocus clocha for sin monai. fri etna thereupon is, placed earth and gravel and stones on the bog. over foreheads dam dano-batar fedmand la firu h-erind cosind n-aidchi sin, co of oxen then were yokes among men of ireland till that very night, when n-aicces la lucht in t-side for a formnaib. dognith it was seen (tblat they were) among people of the mounds on their shoulders. it was done samlaid la eochaid, conid de ata do som. echaid airem, ar so by eochaid, so that hence is to himself (the name of) echaid airem, for is aice toisech tucad cuing for muinelaib dam do ferand h-erind. is it is by him first was put yoke on necks of oxen for land of ireland. this ed dino and food ro boi im belaib in t-sluaig oc denam in tocuir: is then there word which was on lips of the host at making of the causeway: rhetoric-- cuire illaim, put into hand tochra illaim, place (it) into hand aurdairc damrad trathaib iar fuin noble (are) oxen for hours after sunset for trom ailges very heavy request ni fes cuich les it is not known to whom (is) gain cuich amles de thochur dar moin lamraige. to whom harm from the causeway over moor of lamrach. ni biad isin bith tochur bad ferr mani bethe oca there would not be in the world a causeway which is better, if not (men) had been at n-descin forracbad de bochtae and iartain. iarsin dolluid the seeing them. was left on that account a breach there thenceforth. thereupon came in rechtaire co echaid ocus adfet scela in mor fedma, atconnaire the steward to echaid, and made known tales of the great serving band, that he saw fiadai, ocus asbert nad rabi for fertas in betha cumachta before him, and said that there was not on the chariot pole of life a power dodrosce de. am batar for a m-briathraib co n-accatar mider that excelled it. when they were at their talking they saw mider (come) chucu. ard chustal ocus droch gne fair. atrigestar eochaid, to them. high ? girt (he was), and evil face (was) on him.? rose ?[fn# ] eochaid, [fn# ] this is a possible rendering, taking the word as a deponent form of atregaim. it would be more natural to take the word as from adagur; being equivalent to ad-d-raigestar, and to mean "feared him," but this does not agree with eoebaid's general attitude. ocus ferais faelti fri. is ed dorochtmar ol mider. is toreda ocus is and gave welcome to him. it is for that we have come, said mider. it is cruel and is di-cheill no tai frim, mor decrai ocus mor aingcessa do thabairt form senseless thou art to me, great hardship and great suffering thy bestowing on me adethaind ni bad maith lat chena acht is bairnech mo menma frit. i used to get what seemed good to thee still but is angry my mind against thee. ni bara fri bure dait-siu on do-gignestar do menma for eochaid. not anger against anger: to thyself the thing that shall choose thy mind, said eochaid. gebthar dano, ol mider. inn imberam fidchill? for mider. cid gell it shall be done then, said mider. shall we play at chess? said mider. what stake bias and? for eochaid. gell adcobra cechtar da lina for shall be there? said eochaid. the stake that wishes each of the two parties, said mider. berar tochell n-echdach alla sin. rucais mo mider. is carried off stake of echaid in that very place. thou hast carried off my thocell, for eebaid. mad ail dam no-beraind o chianaib, stake, said echaid. if wish to me (had been) i could have carried it off long since, for mider. cacht cid adcobrai form-sa? for echaid. di laim im said mider. question what wishest thou from myself? said echaid. two arms about etain, ocus poc di ol mider. sochtais echaid la, sodain, ocus asbert, etain, and a kiss from her, said mider. was silent echaid thereon, and said, tis dia mis on diu, doberthar dait ani sin. in thou shalt come in a month from to-day, (and) shall be given to thee that very thing. the bliadain ria tuidecht do mider co echaid do imbert na fidehille boi oc year before the coming of mider to echaid for playing of the chess was he at tochmarc etaine, ocus nis n-etad leis. is ed ainm dobered mider wooing of etain, and nothing was found by him. this is the name used to give mider di: befind conide asbert: to her: fair-haired lady, so that thence he said: a be find in raga lim o fair-haired lady, wilt thou come with me i tir n-ingnad hi fil rind into a land marvellous, that is music? is barr sobarche folt and (thus) is the top of the head, of primrose the hair there, is dath snechta corp co ind: is colour of snow the body to the head: is and nad bi mui na tai, it is there not will be 'mine' or 'thine,' gela det and, dubai brai, white teeth there, black eyebrows, is li sula lin ar sluag,[fn# ] is colour of eyes number of our hosts, [fn# ] a conjecture by windisch. text gives sluaig the genitive singular, which does not rhyme. [fn# ]no is brece is dath sion and cech gruad: or is many-coloured is hue of foxglove there each cheek: [fn# ] the three glosses are interesting. it may be noted that the last two certainly follow the word (above the line in which it occurs) that they seem to gloss: it is therefore probable that the first does so too; the two lines of a couplet are on the same line in the manuscript. it {footnote p. } seems then possible that the gloss "it is many-coloured" refers, not to the foxglove, but to the preceding line, "the colour of eyes is number of our hosts," and that the writer of this gloss gave the same meaning to the rather hard description of the colour of the eyes as is given in the verse translation (vol. i. p. ), i.e. that the eyes had changing lights and shapes. we must hope, for the credit of his taste, that he did not think of the cheeks as many-coloured or freckled, but his gloss of lossa does not seem happy. the meaning "growth" is taken from o'reilly's dictionary. no lossa is corcair maige cach muin,[fn# ] or growth? is purple of a plain each neck, [fn# ] a conjecture (str.), main, treasure, is in the text: this does not rhyme, nor give good sense; note, however, that muin has no accent-the text gives one. no is dath is li sula ugai luin: or is hue is colour of eyes (that of) eggs of a blackbird: cid cain deicsiu maigi fail though pleasant (is) seeing plains of fal (isle of destiny) annam iar gnais maige mair. a wilderness[fn# ] after knowledge of the great plain. [fn# ] this meaning for annam is doubtful; the sense of "seldom" is established for the word; the line possibly means "it will seldom be so after," &c. cid mesc lib coirm inse fail, though intoxicating to you (is) ale of the island fal, is mescu coirm tire mair, is more intoxicating the ale of the country great, amra tire tir asbiur, a wonder of a land the land i mention, ni theit oac and re siun. not goes a young man there before an old man. srotha teith millsi tar tir, streams warm (and) sweet through the land, rogu de mid ocus fin, choice of mead and wine, doini delgnaidi, cen on, men ? handsome, without blemish, combart cen pecead, cen col. conception without sin without crime. atchiam cach for each leth, we see all on every side, ocus ni-conn acci nech; and yet not sees us anyone temel imorbais adaim the cloud of the sin of adam do-don-archeil[fn# ] ar araim encompasses us from reckoning [fn# ] from tairchellaim. a ben dia ris mo thuaith tind, o woman, if thou wilt come to my people strong, is barr oir bias fort chind, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, inue ur, laith, lemnacht la lind pork unsalted, ale, new milk for drink rot bia lim and, a be find, a be find. shall be to thee with me there, o woman fair-haired. [a gap, letters lost] i atumchotaise om aithech tige rag-sa, [a gap, thou obtainest me from my master of the house i will go, [ letters lost] fetai, ni rag. is iarsin dolluid mider (l.u. a.) co canst, not will i go. it is thereon came mider to echaid, ocus damair a thochell fochetoir co m-beth fôlo acai echaid, and yields his stake immediately that may be (cause) of reproach for him do echaid, is airi roic na comada mora, ocus issairi is to echaid, it is therefore he paid the great stakes, and on that account it is (that) fo anfis con atig a gell. conid iarsin giull adrubrad in tan tra under ignorance that he asked his wager. so that after that wager it was said when now ro boi mider cona muinter oc ic comad na aidehi, i. in tochor, ocus was mider and his folk at paying the stake of the night, that is, the causeway, and di-chlochad midi, ocus luachair tetbai, ocus fid dar breg: isse[fn# ] seo clearing stones off meath, and rushes of tethba and forest over breg: it is he this [fn# ] grammar not clear: perhaps the irish is corrupt (str.). an no foclad boi oca muinter amal atbert lebor drom snechta: what used to say was with his folk as says book of drom-snechta: rhetoric-- cuirthe illand: put on the field: tochre illand: put close on the field airderg dararad: very red oxen: trom in choibden: heavy the troop clunithar fir ferdi. which hears ?really-manly buidni balc-thruim crand-chuir troops for strong heavy setting of trees forderg saire fedar of very red ?oaks[fn# ] are led [fn# ] reading daire for saire. sechuib slimprib snithib past them on twisted wattles: scitha lama: weary are hands, ind rosc cloina: the eye ?slants aside? fobith oen mna because of one woman duib in digail: to you the revenge, duib in trom-daim:[fn# ] to you the heavy ?oxen [fn# ] a conjecture. ms. gives trom-daim. tairthim flatho fer ban: splendour of sovereignty over white men: fomnis, fomnis, in fer m-braine cerpae fomnis diad dergæ ? ? ? fer arfeid solaig ? fri aiss esslind ? fer bron for-ti ? sorrow shall, come on the man? i. more ertechta inde ? lamnado luachair rushes for di thethbi over?two tethbas di-chlochad[fn# ] midi clearing stones from meath [fn# ] a conjecture. ms. gives dilecad (str.) indracht ? coich les, coich amles to whom the benefit, to whom the harm thocur dar clochach? moin.[fn# ] causeway over stony moor. [fn# ] the last line in the ms. is t d c m. dalis mider dia mis fochiallastar (i. rotinoil). echaid formna mider appointed a meeting for the end of a month. echaid assembled (i.e. collected)troops. laech la-erend com batar hi temrach, ocus an ro po dech do fiannaib of heroes of ireland so that they were in tara, and what was best of champions h-erind, cach cuaird imm araile im temrach immedon ocus a nechtair, of ireland, each ring about another, around tara im the middle, and outside it ocus is-tig. ocus in ri ocus in rigan immedon in taigi, ocus ind lis and within. and the king and the queen in the middle of the house, and its liss iatai fo glassaib, ar ro fetatar do t-icfad fer in mar cumacht. etain shut under locks, for they knew that would comie of insen the great might. etain boi ocon dail ind aidehi sin forsna flathi, ar ba sain dana disi dal. was dispensing that night to the princes, for it was meet then for her pouring (of the wine) am batar iarom fora. m-briathraib, co accatar mider chucu for when they were thereon at their talking they saw mider (come) to them on lar ind rigthige. ba cain som dogres ba caini dana inn aidehi sin. the floor of the royal palace. he was fair always, was fairer then on that night. tosbert im mod na slûag ateonnairc. sochsit uli iarom ocus he brought to amazement the hosts that he saw.[fn# ] were silent all thereon, and [fn# ] reading atcondairc (str.). ferais in ri faelti fris. is ed dorochtmar ol mider. an ro gella the king gave welcome to him. it is this we have come for, said mider. what was promised dam-sa or se, tucthar dam. is fiach ma gelltar, an ro gellad to myself, said he, let it be given to me. it is a debt if a promise is given, tucus dait-siu. ni imrordusa for echaid, ani sin co se. i have given to thee. not have i thought on, said echaid, that very thing up to now. atrugell etain fein dam-sa, ol mider, ticht uait-siu. thou hast promised etain herself to me, said mider, message (lit. a coming) from you. imdergthar im etain la, sodain. na imdergthar imut for mider, ni there was a blush on etain thereupon. let there be no blush on thee, said mider, not droch banas duit-siu. atu-sa, ol si, bliadain oc do chuingid com evil marriage-feast to thee. i am myself, said he, a year at seeking thee with mainib ocus setaib at aildem in ere, ocus ni tucus-sa treasures and jewels that are the most beautiful in ireland and not i took thee comad chomarlecud do echaid. ni -la-deoas damsa ce till there should be permission of echaid. not by good-will to me any dotchotaind. atrubart-sa frit-su ol si, conom rire echaid, getting thee. i myself said to thyself, said she, until echaid gives me up nit rius. atometha lat ar mo chuit fein, dia nom rire echaid. not will i come to thee. take me with thee for my own part, if me echaid will give up. nit ririub immorro, for echaid, acht tabrad a di laim not thee will i give up however, said echaid, but (i give) a placing of his two hands imut for lar in tige, amal ro gabais. dogentar for mider. about thee on floor of the house, as thou art. it shall be done! said mider. i. mider atetha a gaisced ina laim cli, ocus gabais in mnai fo a leth-oxail dess, that is, mider he took his weapons in his hand left, and took the woman under his shoulder right, ocus focois-le for forles in tige. conerget in-t-sluaig imon rig and carried her off over skylight of the house. pose up the hosts, about the king iar melacht forro, co n-accatar in da ela timchell na temra. is ed after a disgrace on them, they saw the two swans around tara. it is this, ro gabsat do sid ar femun. ocus luid echaid co fomno they took (the road) to elfmound about about femun. and went echaid with a troop fer n-erend imbi do sith ar femun i. sid ban-find. of men of ireland about him to elf mound about femun i.e. elfmound of the fair-haired women. b (a si com)[fn# ] arli fer n-erend, fochlaid each sid [a gap, letters lost] that was the counsel of the men of ireland, he dug up each elf-mound. [fn# ] the letters in parentheses are a conjecture by strachan, to fill up a gap in the manuscript. tised a ben. do uadib, foce [a gap of letters, rest of the version lost.] should come his wife to him from them. early bardic literature, ireland. by standish o'grady lower fitzwilliam street, dublin scattered over the surface of every country in europe may be found sepulchral monuments, the remains of pre-historic times and nations, and of a phase of life will civilisation which has long since passed away. no country in europe is without its cromlechs and dolmens, huge earthen tumuli, great flagged sepulchres, and enclosures of tall pillar-stones. the men by whom these works were made, so interesting in themselves, and so different from anything of the kind erected since, were not strangers and aliens, but our own ancestors, and out of their rude civilisation our own has slowly grown. of that elder phase of european civilisation no record or tradition has been anywhere bequeathed to us. of its nature, and the ideas and sentiments whereby it was sustained, nought may now be learned save by an examination of those tombs themselves, and of the dumb remnants, from time to time exhumed out of their soil--rude instruments of clay, flint, brass, and gold, and by speculations and reasonings founded upon these archaeological gleanings, meagre and sapless. for after the explorer has broken up, certainly desecrated, and perhaps destroyed, those noble sepulchral raths; after he has disinterred the bones laid there once by pious hands, and the urn with its unrecognisable ashes of king or warrior, and by the industrious labour of years hoarded his fruitless treasure of stone celt and arrow-head, of brazen sword and gold fibula and torque; and after the savant has rammed many skulls with sawdust, measuring their capacity, and has adorned them with some obscure label, and has tabulated and arranged the implements and decorations of flint and metal in the glazed cases of the cold gaunt museum, the imagination, unsatisfied and revolted, shrinks back from all that he has done. still we continue to inquire, receiving from him no adequate response, who were those ancient chieftains and warriors for whom an affectionate people raised those strange tombs? what life did they lead? what deeds perform? how did their personality affect the minds of their people and posterity? how did our ancestors look upon those great tombs, certainly not reared to be forgotten, and how did they--those huge monumental pebbles and swelling raths--enter into and affect the civilisation or religion of the times? we see the cromlech with its massive slab and immense supporting pillars, but we vainly endeavour to imagine for whom it was first erected, and how that greater than cyclopean house affected the minds of those who made it, or those who were reared in its neighbourhood or within reach of its influence. we see the stone cist with its great smooth flags, the rocky cairn, and huge barrow and massive walled cathair, but the interest which they invariably excite is only aroused to subside again unsatisfied. from this department of european antiquities the historian retires baffled, and the dry savant is alone master of the field, but a field which, as cultivated by him alone, remains barren or fertile only in things the reverse of exhilarating. an antiquarian museum is more melancholy than a tomb. but there is one country in europe in which, by virtue of a marvellous strength and tenacity of the historical intellect, and of filial devotedness to the memory of their ancestors, there have been preserved down into the early phases of mediaeval civilisation, and then committed to the sure guardianship of manuscript, the hymns, ballads, stories, and chronicles, the names, pedigrees, achievements, and even characters, of those ancient kings and warriors over whom those massive cromlechs were erected and great cairns piled. there is not a conspicuous sepulchral monument in ireland, the traditional history of which is not recorded in our ancient literature, and of the heroes in whose honour they were raised. in the rest of europe there is not a single barrow, dolmen, or cist of which the ancient traditional history is recorded; in ireland there is hardly one of which it is not. and these histories are in many cases as rich and circumstantial as that of men of the greatest eminence who have lived in modern times. granted that the imagination which for centuries followed with eager interest the lives of these heroes, beheld as gigantic what was not so, as romantic and heroic what was neither one nor the other, still the great fact remains, that it was beside and in connection with the mounds and cairns that this history was elaborated, and elaborated concerning them and concerning the heroes to whom they were sacred. on the plain of tara, beside the little stream nemanna, itself famous as that which first turned a mill-wheel in ireland, there lies a barrow, not itself very conspicuous in the midst of others, all named and illustrious in the ancient literature of the country. the ancient hero there interred is to the student of the irish bardic literature a figure as familiar and clearly seen as any personage in the biographia britannica. we know the name he bore as a boy and the name he bore as a man. we know the names of his father and his grandfather, and of the father of his grandfather, of his mother, and the father and mother of his mother, and the pedigrees and histories of each of these. we know the name of his nurse, and of his children, and of his wife, and the character of his wife, and of the father and mother of his wife, and where they lived and were buried. we know all the striking events of his boyhood and manhood, the names of his horses and his weapons, his own character and his friends, male and female. we know his battles, and the names of those whom he slew in battle, and how he was himself slain, and by whose hands. we know his physical and spiritual characteristics, the device upon his shield, and how that was originated, carved, and painted, by whom. we know the colour of his hair, the date of his birth and of his death, and his relations, in time and otherwise, with the remainder of the princes and warriors with whom, in that mound-raising period of our history, he was connected, in hostility or friendship; and all this enshrined in ancient song, the transmitted traditions of the people who raised that barrow, and who laid within it sorrowing their brave ruler and, defender. that mound is the tomb of cuculain, once king of the district in which dundalk stands to-day, and the ruins of whose earthen fortification may still be seen two miles from that town. this is a single instance, and used merely as an example, but one out of a multitude almost as striking. there is not a king of ireland, described as such in the ancient annals, whose barrow is not mentioned in these or other compositions, and every one of which may at the present day be identified where the ignorant plebeian or the ignorant patrician has not destroyed them. the early history of ireland clings around and grows out of the irish barrows until, with almost the universality of that primeval forest from which ireland took one of its ancient names, the whole isle and all within it was clothed with a nobler raiment, invisible, but not the less real, of a full and luxuriant history, from whose presence, all-embracing, no part was free. of the many poetical and rhetorical titles lavished upon this country, none is truer than that which calls her the isle of song. her ancient history passed unceasingly into the realm of artistic representation; the history of one generation became the poetry of the next, until the whole island was illuminated and coloured by the poetry of the bards. productions of mere fancy and imagination these songs are not, though fancy and imagination may have coloured and shaped all their subject-matter, but the names are names of men and women who once lived and died in ireland, and over whom their people raised the swelling rath and reared the rocky cromlech. in the sepulchral monuments their names were preserved, and in the performance of sacred rites, and the holding of games, fairs, and assemblies in their honour, the memory of their achievements kept fresh, till the traditions that clung around these places were inshrined in tales which were finally incorporated in the leabhar na huidhré and the book of leinster. pre-historic narrative is of two kinds--in one the imagination is at work consciously, in the other unconsciously. legends of the former class are the product of a lettered and learned age. the story floats loosely in a world of imagination. the other sort of pre-historic narrative clings close to the soil, and to visible and tangible objects. it may be legend, but it is legend believed in as history never consciously invented, and growing out of certain spots of the earth's surface, and supported by and drawing its life from the soil like a natural growth. such are the early irish tales that cling around the mounds and cromlechs as that by which they are sustained, which was originally their source, and sustained them afterwards in a strong enduring life. it is evident that these cannot be classed with stories that float vaguely in an ideal world, which may happen in one place as well as another, and in which the names might be disarrayed without changing the character and consistency of the tale, and its relations, in time or otherwise, with other tales. foreigners are surprised to find the irish claim for their own country an antiquity and a history prior to that of the neighbouring countries. herein lie the proof and the explanation. the traditions and history of the mound-raising period have in other countries passed away. foreign conquest, or less intrinsic force of imagination, and pious sentiment have suffered them to fall into oblivion; but in ireland they have been all preserved in their original fulness and vigour, hardly a hue has faded, hardly a minute circumstance or articulation been suffered to decay. the enthusiasm with which the irish intellect seized upon the grand moral life of christianity, and ideals so different from, and so hostile to, those of the heroic age, did not consume the traditions or destroy the pious and reverent spirit in which men still looked back upon those monuments of their own pagan teachers and kings, and the deep spirit of patriotism and affection with which the mind still clung to the old heroic age, whose types were warlike prowess, physical beauty, generosity, hospitality, love of family and nation, and all those noble attributes which constituted the heroic character as distinguished from the saintly. the danish conquest, with its profound modification of irish society, and consequent disruption of old habits and conditions of life, did not dissipate it; nor the more dangerous conquest of the normans, with their own innate nobility of character, chivalrous daring, and continental grace and civilisation; nor the elizabethan convulsions and systematic repression and destruction of all native phases of thought and feeling. through all these storms, which successively assailed the heroic literature of ancient ireland, it still held itself undestroyed. there were still found generous minds to shelter and shield the old tales and ballads, to feel the nobleness of that life of which they were the outcome, and to resolve that the soil of ireland should not, so far as they had the power to prevent it, be denuded of its raiment of history and historic romance, or reduced again to primeval nakedness. the fruit of this persistency and unquenched love of country and its ancient traditions, is left to be enjoyed by us. there is not through the length and breadth of the country a conspicuous rath or barrow of which we cannot find the traditional history preserved in this ancient literature. the mounds of tara, the great barrows along the shores of the boyne, the raths of slieve mish, and rathcrogan, and teltown, the stone caiseals of aran and innishowen, and those that alone or in smaller groups stud the country over, are all, or nearly all, mentioned in this ancient literature, with the names and traditional histories of those over whom they were raised. there is one thing to be learned from all this, which is, that we, at least, should not suffer these ancient monuments to be destroyed, whose history has been thus so astonishingly preserved. the english farmer may tear down the barrow which is unfortunate enough to be situated within his bounds. neither he nor his neighbours know or can tell anything about its ancient history; the removed earth will help to make his cattle fatter and improve his crops, the stones will be useful to pave his roads and build his fences, and the savant can enjoy the rest; but the irish farmer and landlord should not do or suffer this. the instinctive reverence of the peasantry has hitherto been a great preservative; but the spread of education has to a considerable extent impaired this kindly sentiment, and the progress of scientific farming, and the anxiety of the royal irish academy to collect antiquarian trifles, have already led to the reckless destruction of too many. i think that no one who reads the first two volumes of this history would greatly care to bear a hand in the destruction of that tomb at tara, in which long since his people laid the bones of cuculain; and i think, too, that they would not like to destroy any other monument of the same age, when they know that the history of its occupant and its own name are preserved in the ancient literature, and that they may one day learn all that is to be known concerning it. i am sure that if the case were put fairly to the irish landlords and country gentlemen, they would neither inflict nor permit this outrage upon the antiquities of their country. the irish country gentleman prides himself on his love of trees, and entertains a very wholesome contempt for the mercantile boor who, on purchasing an old place, chops down the best timber for the market. and yet a tree, though cut down, may be replaced. one elm tree is as good as another, and the thinned wood, by proper treatment, will be as dense as ever; but the ancient mound, once carted away, can never be replaced any more. when the study of the irish literary records is revived, as it certainly will be revived, the old history of each of these raths and cromlechs will be brought again into the light, and one new interest of a beautiful and edifying nature attached to the landscape, and affecting wholly for good the minds of our people. irishmen are often taunted with the fact that their history is yet unwritten, but that the irish, as a nation, have been careless of their past is refuted by the facts which i have mentioned. a people who alone in europe preserved, not in dry chronicles alone, but illuminated and adorned with all that fancy could suggest in ballad, and tale, and rude epic, the history of the mound-raising period, are not justly liable to this taunt. until very modern times, history was the one absorbing pursuit of the irish secular intellect, the delight of the noble, and the solace of the vile. at present, indeed, the apathy on this subject is, i believe, without parallel in the world. it would seem as if the irish, extreme in all things, at one time thought of nothing but their history, and, at another, thought of everything but it. unlike those who write on other subjects, the author of a work on irish history has to labour simultaneously at a two-fold task--he has to create the interest to which he intends to address himself. the pre-christian period of irish history presents difficulties from which the corresponding period in the histories of other countries is free. the surrounding nations escape the difficulty by having nothing to record. the irish historian is immersed in perplexity on account of the mass of material ready to his hand. the english have lost utterly all record of those centuries before which the irish historian stands with dismay and hesitation, not through deficiency of materials, but through their excess. had nought but the chronicles been preserved the task would have been simple. we would then have had merely to determine approximately the date of the introduction of letters, and allowing a margin on account of the bardic system and the commission of family and national history to the keeping of rhymed and alliterated verse, fix upon some reasonable point, and set down in order, the old successions of kings and the battles and other remarkable events. but in irish history there remains, demanding treatment, that other immense mass of literature of an imaginative nature, illuminating with anecdote and tale the events and personages mentioned simply and without comment by the chronicler. it is this poetic literature which constitutes the stumbling-block, as it constitutes also the glory, of early irish history, for it cannot be rejected and it cannot be retained. it cannot be rejected, because it contains historical matter which is consonant with and illuminates the dry lists of the chronologist, and it cannot be retained, for popular poetry is not history; and the task of distinguishing in such literature the fact from the fiction--where there is certainly fact and certainly fiction--is one of the most difficult to which the intellect can apply itself. that this difficulty has not been hitherto surmounted by irish writers is no just reproach. for the last century, intellects of the highest attainments, trained and educated to the last degree, have been vainly endeavouring to solve a similar question in the far less copious and less varied heroic literature of greece. yet the labours of wolfe, grote, mahaffy, geddes, and gladstone, have not been sufficient to set at rest the small question, whether it was one man or two or many who composed the iliad and odyssey, while the reality of the achievements of achilles and even his existence might be denied or asserted by a scholar without general reproach. when this is the case with regard to the great heroes of the iliad, i fancy it will be some time before the same problem will have been solved for the minor characters, and as it affects thersites, or that eminent artist who dwelt at home in hyla, being by far the most excellent of leather cutters. when, therefore, greek still meets greek in an interminable and apparently bloodless contest over the disputed body of the iliad, and still no end appears, surely it would be madness for any one to sit down and gaily distinguish true from false in the immense and complex mass of the irish bardic literature, having in his ears this century-lasting struggle over a single greek poem and a single small phase of the pre-historic life of hellas. in the irish heroic literature, the presence or absence of the marvellous supplies _no test whatsoever_ as to the general truth or falsehood of the tale in which they appear. the marvellous is supplied with greater abundance in the account of the battle of clontarf, and the wars of the o'briens with the normans, than in the tale in which is described the foundation of emain macha by kimbay. exact-thinking, scientific france has not hesitated to paint the battles of louis xiv. with similar hues; and england, though by no means fertile in angelic interpositions, delights to adorn the barren tracts of her more popular histories with apocryphal anecdotes. how then should this heroic literature of ireland be treated in connection with the history of the country? the true method would certainly be to print it exactly as it is without excision or condensation. immense it is, and immense it must remain. no men living, and no men to live, will ever so exhaust the meaning of any single tale as to render its publication unnecessary for the study of others. the order adopted should be that which the bards themselves deter mined, any other would be premature, and i think no other will ever take its place. at the commencement should stand the passage from the book of invasions, describing the occupation of the isle by queen keasair and her companions, and along with it every discoverable tale or poem dealing with this event and those characters. after that, all that remains of the cycle of which partholan was the protagonist. thirdly, all that relates to nemeth and his sons, their wars with curt kical the bow-legged, and all that relates to the fomoroh of the nemedian epoch, then first moving dimly in the forefront of our history. after that, the great fir-bolgic cycle, a cycle janus-faced, looking on one side to the mythological period and the wars of the gods, and on the other, to the heroic, and more particularly to the ultonian cycle. in the next place, the immense mass of bardic literature which treats of the irish gods who, having conquered the fir-bolgs, like the greek gods of the age of gold dwelt visibly in the island until the coming of the clan milith, out of spain. in the sixth, the milesian invasion, and every accessible statement concerning the sons and kindred of milesius. in the seventh, the disconnected tales dealing with those local heroes whose history is not connected with the great cycles, but who in the _fasti_ fill the spaces between the divine period and the heroic. in the eighth, the heroic cycles, the ultonian, the temairian, and the fenian, and after these the historic tales that, without forming cycles, accompany the course of history down to the extinction of irish independence, and the transference to aliens of all the great sources of authority in the island. this great work when completed will be of that kind of which no other european nation can supply an example. every public library in the world will find it necessary to procure a copy. the chronicles will then cease to be so closely and exclusively studied. every history of ancient ireland will consist of more or less intelligent comments upon and theories formed in connection with this great series--theories which, in general, will only be formed in order to be destroyed. what the present age demands upon the subject of antique irish history--an exact and scientific treatment of the facts supplied by our native authorities--will be demanded for ever. it will never be supplied. the history of ireland will be contained in this huge publication. in it the poet will find endless themes of song, the philosopher strange workings of the human mind, the archeologist a mass of information, marvellous in amount and quality, with regard to primitive ideas and habits of life, and the rationalist materials for framing a scientific history of ireland, which will be acceptable in proportion to the readableness of his style, and the mode in which his views may harmonize with the prevailing humour and complexion of his contemporaries. such a work it is evident could not be effected by a single individual. it must be a public and national undertaking, carried out under the supervision of the royal irish academy, at the expense of the country. the publication of the irish bardic remains in the way that i have mentioned, is the only true and valuable method of presenting the history of ireland to the notice of the world. the mode which i have myself adopted, that other being out of the question, is open to many obvious objections; but in the existing state of the irish mind on the subject, no other is possible to an individual writer. i desire to make this heroic period once again a portion of the imagination of the country, and its chief characters as familiar in the minds of our people as they once were. as mere history, and treated in the method in which history is generally written at the present day, a work dealing with the early irish kings and heroes would certainly not secure an audience. those who demand such a treatment forget that there is not in the country an interest on the subject to which to appeal. a work treating of early irish kings, in the same way in which the historians of neighbouring countries treat of their own early kings, would be, to the irish public generally, unreadable. it might enjoy the reputation of being well written, and as such receive an honourable place in half-a-dozen public libraries, but it would be otherwise left severely alone. it would never make its way through that frozen zone which, on this subject, surrounds the irish mind. on the other hand, irishmen are as ready as others to feel an interest in a human character, having themselves the ordinary instincts, passions, and curiosities of human nature. if i can awake an interest in the career of even a single ancient irish king, i shall establish a train of thoughts, which will advance easily from thence to the state of society in which he lived, and the kings and heroes who surrounded, preceded, or followed him. attention and interest once fully aroused, concerning even one feature of this landscape of ancient history, could be easily widened and extended in its scope. now, if nothing remained of early irish history save the dry _fasti_ of the chronicles and the brehon laws, this would, i think, be a perfectly legitimate object of ambition, and would be consonant with my ideal of what the perfect flower of historical literature should be, to illuminate a tale embodying the former by hues derived from the senchus mor. but in irish literature there has been preserved, along with the _fasti_ and the laws, this immense mass of ancient ballad, tale, and epic, whose origin is lost in the mists of extreme antiquity, and in which have been preserved the characters, relationships, adventures, and achievements of the vast majority of the personages whose names, in a gaunt nakedness, fill the books of the chroniclers. around each of the greater heroes there groups itself a mass of bardic literature, varying in tone and statement, but preserving a substantial unity as to the general character and the more important achievements of the hero, and also, a fact upon which their general historical accuracy may be based with confidence, exhibiting a knowledge of that same prior and subsequent history recorded in the _fasti_. the literature which groups itself around a hero exhibits not only an unity with itself, but an acquaintance with the general course of the history of the country, and with preceding and succeeding kings. the students of irish literature do not require to be told this; for those who are not, i would give a single instance as an illustration. in the battle of gabra, fought in the third century, and in which oscar, perhaps the greatest of all the irish heroes heading the fianna eireen, contended against cairbry of the liffey, king of ireland, and his troops, cairbry on his side announces to his warriors that he would rather perish in this battle than suffer one of the fianna to survive; but while he spoke-- "barran suddenly exclaimed-- 'remember mall mucreema, remember art. "'our ancestors fell there by force of the treachery of the fians; remember the hard tributes, remember the extraordinary pride.'" here the poet, singing only of the events of the battle of gabra, shows that he was well-acquainted with all the relations subsisting for a long time between the fians and the royal family. the battle of mucreema was fought by cairbry's grandfather, art, against lewy mac conn and the fianna eireen. again, in the tale of the battle of moy leana, in which conn of the hundred battles, the father of this same art, is the principal character, the author of the tale mentions many times circumstances relating to his father, felimy rectmar, and his grandfather, tuhall tectmar. such is the whole of the irish literature, not vague, nebulous, and shifting, but following the course of the _fasti_, and regulated and determined by them. this argument has been used by mr. gladstone with great confidence, in order to show the substantial historical truthfulness of the iliad, and that it is in fact a portion of a continuous historic sequence. now this being admitted, that the course of irish history, as laid down by the chroniclers, was familiar to the authors of the tales and heroic ballads, one of two things must be admitted, either that the events and kings did succeed one another in the order mentioned by the chroniclers, or that what the chroniclers laid down was then taken as the theme of song by the bards, and illuminated and adorned according to their wont. the second of these suppositions is one which i think few will adopt. can we believe it possible that the bards, who actually supported themselves by the amount of pleasure which they gave their audiences, would have forsaken those subjects which were already popular, and those kings and heroes whose splendour and achievements must have affected, profoundly, the popular imagination, in order to invent stories to illuminate fabricated names. the thing is quite impossible. a practice which we can trace to the edge of that period whose historical character may be proved to demonstration, we may conclude to have extended on into the period immediately preceding that. when bards illuminated with stories and marvellous circumstances the battle of clontarf and the battle of moyrath, we may believe their predecessors to have done the same for the earlier centuries. the absence of an imaginative literature other than historical shows also that the literature must have followed, regularly, the course of the history, and was not an archaeological attempt to create an interest in names and events which were found in the chronicles. it is, therefore, a reasonable conclusion that the bardic literature, where it reveals a clear sequence in the order of events, and where there is no antecedent improbability, supplies a trustworthy guide to the general course of our history. so far as the clear light of history reaches, so far may these tales be proved to be historical. it is, therefore, reasonable to suppose that the same consonance between them and the actual course of events which subsisted during the period which lies in clear light, marked also that other preceding period of which the light is no longer dry. the earliest manuscript of these tales is the leabhar [note: leabar na heera.] na huidhré, a work of the eleventh century, so that we may feel sure that we have them in a condition unimpaired by the revival of learning, or any archaeological restoration or improvement. now, of some of these there have been preserved copies in other later mss., which differ very little from the copies preserved in the leabhar na huidhré, from which we may conclude that these tales had arrived at a fixed state, and a point at which it was considered wrong to interfere with the text. the feast of bricrind is one of the tales preserved in this manuscript. the author of the tale in its present form, whenever he lived, composed it, having before him original books which he collated, using his judgment at times upon the materials to his hand. at one stage he observes that the books are at variance on a certain point, namely, that at which cuculain, conal the victorious, and laery buada go to the lake of uath in order to be judged by him. some of the books, according to the author, stated that on this occasion the two latter behaved unfairly, but he agreed with those books which did not state this. we have, therefore, a tale penned in the eleventh century, composed at some time prior to this, and itself collected, not from oral tradition, but from books. these considerations would, therefore, render it extremely probable that the tales of the ultonian period, with which the leabhar na huidhré is principally concerned, were committed to writing at a very early period. to strengthen still further the general historic credibility of these tales, and to show how close to the events and heroes described must have been the bards who originally composed them, i would urge the following considerations. with the advent of christianity the mound-raising period passed away. the irish heroic tales have their source in, and draw their interest from, the mounds and those laid in them. it would, therefore, be extremely improbable that the bards of the christian period, when the days of rath and cairn had departed, would modify, to any considerable extent, the literature produced in conditions of society which had passed away. again, with the advent of christianity, and the hold which the new faith took upon the finest and boldest minds in the country, it is plain that the golden age of bardic composition ended. the loss to the bards was direct, by the withdrawal of so much intellect from their ranks, and indirect, by the general substitution of other ideas for those whose ministers they themselves were. it is, therefore, probable that the age of production and creation, with regard to the ethnic history, ceased about the fifth and sixth centuries, and that, about that time, men began to gather up into a collected form the floating literature connected with the pagan period. the general current of mediaeval opinion attributes the collection of tales and ballads now known as the tân-bo-cooalney to st. ciaran, the great founder of the monastery of clonmacnoise. but if this be the case, we are enabled to take another step in the history of this most valuable literature. the tales of the leabhar na huidhré are in prose, but prose whose source and original is poetry. the author, from time to time, as if quoting an authority, breaks out with verse; and i think there is no irish tale in existence without these rudimentary traces of a prior metrical cycle. the style and language are quite different, and indicate two distinct epochs. the prose tale is founded upon a metrical original, and composed in the meretricious style then in fashion, while the old metrical excerpts are pure and simple. this is sufficient, in a country like ireland in those primitive times, to necessitate a considerable step into the past, if we desire to get at the originals upon which the prose tales were founded. for in ancient ireland the conservatism of the people was very great. it is the case in all primitive societies. individual, initiative, personal enterprise are content to work within a very small sphere. in agriculture, laws, customs, and modes of literary composition, primitive and simple societies are very adverse to change. when we see how closely the christian compilers followed the early authorities, we can well believe that in the ethnic times no mind would have been sufficiently daring or sacrilegious to alter or pervert those epics which were in their eyes at the same time true and sacred. in the perusal of the irish literature, we see that the strength of this conservative instinct has been of the greatest service in the preservation of the early monuments in their purity. so much is this the case, that in many tales the most flagrant contradictions appear, the author or scribe being unwilling to depart at all from that which he found handed down. for instance, in the "great breach of murthemney," we find laeg at one moment killed, and in the next riding black shanglan off the field. from this conservatism and careful following of authority, and the _littera scripta_, or word once spoken, i conclude that the distance in time between the prose tale and the metrical originals was very great, and, unless under such exceptional circumstances as the revolution caused by the introduction of christianity, could not have been brought about within hundreds of years. moreover, this same conservatism would have caused the tales concerning heroes to grow very slowly once they were actually formed. all the noteworthy events of the hero's life and his characteristics must have formed the original of the tales concerning him, which would have been composed during his life, or not long after his death. i have not met a single tale, whether in verse or prose, in which it is not clearly seen that the author was not following authorities before him. such traces of invention or decoration as may be met with are not suffered to interfere with the conduct of the tale and the statement of facts. they fill empty niches and adorn vacant places. for instance, if a king is represented as crossing the sea, we find that the causes leading to this, the place whence he set out, his companions, &c., are derived from the authorities, but the bard, at the same time, permits himself to give what seems to him to be an eloquent or beautiful description of the sea, and the appearance presented by the many-oared galleys. and yet the last transcription or recension of the majority of the tales was effected in christian times, and in an age characterised by considerable classical attainments--a time when the imagination might have been expected to shake itself loose from old restraints, and freely invent. _a fortiori_, the more ancient bards, those of the ruder ethnic times, would have clung still closer to authority, deriving all their imaginative representations from preceding minstrels. there was no conscious invention at any time. each cycle and tale grew from historic roots, and was developed from actual fact. so much may indeed be said for the more ancient tales, but the ultonian cycle deals with events well within the historic period. the era of concobar mac nessa and the red branch knights of ulster was long subsequent to the floruerunt of the irish gods and their titan-like opponents of this latter period, the names alone can be fairly held to be historic. what swells out the irish chronicles to such portentous dimensions is the history of the gods and giants rationalised by mediaeval historians. unable to ignore or excide what filled so much of the imagination of the country, and unable, as christians, to believe in the divinity of the tuátha de danan and their predecessors, they rationalised all the pre-milesian record. but the disappearance of the gods does not yet bring us within the penumbra of history. after the death of the sons of milesius we find a long roll of kings. these were all topical heroes, founders of nations, and believed, by the tribes and tribal confederacies which they founded, to have been in their day the chief kings of ireland. the point fixed upon by the accurate and sceptical tiherna as the starting-point of trustworthy irish history, was one long subsequent to the floruerunt of the gods; and the age of concobar mac nessa and his knights was more than two centuries later than that of kimbay and the foundation of emain macha. the floruit of cuculain, therefore, falls completely within the historical penumbra, and the more carefully the enormous, and in the main mutually consistent and self-supporting, historical remains dealing with this period are studied, the more will this be believed. the minuteness, accuracy, extent, and verisimilitude of the literature, chronicles, pedigrees, &c., relating to this period, will cause the student to wonder more and more as he examines and collates, seeing the marvellous self-consistency and consentaneity of such a mass of varied recorded matter. the age, indeed, breathes sublimity, and abounds with the marvellous, the romantic, and the grotesque. but as i have already stated, the presence or absence of these qualities has no crucial significance. love and reverence and the poetic imagination always effect such changes in the object of their passion. they are the essential condition of the transference of the real into the world of art. aeval, of carriglea, the fairy queen of munster, is one of the most important characters in the history of the battle of clontarf, the character of which, and of the events that preceded and followed its occurrence, and the chieftains and warriors who fought on one side and the other, are identical, whether described by the bard singing, or by the monkish chronicler jotting down in plain prose the fasti for the year. the reader of these volumes can make such deductions as he pleases, on this account, from the bardic history of the red branch, and clip the wings of the tale, so that it may with him travel pedestrian. i know there are others, like myself, who will not hesitate for once to let the fancy roam and luxuriate in the larger spaces and freer airs of ancient song, nor fear that their sanity will be imperilled by the shouting of semi-divine heroes, and the sight of cuculain entering battles with the tuátha de danan around him. i hope on some future occasion to examine more minutely the character and place in literature of the irish bardic remains, and put forward here these general considerations, from which the reader may presume that the ultonian cycle, dealing as it does with cuculain and his contemporaries, is in the main true to the facts of the time, and that his history, and that of the other heroes who figure in these volumes, is, on the whole, and omitting the marvellous, sufficiently reliable. i would ask the reader, who may be inclined to think that the principal character is too chivalrous and refined for the age, to peruse for himself the tale named the "great breach of murthemney." he will there, and in many other tales and poems besides, see that the noble and pathetic interest which attaches to his character is substantially the same as i have represented in these volumes. but unless the student has read the whole of the ultonian cycle, he should be cautious in condemning a departure in my work from any particular version of an event which he may have himself met. of many minor events there are more than one version, and many scenes and assertions which he may think of importance would yet, by being related, cause inconsistency and contradiction. of the nature of the work in which all should be introduced i have already given my opinion. for the rest, i have related one or two great events in the life of cuculain in such a way as to give a description as clear and correct as possible of his own character and history as related by the bards, of those celebrated men and women who were his contemporaries and of his relations with them, of the gods and supernatural powers in whom the people then believed, and of the state of civilisation which then prevailed. if i have done my task well, the reader will have been supplied, without any intensity of application on his part--a condition of the public mind upon which no historian of this country should count--with some knowledge of ancient irish history, and with an interest in the subject which may lead him to peruse for himself that ancient literature, and to read works of a more strictly scientific nature upon the subject than those which i have yet written. but until such an interest is aroused, it is useless to swell the mass of valuable critical matter, which everyone at present is very well content to leave unread. in the first volume, however, i have committed this error, that i did not permit it to be seen with sufficient clearness that the characters and chief events of the tale are absolutely historic; and that much of the colouring, inasmuch as its source must have been the centuries immediately succeeding the floruerunt of those characters, is also reliable as history, while the remainder is true to the times and the state of society which then obtained. the story seems to progress too much in the air, too little in time and space, and seems to be more of the nature of legend and romance than of actual historic fact seen through an imaginative medium. such is the history of concobar mac nessa and his knights--historic fact seen through the eyes of a loving wonder. indeed, i must confess that the blaze of bardic light which illuminates those centuries at first so dazzled the eye and disturbed the judgment, that i saw only the literature, only the epic and dramatic interest, and did not see as i should the distinctly historical character of the age around which that literature revolves, wrongly deeming that a literature so noble, and dealing with events so remote, must have originated mainly or altogether in the imagination. all the borders of the epic representation at which, in the first volume, i have aimed, seem to melt, and wander away vaguely on every side into space and time. i have now taken care to remedy that defect, supplying to the unset picture the clear historical frame to which it is entitled. i will also request the reader, when the two volumes may diverge in tone or statement, to attach greater importance to the second, as the result of wider and more careful reading and more matured reflection. a great english poet, himself a severe student, pronounced the early history of his own country to be a mere scuffling of kites and crows, as indeed are all wars which lack the sacred bard, and the sacred bard is absent where the kites and crows pick out his eyes. that the irish kings and heroes should succeed one another, surrounded by a blaze of bardic light, in which both themselves and all those who were contemporaneous with them are seen clearly and distinctly, was natural in a country where in each little realm or sub-kingdom the ard-ollav was equal in dignity to the king, which is proved by the equivalence of their cries. the dawn of english history is in the seventh century--a late dawn, dark and sombre, without a ray of cheerful sunshine; that of ireland dates reliably from a point before the commencement of the christian era luminous with that light which never was on sea or land--thronged with heroic forms of men and women--terrible with the presence of the supernatural and its over-arching power. educated irishmen are ignorant of, and indifferent to, their history; yet from the hold of that history they cannot shake themselves free. it still haunts the imagination, like mordecai at haman's gate, a cause of continual annoyance and vexation. an irishman can no more release himself from his history than he can absolve himself from social and domestic duties. he may outrage it, but he cannot placidly ignore. hence the uneasy, impatient feeling with which the subject is generally regarded. i think that i do not exaggerate when i say that the majority of educated irishmen would feel grateful to the man who informed them that the history of their country was valueless and unworthy of study, that the pre-christian history was a myth, the post-christian mere annals, the mediaeval a scuffling of kites and crows, and the modern alone deserving of some slight consideration. that writer will be in ireland most praised who sets latest the commencement of our history. without study he will be pronounced sober and rational before the critic opens the book. so anxious is the irish mind to see that effaced which it is conscious of having neglected. there are two compositions which affect an interest comparable to that which ireland claims for her bardic literature, one is the ossian of macpherson, the other the nibelungen lied. if we are to suppose macpherson faithfully to have written down, printed, and published the floating disconnected poems which he found lingering in the scotch highlands, how small, comparatively, would be their value as indications of antique thought and feeling, reduced then for the first time to writing, sixteen hundred years after the time of ossian and his heroes, in a country not the home of those heroes, and destitute of the regular bardic organisation. the ossianic tales and poems still told and sung by the irish peasantry at the present day in the country of ossian and oscar, would be, if collected even now, quite as valuable, if not more so. truer to the antique these latter are, for in them the cycles are not blended. the red branch heroes are not confused with ossian's fianna. but macpherson's ossian is not a translation. in the publications of the irish ossianic poetry we see what that poetry really was--rude, homely, plain-spoken, leagues removed from the nebulous sublimity of macpherson. with regard to the other, the germans, who naturally desire to refer its composition to as remote a date as possible, and who arguing from no scientific data, but only style, ascribe the authorship of the nibelungen to a poet living in the latter part of the twelfth century. be it remembered, that the poem does not purport to be a collection of the scattered fragments of a cycle, but an original composition, then actually imagined and written. it does not even purport to deal with the ethnic times. _its heroes are christian heroes. they attend mass._ the poem is not true, even to the leading features of the late period of history in which it is placed, if it have any habitat in the world of history at all. attila, who died a.d. , and theodoric, who did not die until the succeeding century, meet as coevals. turn we now from the sole boast of germany to one out of a hundred in the irish bardic literature. the tân-bo-cooalney was transcribed into the leabhar na huidhré in the eleventh century a manuscript whose date has been established by the consentaneity of irish, french, and german scholarship. mark, it was transcribed, not composed. the scribe records the fact:-- "ego qui scripsi hanc historian aut vero fabulam, quibusdam fidem in hac historiâ aut fabulâ non commodo." the tân-bo-cooalney was therefore _transcribed_ by an ancient penman to the parchment of a still existing manuscript, in the century before that in which the german epic is presumed, from style only, and in the opinion of germans, to have been _composed_. the same scribe adds this comment with regard to its contents:-- "qaedam autem poetica figmenta, quaedam ad delectationem stultorum." such scorn could not have been felt by one living in an age of bardic production. that independence and originality of thought, which caused milton to despise the poets of the restoration, are impossible in the simple stages of civilisation. the scribe who appended this very interesting comment to the subject of his own handiwork must have been removed by centuries from the date of its compilation. that the tale was, in his time, an ancient one, is therefore rendered extremely probable, the scribe himself indicating how completely out of sympathy he is with this form of literature, its antiquity and peculiar archaeological interest being, doubtless, the cause of the transcription. again, a close study of its contents, as of the contents of all the irish historic tales, proves that in its present form, whenever that form was superadded, it is but a representation in prose of a pre-existing metrical original. under this head i have already made some remarks, which, i shall request the reader to re-peruse [note: pages to ] once more, it deals with a particular event in irish history, and with distinct and definite kings, heroes, and bards, who flourished in the epoch of which it treats. in the synchronisms of tiherna, in the metrical chronology of flann, in all the various historical compositions produced in various parts of the country, the main features and leading characters of the tân-bo-cooalney suffer no material change, while the minor divergencies show that the chronology of the annals and annalistic poems were not drawn from the tale, but owe their origin to other sources. moreover, this epic is but a portion of the great ultonian or red branch cycle, all the parts of which pre-suppose and support one another; and that cycle is itself a portion of the history of ireland, and pre-supposes other preceding and succeeding cyles, preceding and succeeding kings. the event of which this epic treats occurred at the time of the incarnation, and its characters are the leading irish kings and warriors of that date. such is the tân-bo-cooalney. this being so, how have the english literary classes recognised, or how treated, our claim to the possession of an antique literature of peculiar historical interest, and by reason of that antiquity, a matter of concern to all aryan nations? the conquest has not more constituted the english parliament guardian and trustee of ireland, for purposes of legislation and government, than it has vested the welfare and fame of our literature and antiquities in the hands of english scholarship. london is the headquarters of the intellectualism and of the literary and historical culture of the empire. it is the sole dispenser of fame. it alone influences the mind of the country and guides thought and sentiment. it can make and mar reputations. what it scorns or ignores, the world, too, ignores and scorns. how then has the native literature of ireland been treated by the representatives of english scholarship and literary culture? mr. carlyle is the first man of letters of the day, his the highest name as a critic upon, and historian of, the past life of europe. let us hear him upon this subject, admittedly of european importance. miscellaneous essays, vol. iii., page . "not only as the oldest tradition of modern europe does it--the nibelungen--possess a high antiquarian interest, but farther, and even in the shape we now see it under, unless the epics of the son of fingal had some sort of authenticity, it is our oldest poem also." poor ireland, with her hundred ancient epics, standing at the door of the temple of fame, or, indeed, quite behind the vestibule out of the way! to see the swabian enter in, crowned, to a flourish of somewhat barbarous music, was indeed bad enough, but mr. macpherson! they manage these things rather better in france, _vide passim_ "la révue celtique." of the literary value of the bardic literature i fear to write at all, lest i should not know how to make an end. rude indeed it is, but great. like the central chamber of that huge tumulus [note: new grange anciently cnobgha, and now also knowth.] on the boyne, overarched with massive unhewn rocks, its very ruggedness strikes an awe which the orderly arrangement of smaller and more reasonable thoughts, cut smooth by instruments inherited from classic times, fails so often to inspire. the labour of the attic chisel may be seen since its invention in every other literary workshop of europe, and seen in every other laboratory of thought the transmitted divine fire of the hebrew. the bardic literature of erin stands alone, as distinctively and genuinely irish as the race itself, or the natural aspects of the island. rude indeed it is, but like the hills which its authors tenanted with gods, holding dells [note: those sacred hills will generally be found to have this character.] of the most perfect beauty, springs of the most touching pathos. on page , vol. i., will be seen a poem [note: publications of ossianic society, page , vol. iv.] by fionn upon the spring-time, made, as the old unknown historian says, to prove his poetic powers--a poem whose antique language relegates it to a period long prior to the tales of the leabhar na huidhré, one which, if we were to meet side by side with the "ode to night," by alcman, in the greek anthology, we would not be surprised; or those lines on page , vol. i., the song of cuculain, forsaken by his people, watching the frontier of his country-- "alone in defence of the ultonians, solitary keeping ward over the province" or the death [note: publications of ossianic society, vol. i.] of oscar, on pages and , vol. i., an excerpt condensed from the battle of gabra. innumerable such tender and thrilling passages. to all great nations their history presents itself under the aspect of poetry; a drama exciting pity and terror; an epic with unbroken continuity, and a wide range of thought, when the intellect is satisfied with coherence and unity, and the imagination by extent and diversity. such is the bardic history of ireland, but with this literary defect. a perfect epic is only possible when the critical spirit begins to be in the ascendant, for with the critical spirit comes that distrust and apathy towards the spontaneous literature of early times, which permit some great poet so to shape and alter the old materials as to construct a harmonious and internally consistent tale, observing throughout a sense of proportion and a due relation of the parts. such a clipping and alteration of the authorities would have seemed sacrilege to earlier bards. in mediaeval ireland there was, indeed, a subtle spirit of criticism; but under its influence, being as it was of scholastic origin, no great singing men appeared, re-fashioning the old rude epics; and yet, the very shortcomings of the irish tales, from a literary point of view, increase their importance from a historical. of poetry, as distinguised from metrical composition, these ancient bards knew little. the bardic literature, profoundly poetic though it be, in the eyes of our ancestors was history, and never was anything else. as history it was originally composed, and as history bound in the chains of metre, that it might not be lost or dissipated passing through the minds of men, and as history it was translated into prose and committed to parchment. accordingly, no tale is without its defects as poetry, possessing therefore necessarily, a corresponding value as history. but that there was in the country, in very early times, a high and rare poetic culture of the lyric kind, native in its character, ethnic in origin, unaffected by scholastic culture which, as we know, took a different direction; that one exquisite poem, in which the father of ossian praises the beauty of the springtime in anapaestic [note: cettemain | cain ree! | ro sair | an cuct | "he, fionn maccool, learned the three compositions which distinguish the poets, the teinm laegha, the imus of osna, and the dicedue diccenaib, and it was then fionn composed this poem to prove his poetry." in which of these three forms of metre the ode to the spring-time is written i know not. its form throughout is distinctly anapaestic.--s. o'g.] verse, would, even though it stood alone, both by the fact of its composition and the fact of its preservation, fully prove. much and careful study, indeed, it requires, if we would compel these ancient epics to yield up their greatness or their beauty, or even their logical coherence and imaginative unity--broken, scattered portions as they all are of that one enormous epic, the bardic history of ireland. at the best we read without the key. the magic of the names is gone, or can only be partially recovered by the most tender and sympathetic study. indeed, without reading all or many, we will not understand the superficial meaning of even one. for instance, in one of the many histories of cuculain's many battles, we read this-- "it was said that lu mac aethleen was assisting him." this at first seems meaningless, the bard seeing no necessity for throwing further light on the subject; but, as we wander through the bardic literature, gradually the conception of this lu grows upon the mind--the destroyer of the sons of turann--the implacably filial--the expulsor of the fomoroh--the source of all the sciences--the god of the tuátha de danan--the protector and guardian of cuculain--lu lamfáda, son of cian, son of diancéct, son of esric, son of dela, son of ned the war-god, whose tomb or temple, aula neid, may still be seen beside the foyle. this enormous and seemingly chaotic mass of literature is found at all times to possess an inner harmony, a consistency and logical unity, to be apprehended only by careful study. so read, the sublimity strikes through the rude representation. astonished at himself, the student, who at first thinks that he has chanced upon a crowd of barbarians, ere long finds himself in the august presence of demi-gods and heroes. a noble moral tone pervades the whole. courage, affection, and truth are native to all who live in this world. under the dramatic image of ossian wrangling with the talkend, [note: st. patrick, on account of the tonsured crown.] the bards, themselves vainly fighting against the christian life, a hundred times repeat through the lips of ossian like a refrain-- "we, the fianna of erin, never uttered falsehood, lying was never attributed to us; by courage and the strength of our hands we used to come out of every difficulty." again: fergus, the bard, inciting oscar to his last battle--in that poem called the rosc catha of oscar:-- "place thy hand on thy gentle forehead oscar, who never lied." [note: publications of ossianic society, p. ; vol. i.] and again, elsewhere in the ossianic poetry:-- "oscar, who never wronged bard or woman." strange to say, too, they inculcated chastity (see p. ; vol. i.), an allusion taken from the "youthful adventures of cuculain," leabhar na huidhré. the following ancient rann contains the four qualifications of a bard:-- "purity of hand, bright, without wounding, purity of mouth, without poisonous satire, purity of learning, without reproach, purity, as a husband, in wedlock." moreover, through all this literature sounds a high clear note of chivalry, in this contrasting favourably with the iliad, where no man foregoes an advantage. cuculain having slain the sons of neara, "thought it unworthy of him to take possession of their chariot and horses." [note: p. ; vol. i.] goll mac morna, in the fenian or ossianic cycle, declares to conn cedcathah [note: conn of the hundred battles.] that from his youth up he never attacked an enemy by night or under any disadvantage, and many times we read of heroes preferring to die rather than outrage their geisa. [note: certain vows taken with their arms on being knighted.] a noble literature indeed it is, having too this strange interest, that though mainly characterised by a great plainness and simplicity of thought, and, in the earlier stages, of expression, we feel, oftentimes, a sudden weirdness, a strange glamour shoots across the poem when the tale seems to open for a moment into mysterious depths, druidic secrets veiled by time, unsunned caves of thought, indicating a still deeper range of feeling, a still lower and wider reach of imagination. a youth came once to the fianna eireen encamped at locha lein [note: the lakes of killarney.], leading a hound dazzling white, like snow. it was the same, the bard simply states, that was once a yew tree, flourishing fifty summers in the woods of ioroway. elsewhere, he is said to have been more terrible than the sun upon his flaming wheels. what meant this yew tree and the hound? stray allusions i have met, but no history. the spirit of coelté, visiting one far removed in time from the great captain of the fianna, with a different name and different history, cries:-- "i was with thee, with finn"-- giving no explanation. to macpherson, however, i will do this justice, that he had the merit to perceive, even in the debased and floating ballads of the highlands, traces of some past greatness and sublimity of thought, and to understand, he, for the first time, how much more they meant than what met the ear. but he saw, too, that the historical origin of the ballads, and the position in time and place of the heroes whom they praised, had been lost in that colony removed since the time of st. columba from its old connection with the mother country. thus released from the curb of history, he gave free rein to the imagination, and in the conventional literary language of sublimity, gave full expression to the feelings that arose within him, as to him, pondering over those ballads, their gigantesque element developed into a greatness and solemnity, and their vagueness and indeterminateness into that misty immensity and weird obscurity which, as constituent factors in a poem, not as back-ground, form one of the elements of the false sublime. either not seeing the literary necessity of definiteness, or having no such abundant and ordered literature as we possess, upon which to draw for details, and being too conscientious to invent facts, however he might invent language, he published his epics of ossian--false indeed to the original, but true to himself, and to the feelings excited by meditation upon them. this done, he had not sufficient courage to publish also the rude, homely, and often vulgar ballads--a step which, in that hard critical age, would have been to expose himself and his country to swift contempt. the thought of the great lexicographer riding rough-shod over the poor mountain songs which he loved, and the fame which he had already acquired, deterred and dissuaded him, if he had ever any such intention, until the opportunity was past. macpherson feared english public opinion, and fearing lied. he declared that to be a translation which was original work, thus relegating himself for ever to a dubious renown, and depriving his country of the honest fame of having preserved through centuries, by mere oral transmission, a portion, at least, of the antique irish literature. to the magnanimity of his own heroes he could not attain:-- "oscar, oscar, who feared not armies-- oscar, who never lied." of some such error as macpherson's i have myself, with less excuse, been guilty, in chapters xi. and xii., vol. i., where i attempt to give some conception of the character of the ossianic cycle. the age and the heroes around whom that cycle revolves have, in the history of ireland, a definite position in time; their battles, characters, several achievements, relationships, and pedigrees; their dûns, and trysting-places, and tombs; their wives, musicians, and bards; their tributes, and sufferings, and triumphs; their internecine and other wars--are all fully and clearly described in the ossianic cycle. they still remain demanding adequate treatment, when we arrive at the age of conn [note: see page .], art, and cormac, kings of tara in the second and third centuries of the christian era. all have been forgotten for the sake of a vague representation of the more sublime aspects of the cycle, and the meretricious seductions of a form of composition easy to write and easy to read, and to which the unwary or unwise often award praise to which it has no claim. on the other hand, chapter xi. purports only to be a representation of the feelings excited by this literature, and for every assertion there is authority in the cycle. chapter xii., however, is a translation from the original. every idea which it contains, except one, has been taken from different parts of the ossianic poems, and all together expressthe graver attitude of the mind of ossian towards the new faith. that idea, occurring in a separate paragraph in the middle of the page, though prevalent as a sentiment throughout all the conversations of ossian with st. patrick, has been, as it stands, taken from a meditation on life by st. columbanus, one of the early irish saints--a meditation which, for subtle thought, for musical resigned sadness, tender brooding reflection, and exquisite latin, is one of the masterpieces of mediaeval composition. to the casual reader of the bardic literature the preservation of an ordered historical sequence, amidst that riotous wealth of imaginative energy, may appear an impossibility. can we believe that forestine luxuriance not to have overgrown all highways, that flood of superabundant song not have submerged all landmarks? be the cause what it may, the fact remains that they did not. the landmarks of history stand clear and fixed, each in its own place unremoved; and through that forest-growth the highways of history run on beneath over-arching, not interfering, boughs. the age of the predominance of ulster does not clash with the age of the predominance of tara; the temairian kings are not mixed with the contemporary fians. the chaos of the nibelungen is not found here, nor the confusion of the scotch ballads blending all the ages into one. it is not imaginative strength that produces confusion, but imaginative weakness. the strong imagination which perceives definitely and realises vividly will not tolerate that obscurity so dear to all those who worship the eidola of the cave. of each of these ages, the primary impressions were made in the bardic mind during the life-time of the heroes who gave to the epoch its character; and a strong impression made in such a mind could not have been easily dissipated or obscured. for it must be remembered, that the bardic literature of ireland was committed to the custody of guardians whose character we ought not to forget. the bards were not the people, but a class. they were not so much a class as an organisation and fraternity acknowledging the authority of one elected chief. they were not loose wanderers, but a power in the state, having duties and privileges. the ard-ollav ranked next to the king, and his eric was kingly. thus there was an educated body of public opinion entrusted with the preservation of the literature and history of the country, and capable of repressing the aberrations of individuals. but the question arises, did they so repress such perversions of history as their wandering undisciplined members might commit? too much, of course, must not reasonably be expected. it was an age of creative thought, and such thought is difficult to control; but that one of the prime objects and prime works of the bards, as an organisation, was to preserve a record of a certain class of historical facts is certain. the succession of the kings and of the great princely families was one of these. the tribal system, with the necessity of affinity as a ground of citizenship, demanded such a preservation of pedigrees in every family, and particularly in the kingly houses. one of the chief objects of the triennial feis of tara was the revision of such records by the general assembly of the bards, under the presidency of the ard-ollav of ireland. in the more ancient times, such records were rhymed and alliterated, and committed to memory--a practice which, we may believe on the authority of caesar, treating of the gauls, continued long after the introduction of letters. even at those local assemblies also, which corresponded to great central and national feis of tara, the bards were accustomed to meet for that purpose. in a poem [note: o'curry's manners and customs, vol. i., page .], descriptive of the fair [note: on the full meaning of this word "fair," see chap. xiii., vol. i.] of garman, we see this-- "feasts with the great feasts of temair, fairs with the fairs of emania, annals there are verified." in the existing literature we see two great divisions. on the one hand the epical, a realm of the most riotous activity of thought; on the other, the annalistic and genealogical, bald and bare to the last degree, a mere skeleton. they represent the two great hemispheres of the bardic mind, the latter controlling the former. hence the orderly sequence of the cyclic literature; hence the strong confining banks between which the torrent of song rolls down through those centuries in which the bardic imagination reached its height. the consentaneity of the annals and the literature furnishes a trustworthy guide to the general course of history, until its guidance is barred by _a priori_ considerations of a weightier nature, or by the statements of writers, having sources of information not open to us. for instance, the stream of irish history must, for philosophical reasons, be no further traceable than to that point at which it issues from the enchanted land of the tuátha de danan. at the limit at which the gods appear, men and history must disappear; while on the other hand, the statement of tiherna, that the foundation of emain alacha by kimbay is the first certain date in irish history, renders it undesirable to attach more historical reality of characters, adorning the ages prior to b.c. , than we could to such characters as romulus in roman, or theseus in athenian history. i desire here to record my complete and emphatic dissent from the opinions advanced by a writer in hermathena on the subject of the ogham inscriptions, and the introduction into this country of the art of writing. a cypher, i.e., an alphabet derived from a pre-existing alphabet, the ogham may or may not have been. i advance no opinion upon that, but an invention of the christian time it most assuredly was not. no sympathetic and careful student of the irish bardic literature can possibly come to such a conclusion. the bardic poems relating to the heroes of the ethnic times are filled with allusions to ogham inscriptions on stone, and contain some references to books of timber; but in my own reading i have not met with a single passage in that literature alluding to books of parchment and to rounded letters. if the ogham was derived from the roman characters introduced by christian missionaries, then these characters would be the more ancient, and ogham the more modern; books and roman characters would be the more poetical, and inscriptions on stone and timber in the ogham characters the more prosaic. the bards relating the lives and deeds of the ancient heroes, would have ascribed to their times parchment books and the roman characters, not stone and wood, and the ogham. in these compositions, whenever they were reduced to the form in which we find them to-day, the ethnic character of the times and the ethnic character of the heroes are clearly and universally observed. the ancient, the remote, the archaic clings to this literature. as homer does not allude to writing, though all scholars agree that he lived in a lettered age, so the old bards do not allude to parchment and roman characters, though the irish epics, as distinguished from their component parts, reached their fixed state and their final development in times subsequent to the introduction of christianity. when and how a knowledge of letters reached this island we know not. from the analogy of gaul, we may conclude that they were known for some time prior to their use by the bards. caesar tells us that the gaulish bards and druids did not employ letters for the preservation of their lore, but trusted to memory, assisted, doubtless, as in this country, by the mechanical and musical aid of verse. whether the ogham was a native alphabet or a derivative from another, it was at first employed only to a limited extent. its chief use was to preserve the name of buried kings and heroes in the stone that was set above their tombs. it was, perhaps, invented, and certainly became fashionable on this account, straight strokes being more easily cut in stone than rounded or uncial characters. for the same reason it was generally employed by those who inscribed timber tablets, which formed the primitive book, ere they discovered or learned how to use pen, ink, and parchment. the use of ogham was partially practised in the christian period for sepultural purposes, being venerable and sacred from time. hence the discovery of ogham-inscribed stones in christian cemeteries. on the other hand, the fact that the majority of these stones are discovered in raths and forts, i.e., the tombs of our pagan ancestors, corroborates the fact implied in all the bardic literature, that the characters employed in the ethnic times were oghamic, and affords another proof of the close conservative spirit of the bards in their transcription, compilation, or reformation of the old epics. the full force of the concurrent authority of the bardic literature to the above effect can only be felt by one who has read that literature with care. he will find in all the epics no trace of original invention, but always a studied and conscientious following of authority. this being so, he will conclude that the universal ascription of ogham, and ogham only, to the ethnic times, arises solely from the fact that such was the alphabet then employed. if letters were unknown in those times, the example of homer shows how unlikely the later poets would have been to outrage so violently the whole spirit of the heroic literature. if rounded letters were then used, why the universal ascription of the late invented ogham which, as we know from the cemeteries and other sources, was unpopular in the christian age. cryptic, too, it was not. the very passages quoted in hermathena to support this opinion, so far from doing so prove actually the reverse. when cuculain came down into meath on his first [note: vol. i., page .] foray, he found, on the lawn of the dûn of the sons of nectan, a pillar stone with this inscription in ogham--"let no one pass without an offer of a challenge of single combat." the inscription was, of course, intended for all to read. should there be any bardic passage in which ogham inscriptions are alluded to as if an obscure form of writing, the natural explanation is, that this kind of writing was passing or had passed into desuetude at the time that particular passage was composed; but i have never met with any such. the ancient bard, who, in the tân-bo-cooalney, describes the slaughter of cailitin and his sons by cuculain, states that there was an inscription to that effect, written in ogham, upon the stone over their tomb, beginning thus--"take notice"--evidently intended for all to read. the tomb, by the way, was a rath--again showing the ethnic character of the alphabet. in the annals of the four masters, at the date b.c., we read these words:-- "the fleet of the sons of milith came to ireland to take it from the tuÁtha de danan," i.e., the gods of the ethnic irish. without pausing to enquire into the reasonableness of the date, it will suffice now to state that at this point the bardic history of ireland cleaves asunder into two great divisions--the mythological or divine on the one hand, and the historical or heroic-historical on the other. the first is an enchanted land--the world of the tuátha de danan--the country of the gods. there we see mananan with his mountain-sundering sword, the fray-garta; there lu lamfada, the deliverer, pondering over his mysteries; there bove derg and his fatal [note: every feast to which he came ended in blood. he was present at the death of conairey mor, chap. xxxiii., vol. i.] swine-herd, lir and his ill-starred children, mac mánar and his harp shedding death from its stricken wires, angus og, the beautiful, and he who was called the mighty father, eochaidht [note: ay-o-chee, written yeoha in vol. i.] mac elathan, a land populous with those who had partaken of the feast of goibneen, and whom, therefore, weapons could not slay, who had eaten [note: in early greek literature the province of history has been already separated from that of poetry. the ancient bardic lore and primaeval traditions were refined to suit the new and sensitive poetic taste. no commentator has been able to explain the nature of ambrosia. in the genuine bardic times, no such vague euphuism would have been tolerated as that of homer on this subject. the nature of olympian ambrosia would have been told in language as clear as that in which homer describes the preparation of that pramnian bowl for which nestor and machaon waited while hecamede was grating over it the goat's milk cheese, or that in which the irish bards described the ambrosia of the tuátha de danan, which, indeed, was no more poetic and awe-inspiring than plain bacon prepared by mananan from his herd of enchanted pigs, living invisible like himself in the plains of tir-na-n-og, the land of the ever-young. on the other hand, there is a vagueness about the feed fia which would seem to indicate the growth of a more awe-stricken mood in describing things supernatural. the faed fia of the greek gods has been refined by homer into "much darkness," which, from an artistic point of view, one can hardly help imagining that homer nodded as he wrote.] at the the table of mananan, and would never grow old, who had invented for themselves the faed fia, and might not be seen of the gross eyes of men; there steeds like anvarr crossing the wet sea like a firm plain; there ships whose rudder was the will, and whose sails and oars the wish, of those they bore [note: cf. the barks of the phoenicians in the odyssey.]; there hounds like that one of ioroway, and spears like fiery flying serpents. these are the tuátha de danan [note: a mystery still hangs over this three-formed name. the full expression, tuátha de danan, is that generally employed, less frequently tuátha de, and sometimes, but not often, tuátha. tuátha also means people. in mediaeval times the name lost its sublime meaning, and came to mean merely "fairy," no greater significance, indeed, attaching to the invisible people of the island after christianity had destroyed their godhood.], fairy princes, tuátha; gods, de; of dana, danan, otherwise ana and the moreega, or great queen; mater [note: cormac's glossary] deorum hibernensium--"well she used to cherish [note: scholiast noting same glossary.] the gods." limitless, this divine population, dwelling in all the seas and estuaries, river and lakes, mountains and fairy dells, in that enchanted erin which was theirs. but they have not started into existence suddenly, like the gods of rome, nor is their genealogy confined to a single generation like those of greece. behind them extends a long line of ancestors, and a history reaching into the remotest depths of the past. as the greek gods dethroned the titans, so the irish gods drove out or subjected the giants of the fir-bolgs; but in the irish mythology, we find both gods and giants descended from other ancient races of deities, called the clanna nemedh and the fomoroh, and these a branch of a divine cycle; yet more ancient the race of partholan, while partholan himself is not the eldest. the history of the italian gods is completely lost. for all that the early roman literature tells us of their origin, they may have been either self-created or eternal. rome was a seedling shaken from some old perished civilisation. the romans created their own empire, but they inherited their gods. they supply no example of an aryan nation evolving its own mythology and religion. regal rome, as we know from niebuhr, was not the root from which our rome sprang, but an old imperial city, from whose ashes sprang that rome we all know so well. the mythology of the latin writers came to them full-grown. the gods of greece were a creation of the greek mind, indeed; but of their ancestry, i.e., of their development from more ancient divine tribes, we know little. like pallas, they all but start into existence suddenly full-grown. between the huge physical entities of the greek theogonists and the olympian gods, there intervenes but a single generation. for this loss of the grecian mythology, and this substitution of nox and chaos for the remote ancestors of the olympians, we have to thank the early greek philosophers, and the general diffusion of a rude scientific knowledge, imparting a physical complexion to the mythological memory of the greeks. in the theogony of the ancient inhabitants of this country, we have an example of a slowly-growing, slowly-changing mythology, such as no other nation in the world can supply. the ancestry of the irish gods is not bounded by a single generation or by twenty. the tuátha de danan of the ancient irish are the final outcome and last development of a mythology which we can see advancing step by step, one divine tribe pushing out another, one family of gods swallowing up another, or perishing under the hands of time and change, to make room for another. from angus og, the god of youth and love and beauty, whose fit home was the woody slopes of the boyne, where it winds around rosnaree, we count fourteen generations to nemedh and four to partholan, and partholan is not the earliest. as the bards recorded with a zeal and minuteness, so far as i can see, without parallel, the histories of the families to which they were adscript, so also they recorded with equal patience and care the far-extending pedigrees of those other families--invisible indeed, but to them more real and more awe-inspiring--who dwelt by the sacred lakes and rivers, and in the folds of the fairy hills, and the great raths and cairns reared for them by pious hands. the extent, diversity, and populousness of the irish mythological cycles, the history of the irish gods, and the gradual growth of that mythology of which the tuátha de danan, i.e., the gods of the historic period, were the final development, can only be rightly apprehended by one who reads the bardic literature as it deals with this subject. that literature, however, so far from having been printed and published, has not even been translated, but still moulders in the public libraries of europe, those who, like myself, are not professed irish scholars, being obliged to collect their information piece-meal from quotations and allusions of those who have written upon the subject in the english or latin language. for to read the originals aright needs many years of labour, the irish tongue presenting at different epochs the characteristics of distinct languages, while the peculiarities of ancient caligraphy, in the defaced and illegible manuscripts, form of themselves quite a large department of study. stated succinctly, the mythological record of the bards, with its chronological decorations, runs thus:-- age of keasair. b.c. the gods of the keasairian cycle, bith, lara, and fintann, and their wives, keasair, barran and balba; their sacred places, carn keshra, keasair's tomb or temple, on the banks of the boyle, ard laran on the wexford coast, fert fintann on the shores of lough derg. about the same time lot luaimenich, lot of the lower shannon, an ancient sylvan deity. age of partholan and the earliest fomorian gods. b.c. a new spiritual dynasty, of which partholan was father and king. though their worship was extended over ireland, which is shown by the many different places connected with their history, yet the hill of tallaght, ten miles from dublin, was where they were chiefly adored. here to the present day are the mounds and barrows raised in honour of the deified heroes of this cycle, partholan himself, his wife delgna, his sons, rury, slaney, and laighlinni, and among others, the father of irish hospitality, bearing the expressive name of beer. now first appear the fomoroh giant princes, under the leadership of curt kical, son of niul, son of garf, son of u-mor--a divine cycle intervening between keasair and partholan, but not of sufficient importance to secure a separate chapter and distinct place in the annals. battles now between the clan partholan and the fomoroh, on the plain of ith, beside the river finn, co. donegal, so called from ith [note: see vol. i, p. ], son of brogan, the most ancient of the heroes, slain here by the tuátha de danan, but more anciently known by some lost fomorian name; also at iorrus domnan, now erris, co. mayo, where kical and his fomorians first reached ireland. these battles are a parable--objective representations of a fact in the mental history of the ancient irish--typifying the invisible war waged between partholanian and fomorian deities for the spiritual sovereignty of the gael. age of the nemedian gods and second cycle of the fomorians. b.c. age of the nemedian divinities, a later branch of the partholanian _vide post_ nemedian pedigree. nemedh, his wife maca (first appearance of macha, the war goddess, who gave her name to armagh, i.e., ard macha, the height of macha), iarbanel; fergus, the red-sided, and starn, sons of nemedh; beothah, son of iarbanel; erglann, son of beoan, son of starn; siméon brac, son of starn; ibath, son of beothach; britan mael, son of fergus. this must be remembered, that not one of the almost countless names that figure in the irish mythology is of fanciful origin. they all represent antique heroes and heroines, their names being preserved in connection with those monuments which were raised for purposes of sepulture or cult. wars now between the clanna nemedh and the second cycle of the fomoroh, led this time by faebar and more, sons of dela, and coning, son of faebar; battles at ros freachan, now rosreahan, barony of murresk, co. mayo, at slieve blahma [note: slieve blahma, now slieve bloom, a mountain range famous in our mythology; one of the peaks, ard erin, sacred to eiré, a goddess of the tuátha de danan, who has given her name to the island. the sites of all these mythological battles, where they are not placed in the haunted mountains, will be found to be a place of raths and cromlechs.] and murbolg, in dalaradia (murbolg, i.e., the stronghold of the giants,) also at tor coning, now tory island. firbolgs and third cycle of the fomoroh. b.c. age of the firbolgs and third cycle of the fomorians, once gods, but expulsed from their sovereignty by the tuátha de danan, after which they loom through the heroic literature as giants of the elder time, overthrown by the gods. from the firbolgs were descended, or claimed to have descended, the connaught warriors who fought with queen meave against cuculain, also the clan humor, appearing in the second volume, also the heroes of ossian, the fianna eireen. even in the time of keating, irish families traced thither their pedigrees. the great chiefs of the fir-bolgic dynasty were the five sons of dela, gann, genann, sengann, rury, and slaney, with their wives fuad, edain, anust, cnucha, and libra; also their last and most potent king, eocaidh mac erc, son of ragnal, son of genann, whose tomb or temple may be seen to-day at ballysadare, co. sligo, on the edge of the sea. the fomorians of this age were ruled over by baler beimenna and his wife kethlenn. their grandson was lu lamáda, one of the noblest of the irish gods. the last of the mythological cycles is that of the tuátha de danan, whose character, attributes, and history will, i hope, be rendered interesting and intelligible in my account of cuculain and the red branch of ulster. irish history has suffered from rationalism almost more than from neglect and ignorance. the conjectures of the present century are founded upon mediaeval attempts to reduce to verisimilitude and historical probability what was by its nature quite incapable of such treatment. the mythology of the irish nation, being relieved of the marvellous and sublime, was set down with circumstantial dates as a portion of the country's history by the literary men of the middle ages. unable to excide from the national narrative those mythological beings who filled so great a place in the imagination of the times, and unable, as christians, to describe them in their true character as gods, or, as patriots, in the character which they believed them to possess, namely, demons, they rationalized the whole of the mythological period with names, dates, and ordered generations, putting men for gods, flesh and blood for that invisible might, till the page bristled with names and dates, thus formulating, as annals, what was really the theogony and mythology of their country. the error of the mediaeval historians is shared by the not wiser moderns. in the generations of the gods we seem to see prehistoric racial divisions and large branches of the aryan family, an error which results from a neglect of the bardic literature, and a consequently misdirected study of the annals. as history, the pre-milesian record contains but a limited supply of objective truths; but as theogony, and the history of the irish gods, these much abused chronicles are as true as the roll of the kings of england. these divine nations, with their many successive generations and dynasties, constitute a single family; they are all inter-connected and spring from common sources, and where the literature permits us to see more clearly, the earlier races exhibit a common character. like a human clan, the elements of this divine family grew and died, and shed forth seedlings which, in time, over-grew and killed the parent stock. great names became obscure and passed away, and new ones grew and became great. gods, worshipped by the whole nation, declined and became topical, and minor deities expanding, became national. gods lost their immortality, and were remembered as giants of the old time--mighty men, which were of yore, men of renown. "the gods which were of old time rest in their tombs," sang the egyptians, consciously ascribing mortality even to gods. such was mac ere, king of fir-bolgs. his temple [note: strand near ballysadare, co. sligo], beside the sea at iorrus domnan [note: keating--evidently quoting a bardic historian], became his tomb. daily the salt tide embraces the feet of the great tumulus, regal amongst its smaller comrades, where the last king of fir-bolgs was worshipped by his people. "good [note: temple--vide post.] were the years of the sovereignty of mac ere. there was no wet or tempestuous weather in ireland, nor was there any unfruitful year." such were all the predecessors of the children of dana--gods which were of old times, that rest in their tombs; and the days, too, of the tuátha de danan were numbered. they, too, smitten by a more celestial light, vanished from their hills, like ossian lamenting over his own heroes; those others still mightier, might say:-- "once every step which we took might be heard throughout the firmament. now, all have gone, they have melted into the air." but that divine tree, though it had its branches in fairy-land, had its roots in the soil of erin. an unceasing translation of heroes into tir-na-n-og went on through time, the fairy-world of the bards, receiving every century new inhabitants, whose humbler human origin being forgotten, were supplied there with both wives and children. the apotheosis of great men went forward, tirelessly; the hero of one epoch becoming the god of the next, until the formation of the tuátha de danan, who represent the gods of the historic ages. had the advent of exact genealogy been delayed, and the creative imagination of the bards suffered to work on for a couple of centuries longer, unchecked by the historical conscience, cuculain's human origin would, perhaps, have been forgotten, and he would have been numbered amongst the tuátha de danan, probably, as the son of lu lamfáda and the moreega, his patron deities. it was, indeed, a favourite fancy of the bards that not sualtam, but lu lamfáda himself, was his father; this, however, in a spiritual or supernatural sense, for his age was far removed from that of the tuátha de danan, and falling well within the scope of the historic period. even as late as the time of alexander, the greeks could believe a great contemporary warrior to be of divine origin, and the son of zeus. when the irish bards began to elaborate a general history of their country, they naturally commenced with the enumeration of the elder gods. i at one time suspected that the long pedigrees running between those several divisions of the mythological period were the invention of mediaeval historians, anxious to spin out the national record, that it might reach to shinar and the dispersion. not only, however, was such fabrication completely foreign to the genius of the literature, but in the fragments of those early divine cycles, we see that each of these personages was at one time the centre of a literature, and holds a definite place as regards those who went before and came after. these pedigrees, as i said before, have no historical meaning, being pre-milesian, and therefore absolutely prehistoric; but as the genealogy of the gods, and as representing the successive generations of that invisible family, whose history not one or ten bards, but the whole bardic and druidic organisation of the island, delighted to record, collate, and verify--those pedigrees are as reliable as that of any of the regal clans. they represent accurately the mythological panorama, as it unrolled itself slowly through the centuries before the imagination and spirit of our ancestors accurately that divine drama, millennium--lasting, with its exits and entrances of gods. millennium-lasting, and more so, for it is plain that one divine generation represents on the average a much greater space of time than a generation of mortal men. the former probably represents the period which would elapse before a hero would become so divine, that is, so consecrated in the imagination of the country, as to be received into the family of the gods. cuculain died in the era of the incarnation, three hundred years, if not more, before the country even began to be christianised, yet he is never spoken of as anything but a great hero, from which one of two things would follow, either that the apotheosis of heroes needed the lapse of centuries, or that, during the first, second, third, and fourth centuries, the historical conscience was so enlightened, and a positive definite knowledge of the past so universal, that the translation of heroes into the divine clans could no longer take place. the latter is indeed the more correct view; but the reader will, i think, agree with me that the divine generations, taken generally, represent more than the average space of man's life. to what remote unimagined distances of time those earlier cycles extend has been shown by an examination of the tombs of the lower moy tura. the ancient heroes there interred were those who, as fir-bolgs, preceded the reign of the tuáth de danan, coming long after the clanna nemedh in the divine cycle, who were themselves preceded by the children of partholan, who were subsequent to the queen keasair. such then being the position in the divine cycle of the fir-bolgs, an examination of the firbolgic raths on moy tura has revealed only implements of stone, proving demonstratively that the early divine cycles originated before the bronze age in ireland, whenever that commenced. those heroes who, as fir-bolgs, received divine honours, lived in the age of stone. so far is it from being the case, that the mythological record has been extended and unduly stretched, to enable the monkish historians to connect the irish pedigrees with those of the mosaic record, that it has, i believe, been contracted for this purpose. the reader will be now prepared to peruse with some interest and understanding one or two of the mythological pedigrees. to these i have at times appended the dates, as given in the chronicles, to show how the early historians rationalised the pre-historic record. angus og, the beautiful, represents the greek eros. he was surnamed og, or young; mac-an-og, or the son of youth; mac-an-dagda, son of the dagda. he was represented with a harp, and attended by bright birds, his own transformed kisses, at whose singing love arose in the hearts of youths and maidens. to him and to his father the great tumulus of new grange, upon the boyne, was sacred. "i visited the royal brugh that stands by the dark-rolling waters of the boyne, where angus og magnificently dwells." he was the patron god of diarmid, the paris of ossian's fianna, and removed him into tir-na-n-og, when he died, having been ripped by the tusks of the wild boar on the peaks of slieve gulban. lu lamfáda was the patron god of cuculain. he was surnamed ioldana, as the source of the sciences, and represented the greek apollo. the latter was argurgurotoxos [transcriber's note: greek in the original], but lu was a sling bearing god. of fomorian descent on the mother's side, he joined his father's people, the tuátha de danan, in the great war against the fomoroh. he is principally celebrated for his oppression of the sons of turann, in vengeance for the murder of his father. angus og, (circa b.c.) lu lamfada, (circa b.c.) son of son of the dagda, (zeus) cian, son of son of elathan, diancéct, (god the healer) son of son of dela, esric, son of son of ned, dela, son of son of indaei, ned, son of son of indaei, son of alldaei. amongst other irish gods was bove derg, who dwelt invisible in the galtee mountains, and in the hills above lough derg. the transformed children alluded to in vol. i. were his grand-children. it was his goldsmith len, who gave its ancient name to the lakes of killarney, locha lein. here by the lake he worked, surrounded by rainbows and showers of fiery dew. mananan was the god of the sea, of winds and storms, and most skilled in magic lore. he was friendly to cuculain, and was invoked by seafaring men. he was called the far shee of the promontories. bove derg (circa b.c.) mananan (circa b.c.) son of son of eocaidh garf, alloid, son of son of duach temen, elathan, son of son of bras, dela, son of son of dela, ned, son of son of ned, indaei, son of son of indaei, son of alldaei. the tuátha de danan maybe counted literally by the hundred, each with a distinct history, and all descended from alldaei. from alldaei the pedigree runs back thus:-- alldaei son of tath, son of tabarn, son of enna, son of baath, son of ebat, son of betah, son of iarbanel, son of nemedh (circa b.c.) nemedh, as i have said, forms one of the great epochs in the mythological record. as will be seen, he and the earlier partholan have a common source:-- nemedh son of sera, son of pamp, son of tath, partholan ( b.c.) son of son of sera, son of sru, son of esru, son of pramant. the connection between keasair, the earliest of the irish gods, and the rest of the cycle, i have not discovered, but am confident of its existence. how this divine cycle can be expunged from the history of ireland i am at a loss to see. the account which a nation renders of itself must, and always does, stand at the head of every history. how different is this from the history and genealogy of the greek gods which runs thus:-- the olympian gods, titans, physical entities, nox, chaos, &c. the greek gods, undoubtedly, had a long ancestry extending into the depths of the past, but the sudden advent of civilisation broke up the bardic system before the historians could become philosophical, or philosophers interested in antiquities. but the irish history corrects our view with regard to other matters connected with the gods of the aryan nations of europe also. all the nations of europe lived at one time under the bardic and druidic system, and under that system imagined their gods and elaborated their various theogonies, yet, in no country in europe has a bardic literature been preserved except in ireland, for no thinking man can believe homer to have been a product of that rude type of civilisation of which he sings. this being the case, modern philosophy, accounting for the origin of the classical deities by guesses and _a priori_ reasonings, has almost universally adopted that explanation which i have, elsewhere, called wordsworthian, and which derives them directly from the imagination personifying the aspects of nature. "in that fair clime, the lonely herdsman, stretched on the soft grass through half a summer's day, with music lulled his indolent repose, and in some fit of weariness if he, when his own breath was silent, chanced to hear a distant strain far sweeter than the sounds which his poor skill could make, his fancy fetched, even from the blazing chariot of the sun, a beardless youth who touched a golden lute and filled the illumined groves with ravishment-- *** "sunbeams upon distant hills, gliding apace with shadows in their train, might, with small help from fancy, be transformed into fleet oreads, sporting visibly." this is pretty, but untrue. in all the ancient irish literature we find the connection of the gods, both those who survived into the historic times, and those whom they had dethroned, with the raths and cairns perpetually and almost universally insisted upon. the scene of the destruction of the firbolgs will be found to be a place of tombs, the metropolis of the fomorians a place of tombs, and a place of tombs the sacred home of the tuátha along the shores of the boyne. doubtless, they are represented also as dwelling in the hills, lakes, and rivers, but still the connection between the great raths and cairns and the gods is never really forgotten. when the floruit of a god has expired, he is assigned a tomb in one of the great tumuli. no one can peruse this ancient literature without seeing clearly the genesis of the irish gods, _videlicet_ heroes, passing, through the imagination and through the region of poetic representation, into the world of the supernatural. when a king died, his people raised his ferta, set up his stone, and engraved upon it, at least in later times, his name in ogham. they celebrated his death with funeral lamentations and funeral games, and listened to the bards chanting his prowess, his liberality, and his beauty. in the case of great warriors, these games and lamentations became periodical. it is distinctly recorded in many places, for instance in connection with taylti, who gave her name to taylteen and garman, who gave her name to loch garman, now wexford, and with lu lamfáda, whose annual worship gave its name to the kalends of august. gradually, as his actual achievements became more remote, and the imagination of the bards, proportionately, more unrestrained, he would pass into the world of the supernatural. even in the case of a hero so surrounded with historic light as cuculain we find a halo, as of godhood, often settling around him. his gray warsteed had already passed into the realm of mythical representation, as a second avatar of the liath macha, the grey war-horse of the war-goddess macha. this could be believed, even in the days when the imagination was controlled by the annalists and tribal heralds. the gods of the irish were their deified ancestors. they were not the offspring of the poetic imagination, personifying the various aspects of nature. traces, indeed, we find of their influence over the operations of nature, but they are, upon the whole, slight and unimportant. from nature they extract her secrets by their necromantic and magical labours, but nature is as yet too great to be governed and impelled by them. the irish apollo had not yet entered into the sun. like every country upon which imperial rome did not leave the impress of her genius, ireland, in these ethnic times, attained only a partial unity. the chief king indeed presided at tara, and enjoyed the reputation and emoluments flowing to him on that account, but, upon the whole, no irish king exercised more than a local sovereignty; they were all reguli, petty kings, and their direct authority was small. this being the case, it would appear to me that in the more ancient times the death of a king would not be an event which would disturb a very extensive district, and that, though his tomb might be considerable, it would not be gigantic. now on the banks of the boyne, opposite rosnaree, there stands a tumulus, said to be the greatest in europe. it covers acres of ground, being of proportionate height. the earth is confined by a compact stone wall about twelve feet high. the central chamber, made of huge irregular pebbles, is about twenty feet from ground to roof, communicating with the outer air by a flagged passage. immense pebbles, drawn from the county of antrim, stand around it, each of which, even to move at all, would require the labour of many men, assisted with mechanical appliances. it is, of course, impossible to make an accurate estimate of the expenditure of labour necessary for the construction of such a work, but it would seem to me to require thousands of men working for years. can we imagine that a petty king of those times could, after his death, when probably his successor had enough to do to sustain his new authority, command such labour merely to provide for himself a tomb. if this tomb were raised to the hero whose name it bears immediately after his death, and in his mundane character, he must have been such a king as never existed in ireland, even in the late christian times. even brian of the tributes himself, could not have commanded such a sepulture, or anything like it, living though he did, probably, two thousand years later than that eocaidh mac elathan, whenever he did live. there is a _nodus_ here needing a god to solve it. returning now to what would most likely take place after the interment of a hero, we may well imagine that the size of his tomb would be in proportion to the love which he inspired, where no accidental causes would interfere with the gratification of that feeling. of one of his heroes, ossian, sings-- "we made his cairn great and high like a king's." after that there would be periodical meetings in his honour, the celebration of games, solemn recitations by bards, singing his aristeia [transcriber's note: greek in the original]. gradually the new wine would burst the old bottles. the ever-active, eager-loving imagination would behold the champion grown to heroic proportions, the favourite of the gods, the performer of superhuman feats. the tomb, which was once commensurate with the love and reverence which he inspired, would seem so now no longer. the tribal bards, wandering or attending the great fairs and assemblies, would disperse among strangers and neighbours a knowledge of his renown. in the same cemetery or neighbourhood their might be other tombs of heroes now forgotten, while he, whose fame was in every bardic mouth in all that region, was honoured only with a tomb no greater than theirs. the mere king or champion, grown into a topical hero, would need a greater tomb. ere long again, owing to the bardic fraternity, who, though coming from innishowen or cape clear, formed a single community, the topical hero would, in some cases, where his character was such as would excite deeper reverence and greater fame, grow into a national hero, and a still nobler tomb be required, in order that the visible memorial might prove commensurate with the imaginative conception. now all this time the periodic celebrations, the games, and lamentations, and songs would be assuming a more solemn character. awe would more and more mingle with the other feelings inspired by his name. certain rites and a certain ritual would attend those annual games and lamentations, which would formerly not have been suitable, and eventually, when the hero, slowly drawing nearer through generations, if not centuries, at last reached tir-na-n-og, and was received into the family of the gods, a religious feeling of a different nature would mingle with the more secular celebration of his memory, and his rath or cairn would assume in their eyes a new character. to an ardent imaginative people the complete extinction by death of a much-loved hero would even at first be hardly possible. that the tomb which held his ashes should be looked upon as the house of the hero must have been, even shortly after his interment, a prevailing sentiment, whether expressed or not. also, the feeling must have been present, that the hero in whose honour they performed the annual games, and periodically chanted the remembrance of whose achievements, saw and heard those things that were done in his honour. but as the celebration became greater and more solemn, this feeling would become more strong, and as the tomb, from a small heap of stones or low mound, grew into an enormous and imposing rath, the belief that this was the hero's house, in which he invisibly dwelt, could not be avoided, even before they ceased to regard him as a disembodied hero; and after the hero had mingled with the divine clans, and was numbered amongst the gods, the idea that the rath was a tomb could not logically be entertained. as a god, was he not one of those who had eaten of the food provided by mananan, and therefore never died. the rath would then become his house or temple. as matter of fact, the bardic writings teem with this idea. from reason and probability, we would with some certainty conclude that the great tumulus of new grange was the temple of some irish god; but that it was so, we know as a fact. the father and king of the gods is alluded to as dwelling there, going out from thence, and returning again, and there holding his invisible court. "behold the _sid_ before your eyes, it is manifest to you that it is a king's mansion." [note: o'curry's manuscript materials of irish history, page .] "bove derg went to visit the dagda at the brugh of mac-an-og." [note: "dream of angus," révue celtique, vol. iii., page .] here also dwelt angus og, the son of the dagda. in this, his spiritual court or temple, he is represented as having entertained oscar and the ossianic heroes, and thither he conducted [note: publications of ossianic society, vol. iii., page .] the spirit of diarmid, that he might have him for ever there. in the etymology also we see the origin of the irish gods. a grave in irish is sid, the disembodied spirit is sidhe, and this latter word glosses tuátha de danan. the fact that the grave of a hero developed slowly into the temple of a god, explains certain obscurities in the annals and literature. as a hero was exalted into a god, so in turn a god sank into a hero, or rather into the race of the giants. the elder gods, conquered and destroyed by the younger, could no longer be regarded as really divine, for were they not proved to be mortal? the development of the temple from the tomb was not forgotten, the whole country being filled with such tombs and incipient temples, from the great brugh on the boyne to the smallest mound in any of the cemeteries. thus, when the elder gods lost their spiritual sovereignty, and their destruction at the hands of the younger took the form of great battles, then as the god was forced to become a giant, so his temple was remembered to be a tomb. doubtless, in his own territory, divine honours were still paid him; but in the national imagination and in the classical literature and received history, he was a giant of the olden time, slain by the gods, and interred in the rath which bore his name. such was the great mac erc, king of fir-bolgs. again, when the mediaeval christians ceased to regard the tuátha de danan as devils, and proceeded to rationalise the divine record as the ethnic bards had rationalised the history of the early gods; the tuátha de danan, shorn of immortality, became ancient heroes who had lived their day and died, and the greater raths, no longer the houses of the gods, figure in that literature irrationally rational, as their tombs. thus we are gravely informed [note: annals of four masters.] that "the dagda mor, after the second battle of moy tura, retired to the brugh on the boyne, where he died from the venom of the wounds inflicted on him by kethlenn"--the fomorian amazon--"and was there interred." even in this passage the writer seems to have been unable to dispossess his mind quite of the traditional belief that the brugh was the dagda's house. the peculiarity of this mound, in addition to its size, is the spaciousness of the central chamber. this was that germ which, but for the overthrow of the bardic religion, would have developed into a temple in the classic sense of the word. a two-fold motive would have impelled the growing civilisation in this direction. a desire to make the house of the god as spacious within as it was great without, and a desire to transfer his worship, or the more esoteric and solemn part of it, from without to within. either the absence of architectural knowledge, or the force of conservatism, or the advent of the christian missionaries, checked any further development on these lines. elsewhere the tomb, instead of developing as a tumulus or barrow, produced the effect of greatness by huge circumvallations of earth, and massive walls of stone. such is the temple of ned the war-god, called aula neid, the court or palace of ned, near the foyle in the north. had the ethnic civilisation of ireland been suffered to develop according to its own laws, it is probable that, as the roofed central chamber of the cairn would have grown until it filled the space occupied by the mound, so the open-walled temple would have developed into a covered building, by the elevation of the walls, and their gradual inclination to the centre. the bee-hive houses of the monks, the early churches, and the round towers are a development of that architecture which constructed the central chambers of the raths. in this fact lies, too, the explanation of the cyclopean style of building which characterizes our most ancient buildings. the cromlech alone, formed in very ancient times the central chamber of the cairn; it is found in the centre of the raths on moy tura, belonging to the stone age and that of the firbolgs. when the cromlech fell into disuse, the arched chamber above the ashes of the hero was constructed with enormous stones, as a substitute for the majestic appearance presented by the massive slab and supporting pillars of the more ancient cromlech, and the early stone buildings preserved the same characteristic to a certain extent. the same sentiment which caused the mediaeval christians to disinter and enshrine the bones of their saints, and subsequently to re-enshrine them with greater art and more precious materials, caused the ethnic worshippers of heroes to erect nobler tombs over the inurned relics of those whom they revered, as the meanness of the tomb was seen to misrepresent and humiliate the sublimity of the conception. but the christians could never have imagined their saints to have been anything but men--a fact which caused the retention and preservation of the relics. when the gentiles exalted their hero into a god, the charred bones were forgotten or ascribed to another. the hero then became immortal in his own right; he had feasted with mananan and eaten his life-giving food, and would not know death. when the mortal character of the hero was forgotten, his house or temple might be erected anywhere. the great raths of the boyne--a place grown sacred from causes which we may not now learn--represented, probably, heroes and heroines, who died and were interred in many different parts of the country. to recapitulate, the dagda mor was a divine title given to a hero named eocaidh, who lived many centuries before the birth of christ, and in the depths of the pre-historic ages. he was the mortal scion or ward of an elder god, elathan, and was interred in some unknown grave--marked, perhaps, by a plain pillar stone, or small insignificant cairn. the great tumulus of new grange was the temple of the divine or supernatural period of his spiritual or imagined career after death, and was a development by steps from that small unremembered grave where once his warriors hid the inurned ashes of the hero. what is true of one branch of the aryan family is true of all. sentiments of such universality and depth must have been common to all. if this be so, the olympian zeus himself was once some rude chieftain dwelling in thrace or macedonia, and his sublime temple of doric architecture traceable to some insignificant cairn or flagged cist in greece, or some earlier home of the hellenic race, and his name not zeus, but another; and kronos, that god whom he, as a living wight, adored, and under whose protection and favour he prospered. this ebook was produced by john b. hare and carrie lorenz. heroic romances of ireland translated into english prose and verse, with preface, special introductions and notes by a. h. leahy in two volumes vol. i preface at a time like the present, when in the opinion of many the great literatures of greece and rome are ceasing to hold the influence that they have so long exerted upon human thought, and when the study of the greatest works of the ancient world is derided as "useless," it may be too sanguine to hope that any attention can be paid to a literature that is quite as useless as the greek; which deals with a time, which, if not actually as far removed from ours as are classical times, is yet further removed in ideas; a literature which is known to few and has yet to win its way to favour, while the far superior literature of greece finds it hard to defend the position that it long ago won. it may be that reasons like these have weighed with those scholars who have opened up for us the long-hidden treasures of celtic literature; despairing of the effort to obtain for that literature its rightful crown, and the homage due to it from those who can appreciate literary work for itself, they have been contented to ask for the support of that smaller body who from philological, antiquarian, or, strange as it may appear, from political reasons, are prepared to take a modified interest in what should be universally regarded as in its way one of the most interesting literatures of the world. the literary aspect of the ancient literature of ireland has not indeed been altogether neglected. it has been used to furnish themes on which modern poems can be written; ancient authority has been found in it for what is essentially modern thought: modern english and irish poets have claimed the old irish romances as inspirers, but the romances themselves have been left to the scholars and the antiquarians. this is not the position that irish literature ought to fill. it does undoubtedly tell us much of the most ancient legends of modern europe which could not have been known without it; but this is not its sole, or even its chief claim to be heard. it is itself the connecting-link between the old world and the new, written, so far as can be ascertained, at the time when the literary energies of the ancient world were dead, when the literatures of modern europe had not been born,[fn# ] in a country that had no share in the ancient civilisation of rome, among a people which still retained many legends and possibly a rudimentary literature drawn from ancient celtic sources, and was producing the men who were the earliest classical scholars of the modern world. [fn# ] the only possible exceptions to this, assuming the latest possible date for the irish work, and the earliest date for others, are the kindred welsh literature and that of the anglo-saxon invaders of britain. the exact extent of the direct influence of irish literature upon the development of other nations is hard to trace, chiefly because the influence of ireland upon the continent was at its height at the time when none of the languages of modern europe except welsh and anglo-saxon had reached a stage at which they might be used for literary purposes, and a continental literature on which the irish one might have influence simply did not exist. its subsequent influence, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, upon welsh, and through welsh upon the early breton literature (now lost) appears to be established; it is usually supposed that its action upon the earliest french compositions was only through the medium of these languages, but it is at least possible that its influence in this case also was more direct. in merovingian and early carlovingian times, when french songs were composed, which are now lost but must have preceded the extant chansons de geste, the irish schools were attracting scholars from the neighbouring countries of europe; ireland was sending out a steady stream of "learned men" to france, germany, and italy; and it is at least possible that some who knew the irish teachers realized the merit of the literary works with which some of these teachers must have been familiar. the form of the twelfth-century french romance, "aucassin and nicolete," is that of the chief irish romances, and may well have been suggested by them; whilst the variety of the rhythm and the elaborate laws of the earliest french poetry, which, both in its northern and southern form, dates from the first half of the twelfth century, almost imply a pre-existing model; and such a model is more easily traced in irish than in any other vernacular literature that was then available. it is indeed nearly as hard to suppose that the beautiful literature of ireland had absolutely no influence upon nations known to be in contact with it, as it would be to hold to the belief that the ancient cretan civilisation had no effect upon the liter ary development that culminated in the poems of homer. before speaking of what the irish literature was, it may be well to say what it was not. the incidents related in it date back, according to the "antiquaries" of the ninth to the twelfth centuries, some to the christian era, some to a period long anterior to it; but occasional allusions to events that were unknown in ireland before the introduction of christianity, and a few to classical personages, show that the form of the present romances can hardly be pre-christian, or even close translations into old or middle irish of druidic tales. it has therefore been the fashion to speak of the romances as inaccurate survivals of pre-christian works, which have been added to by successive generations of "bards," a mode of viewing our versions of the romances which of course puts them out of the category of original literature and hands them over to the antiquarians; but before they suffer this fate, it is reasonable to ask that their own literary merit should be considered in a more serious manner than has yet been attempted. the idea that our versions of the romances are inaccurate reproductions of druidic tales is not at all borne out by a study of the romances themselves; for each of these, except for a few very manifestly late insertions, has a style and character of its own. there were, undoubtedly, old traditions, known to the men who in the sixth and seventh centuries may have written the tales that we have, known even to men who in the tenth and eleventh centuries copied them and commented upon them; but the romances as they now stand do not look like pieces of patchwork, but like the works of men who had ideas to convey; and to me at least they seem to bear approximately the same relation to the druid legends as the works of the attic tragedians bear to the archaic greek legends on which their tragedies were based. in more than one case, as in the "courtship of etain," which is more fully discussed below, there are two versions of the same tale, the framework being the same in both, while the treatment of the incidents and the view of the characters of the actors is essentially different; and when the story is treated from the antiquarian point of view, that which regards both versions as resting upon a common prehistoric model, the question arises, which of the two more nearly represents the "true" version? there is, i would submit, in such cases, no true version. the old druidic story, if it could be found, would in all probability contain only a very small part of either of our two versions; it would be bald, half-savage in tone, like one of the more ancient greek myths, and producing no literary effect; the literary effect of both the versions that we have, being added by men who lived in christian times, were influenced by christian ideals, and probably were, like many of their contemporaries, familiar with the literary bequests of the ancient world.[fn# ] [fn# ] it seems to be uncertain whether or not the writers of the irish romances shared in the classical learning for which ireland was noted in their time. the course of study at the schools established for the training of the fili in the tenth and eleventh centuries was certainly, as has been pointed out, very different from that of the ecclesiastical schools (see joyce, vol. i. p. ). no classical instruction was included in this training, but it is not certain that this separation of studies was so complete before what is called the "antiquarian age" set in. cormac mac cuninan, for example, was a classical scholar, and at the same time skilled in the learning of the fili. it should also be observed that the course at the ecclesiastical schools, as handed down to us, hardly seems to be classical enough to have produced a columbanus or an erigena; the studies that produced these men must have been of a different kind, and the lay schools as originally established by sanchan torpest may have included much that afterwards gave place to a more purely irish training. the tale of troy seems to have been known to the fili, and there are in their works allusions to greek heroes, to hercules and hector, but it has been pointed out by mr. nutt that there is little if any evidence of influence produced by latin or greek literature on the actual matter or thought of the older irish work. on this point reference may be made to a note on "mae datho's boar" in this volume (p. ), but even if this absence of classical influence is established (and it is hard to say what will not be found in irish literature), it is just possible that the same literary feeling which made irish writers of comparatively late tales keep the bronze weapons and chariots of an earlier date in their accounts of ancient wars, while they described arms of the period when speaking of battles of their own time, affected them in this instance also; and that they had enough restraint to refrain from introducing classical and christian ideas when speaking of times in which they knew these ideas would have been unfamiliar. it may be, and often is, assumed that the appearance of grotesque or savage passages in a romance is an indication of high antiquity, and that these passages at least are faithful reproductions of druidic originals, but this does not seem to be quite certain. some of these passages, especially in the case of romances preserved in the leabhar na h-uidhri (the book of the dun cow), look like insertions made by scribes of an antiquarian turn of mind,[fn# ] and are probably of very ancient date; in other cases, as for example in the "boar of mac datho," where conall dashes anluan's head into ket's face, the savagery is quite in 'keeping with the character of the story, and way have been deliberately invented by an author living in christian times, to add a flavour to his tale, although in doing so he probably imitated a similar incident in some other legend. to take a classical parallel, the barbarity shown by aeneas in aeneid x. - , in sacrificing four youths on the funeral pyre of pallas, an act which would have been regarded with horror in virgil's own day, does not prove that there was any ancient tale of the death of pallas in which these victims were sacrificed, nor even that such victims were sacrificed in ancient latium in pallas' day; but it does show that virgil was familiar with the fact that such victims used in some places to be sacrificed on funeral pyres; for, in a sense, he could not have actually invented the incident. [fn# ] see the exhibition of the tips of tongues in the "sick-bed of cuchulain," page . thus the appearance of an archaic element in an irish romance is in itself no proof of the druidic origin of that form of the romance, nor even of the existence of that element in the romance's earliest form: upon such a principle the archaic character of the motif of the "oedipus coloneus" would prove it to be the oldest of the greek tragedies, while as a matter of fact it seems to be doubtful whether the introduction of this motif into the story of oedipus was not due to sophocles himself, although of course he drew the idea of it, if not from the original legend of oedipus, from some other early legend. the most satisfactory test of the authorship of an irish romance, and one of the most satisfactory tests of its date, is its literary character; and if we look at the literary character of the best of the irish romances, there is one point that is immediately apparent, the blending of prose and verse. one, the most common, explanation of this, is that the verse was added to the original tale, another that the verse is the older part, the prose being added to make a framework for the verse, but a general view of some of the original romances appears to lead to a very different conclusion. it seems much more probable that the irish authors deliberately chose a method of making their work at once literary and suited to please a popular audience; they told their stories in plain prose, adding to them verse, possibly chanted by the reciters of the stories, so that while the prose told the story in simple language, the emotions of pity, martial ardour, and the like were awakened by the verse. they did not use the epic form, although their knowledge of classical literature must have made them familiar with it; the irish epic form is romance. they had, besides the prose and what may be called the "regular" verse, a third form, that of rose, or as it is sometimes called rhetoric, which is a very irregular form of verse. sometimes it rhymes, but more often not; the lines are of varying lengths, and to scan them is often very difficult, an alliteration taking the place of scansion in many cases. the rhetoric does not in general develop the story nor take the form of description, it usually consists of songs of triumph, challenges, prophecies, and exhortations, though it is sometimes used for other purposes. it does not conform to strict grammatical rules like the more regular verse and the prose, and many of the literal translations which irish scholars have made for us of the romances omit this rhetoric entirely, owing to the difficulty in rendering it accurately, and because it does not develop the plots of the stories. notable examples of such omissions are in miss faraday's translation of the leabhar na h-uidhri version of the "great tain," and in whitley stokes' translation of the "destruction of da derga's hostel." with all respect to these scholars, and with the full consciousness of the difficulty of the task that has naturally been felt by one who has vainly attempted to make sense of what their greater skill has omitted, it may be suggested that the total omission of such passages injures the literary effect of a romance in a manner similar to the effect of omitting all the choric pieces in a greek tragedy: the rhetoric indeed, on account of its irregularity, its occasional strophic correspondence, its general independence of the action of the tale, and its difficulty as compared with the other passages, may be compared very closely to a greek "chorus." few of the romances written in prose and verse are entirely without rhetoric; but some contain very little of it; all the six romances of this character given in the present volume (counting as two the two versions of "etain") contain some rhetoric, but there are only twenty-one such passages in the collection altogether, ten of which are in one romance, the "sick-bed of cuchulain." the present collection is an attempt to give to english readers some of the oldest romances in english literary forms that seem to correspond to the literary forms which were used in irish to produce the same effect, and has been divided into two parts. the first part contains five separate stories, all of which are told in the characteristic form of prose and verse: they are the "courtship of etain," the "boar of mac datho," the "sick-bed of cuchulain," the "death of the sons of usnach" (book of leinster version), and the "combat at the ford" out of the book of leinster version of the "tain bo cuailnge." two versions are given of the "courtship of etain "; and the "sick-bed of cuchulain," as is pointed out in the special preface prefixed to it, really consists of two independent versions. it was at first intended to add the better-known version of the "death of the sons of usnach" known as that of the glenn masain ms., but the full translation of this has been omitted, partly to avoid making the volume too bulky, partly because this version is readily attainable in a literal form; an extract from it has, however, been added to the book of leinster version for the purpose of comparison. in the renderings given of these romances the translation of the prose is nearly literal, but no attempt has been made to follow the irish idiom where this idiom sounds harsh in english; actives have been altered to passive forms and the reverse, adjectives are sometimes replaced by short sentences which give the image better in english, pronouns, in which irish is very rich, are often replaced by the persons or things indicated, and common words, like iarom, iarsin, iartain, immorro, and the like (meaning thereafter, moreover, &c.), have been replaced by short sentences that refer back to the events indicated by the words. nothing has been added to the irish, except in the leabhar na h-uidhri version of "etain," where there is a lacuna to be filled up, and there are no omissions. the translations of the verse and of the rhetoric are, so far as is possible, made upon similar lines; it was at first intended to add literal renderings of all the verse passages, but it was found that to do so would make the volume of an unmanageable size for its purpose. literal renderings of all the verse passages in "etain," the first of the tales in volume i., are given in the notes to that story; the literal renderings of deirdre's lament in the "sons of usnach," and of two poems in "the combat at the ford," are also given in full as specimens, but in the case of most of the poems reference is made to easily available literal translations either in english or german: where the literal rendering adopted differs from that referred to, or where the poem in question has not before been translated, the literal rendering has been given in the notes. these examples will, it is believed, give a fair indication of the relation between my verse translations and the originals, the deviations from which have been made as small as possible. the form of four-line verse divided into stanzas has generally been used to render the passages in four-lined verse in the irish, the only exception to this rule being in the verses at the end of the "boar of mac datho": these are in the nature of a ballad version of the whole story, and have been rendered in a ballad metre that does not conform to the arrangement in verses of the original. the metre of all the irish four-lined verses in this volume is, except in two short pieces, a seven-syllabled line, the first two lines usually rhyming with each other, and the last two similarly rhyming,[fn# ] in a few cases in the "boar of mac datho" these rhymes are alternate, and in the extract from the glenn masain version of the "sons of usnach" there is a more complicated rhyme system. it has not been thought necessary to reproduce this metre in all cases, as to do so would sound too monotonous in english; the metre is, however, reproduced once at least in each tale except in that of the "death of the sons of usnach." the eight-lined metre that occurs in five of the verse passages in the "combat at the ford" has in one case been reproduced exactly, and in another case nearly exactly, but with one syllable added to each line; the two passages in this romance that are in five-syllabled lines have been reproduced exactly in the irish metre, in one case with the rhyme-system of the original. with the rhetoric greater liberty has been used; sometimes the original metre has been followed, but more often not; and an occasional attempt has been made to bring out the strophic correspondence in the irish. [fn# ] an example of this metre is as follows:-- all the elves of troom seem dead, all their mighty deeds are fled; for their hound, who hounds surpassed, elves have bound in slumber fast. in the first volume of the collection the presentation has then been made as near as may be to the form and matter of the irish; in the second volume, called "versified romances," there is a considerable divergence from the irish form but not from its sense. this part includes the five "tains" or cattle-forays of fraech, dartaid, regamon, flidais, and regamna; which in the originals differ from the five tales in volume i, in that they include no verse, except for a few lines in regamna, most of which are untranslatable. the last four of these are short pieces written in a prose extremely rapid in its action, and crowded with incident. they are all expressly named as "fore-tales," remscela, or preludes to the story of the great war of cualnge, which is the central event in the ulster heroic cycle, and appear suited for rapid prose recitations, which were apparently as much a feature in ancient as they are in modern irish. such pieces can hardly be reproduced in english prose so as to bring out their character; they are represented in english by the narrative ballad, and they have been here rendered in this way. literal translations in prose are printed upon the opposite page to the verse, these translations being much more exact than the translations in the first volume, as the object in this case is to show the literal irish form, not its literal english equivalent, which is in this case the verse. the "tain bo fraich" is also, in a sense, a "fore-tale" to the great raid, but is of a different character to the others. it consists of two parts, the second of which is not unlike the four that have just been mentioned, but the first part is of a much higher order, containing brilliant descriptions, and at least one highly poetic passage although its irish form is prose. fraech has been treated like the other fore-tales, and rendered in verse with literal prose opposite to the verse for the purpose of comparison. the notes to all the five tana in the second volume accompany the text; in the first volume all the notes to the different romances are collected together, and placed at the end of the volume. the second volume also includes a transcript from the facsimile of that part of the irish text of the tale of etain which has not before been published, together with an interlinear literal translation. it is hoped that this arrangement may assist some who are not middle irish scholars to realise what the original romances are. the manuscript authorities for the eleven different romances (counting as two the two versions of "etain") are all old; seven are either in the leabhar na h-uidhri, an eleventh-century manuscript, or in the book of leinster, a twelfth-century one; three of the others are in the fourteenth-century yellow book of lecan, which is often, in the case of texts preserved both in it and the leabhar na h-uidhri, regarded as the better authority of the two; and the remaining one, the second version of "etain," is in the fifteenth-century manuscript known as egerton, , which gives in an accurate form so many texts preserved in the older manuscripts that it is very nearly as good an authority as they. the sources used in making the translations are also stated in the special introductions, but it may be mentioned as a summary that the four "preludes," the tana of dartaid, regamon, flidais, and regamna, are taken from the text printed with accompanying german translations by windisch in irische texte, vol. ii.; windisch's renderings being followed in those portions of the text that he translates; for the "tain bo fraich" and the "combat at the ford" the irish as given by o'beirne crowe and by o'curry, with not very trustworthy english translations, has been followed; in the case of the fragment of the glenn masain version of "deirdre" little reference has been made to the irish, the literal translation followed being that given by whitley stokes. the remaining five romances, the "boar of mac datho," the leinster version of "deirdre," the "sick-bed of cuchulain," the egerton version of "etain," and the greater part of the leabbar na h-uidhri version of the same, are taken from the irish text printed without translation in irische texte, vol. i., the end of the leabhar na h-uidhri version omitted by windisch being taken from the facsimile of the manuscript published by the royal irish academy. i have to acknowledge with gratitude many corrections to o'beirne crowe's translation of the "tain bo fraich" kindly given me by professor kuno meyer; in the case of o'curry's translation of the "combat at the ford," similar help kindly given me by mr. e. j. quiggin; and in the case of the two versions of "etain," more especially for the part taken direct from the facsimile, i have to express gratitude for the kind and ready help given to me by professor strachan. professor strachan has not only revised my transcript from the facsimile, and supplied me with translations of the many difficult passages in this of which i could make no sense, but has revised all the translation which was made by the help of windisch's glossary to the irische texte of both the versions of "etain," so that the translations given of these two romances should be especially reliable, although of course i may have made some errors which have escaped professor strachan's notice. the three other romances which have been translated from the irish in irische texte have not been similarly revised, but all passages about which there appeared to be doubt have been referred to in the notes to the individual romances. it remains to add some remarks upon the general character of the tales, which, as may be seen after a very cursory examination, are very different both in tone and merit, as might indeed be expected if we remember that we are probably dealing with the works of men who were separated from each other by a gap of hundreds of years. those who have read the actual works of the ancient writers of the irish romances will not readily indulge in the generalisations about them used by those to whom the romances are only known by abstracts or a compilation. perhaps the least meritorious of those in this collection are the "tains" of dartaid, regamon, and flidais, but the tones of these three stories are very different. dartaid is a tale of fairy vengeance for a breach of faith; flidais is a direct and simple story of a raid like a border raid, reminding us of the "riding ballads" of the scottish border, and does not seem to trouble itself much about questions of right or wrong; regamon is a merry tale of a foray by boys and girls; it troubles itself with the rights of the matter even less than flidais if possible, and is an example of an irish tale with what is called in modern times a "good ending." it may be noted that these last two tales have no trace of the supernatural element which some suppose that the irish writers were unable to dispense with. the "tain bo regamna," the shortest piece in the collection, is a grotesque presentation of the supernatural, and is more closely associated with the great tain than any of the other fore-tales to it, the series of prophecies with which it closes exactly following the action of the part of the tain, to which it refers. some of the grotesque character of regamna appears in the "boar of mac datho," which, however, like regamon and flidais, has no supernatural element; its whole tone is archaic and savage, relieved by touches of humour, but the style of the composition is much superior to that of the first three stories. a romance far superior to "mae datho" is the leinster version of the well-known deirdre story, the "death of the sons of usnach." the opening of the story is savage, the subsequent action of the prose is very rapid, while the splendid lament at the end, one of the best sustained laments in the language, and the restraint shown in its account of the tragic death of deirdre, place this version of the story in a high position. as has been already mentioned, parts of the fifteenth-century version of the story have been added to this version for purposes of comparison: the character of the deirdre of the leinster version would not have been in keeping with the sentiment of the lament given to her in the later account. the remaining five romances (treating as two the two versions of "etain") all show great beauty in different ways. three of the four tales given in them have "good endings," and the feeling expressed in them is less primitive than that shown in the other stories, although it is an open question whether any of them rises quite so high as deirdre's lament. "fraech" has, as has been mentioned before, two quite separate parts; the second part is of inferior quality, showing, however, an unusual amount of knowledge of countries lying outside celtdom, but the first is a most graceful romance; although the hero is a demi-god, and the fairies play a considerable part in it, the interest is essentially human; and the plot is more involved than is the case in most of the romances. it abounds in brilliant descriptions; the description of the connaught palace is of antiquarian interest; and one of the most beautiful pieces of celtic mythology, the parentage of the three fairy harpers, is included in it. the "sick-bed of cuchulain" and the leabhar na h-uidhri version of the "courtship of etain" seem to have had their literary effect injured by the personality of the compiler of the manuscript from which the leabhar na h-uidhri was copied. seemingly an antiquarian, interested in the remains of the old celtic religion and in old ceremonies, he has inserted pieces of antiquarian information into several of the romances that he has preserved for us, and though these are often of great interest in themselves, they spoil the literary effect of the romances in which they appear. it is possible that both the leabhar na h-uidhri version of "etain" and the "sick-bed" might be improved by a little judicious editing; they have, however, been left just as they stand in the manuscript. the "sick-bed," as is pointed out in the special introduction to it, consists of two separate versions; the first has plainly some of the compiler's comments added to it, but the second and longer part seems not to have been meddled with; and, although a fragment, it makes a stately romance, full of human interest although dealing with supernatural beings; and its conclusion is especially remarkable in early literature on account of the importance of the action of the two women who are the heroines of this part of the tale. the action of fand in resigning her lover to the weaker mortal woman who has a better claim upon him is quite modern in its tone. the nearest parallel to the longer version of the "sick-bed" is the egerton version of "etain," which is a complete one, and makes a stately romance. it is full of human interest, love being its keynote; it keeps the supernatural element which is an essential to the original legend in the background, and is of quite a different character to the earlier leabhar na h-uidhri version, although there is no reason to assume that the latter is really the more ancient in date. in the leabbar na h-uidhri version of "etain," all that relates to the love-story is told in the baldest manner, the part which deals with the supernatural being highly descriptive and poetic. i am inclined to believe that the antiquarian compiler of the manuscript did here what he certainly did in the case of the "sick-bed of cuchulain," and pieced together two romances founded upon the same legend by different authors. the opening of the story in fairyland and the concluding part where mider again appears are alike both in style and feeling, while the part that comes between is a highly condensed version of the love-story of the egerton manuscript, and suggests the idea of an abstract of the egerton version inserted into the story as originally composed, the effect being similar to that which would be produced upon us if we had got aeschylus' "choaphorae" handed down to us with a condensed version of the dialogue between electra and chrysothemis out of sophocles' "electra" inserted by a conscientious antiquarian who thought that some mention of chrysothemis was necessary. this version of the legend, however, with its strong supernatural flavour, its insistence on the idea of re-birth, its observation of nature, and especially the fine poem in which mider invites etain to fairyland, is a most valuable addition to the literature, and we have to lament the gap in it owing to the loss of a column in that part of the leabhar na h-uidhri manuscript which has been preserved. the last piece to be mentioned is the extract from the "tain be cuailnge" known as the "combat at the ford." this seems to me the finest specimen of old irish work that has been preserved for us; the brilliance of its descriptions, the appropriate changes in its metres, the chivalry of its sentiments, and the rapidity of its action should, even if there were nothing to stand beside it in irish literature, give that literature a claim to be heard: as an account of a struggle between two friends, it is probably the finest in any literature. it has been stated recently, no doubt upon sound authority, that the grammatical forms of this episode show it to be late, possibly dating only to the eleventh century. the manuscript in which it appears, however, is of the earlier part of the twelfth century; no literary modem work other than irish can precede it in time; and if it is the work of an eleventh-century author, it does seem strange that his name or the name of some one of that date who could have written it has not been recorded, as macliag's name has been as the traditional author of the eleventh-century "wars of the gaedhill and the gaill," for the names of several irish authors of that period axe well known, and the early middle irish texts of that period are markedly of inferior quality. compare for example the boromaean tribute which stokes considers to take high rank among texts of that period (revue celtique, xiii. p. ). one would certainly like to believe that this episode of the "combat at the ford" belongs to the best literary period, with which upon literary grounds it seems to be most closely connected. but, whether this comparative lateness of the "combat at the ford" be true or not, it, together with all the varied work contained in this collection, with the possible exception of the short extract from the glenn masain "deirdre," is in the actual form that we have it, older than the norman conquest of ireland, older than the norse sagas. its manuscript authority is older than that of the volsunga saga; its present form precedes the birth of chretien de troyes, the first considerable name in french literature, and, in a form not much unlike that in which we have it, it is probably centuries older than its actual manuscript date. the whole thing stands at the very beginning of the literature of modern europe, and compares by no means unfavourably with that which came after, and may, in part, have been inspired by it. surely it deserves to be raised from its present position as a study known only to a few specialists, and to form part of the mental equipment of every man who is for its own sake interested in and a lover of literature. introduction in verse 'tis hard an audience now to win for lore that ireland's tales can teach; and faintly, 'mid the modern din, is heard the old heroic speech. for long the tales in silence slept; the ancient tomes by few were read; e'en those who still its knowledge kept have thought the living music dead. and some, to save the lore from death, with modern arts each tale would deck, inflate its rhymes with magic breath, as if to buoy a sinking wreck. they graft new morbid magic dreams on tales where beating life is felt: in each romance find mystic gleams, and traces of the "moody celt." yet, though with awe the grassy mound that fairies haunt, is marked to-day; and though in ancient tales are found dim forms of gods, long passed away; though later men to magic turned, inserting many a druid spell; and ill the masters' craft had learned who told the tales, and told them well; no tale should need a magic dress or modern art, its life to give: each for itself, or great, or less, should speak, if it deserves to live. think not a dull, a scribal pen dead legends wrote, half-known, and feared: in lettered lands to poet men romance, who lives to-day, appeared. for when, in fear of warrior bands, had learning fled the western world, and, raised once more by irish hands, her banner stood again unfurled; 'twas there, where men her laws revered, that learning aided art's advance; and ireland bore, and ireland reared these eldest children of romance. her poets knew the druid creeds; yet not on these their thoughts would rest: they sang of love, of heroes' deeds, of kingly pomp, of cheerful jest. not as in greece aspired their thought, they joyed in battles wild and stern; yet pity once to men they taught from whom a fiercer age could learn. their frequent theme was war: they sang the praise of chiefs of courage high; yet, from their harps the accents rang that taught to knighthood chivalry. their heroes praise a conquered foe, oppose their friends for honour's sake, to weaker chieftains mercy show, and strength of cruel tyrants break. their nobles, loving fame, rejoice in glory, got from bards, to shine; yet thus ascends cuchulain's voice: "no skill indeed to boast is mine!" they sang, to please a warlike age, of wars, and women's wild lament, yet oft, restraining warriors' rage, their harps to other themes were bent. they loved on peaceful pomp to dwell, rejoiced in music's magic strains,. all nature's smiling face loved well, and "glowing hues of flowery plains." though oft of fairy land they spoke, no eerie beings dwelled therein, 'twas filled throughout with joyous folk like men, though freed from death and sin. and sure those bards were truest knights whose thoughts of women high were set, nor deemed them prizes, won in fights, but minds like men's, and women yet. with skilful touch they paint us each, etain, whose beauty's type for all; scathach, whose warriors skill could teach emer, whose words in wisdom fall; deirdre the seer, by love made keen; flidais, whose bounty armies feeds the prudent mugain, conor's queen; crund's wife, more swift than conor's steeds; finnabar, death for love who dared; revengeful ferb, who died of grief fand, who a vanquished rival spared; queen maev, who connaught led, its chief. not for the creeds their lines preserve should ireland's hero tales be known their pictured pages praise deserve from all, not learned men alone. their works are here; though flawed by time, to all the living verses speak of men who taught to europe rhyme, who knew no masters, save the greek. in forms like those men loved of old, naught added, nothing torn away, the ancient tales again are told, can none their own true magic sway? pronunciation of proper names the following list of suggested pronunciations does not claim to be complete or to be necessarily correct in all cases. some words like ferdia and conchobar (conor) have an established english pronunciation that is strictly speaking wrong; some, like murthemne are doubtful; the suggestions given here are those adopted by the editor for such information as is at his disposal. it seems to be unnecessary to give all the names, as the list would be too long; this list contains those names in the first volume as are of frequent occurrence; names that occur less commonly, and some of those in the following list, have a pronunciation indicated in foot-notes. the most important names are in small capitals. list of names aife (ee-fa), pp. , , , , an instructress of cuchulain, ferdia, and others in the art of war. cathbad (cah-ba), pp. , , , , a druid. cualgne (kell-ny), mentioned in the preface, introductions, the "combat" and elsewhere; a district corresponding to county louth. cuchulain (cu-hoo-lin), the hero of the "sick-bed" and the "combat," and of the ulster heroic cycle in general. deirdre (dire-dree), the heroine of the "exile of the sons of usnach." dubhtach (doov-ta), pp. , , , , an ulster hero. eochaid airem (yeo-hay arrem), the king in the "courtship of etain." eochaid juil (yeo-hay yool), pp. , , , , a fairy king killed by cuchulain. eogan mac durthacht (yeogan mac door-ha), pp. , , , , , ; an ulster hero, the slayer of the sons of usnach. etain (et-oyn), the heroine of the "courtship of etain." ferdia (fer-dee-a), cuchulain's opponent in the "combat at the ford." the true pronunciation is probably fer-deed. fuamnach (foom-na), pp. , , , , a sorceress. laeg (layg), son of riangabra (reen-gabra), the charioteer and friend of cuchulain, frequently mentioned in the "sick-bed" and the "combat at the ford." laegaire (leary), pp. , , , an ulster hero. leabhar na h-uidhri (lyow-er na hoorie), frequently mentioned, the oldest irish manuscript of romance. it means the "book of the dun cow," sometimes referred to as l.u. mac datho (mac da-ho), king of leinster in the "boar of mac datho," the word means "son of two mutes." murthemne (moor-temmy), pp. , , , , , , a district in ulster, with which cuchulain is connected in the "sick-bed" (in the "combat" he is "cuchulain of cualgne"). naisi (nay-see), the hero of the "exile of the sons of usnach." scathach (ska-ha), pp. , ) , , , , a sorceress in the isle of skye, instructress of cuchulain in war. uathach (oo-ha), pp. , , ; ) , daughter of scathach. other prominent characters, in the pronunciation of whose names as given in the text no special assistance is required, are: ailill mac mata (al-ill), king of connaught. ailill anglonnach, lover of etain, in the "courtship of etain." conall cernach, conall the victorious, second champion of ulster after cuchulain. conor (properly spelt conchobar and pronounced con-ower), king of ulster. emer, wife of cuchulain, appears often in the "sick-bed." this name is by some pronounced a-vair, probably from a different spelling. fand, the fairy princess, in love with cuchulain, in the "sick-bed." fergus, son of rog, prominent in the "exile of the sons of usnach," and in "combat"; step-father to king conor, he appears in most of the romances. ket (spelt cet), son of mata, the connaught champion, appears in the "boar of mac datho." maev (spelt medb), the great queen of connaught. mider, etain's fairy lover, in the "courtship of etain." contents the courtship of etain mac datho's boar the sick-bed of cuchulain the exile of the sons of usnach the combat at the ford special note on the combat at the ford general notes the courtship of etain introduction the date which tradition assigns to the events related in the tale of the "courtship of etain" is about b.c. , two or, according to some accounts, three generations before the king conaire mor, or conary, whose death is told in the tale called the "destruction of da derga's hostel." this king is generally spoken of as a contemporary of the chief personages of what is called more especially the "heroic age" of ireland; and the two versions of the "courtship of etain" given in this volume at once introduce a difficulty; for the sub-kings who were tributary to eochaid, etain's husband, are in both versions stated to be conor, ailill mac mata, mesgegra, and curoi, all of whom are well-known figures in the tales of the heroic age. as conary is related to have ruled sixty years, and several of the characters of the heroic age survived him, according to the tale that describes his death, the appearance of the names of conor and ailill in a tale about his grandfather (or according to the egerton version his great-grandfather) introduces an obvious discrepancy. it appears to be quite impossible to reconcile the dates given to the actors in the tales of the heroic and preceding age. they seem to have been given in the "antiquarian age" of the tenth and eleventh centuries; not only do they differ according to different chronologers by upwards of a hundred years, but the succession of kings in the accounts given by the same chronologer is often impossible in view of their mutual relationships. the real state of things appears to be that the "courtship of etain," together with the story of conary, the lost tale of the destruction of the fairy hill of nennta,[fn# ] and the tale of the bull-feast and election of lugaid red-stripes as king of ireland, forms a short cycle of romance based upon ancient legends that had originally no connection at all with those on which the romances of the heroic age were built. the whole government of the country is essentially different in the two cycles; in the etain cycle the idea is that of a land practically governed by one king, the vassal kings being of quite small importance; in the tales of the heroic age proper, the picture we get is of two, if not of four, practically independent kingdoms, the allusions to any over-king being very few, and in great part late. but when the stories of etain and of conary assumed their present forms, when the writers of our romances formed them out of the traditions which descended to them from pro-christian sources, both cycles of tradition were pretty well known; and there was a natural tendency to introduce personages from one cycle into the other, although these personages occupy a subordinate position in the cycle to which they do not properly belong. even conall cernach, who is a fairly prominent figure in the tale of the death of conary, has little importance given to him compared with the people who really belong to the cycle, and the other warriors of the heroic age mentioned in the tale are little but lay figures compared with conary, ingcel, and mac cecht. a wish to connect the two cycles probably accounts for the connection of lugaid red-stripes with cuchulain, the introduction of conor and ailill into the story of etain may be due to the same cause, and there is no need to suppose that the authors of our versions felt themselves bound by what other men had introduced into the tale of conary. the practice of introducing heroes from one cycle into another was by no means uncommon, or confined to ireland; greek heroes' names sometimes appear in the irish tales; cuchulain, in much later times, comes into the tales of finn; and in greece itself, characters who really belong to the time of the trojan war appear in tales of the argonauts. [fn# ] a short account of this is in the story of king dathi (o'curry lectures, p. ). the tale seems to be alluded to in the quatrain on p. of this volume. there are very few corresponding allusions to personages from the small etain cycle found in the great cycle of romances that belong to the heroic age, but maccecht's name appears in a fifteenth-century manuscript which gives a version of the tale of flidais; and i suspect an allusion to the etain story in a verse in the "sick-bed of cuchulain" (see note, p. ). it may be observed that the introduction of conor and his contemporaries into the story of conary's grandparents is an additional piece of evidence that our form of the story of etain precedes the "antiquarian age"; for at that time the version which we have of the story of conary must have been classical and the connection of conor's warriors with conary well-known. a keen eye was at that time kept on departures from the recognised historical order (compare a note by mr. nutt in the "voyage of bran," vol. ii. p. ); and the introduction of conor into our version of the tale of etain must have been at an earlier date. the two versions of the "courtship of etain," the egerton one, and that in the leabhar na h-uidhri, have been compared in the general preface to the volume, and little more need be said on this point; it may, however, be noted that eight pages of the egerton version (pp. to ) are compressed into two pages in l.u. (pp. and ). references to the etain story are found in different copies of the "dindshenchas," under the headings of rath esa, rath croghan, and bri leith; the principal manuscript authorities, besides the two translated here, are the yellow book of lecan, pp. to , and the book of leinster, b (facsimile). these do not add much to our versions; there are, however, one or two new points in a hitherto untranslated manuscript source mentioned by o'curry ("manners and customs," vol. ii. p to ). the leabhar na h-uidhri version is defective both at the beginning and at the end; there is also a complete column torn from the manuscript, making the description of the chess match defective. these three gaps have been filled up by short passages enclosed in square brackets, at the commencement of the prologue, on p. , and at the end of the l.u. version. the two first of these insertions contain no matter that cannot be found by allusions in the version itself; the conclusion of the tale is drawn, partly from the "dindshenchas" of rath esa, partly from the passage in o'curry's "manners and customs." the only alteration that has been made is that, following a suggestion in windisch (irische texte, i. p. ), the poem on page has been placed four pages earlier than the point at which it occurs in the manuscript. three very difficult lines (leabhar na h-uidhri, a, lines to ) have not been attempted; there are no other omissions, and no insertions except the three noted above. the prologue out of the l.u. version has been placed first, as it is essential to the understanding of any version, then follows the egerton version as the longer of the two, then the l.u. version of the courtship, properly so called. prologue in fairyland from the leabhar na h-uidhri etain of the horses, the daughter of ailill, was the wife of mider, the fairy dweller in bri leith.[fn# ] now mider had also another wife named fuamnach[fn# ] who was filled with jealousy against etain, and sought to drive her from her husband's house. and fuamnach sought out bressal etarlam the druid and besought his aid; and by the spells of the druid, and the sorcery of fuamnach, etain was changed into the shape of a butterfly that finds its delight among flowers. and when etain was in this shape she was seized by a great wind that was raised by fuamnach's spells; and she was borne from her husband's house by that wind for seven years till she came to the palace of angus mac o'c who was son to the dagda, the chief god of the men of ancient erin. mac o'c had been fostered by mider, but he was at enmity with his foster-father, and he recognised etain, although in her transformed shape, as she was borne towards him by the force] of the wind. and he made a bower for etain with clear windows for it through which she might pass, and a veil of purple was laid upon her; and that bower was carried about by mac o'c wherever he went. and there each night she slept beside him by a means that he devised, so that she became well-nourished and fair of form; for that bower was filled with marvellously sweet-scented shrubs, and it was upon these that she thrived, upon the odour and blossom of the best of precious herbs. [fn# ] pronounced bree lay. [fn# ] pronounced foom-na. now to fuamnach came tidings of the love and the worship that etain had from mac o'c, and she came to mider, and "let thy foster-son," said she, "be summoned to visit thee, that i may make peace between you two, and may then go to seek for news of etain." and the messenger from mider went to mac o'c, and mac o'c went to mider to greet him; but fuamnach for a long time wandered from land to land till she was in that very mansion where etain was; and then she blew beneath her with the same blast as aforetime, so that the blast carried her out of her bower, and she was blown before it, as she had been before for seven years through all the land of erin, and she was driven by the wind of that blast to weakness and woe. and the wind carried her over the roof of a house where the men of ulster sat at their ale, so that she fell through the roof into a cup of gold that stood near the wife of etar the warrior, whose dwelling-place was near to the bay of cichmany in the province that was ruled over by conor. and the woman swallowed etain together with the milk that was in the cup, and she bare her in her womb, till the time came that she was born thereafter as in earthly maid, and the name of etain, the daughter of etar, was given to her. and it was one thousand and twelve years since the time of the first begetting of etain by ailill to the time when she was born the second time as the daughter of etar. now etain was nurtured at inver cichmany in the house of etar, with fifty maidens about her of the daughters of the chiefs of the land; and it was etar himself who still nurtured and clothed them, that they might be companions to his daughter etain. and upon a certain day, when those maidens were all at the river-mouth to bathe there, they saw a horseman on the plain who came to the water towards them. a horse he rode that was brown, curvetting, and prancing, with a broad forehead and a curly mane and tail. green, long, and flowing was the cloak that was about him, his shirt was embroidered with embroidery of red gold, and a great brooch of gold in his cloak reached to his shoulder on either side. upon the back of that man was a silver shield with a golden rim; the handle for the shield was silver, and a golden boss was in the midst of the shield: he held in his hand a five-pointed spear with rings of gold about it from the haft to the head. the hair that was above his forehead was yellow and fair; and upon his brow was a circlet of gold, which confined the hair so that it fell not about his face. he stood for a while upon the shore of the bay; and he gazed upon the maidens, who were all filled with love for him, and then he sang this song: west of alba, near the mound[fn# ] where the fair-haired women play, there, 'mid little children found, etain dwells, by cichmain's bay. she hath healed a monarch's eye by the well of loch-da-lee; yea, and etar's wife, when dry, drank her: heavy draught was she! chased by king for etain's sake, birds their flight from teffa wing: 'tis for her da-arbre's lake drowns the coursers of the king. echaid, who in meath shall reign, many a war for thee shall wage; he shall bring on fairies bane, thousands rouse to battle's rage. etain here to harm was brought, etain's form is beauty's test; etain's king in love she sought: etain with our folk shall rest! [fn# ] the metre of these verses is that of the irish. and after that he had spoken thus, the young warrior went away from the place where the maidens were; and they knew not whence it was that he had come, nor whither he departed afterwards. moreover it is told of mac o'c, that after the disappearance of etain he came to the meeting appointed between him and mider; and when he found that fuamnach was away: "'tis deceit," said mider, "that this woman hath practised upon us; and if etain shall be seen by her to be in ireland, she will work evil upon etain." "and indeed," said mac o'c, "it seemeth to me that thy guess may be true. for etain hath long since been in my own house, even in the palace where i dwell; moreover she is now in that shape into which that woman transformed her; and 'tis most likely that it is upon her that fuamnach hath rushed." then mac o'c went back to his palace, and he found his bower of glass empty, for etain was not there. and mac o'c turned him, and he went upon the track of fuamnach, and he overtook her at oenach bodbgnai, in the house of bressal etarlam the druid. and mac o'c attacked her, and he struck off her head, and he carried the head with him till he came to within his own borders. yet a different tale hath been told of the end of fuamnach, for it hath been said that by the aid of manannan both fuamnach and mider were slain in bri leith, and it is of that slaying that men have told when they said: think on sigmall, and bri with its forest: little wit silly fuamnach had learned; mider's wife found her need was the sorest, when bri leith by manannan was burned. the courtship of etain egerton version once there was a glorious and stately king who held the supreme lordship over all the land of ireland. the name of the king was eochaid airemm, and he was the son of finn, who was the son of finntan; who was the son of rogan the red; who was the son of essamain; who was the son of blathecht; who was the son of beothecht; who was the son of labraid the tracker; who was the son of enna the swift; who was the son of angus of tara, called the shamefaced; who was the son of eochaid the broad-jointed; who was the son of ailill of the twisted teeth; who was the son of connla the fair; who was the son of irer; who was the son of melghe the praiseworthy; who was the son of cobhtach the slender from the plain of breg; who was the son of ugaine the great; who was the son of eochaid the victorious. now all the five provinces of ireland were obedient to the rule of eochaid airemm: for conor the son of ness, the king of ulster, was vassal to eochaid; and messgegra the king of leinster was his vassal; and so was curoi, the son of dare, king of the land of munster; and so were ailill and maev, who ruled over the land of connaught. two great strongholds were in the hands of eochaid: they were the strongholds of fremain in meath, and of fremain in tethba; and the stronghold that he had in tethba was more pleasing to him than any of those that he possessed. less than a year had passed since eochaid first assumed the sovereignty over erin, when the news was proclaimed at once throughout all the land that the festival of tara should be held, that all the men of ireland should come into the presence of their king, and that he desired full knowledge of the tributes due from, and the customs proper to each. and the one answer that all of the men of ireland made to his call was: "that they would not attend the festival of tara during such time, whether it be long or short, that the king of ireland remained without a wife that was worthy of him;" for there is no noble who is a wifeless man among the men of ireland; nor can there be any king without a queen; nor does any man go to the festival of tara without his wife; nor does any wife go thither without her husband. thereupon eochaid sent out from him his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and his couriers of the boundaries throughout all ireland; and they searched all ireland as they sought for a wife that should be worthy of the king, in her form, and her grace, and her countenance, and her birth. and in addition to all this there yet remained one condition: that the king would take as his wife none who had been before as a wife to any other man before him. and after that they had received these commands, his horsemen, and his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries went out; and they searched all ireland south and north; and near to the bay of cichmany they found a wife worthy of the king; and her name was etain the daughter of etar, who was the king of echrad. and his messengers returned to eochaid, and they told him of the maiden, of her form, and her grace, and her countenance. and eochaid came to that place to take the maiden thence, and this was the way that he took; for as he crossed over the ground where men hold the assembly of bri leith, he saw the maiden at the brink of the spring. a clear comb of silver was held in her hand, the comb was adorned with gold; and near her, as for washing, was a bason of silver whereon four birds had been chased, and there were little bright gems of carbuncle on the rims of the bason. a bright purple mantle waved round her; and beneath it was another mantle, ornamented with silver fringes: the outer mantle was clasped over her bosom with a golden brooch. a tunic she wore, with a long hood that might cover her head attached to it; it was stiff and glossy with green silk beneath red embroidery of gold, and was clasped over her breasts with marvellously wrought clasps of silver and gold; so that men saw the bright gold and the green silk flashing against the sun. on her head were two tresses of golden hair, and each tress had been plaited into four strands; at the end of each strand was a little ball of gold. and there was that maiden, undoing her hair that she might wash it, her two arms out through the armholes of her smock. each of her two arms was as white as the snow of a single night, and each of her cheeks was as rosy as the foxglove. even and small were the teeth in her head, and they shone like pearls. her eyes were as blue as a hyacinth, her lips delicate and crimson; very high, soft, and white were her shoulders. tender, polished, and white were her wrists; her fingers long, and of great whiteness; her nails were beautiful and pink. white as the snow, or as the foam of the wave, was her side; long was it, slender, and as soft as silk. smooth and white were her thighs; her knees were round and firm and white; her ankles were as straight as the rule of a carpenter. her feet were slim, and as white as the ocean's foam; evenly set were her eyes; her eyebrows were of a bluish black, such as ye see upon the shell of a beetle. never a maid fairer than she, or more worthy of love, was till then seen by the eyes of men; and it seemed to them that she must be one of those who have come from the fairy mounds: it is of this maiden that men have spoken when it hath been said: "all that's graceful must be tested by etain; all that's lovely by the standard of etain." grace with etain's grace compare! etain's face shall test what's fair! and desire of her seized upon the king; and he sent a man of his people in front of him to go to her kindred, in order that she might abide to await his coming. and afterwards the king came to the maiden, and he sought speech from her: "whence art thou sprung, o maiden?" says eochaid, "and whence is it that thou hast come?" "it is easy to answer thee," said the maiden: "etain is my name, the daughter of the king of echrad; 'out of the fairy mound' am i" "shall an hour of dalliance with thee be granted to me?" said eochaid. "'tis for that i have come hither under thy safeguard," said she. "and indeed twenty years have i lived in this place, ever since i was born in the mound where the fairies dwell, and the men who dwell in the elf-mounds, their kings and their nobles, have been a-wooing me: yet to never a one of them was granted sleep with me, for i have loved thee, and have set my love and affection upon thee; and that ever since i was a little child, and had first the gift of speech. it was for the high tales of thee, and of thy splendour, that i have loved thee thus; and though i have never seen thee before, i knew thee at once by reason of the report of thee that i had heard; it is thou, i know, to whom we have attained." "it is no evil-minded lover who now inviteth thee," says eochaid. "thou shalt be welcomed by me, and i will leave all women for thy sake, and thine alone will i be so long as it is pleasing to thee." "let the bride-price that befits me be paid," said the maiden, "and after that let my desire be fulfilled." "it shall be as thou hast said," the king answered her; and he gave the value of seven cumals to be her brideprice; and after that he brought her to tara, whereon a fair and hearty welcome was made to her. now there were three brothers of the one blood, all sons of finn, namely, eochaid airem, and eochaid, and ailill anglonnach, or ailill of the single stain, because the only stain that was upon him was the love that he had for his brother's wife. and at that time came all the men of ireland to hold the festival of tara; they were there for fourteen days before samhain, the day when the summer endeth, and for fourteen days after that day. it was at the feast of tara that love for etain the daughter of etar came upon ailill anglonnach; and ever so long as they were at the tara feast, so long he gazed upon the maid. and it was there that the wife of ailill spoke to him; she who was the daughter of luchta of the red hand, who came from the province of leinster: "ailill," said she, "why dost thou gaze at her from afar? for long gazing is a token of love." and ailill gave blame to himself for this thing, and after that he looked not upon the maid. now it followed that after that the feast of tara had been consumed, the men of ireland parted from one another, and then it was that ailill became filled with the pangs of envy and of desire; and he brought upon himself the choking misery of a sore sickness, and was borne to the stronghold of fremain in tethba after that he had fallen into that woe. there also, until a whole year had ended, sickness long brooded over ailill, and for long was he in distress, yet he allowed none to know of his sickness. and there eochaid came to learn of his brother's state, and he came near to his brother, and laid his hand upon his chest; and ailill heaved a sigh. "why," said eochaid, "surely this sickness of thine is not such as to cause thee to lament; how fares it with thee?" "by my word," said ailill, "'tis no easier that i grow; but it is worse each day, and each night." "why, what ails thee?" said eochaid, "by my word of truth," said ailill, "i know not." "bring one of my folk hither," said eochaid, "one who can find out the cause of this illness." then fachtna, the chief physician of eochaid, was summoned to give aid to ailill, and he laid his hand upon his chest, and ailill heaved a sigh. "ah," said fachtna, "there is no need for lament in this matter, for i know the cause of thy sickness; one or other of these two evils oppresseth thee, the pangs of envy, or the pangs of love: nor hast thou been aided to escape from them until now." and ailill was full of shame, and he refused to confess to fachtna the cause of his illness, and the physician left him. now, after all this, king eochaid went in person to make a royal progress throughout the realm of ireland, and he left etain behind him in his fortress; and "lady," said he, "deal thou gently with ailill so long as he is yet alive; and, should he die," said he, "do thou see that his burial mound be heaped for him; and that a standing-stone be set up in memory of him; and let his name be written upon it in letters of ogham." then the king went away for the space of a year, to make his royal progress throughout the realm of ireland, and ailill was left behind, in the stronghold of fremain of tethba; there to pass away and to die. now upon a certain day that followed, the lady etain came to the house where ailill lay in his sickness, and thus she spoke to him: "what is it," she said, "that ails thee? thy sickness is great, and if we but knew anything that would content thee, thou shouldest have it." it was thus that at that time she spoke, and she sang a verse of a song, and ailill in song made answer to her: etain young man, of the strong step and splendid, what hath bound thee? what ill dost thou bear? thou hast long been on sick-bed extended, though around thee the sunshine was fair. ailill there is reason indeed for my sighing, i joy naught at my harp's pleasant sound; milk untasted beside me is lying; and by this in disease am i bound. etain tell me all, thou poor man, of thine ailing; for a maiden am i that is wise; is there naught, that to heal thee availing, thou couldst win by mine aid, and arise ailill if i told thee, thou beautiful maiden, my words, as i formed them, would choke, for with fire can eyes' curtains be laden: woman-secrets are evil, if woke. etain it is ill woman-secrets to waken; yet with love, its remembrance is long; and its part by itself may be taken, nor a thought shall remain of the wrong. ailill i adore thee, white lady, as grateful; yet thy bounty deserve i but ill: to my soul is my longing but hateful, for my body doth strive with me still. eocho fedlech,[fn# ] his bride to him taking, made thee queen; and from thence is my woe: for my head and my body are aching, and all ireland my weakness must know. etain if, among the white women who near me abide, there is one who is vexing, whose love thou dost hide; to thy side will i bring her, if thus i may please; and in love thou shalt win her, thy sickness to ease. ah lady! said ailill, "easily could the cure of my sickness be wrought by the aid of thee, and great gain should there come from the deed, but thus it is with me until that be accomplished: long ago did my passion begin, a full year it exceeds in its length; and it holds me, more near than my skin, and it rules over wrath in its strength. and the earth into four it can shake, can reach up to the heights of the sky and a neck with its might it can break, nor from fight with a spectre would fly. in vain race up to heaven 'tis urged; it is chilled, as with water, and drowned: 'tis a weapon, in ocean submerged; 'tis desire for an echo, a sound. 'tis thus my love, my passion seem; 'tis thus i strive in vain to win the heart of her whose love i long so much to gain. [fn# ] pronounced yeo-ho fayllya, see note, p. . and the lady stood there in that place, and she looked upon ailill, and the sickness in which he lay was perceived by her; and she was grieved on account of it: so that upon a certain day came the lady to ailill, and "young man," she said, "arouse thyself quickly, for in very truth thou shalt have all that thou desirest; and thereon did she make this lay: now arouse thyself, ailill the royal: let thy heart, and thy courage rise high; every longing thou hast shall be sated, for before thee, to heal thee, am i. is my neck and its beauty so pleasing? 'tis around it thine arms thou shalt place; and 'tis known as a courtship's beginning when a man and a woman embrace. and if this cometh not to content thee, o thou man, that art son to a king! i will dare to do crime for thy healing, and my body to please thee will bring. there were steeds, with their bridles, one hundred, when the price for my wedding was told; and one hundred of gay-coloured garments, and of cattle, and ounces of gold. of each beast that men know, came one hundred; and king eocho to grant them was swift: when a king gave such dowry to gain me, is't not wondrous to win me, as gift? now each day the lady came to ailill to tend him, and to divide for him the portion of food that was allotted to him; and she wrought a great healing upon him: for it grieved her that he should perish for her sake. and one day the lady spoke to ailill: "come thou to-morrow," said she, "to tryst with me at the break of day, in the house which lieth outside, and is beyond the fort, and there shalt thou have granted thy request and thy desire." on that night ailill lay without sleep until the coming of the morning; and when the time had come that was appointed for his tryst, his sleep lay heavily upon him; so that till the hour of his rising he lay deep in his sleep. and etain went to the tryst, nor had she long to wait ere she saw a man coming towards her in the likeness of ailill, weary and feeble; but she knew that he was not ailill, and she continued there waiting for ailill. and the lady came back from her tryst, and ailill awoke, and thought that he would rather die than live; and he went in great sadness and grief. and the lady came to speak with him, and when he told her what had befallen him: "thou shalt come," said she, "to the same place, to meet with me upon the morrow." and upon the morrow it was the same as upon the first day; each day came that man to her tryst. and she came again upon the last day that was appointed for the tryst, and the same man met her. "'tis not with thee that i trysted," said she, "why dost thou come to meet me? and for him whom i would have met here; neither from desire of his love nor for fear of danger from him had i appointed to meet him, but only to heal him, and to cure him from the sickness which had come upon him for his love of me." "it were more fitting for thee to come to tryst with me," says the man, "for when thou wast etain of the horses, and when thou wast the daughter of ailill, i myself was thy husband. "why," said she, "what name hast thou in the land? that is what i would demand of thee." "it is not hard to answer thee," he said; "mider of bri leith is my name." "and what made thee to part from me, if we were as thou sayest?" said etain. "easy again is the answer," said mider; "it was the sorcery of fuamnach and the spells of bressal etarlam that put us apart." and mider said to etain: "wilt thou come with me?" "nay," answered etain, "i will not exchange the king of all ireland for thee; for a man whose kindred and whose lineage is unknown." "it was i myself indeed," said mider, "who filled all the mind of ailill with love for thee: it was i also who prevented his coming to the tryst with thee, and allowed him not thine honour to spoil it." after all this the lady went back to her house, and she came to speech with ailill, and she greeted him. "it hath happened well for us both," said ailill, "that the man met thee there: for i am cured for ever from my illness, thou also art unhurt in thine honour, and may a blessing rest upon thee!" "thanks be to our gods," said etain, "that both of us do indeed deem that all this hath chanced so well." and after that eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he asked at once for his brother; and the tale was told to him from the beginning to the end, and the king was grateful to etain, in that she had been gracious to ailill; and, "what hath been related in this tale," said eochaid, "is well-pleasing to ourselves." and, for the after history of eochaid and etain, it is told that once when eochaid was in fremain, at such time as the people had prepared for themselves a great gathering and certain horse-races; thither also to that assembly came etain, that she might see the sight. thither also came mider, and he searched through that assembly to find out where etain might be; and he found etain, and her women around her, and he bore her away with him, also one of her handmaidens, called crochen the ruddy: hideous was the form in which mider approached them. and the wives of the men of ireland raised cries of woe, as the queen was carried off from among them; and the horses of ireland were loosed to pursue mider, for they knew not whether it was into the air or into the earth he had gone. but, as for mider, the course that he had taken was the road to the west, even to the plain of croghan; and as he came thither, "how shall it profit us," said crochen the ruddy, "this journey of ours to this plain?" "for evermore," said mider, "shall thy name be over all this plain:" and hence cometh the name of the plain of croghan, and of the fort of croghan. then mider came to the fairy mound of croghan; for the dwellers in that mound were allied to him, and his friends; and for nine days they lingered there, banqueting and feasting; so that "is this the place where thou makest thy home?" said crochen to mider. "eastwards from this is my dwelling," mider answered her; "nearer to the rising-place of the sun;" and mider, taking etain with him, departed, and came to bri leith, where the son of celthar had his palace. now just at the time when they came to this palace, king eochaid sent out from him the horsemen of ireland, also his wizards, and his officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, that they might search through ireland, and find out where his wife might be; and eochaid himself wandered throughout ireland to seek for his wife; and for a year from that day until the same day upon the year that followed he searched, and he found nothing to profit him. then, at the last, king eochaid sent for his druid, and he set to him the task to seek for etain; now the name of the druid was dalan. and dalan came before him upon that day; and he went westwards, until he came to the mountain that was after that known as slieve dalan; and he remained there upon that night. and the druid deemed it a grievous thing that etain should be hidden from him for the space of one year, and thereupon he made three wands of yew; and upon the wands he wrote an ogham; and by the keys of wisdom that he had, and by the ogham, it was revealed to him that etain was in the fairy mound of bri leith, and that mider had borne her thither. then dalan the druid turned him, and went back to the east; and he came to the stronghold of fremain, even to the place where the king of ireland was; and eochaid asked from the druid his news. thither also came the horsemen, and the wizards, and the officers who had the care of the roads, and the couriers of the boundaries, to the king of ireland, and he asked them what tidings they had, and whether they had found news of mider and etain. and they said that they had found nothing at all; until at the last said his druid to him: "a great evil hath smitten thee, also shame, and misfortune, on account of the loss of thy wife. do thou assemble the warriors of ireland, and depart to bri leith, where is the palace of the son of celthar; let that palace be destroyed by thy hand, and there thou shalt find thy wife: by persuasion or by force do thou take her thence." then eochaid and the men of ireland marched to bri leith, and they set themselves to destroy that fairy dwelling, and to demand that etain be brought to them, and they brought her not. then they ruined that fairy dwelling, and they brought etain out from it; and she returned to fremain, and there she had all the worship that a king of ireland can bestow, fair wedded love and affection, such as was her due from eochaid airemm. this is that eochaid who ruled over ireland for twelve years, until the fire burned him in fremain; and this tale is known by the name of the "sick-bed of ailill," also as "the courtship of etain." etain bore no children to eochaid airemm, save one daughter only; and the name of her mother was given to her, and she is known by the name of etain, the daughter of eochaid airemm. and it was her daughter messbuachalla who was the mother of king conary the great, the son of eterscel, and it was for this cause that the fairy host of mag breg and mider of bri leith violated the tabus of king conary, and devastated the plain of breg, and out off conary's life; on account of the capture of that fairy dwelling, and on account of the recovery of etain, when she was carried away by violence, even by the might of eochaid airemm. the courtship of etain leabhar na h-uidhri version eochaid airemon took the sovereignty over erin, and the five provinces of ireland were obedient to him, for the king of each province was his vassal. now these were they who were the kings of the provinces at that time, even conor the son of ness, and messgegra, and tigernach tetbannach, and curoi, and ailill the son of mata of muresc. and the royal forts that belonged to eochaid were the stronghold of fremain in meath, and the stronghold of fremain in tethba; moreover the stronghold of fremain in tethba was more pleasing to him than any other of the forts of erin. now a year after that eochaid had obtained the sovereignty, he sent out his commands to the men of ireland that they should come to tara to hold festival therein, in order that there should be adjusted the taxes and the imposts that should be set upon them, so that these might be settled for a period of five years. and the one answer that the men of ireland made to eochaid was that they would not make for the king that assembly which is the festival of tara until he found for himself a queen, for there was no queen to stand by the king's side when eochaid first assumed the kingdom. then eochaid sent out the messengers of each of the five provinces to go through the land of ireland to seek for that woman or girl who was the fairest to be found in erin; and he bade them to note that no woman should be to him as a wife, unless she had never before been as a wife to any one of the men of the land. and at the bay of cichmany a wife was found for him, and her name was etain, the daughter of etar; and eochaid brought her thereafter to his palace, for she was a wife meet for him, by reason of her form, and her beauty, and her descent, and her brilliancy, and her youth, and her renown. now finn the son of findloga had three sons, all sons of a queen, even eochaid fedlech, and eochaid airemm, and ailill anguba. and ailill anguba was seized with love for etain at the festival of tara, after that she had been wedded to eochaid; since he for a long time gazed upon her, and, since such gazing is a token of love, ailill gave much blame to himself for the deed that he was doing, yet it helped him not. for his longing was too strong for his endurance, and for this cause he fell into a sickness; and, that there might be no stain upon his honour, his sickness was concealed by him from all, neither did he speak of it to the lady herself. then fachtna, the chief physician of eochaid, was brought to look upon ailill, when it was understood that his death might be near, and thus the physician spoke to him: "one of the two pangs that slay a man, and for which there is no healing by leechcraft, is upon thee; either the pangs of envy or the pangs of love. and ailill refused to confess the cause of his illness to the physician, for he was withheld by shame and he was left behind in fremain of tethba to die; and eochaid went upon his royal progress throughout all erin, and he left etain behind him to be near ailill, in order that the last rites of ailill might be done by her; that she might cause his grave to be dug, and that the keen might be raised for him, and that his cattle should be slain for him as victims. and to the house where ailill lay in his sickness went etain each day to converse with him, and his sickness was eased by her presence; and, so long as etain was in that place where he was, so long was he accustomed to gaze at her. now etain observed all this, and she bent her mind to discover the cause, and one day when they were in the house together, etain asked of ailill what was the cause of his sickness. "my sickness," said ailill, "comes from my love for thee." "'tis pity," said she, "that thou hast so long kept silence, for thou couldest have been healed long since, had we but known of its cause." "and even now could i be healed," said ailill, "did i but find favour in thy sight." "thou shalt find favour," she said. each day after they had spoken thus with each other, she came to him for the fomenting of his head, and for the giving of the portion of food that was required by him, and for the pouring of water over his hands; and three weeks after that, ailill was whole. then he said to etain: "yet is the completion of my cure at thy hands lacking to me; when may it be that i shall have it?" "'tis to-morrow it shall be," she answered him, "but it shall not be in the abode of the lawful monarch of the land that this felony shall be done. thou shalt come," she said, "on the morrow to yonder hill that riseth beyond the fort: there shall be the tryst that thou desirest." now ailill lay awake all that night, and he fell into a sleep at the hour when he should have kept his tryst, and he woke not from his sleep until the third hour of the day. and etain went to her tryst, and she saw a man before her; like was his form to the form of ailill, he lamented the weakness that his sickness had caused him, and he gave to her such answers as it was fitting that ailill should give. but at the third hour of the day, ailill himself awoke: and he had for a long time remained in sorrow when etain came into the house where he was; and as she approached him, "what maketh thee so sorrowful?" said etain. "'tis because thou wert sent to tryst with me," said ailill, "and i came not to thy presence, and sleep fell upon me, so that i have but now awakened from it; and surely my chance of being healed hath now gone from me." "not so, indeed," answered etain, "for there is a morrow to follow to-day." and upon that night he took his watch with a great fire before him, and with water beside him to put upon his eyes. at the hour that was appointed for the tryst, etain came for her meeting with ailill; and she saw the same man, like unto ailill, whom she had seen before; and etain went to the house, and saw ailill still lamenting. and etain came three times, and yet ailill kept not his tryst, and she found that same man there every time. "'tis not for thee," she said, "that i came to this tryst: why comest thou to meet me? and as for him whom i would have met, it was for no sin or evil desire that i came to meet him; but it was fitting for the wife of the king of ireland to rescue the man from the sickness under which he hath so long been oppressed." "it were more fitting for thee to tryst with me myself," said the man, "for when thou wert etain of the horses, the daughter of ailill, it was i who was thy husband. and when thou camest to be wife to me, thou didst leave a great price behind thee; even a marriage price of the chief plains and waters of ireland, and as much of gold and of silver as might match thee in value." "why," said she, "what is thy name?" "'tis easy to say," he answered; "mider of bri leith is my name." "truly," said she; "and what was the cause that parted us?" "that also is easy," he said; "it was the sorcery of fuamnach, and the spells of bressal etarlam. and then mider said to etain: wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? to dwell in the marvellous land of the musical spell, where the crowns of all heads are, as primroses, bright, and from head to the heel all men's bodies snow-white. in that land of no "mine" nor of "thine" is there speech, but there teeth flashing white and dark eyebrows hath each; in all eyes shine our hosts, as reflected they swarm, and each cheek with the pink of the foxglove is warm. with the heather's rich tint every blushing neck glows, in our eyes are all shapes that the blackbird's egg shows; and the plains of thine erin, though pleasing to see, when the great plain is sighted, as deserts shall be. though ye think the ale strong in this island of fate, yet they drink it more strong in the land of the great; of a country where marvel abounds have i told, where no young man in rashness thrusts backward the old. there are streams smooth and luscious that flow through that land, and of mead and of wine is the best at each hand; and of crime there is naught the whole country within, there are men without blemish, and love without sin. through the world of mankind, seeing all, can we float, and yet none, though we see them, their see-ers can note; for the sin of their sire is a mist on them flung, none may count up our host who from adam is sprung. lady, come to that folk; to that strong folk of mine; and with gold on thy head thy fair tresses shall shine: 'tis on pork the most dainty that then thou shalt feed, and for drink have thy choice of new milk and of mead. "i will not come with thee," answered etain, "i will not give up the king of ireland for thee, a man who knows not his own clan nor his kindred." "it was indeed myself," said mider, "who long ago put beneath the mind of ailill the love that he hath felt for thee, so that his blood ceased to run, and his flesh fell away from him: it was i also who have taken away his desire, so that there might be no hurt to thine honour. but wilt thou come with me to my land," said mider, "in case eochaid should ask it of thee?" "i would come in such case," answered to him etain. after all this etain departed to the house. "it hath indeed been good, this our tryst," said ailill, "for i have been cured of my sickness; moreover, in no way has thine honour been stained." "'tis glorious that it hath fallen out so," answered etain. and afterwards eochaid came back from his royal progress, and he was grateful for that his brother's life had been preserved, and he gave all thanks to etain for the great deed she had done while he was away from his palace. now upon another time it chanced that eochaid airemm, the king of tara, arose upon a certain fair day in the time of summer; and he ascended the high ground of tara to behold the plain of breg; beautiful was the colour of that plain, and there was upon it excellent blossom, glowing with all hues that are known. and, as the aforesaid eochaid looked about and around him, he saw a young strange warrior upon the high ground at his side. the tunic that the warrior wore was purple in colour, his hair was of a golden yellow, and of such length that it reached to the edge of his shoulders. the eyes of the young warrior were lustrous and grey; in the one hand he held a five-pointed spear, in the other a shield with a white central boss, and with gems of gold upon it. and eochaid held his peace, for he knew that none such had been in tara on the night before, and the gate that led into the liss had not at that hour been thrown open. the warrior came, and placed himself under the protection of eochaid; and "welcome do i give," said eochaid, "to the hero who is yet unknown." "thy reception is such as i expected when i came," said the warrior. "we know thee not," answered eochaid. "yet thee in truth i know well!" he replied. "what is the name by which thou art called?" said eochaid. "my name is not known to renown," said the warrior; "i am mider of bri leith." "and for what purpose art thou come?" said eochaid. "i have come that i may play a game at the chess with thee," answered mider. "truly," said eochaid, "i myself am skilful at the chess-play." "let us test that skill! said mider. "nay," said eochaid, the queen is even now in her sleep; and hers is the palace in which the chessboard lies." "i have here with me," said mider, "a chessboard which is not inferior to thine." it was even as he said, for that chessboard was silver, and the men to play with were gold; and upon that board were costly stones, casting their light on every side, and the bag that held the men was of woven chains of brass. mider then set out the chessboard, and he called upon eochaid to play. "i will not play," said eochaid, "unless we play for a stake." "what stake shall we have upon the game then?" said mider. "it is indifferent to me," said eochaid. "then," said mider, "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake, i will bestow on thee fifty steeds of a dark grey, their heads of a blood-red colour, but dappled; their ears pricked high, and their chests broad; their nostrils wide, and their hoofs slender; great is their strength, and they are keen like a whetted edge; eager are they, high-standing, and spirited, yet easily stopped in their course." [many games were played between eochaid and mider; and, since mider did not put forth his whole strength, the victory on all occasions rested with eochaid. but instead of the gifts which mider had offered, eochaid demanded that mider and his folk should perform for him services which should be of benefit to his realm; that he should clear away the rocks and stones from the plains of meath, should remove the rushes which made the land barren around his favourite fort of tethba, should cut down the forest of breg, and finally should build a causeway across the moor or bog of lamrach that men might pass freely across it. all these things mider agreed to do, and eochaid sent his steward to see how that work was done. and when it came to the time after sunset, the steward looked, and he saw that mider and his fairy host, together with fairy oxen, were labouring at the causeway over the bog;] and thereupon much of earth and of gravel and of stones was poured into it. now it had, before that time, always been the custom of the men of ireland to harness their oxen with a strap over their foreheads, so that the pull might be against the foreheads of the oxen; and this custom lasted up to that very night, when it was seen that the fairy-folk had placed the yoke upon the shoulders of the oxen, so that the pull might be there; and in this way were the yokes of the oxen afterwards placed by eochaid, and thence cometh the name by which he is known; even eochaid airemm, or eochaid the ploughman, for he was the first of all the men of ireland to put the yokes on the necks of the oxen, and thus it became the custom for all the land of ireland. and this is the song that the host of the fairies sang, as they laboured at the making of the road: thrust it in hand! force it in hand! nobles this night, as an ox-troop, stand: hard is the task that is asked, and who from the bridging of lamrach shall gain, or rue? not in all the world could a road have been found that should be better than the road that they made, had it not been that the fairy folk were observed as they worked upon it; but for that cause a breach hath been made in that causeway. and the steward of eochaid thereafter came to him; and he described to him that great labouring band that had come before his eyes, and he said that there was not over the chariot-pole of life a power that could withstand its might. and, as they spake thus with each other, they saw mider standing before them; high was he girt, and ill-favoured was the face that he showed; and eochaid arose, and he gave welcome to him. "thy welcome is such as i expected when i came," said mider. "cruel and senseless hast thou been in thy treatment of me, and much of hardship and suffering hast thou given me. all things that seemed good in thy sight have i got for thee, but now anger against thee hath filled my mind!" "i return not anger for anger," answered eochaid; "what thou wishest shall be done." "let it be as thou wishest," said mider; "shall we play at the chess?" said he. "what stake shall we set upon the game?" said eochaid. "even such stake as the winner of it shall demand," said mider. and in that very place eochaid was defeated, and he forfeited his stake. "my stake is forfeit to thee," said eochaid. "had i wished it, it had been forfeit long ago," said mider. "what is it that thou desirest me to grant?" said eochaid. "that i may hold etain in my arms, and obtain a kiss from her!" answered mider. eochaid was silent for a while and then he said: "one month from this day thou shalt come, and the very thing that thou hast asked for shall be given to thee." now for a year before that mider first came to eochaid for the chess-play, had he been at the wooing of etain, and he obtained her not; and the name which he gave to etain was befind, or fair-haired woman, so it was that he said: wilt thou come to my home, fair-haired lady? as has before been recited. and it was at that time that etain said: "if thou obtainest me from him who is the master of my house, i will go; but if thou art not able to obtain me from him, then i will not go." and thereon mider came to eochaid, and allowed him at the first to win the victory over him, in order that eochaid should stand in his debt; and therefore it was that he paid the great stakes to which he had agreed; and therefore also was it that he had demanded of him that he should play that game in ignorance of what was staked. and when mider and his folk were paying those agreed-on stakes, which were paid upon that night; to wit, the making of the road, and the clearing of the stones from meath, the rushes from around tethba, and of the forest that is over breg, it was thus that he spoke, as it is written in the book of drom snechta: pile on the soil; thrust on the soil: red are the oxen around who toil: heavy the troops that my words obey; heavy they seem, and yet men are they. strongly, as piles, are the tree-trunks placed red are the wattles above them laced: tired are your hands, and your glances slant; one woman's winning this toil may grant! oxen ye are, but revenge shall see; men who are white shall your servants be: rushes from teffa are cleared away: grief is the price that the man shall pay: stones have been cleared from the rough meath ground; whose shall the gain or the harm be found? now mider appointed a day at the end of the month when he was to meet eochaid, and eochaid called the armies of the heroes of ireland together, so that they came to tara; and all the best of the champions of ireland, ring within ring, were about tara, and they were in the midst of tara itself, and they guarded it, both without and within; and the king and the queen were in the midst of the palace, and the outer court thereof was shut and locked, for they knew that the great might of men would come upon them. and upon the appointed night etain was dispensing the banquet to the kings, for it was her duty to pour out the wine, when in the midst of their talk they saw mider standing before them in the centre of the palace. he was always fair, yet fairer than he ever was seemed mider to be upon that night. and he brought to amazement all the hosts on which he gazed, and all thereon were silent, and the king gave a welcome to him. "thy reception is such as i expected when i came," said mider; "let that now be given to me that hath been promised. 'tis a debt that is due when a promise hath been made; and i for my part have given to thee all that was promised by me." "i have not yet considered the matter," said eochaid. "thou hast promised etain's very self to me," said mider; "that is what hath come from thee." etain blushed for shame when she heard that word. "blush not," said mider to etain, "for in nowise hath thy wedding-feast been disgraced. i have been seeking thee for a year with the fairest jewels and treasures that can be found in ireland, and i have not taken thee until the time came when eochaid might permit it. 'tis not through any will of thine that i have won thee." "i myself told thee," said etain, "that until eochaid should resign me to thee i would grant thee nothing. take me then for my part, if eochaid is willing to resign me to thee." "but i will not resign thee!" said eochaid; "nevertheless he shall take thee in his arms upon the floor of this house as thou art." "it shall be done!" said mider. he took his weapons into his left hand and the woman beneath his right shoulder; and he carried her off through the skylight of the house. and the hosts rose up around the king, for they felt that they had been disgraced, and they saw two swans circling round tara, and the way that they took was the way to the elf-mound of femun. and eochaid with an army of the men of ireland went to the elf-mound of femun, which men call the mound of the fair-haired-women. and he followed the counsel of the men of ireland, and he dug up each of the elf-mounds that he might take his wife from thence. [and mider and his host opposed them and the war between them was long: again and again the trenches made by eochaid were destroyed, for nine years as some say lasted the strife of the men of ireland to enter into the fairy palace. and when at last the armies of eochaid came by digging to the borders of the fairy mansion, mider sent to the side of the palace sixty women all in the shape of etain, and so like to her that none could tell which was the queen. and eochaid himself was deceived, and he chose, instead of etain, her daughter messbuachalla (or as some say esa.) but when he found that he had been deceived, he returned again to sack bri leith, and this time etain made herself known to eochaid, by proofs that he could not mistake, and he bore her away in triumph to tara, and there she abode with the king.] mac datho's boar introduction the tale of "mac datho's boar" seems to deal with events that precede the principal events of the heroic period; most of the characters named in it appear as the chief actors in other romances; conor and ailill are as usual the leaders of ulster and connaught, but the king of leinster is mesroda mac datho, not his brother mesgegra, who appears in the "siege of howth" (see hull, cuchullin saga, p. ), and the ulster champion is not cuchulain, but his elder comrade, conall cernach. the text followed is that of the book of leinster as printed by windisch in irische texte, vol. i.; the later harleian manuscript's readings given by windisch have been taken in a few cases where the leinster text seems untranslatable. there is a slightly different version, given by kuno meyer in the anecdota oxoniensia, taken from rawlinson, b. , a fifteenth-century manuscript, but the text is substantially that of the leinster version, and does not give, as in the case of the tale of etain, a different view of the story. the verse passages differ in the two versions; two verse passages on pages and have been inserted from the rawlinson manuscript, otherwise the rendering follows the leinster text. the style of the tale is more barbaric than that of the other romances, but is relieved by touches of humour; the only supernatural touch occurs in one of the variations of the rawlinson manuscript. some of the chief variations en in this manuscript are pointed out in the notes; the respectful men on of curoi mac dari, who seems to have been a munster hero, overshadowed in the accepted versions by the superior glory of ulster, may be noted; also the remark that ferloga did not get his cepoc, which seems to have been inserted by a later band of a critic who disapproved of the frivolity of the original author, or was jealous for the honour of the ulster ladies. mac datho's boar from the book of leinster (twelfth-century ms.) with some additions from rawlinson, b. , written about a glorious king once hold rule over the men of leinster; his name was mesroda mac datho. now mac datho had among his possessions a hound which was the guardian of all leinster; the name of the hound was ailbe, and all of the land of leinster was filled with reports of the fame of it, and of that hound hath it been sung: mesroda, son of datho, was he the boar who reared; and his the hound called ailbe; no lie the tale appeared! the splendid hound of wisdom, the hound that far is famed, the hound from whom moynalvy for evermore is named. by king ailill and queen maev were sent folk to the son of datho to demand that hound, and at that very hour came heralds from conor the son of ness to demand him; and to all of these a welcome was bid by the people of mac datho, and they were brought to speak with mac datho in his palace. at the time that we speak of, this palace was a hostelry that was the sixth of the hostelries of ireland.; there were beside it the hostelry of da derga in the land of cualan in leinster; also the hostelry of forgall the wily, which is beside lusk; and the hostelry of da reo in breffny; and the hostelry of da choca in the west of meath; and the hostelry of the landholder blai in the country of the men of ulster. there were seven doors to that palace, and seven passages ran through it; also there stood within it seven cauldrons, and in every one of the cauldrons was seething the flesh of oxen and the salted flesh of swine. every traveller who came into the house after a journey would thrust a fork into a cauldron, and whatsoever he brought out at the first thrust, that had he to eat: if he got nothing at the first thrust, no second attempt was allowed him. they brought the heralds before mac datho as he sat upon his throne, that he might learn of their requests before they made their meal, and in this manner they made known their message. "we have come," said the men who were sent from connaught, "that we might ask for thy hound; 'tis by ailill and maev we are sent. thou shalt have in payment for him six thousand milch cows, also a two-horsed chariot with its horses, the best to be had in connaught, and at the end of a year as much again shall be thine." "we also," said the heralds from ulster, "have come to ask for thy hound; we have been sent by conor, and conor is a friend who is of no less value than these. he also will give to thee treasures and cattle, and the same amount at the end of a year, and he will be a stout friend to thee." now after he had received this message mac datho sank into a deep silence, he ate nothing, neither did he sleep, but tossed about from one side to another, and then said his wife to him: "for a long time hast thou fasted; food is before thee, yet thou eatest not; what is it that ails thee? and mac datho made her no answer, whereupon she said: the wife[fn# ] gone is king mac datho's sleep, restless cares his home invade; though his thoughts from all he keep, problems deep his mind hath weighed. he, my sight avoiding, turns towards the wall, that hero grim; well his prudent wife discerns sleep hath passed away from him. [fn# ] the irish metre is followed in the first four verses. mac datho crimthann saith, nar's sister's son, "secrets none to women tell. woman's secret soon is won; never thrall kept jewel well." the wife why against a woman speak till ye test, and find she fails? when thy mind to plan is weak, oft another's wit avails. mac datho at ill season indeed came those heralds who his hound from mac datho would take; in more wars than by thought can be counted fair-haired champions shall fall for its sake. if to conor i dare to deny him, he shall deem it the deed of a churl nor shall cattle or country be left me by the hosts he against me can hurl. if refusal to ailill i venture, with all ireland my folk shall he sack; from our kingdom mac mata shall drive us, and our ashes may tell of his track. the wife here a counsel i find to deliver, and in woe shall our land have no share; of that hound to them both be thou giver, and who dies for it little we care. mac datho ah! the grief that i had is all ended, i have joy for this speech from thy tongue surely ailbe from heaven descended, there is none who can say whence he sprung. after these words the son of datho rose up, and he shook himself, and may this fall out well for us," said he, "and well for our guests who come here to seek for him." his guests abode three days and three nights in his house, and when that time was ended, he bade that the heralds from connaught be called to confer with him apart, and he spoke thus: "i have been," he said, "in great vexation of spirit, and for long have i hesitated before i made a decision what to do. but now have i decided to give the hound to ailill and maev, let them come with splendour to bear it away. they shall have plenty both to eat and to drink, and they shall have the hound to hold, and welcome shall they be." and the messengers from connaught were well pleased with this answer that they had. then he went to where the heralds from ulster were, and thus he addressed them: "after long hesitation," said he, "i have awarded the hound to conor, and a proud man should he be. let the armies of the nobles of ulster come to bear him away; they shall have presents, and i will make them welcome;" and with this the messengers from ulster were content. now mac datho had so planned it that both those armies, that from the east and that from the west, should arrive at his palace upon the selfsame day. nor did they fail to keep their tryst; upon the same day those two provinces of ireland came to mac datho's palace, and mac datho himself went outside and greeted them: "for two armies at the same time we were not prepared; yet i bid welcome to you, ye men. enter into the court of the house." then they went all of them into the palace; one half of the house received the ulstermen, and the other half received the men of connaught. for the house was no small one: it had seven doors and fifty couches between each two doors; and it was no meeting of friends that was then seen in that house, but the hosts that filled it were enemies to each other, for during the whole time of the three hundred years that preceded the birth of christ there was war between ulster and connaught. then they slaughtered for them mac datho's boar; for seven years had that boar been nurtured upon the milk of fifty cows, but surely venom must have entered into its nourishment, so many of the men of ireland did it cause to die. they brought in the boar, and forty oxen as side-dishes to it, besides other kind of food; the son of datho himself was steward to their feast: "be ye welcome!" said he; "this beast before you hath not its match; and a goodly store of beeves and of swine may be found with the men of leinster! and, if there be aught lacking to you, more shall be slain for you in the morning." "it is a mighty boar," said conor. "'tis a mighty one indeed," said ailill. "how shall it be divided, o conor?" said he. "how?" cried down bricriu,[fn# ] the son of carbad, from above; "in the place where the warriors of ireland are gathered together, there can be but the one test for the division of it, even the part that each man hath taken in warlike deeds and strife: surely each man of you hath struck the other a buffet on the nose ere now!" "thus then shall it be," said ailill. "'tis a fair test," said conor in assent; "we have here a plenty of lads in this house who have done battle on the borders." "thou shalt lose thy lads to-night, conor," said senlaech the charioteer, who came from rushy conalad in the west; "often have they left a fat steer for me to harry, as they sprawled on their backs upon the road that leadeth to the rushes of dedah." "fatter was the steer that thou hadst to leave to us," said munremur,[fn# ] the son of gerrcind; "even thine own brother, cruachniu, son of ruadlam; and it was from conalad of cruachan that he came." "he was no better," cried lugaid the son of curoi of munster, "than loth the great, the son of fergus mac lete; and echbel the son of dedad left him lying in tara luachra."[fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced brik-roo. [fn# ] pronounced moon-raymer. [fn# ] pronounced looch-ra. "what sort of a man was he whom ye boast of?" cried celtchar of ulster. "i myself slew that horny-skinned son of dedad, i cut the head from his shoulders." at the last it fell out that one man raised himself above all the men of ireland; he was ket, the son of mata, he came from the land of connaught. he hung up his weapons at a greater height than the weapons of any one else who was there, he took a knife in his hand, and he placed himself at the side of the boar. "find ye now," said he, "one man among the men of ireland who can equal my renown, or else leave the division of the boar to me." all of the ulstermen were thrown into amazement. "seest thou that, o laegaire?"[fn# ] said conor. [fn# ] pronounced leary. "never shall it be," said laegaire the triumphant, "that ket should have the division of this boar in the face of us all." "softly now, o laegaire!" said ket; "let me hold speech with thee. with you men of ulster it hath for long been a custom that each lad among you who takes the arms of a warrior should play first with us the game of war: thou, o laegaire, like to the others didst come to the border, and we rode against one another. and thou didst leave thy charioteer, and thy chariot and thy horses behind thee, and thou didst fly pierced through with a spear. not with such a record as that shalt thou obtain the boar;" and laegaire sat himself down. "it shall never come to pass," said a great fair-haired warrior, stepping forward from the bench whereon he had sat, "that the division of the boar shall be left to ket before our very eyes." "to whom then appertains it?" asked ket. "to one who is a better warrior than thou," he said, "even to angus, the son of lama gabaid (hand-in-danger) of the men of ulster." "why namest thou thy father 'hand-in-danger?" said ket. "why indeed, i know not," he said. "ah! but i know it!" said ket. "long ago i went upon a journey in the east, a war-cry was raised against me, all men attacked me, and lama gabaid was among them. he made a cast of a great spear against me, i hurled the same spear back upon him, and the spear cut his hand from him so that it lay upon the ground. how dares the son of that man to measure his renown with mine?" and angus went back to his place. "come, and claim a renown to match mine," said ket; "else let me divide this boar." "it shall never be thy part to be the first to divide it," said a great fair-haired warrior of the men of ulster. "who then is this?" said ket. "'tis eogan, son of durthacht,"[fn# ] said they all; "eogan, the lord of fernmay." "i have seen him upon an earlier day," said ket. "where hast thou seen me?" said eogan. "it was before thine own house," said ket. "as i was driving away thy cattle, a cry of war was raised in the lands about me; and thou didst come out at that cry. thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and it was fixed in my shield; but i hurled the same spear back against thee, and it tore out one of thy two eyes. all the men of ireland can see that thou art one-eyed; here is the man that struck thine other eye out of thy head," and he also sat down. "make ye ready again for the strife for renown, o ye men of ulster!" cried ket. "thou hast not yet gained the right to divide the boar," said munremur, gerrcind's son. "is that munremur?" cried ket; "i have but one short word for thee, o munremur! not yet hath the third day passed since i smote the heads off three warriors who came from your lands, and the midmost of the three was the head of thy firstborn son!" and munremur also sat down. "come to the strife for renown!" cried ket. "that strife will i give to thee," said mend the son of salcholcam (the sword-heeled). "who is this?" asked ket. "'tis mend," said all who were there. "hey there!" cried ket. "the son of the man with the nickname comes to measure his renown with mine! why, mend, it was by me that the nickname of thy father came; 'twas i who cut the heel from him with my sword so that he hopped away from me upon one leg! how shall the son of that one-legged man measure his renown with mine?" and he also sat down. [fn# ] pronounced yeogan, son of doorha. "come to the strife for renown!" cried ket. "that warfare shalt thou have from me!" said an ulster warrior, tall, grey, and more terrible than the rest. "who is this?" asked ket. "'tis celtchar, the son of uitechar," cried all. "pause thou a little, celtchar," said ket, "unless it be in thy mind to crush me in an instant. once did i come to thy dwelling, o celtchar, a cry was raised about me, and all men hurried up at that cry, and thou also camest beside them. it was in a ravine that the combat between us was held; thou didst hurl thy spear against me, and against thee i also hurled my spear; and my spear pierced thee through the leg and through the groin, so that from that hour thou hast been diseased, nor hath son or daughter been born to thee. how canst thou strive in renown with me?" and he also sat down. "come to the strife for renown!" cried ket. "that strife shalt thou have," said cuscrid the stammerer, of macha, king conor's son. "who is this?" said ket. "'tis cuscrid," said all; "he hath a form which is as the form of a king." "nor hath he aught to thank thee for," said the youth. "good!" said ket. "it was against me that thou didst come on the day when thou didst first make trial of thy weapons, my lad: 'twas in the borderland that we met. and there thou didst leave the third part of thy folk behind thee, and thou didst fly with a spear-thrust through thy throat so that thou canst speak no word plainly, for the spear cut in sunder the sinews of thy neck; and from that hour thou hast been called cuscrid the stammerer." and in this fashion did ket put to shame all the warriors of the province of ulster. but as he was exulting near to the boar, with his knife in his hand, all saw conall, the victorious enter the palace; and conall sprang into the midst of the house, and the men of ulster hailed him with a shout; and conor himself took his helmet from his head, and swung it on high to greet him. "'tis well that i wait for the portion that befalls me!" said conall. who is he who is the divider of the boar for ye?" "that office must be given to the man who stands there," said conor, "even to ket, the son of mata." "is this true, o ket?" said conall. "art thou the man to allot this boar?" and then sang ket: conall, all hail! hard stony spleen wild glowing flame! ice-glitter keen! blood in thy breast rageth and boils; oft didst thou wrest victory's spoils: thou scarred son of finuchoem,[fn# ] thou truly canst claim to stand rival to me, and to match me in fame! and conall replied to him: hail to thee, ket! well are we met! heart icy-cold, home for the bold! ender of grief! car-riding chief! sea's stormy wave! bull, fair and brave! ket! first of the children of matach! the proof shall be found when to combat we dart, the proof shall be found when from combat we part; he shall tell of that battle who guardeth the stirks, he shall tell of that battle at handcraft who works; and the heroes shall stride to the wild lion-fight, for by men shall fall men in this palace to-night: welcome, ket![fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced finn-hoom. [fn# ] the short lines of this rhetoric have the metre of the original irish. "rise thou, and depart from this boar," said conall. "what claim wilt thou bring why i should do this?" said ket. "'tis true indeed," said conall, "thou art contending in renown with me. i will give thee one claim only, o ket! i swear by the oath of my tribe that since the day that i first received a spear into my hand i have seldom slept without the head of a slain man of connaught as my pillow; and i have not let pass a day or a night in which a man of connaught hath not fallen by my hand." "'tis true indeed," said ket, "thou art a better warrior than i. were but anluan here, he could battle with thee in another fashion; shame upon us that he is not in this house!" "aye, but anluan is here! "cried conall, and therewith he plucked anluan's head from his belt. and he threw the head towards ket, so that it smote him upon the chest, and a gulp of the blood was dashed over his lips. and ket came away from the boar, and conall placed himself beside it. "now let men come to contend for renown with me!" cried conall. but among the men of connaught there was none who would challenge him, and they raised a wall of shields, like a great vat around him, for in that house was evil wrangling, and men in their malice would make cowardly casts at him. and conall turned to divide the boar, and he took the end of the tail in his mouth. and although the tail was so great that it was a full load for nine men, yet he sucked it all into his mouth so that nothing of it was left; and of this hath been said: strong hands on a cart thrust him forward; his great tail, though for nine men a load, was devoured by the brave conall cernach, as the joints he so gaily bestowed. now to the men of connaught conall gave nothing except the two fore-legs of the boar, and this share seemed to be but small to the men of connaught, and thereon they sprang up, and the men of ulster also sprang up, and they rushed at each other. they buffeted each other so that the heap of bodies inside the house rose as high as the side-walls of it; and streams of blood flowed under the doors. the hosts brake out through the doors into the outer court, and great was the din that uprose; the blood upon the floor of the house might have driven a mill, so mightily did each man strike out at his fellow. and at that time fergus plucked up by the roots a great oak-tree that stood in the outer court in the midst of it; and they all burst out of the court, and the battle went on outside. then came out mac datho, leading the hound by a leash in his hand, that he might let him loose between the two armies, to see to which side the sense of the hound would turn. and the hound joined himself with the men of ulster, and he rushed on the defeated connaughtmen, for these were in flight. and it is told that in the plain of ailbe, the hound seized hold of the poles of the chariot in which ailill and maev rode: and there fer-loga, charioteer to ailill and maev, fell upon him, so that he cast his body to one side, and his head was left upon the poles of the chariot. and they say that it is for that reason that the plain of ailbe is so named, for from the hound ailbe the name hath come. the rout went on northwards, over ballaghmoon, past rurin hill, over the midbine ford near to mullaghmast, over drum criach ridge which is opposite to what is kildare to-day, over rath ingan which is in the forest of gabla, then by mac lugna's ford over the ridge of the two plains till they came to the bridge of carpre that is over the boyne. and at the ford which is known as the ford of the hound's head, which standeth in the west of meath, the hound's head fell from the chariot. and, as they went over the heather of meath, ferloga the charioteer of ailill fell into the heather, and he sprang behind conor who followed after them in his chariot, and he seized conor by the head. "i claim a boon from thee if i give thee thy life, o conor!" said he. "i choose freely to grant that boon," said conor. "'tis no great matter," said ferloga. "take me with thee to emain macha, and at each ninth hour let the widows and the growing maidens of ulster serenade me[fn# ] with the song: 'ferloga is my darling.'" [fn# ] literally, "sing me a cepoc," or a choral song. and the women were forced to do it; for they dared not to deny him, fearing the wrath of conor; and at the end of a year ferloga crossed byathlone into connaught, and he took with him two of conor's horses bridled with golden reins. and concerning all this hath it been sung: hear truth, ye lads of connaught; no lies your griefs shall fill, a youth the boar divided; the share you had was ill. of men thrice fifty fifties would win the ailbe hound; in pride of war they struggled, small cause for strife they found. yet there came conquering conor, and ailill's hosts, and ket; no law cuchulain granted, and brooding bodb[fn# ] was met. dark durthacht's son, great eogan, shall find that journey hard; from east came congal aidni, and fiaman,[fn# ] sailor bard; three sons of nera, famous for countless warlike fields; three lofty sons of usnach, with hard-set cruel shields. from high conalad croghan wise senlaech[fn# ] drave his car; and dubhtach[fn# ] came from emain, his fame is known afar; and illan came, whom glorious for many a field they hail: loch sail's grim chief, munremur; berb baither, smooth of tale; [fn# ] pronounced bobe, with sound of 'robe.' [fn# ] pronounced feeman. [fn# ] pronounced senlay, with the light final ch. [fn# ] pronounced doov-ta. and celtchar, lord in ulster; and conall's valour wild; and marcan came; and lugaid of three great hounds the child. fergus, awaiting the glorious hound, spreadeth a cloak o'er his mighty shield, shaketh an oak he hath plucked from ground, red was the woe the red cloak concealed. yonder stood cethern,[fn# ] of finntan son, holding them back; till six hours had flown connaughtmen's slaughter his hand hath done, pass of the ford he hath held alone. armies with feidlim[fn# ] the war sustain, laegaire the triumpher rides on east, aed, son of morna, ye hear complain, little his thought is to mourn that beast. high are the nobles, their deeds show might, housefellows fair, and yet hard in fight; champions of strength upon clans bring doom, great are the captives, and vast the tomb. [fn# ] pronounced kay-hern. [fn# ] pronounced fay-lim. the sick-bed of cuchulain introduction the romance called the "sick-bed of cuchulain," the latter part of which is also known as the "jealousy of emer," is preserved in two manuscripts, one of which is the eleventh-century leabhar na h-uidhri, the other a fifteenth century manuscript in the trinity college library. these two manuscripts give substantially the same account, and are obviously taken from the same source, but the later of the two is not a copy of the older manuscript, and sometimes preserves a better reading. the eleventh-century manuscript definitely gives a yet older book, the yellow book of slane, now lost, as its authority, and this may be the ultimate authority for the tale as we have it. but, although there is only one original version of the text, it is quite plain from internal evidence that the compiler of the yellow book of slane, or of an earlier book, had two quite different forms of the story to draw from, and combined them in the version that we have. the first, which may be called the "antiquarian" form, relates the cause of cuchulain's illness, tells in detail of the journey of his servant laeg to fairyland, in order to test the truth of a message sent to cuchulain that he can be healed by fairy help, and then breaks off. in both the leabhar na h-uidhri and in the fifteenth-century manuscript, follows a long passage which has absolutely nothing to do with the story, consisting of an account how lugaid red-stripes was elected to be king over ireland, and of the bull feast at which the coming of lugaid is prophesied. both manuscripts then give the counsel given by cuchulain to lugaid on his election (this passage being the only justification for the insertion, as cuchulain is supposed to be on his sick-bed when the exhortation is given); and both then continue the story in a quite different form, which may be called the "literary" form. the cause of the sickness is not given in the literary form, which commences with the rousing of cuchulain from his sick-bed, this rousing being due to different agency from that related in the antiquarian form, for in the latter cuchulain is roused by a son of the fairy king, in the former b his wife emer. the journey of laeg to fairyland is then told in the literary form with different detail to that given in the antiquarian one, and the full conclusion is then supplied in this form alone; so that we have, although in the same manuscript version, two quite distinct forms of the original legend, the first defective at the end of the story, the other at its beginning. not only are the incidents of the two forms of the story different in many respects, but the styles are so absolutely different that it would seem impossible to attribute them to the same author. the first is a mere compilation by an antiquarian; it is difficult to imagine that it was ever recited in a royal court, although the author may have had access to a better version than his own. he inserts passages which do not develop the interest of the story; hints at incidents (the temporary absence of fergus and conall) which are not developed or alluded to afterwards, and is a notable early example of the way in which irish literature can be spoiled by combining several different independent stories into one. there is only one gem, strictly so called, and that not of a high order; the only poetic touches occur in the rhetoric, and, although in this there is a weird supernatural flavour, that may have marked the original used by the compiler of this form ' the human interest seems to be exceptionally weak. the second or literary form is as different from the other as it is possible for two compositions on the same theme to be. the first few words strike the human note in cuchulain's message to his wife: "tell her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour;" the poems are many, long, and of high quality; the rhetoric shows a strophic correspondence; the greek principle of letting the messenger tell the story instead of relating the facts, in a narrative of events (the method followed in the antiquarian version) is made full use of; the modest account given by cuchulain of his own deeds contrasts well with the prose account of the same deeds; and the final relation of the voluntary action of the fairy lady who gives up her lover to her rival, and her motives, is a piece of literary work centuries in advance of any other literature of modern europe. some modern accounts of this romance have combined the two forms, and have omitted the irrelevant incidents in the antiquarian version; there are literary advantages in this course, for the disconnected character of the antiquarian opening, which must stand first, as it alone gives the beginning of the story, affords little indication of the high quality of the better work of the literary form that follows; but, in order to heighten the contrast, the two forms are given just as they occur in the manuscripts, the only omissions being the account of the election of lugaid, and the exhortation of cuchulain to the new king. thurneysen, in his sagen aus dem alten irland, places the second description of fairyland by laeg with the antiquarian form, and this may be justified not only by the allusion to ethne, who does not appear elsewhere in the literary form, but from the fact that there is a touch of rough humour in this poem, which appears in the antiquarian form, but not elsewhere in the literary one, where the manuscripts place this poem. but on the other hand the poetry of this second description, and its vividness, come much closer to the literary form, and it has been left in the place that the manuscript gives to it. the whole has been translated direct from the irish in irische texte, vol. i., with occasional reference to the facsimile of the leabhar na h-uidhri; the words marked as doubtful by windisch in his glossary, which are rather numerous, being indicated by marks of interrogation in the notes, and, where windisch goes not indicate a probable meaning, a special note is made on the word, unless it has been given in dictionaries subsequent to that of windisch. thurneysen's translation has sometimes been made use of, when there is no other guide; but he omits some passages, and windisch has been followed in the rendering given in his glossary in cases where there would seem to be a difference, as thurneysen often translates freely. the sick-bed of cuchulain transcribed from the lost yellow book of slane by maelmuiri mac ceileachair into the leabhar na h-uidhri in the eleventh century every year the men of ulster were accustomed to hold festival together; and the time when they held it was for three days before samhain, the summer-end, and for three days after that day, and upon samhain itself. and the time that is spoken of is that when the men of ulster were in the plain of murthemne, and there they used to keep that festival every year; nor was there an thing in the world that they would do at that time except sports, and marketings, and splendours, and pomps, and feasting and eating; and it is from that custom of theirs that the festival of the samhain has descended, that is now held throughout the whole of ireland. now once upon a time the men of ulster held festival upon the murthemne plain, and the reason that this festival was held was that every man of them should then give account of the combats he had made and of his valour every summer-end. it was their custom to hold that festival in order to give account of these combats, and the manner in which they gave that account was this: each man used to cut off the tip of the tongue of a foe whom he had killed, and he bore it with him in a pouch. moreover, in order to make more great the numbers of their contests, some used to bring with them the tips of the tongues of beasts, and each man publicly declared the fights he had fought, one man of them after the other. and they did this also--they laid their swords over their thighs when they declared the strifes, and their own swords used to turn against them when the strife that they declared was false; nor was this to be wondered at, for at that time it was customary for demon beings to scream from the weapons of men, so that for this cause their weapons might be the more able to guard them. to that festival then came all the men of ulster except two alone, and these two were fergus the son of rog, and conall the victorious. "let the festival be held!" cried the men of ulster. "nay," said cuchulain, "it shall not be held until conall and fergus come," and this he said because fergus was the foster-father of cuchulain, and conall was his comrade. then said sencha: "let us for the present engage in games of chess; and let the druids sing, and let the jugglers play their feats;" and it was done as he had said. now while they were thus employed a flock of birds came down and hovered over the lake; never was seen in ireland more beautiful birds than these. and a longing that these birds should be given to them seized upon the women who were there; and each of them began to boast of the prowess of her husband at bird-catching. "how i wish," said ethne aitencaithrech, conor's wife, "that i could have two of those birds, one of them upon each of my two shoulders." "it is what we all long for," said the women; and "if any should have this boon, i should be the first one to have it," said ethne inguba, the wife of cuchulain. "what are we to do now?" said the women. "'tis easy to answer you," said leborcham, the daughter of oa and adarc; "i will go now with a message from you, and will seek for cuchulain." she then went to cuchulain, and "the women of ulster would be well pleased," she said, "if yonder birds were given to them by thy hand." and cuchulain made for his sword to unsheathe it against her: "cannot the lasses of ulster find any other but us," he said, "to give them their bird-hunt to-day?" "'tis not seemly for thee to rage thus against them," said leborcham, "for it is on thy account that the women of ulster have assumed one of their three blemishes, even the blemish of blindness." for there were three blemishes that the women of ulster assumed, that of crookedness of gait, and that of a stammering in their speech, and that of blindness. each of the women who loved conall the victorious had assumed a crookedness of gait; each woman who loved cuscraid mend, the stammerer of macha, conor's son, stammered in her speech; each woman in like manner who loved cuchulain had assumed a blindness of her eyes, in order to resemble cuchulain; for he, when his mind was angry within him, was accustomed to draw in the one of his eyes so far that a crane could not reach it in his head, and would thrust out the other so that it was great as a cauldron in which a calf is cooked. "yoke for us the chariot, o laeg!" said cuchulain. and laeg yoked the chariot at that, and cuchulain went into the chariot, and he cast his sword at the birds with a cast like the cast of a boomerang, so that they with their claws and wings flapped against the water. and they seized upon all the birds, and they gave them and distributed them among the women; nor was there any one of the women, except ethne alone, who had not a pair of those birds. then cuchulain returned to his wife; and "thou art enraged," said he to her. "i am in no way enraged," answered ethne, "for i deem it as being by me that the distribution was made. and thou hast done what was fitting," she said, "for there is not one of these woman but loves thee; none in whom thou hast no share; but for myself none hath any share in me except thou alone." "be not angry," said cuchulain, "if in the future any birds come to the plain of murthemne or to the boyne, the two birds that are the most beautiful among those that come shall be thine." a little while after this they saw two birds flying over the lake, linked together by a chain of red gold. they sang a gentle song, and a sleep fell upon all the men who were there; and cuchulain rose up to pursue the birds. "if thou wilt hearken to me," said laeg, and so also said ethne, "thou shalt not go against them; behind those birds is some especial power. other birds may be taken by thee at some future day." "is it possible that such claim as this should be made upon me?" said cuchulain. "place a stone in my sling, o laeg!" laeg thereon took a stone, and he placed it in the sling, and cuchulain launched the stone at the birds, but the cast missed. "alas!" said he. he took another stone, and he launched this also at the birds, but the stone flew past them. "wretched that i am," he cried, "since the very first day that i assumed arms, i have never missed a cast until this day!" and he cast his spear at them, and the spear went through the shield of the wing of one of the birds, and the birds flew away, and went beneath the lake. after this cuchulain departed, and he rested his back against a stone pillar, and his soul was angry within him, and a sleep fell upon him. then saw he two women come to him; the one of them had a green mantle upon her, and upon the other was a purple mantle folded in five folds. and the woman in the green mantle approached him, and she laughed a laugh at him, and she gave him a stroke with a horsewhip. and then the other approached him, and she also laughed at him, and she struck him in the like manner; and for a long time were they thus, each of them in turn coming to him and striking him until he was all but dead; and then they departed from him. now the men of ulster perceived the state in which cuchulain was in; and they cried out that he should be awakened; but "nay," said fergus, "ye shall not move him, for he seeth a vision;" and a little after that cuchulain came from his sleep. "what hath happened to thee?" said the men of ulster; but he had no power to bid greeting to them. "let me be carried," he said, "to the sick-bed that is in tete brecc; neither to dun imrith, nor yet to dun delga." "wilt thou not be carried to dun delga to seek for emer?" said laeg. "nay," said he, "my word is for tete brecc;" and thereon they bore him from that place, and he was in tete brecc until the end of one year, and during all that time he had speech with no one. now upon a certain day before the next summer-end, at the end of a year, when the men of ulster were in the house where cuchulain was, fergus being at the side-wall, and conall cernach at his head, and lugaid red-stripes at his pillow, and ethne inguba at his feet; when they were there in this manner, a man came to them, and he seated himself near the entrance of the chamber in which cuchulain lay. "what hath brought thee here?" said conall the victorious. "no hard question to answer," said the man. "if the man who lies yonder were in health, he would be a good protection to all of ulster; in the weakness and the sickness in which he now is, so much the more great is the protection that they have from him. i have no fear of any of you," he said, "for it is to give to this man a greeting that i come." "welcome to thee, then, and fear nothing," said the men of ulster; and the man rose to his feet, and he sang them these staves: ah! cuchulain, who art under sickness still, not long thou its cure shouldst need; soon would aed abra's daughters, to heal thine ill, to thee, at thy bidding, speed. liban, she at swift labra's right hand who sits, stood up on cruach's[fn# ] plain, and cried: "'tis the wish of fand's heart, she the tale permits, to sleep at cuchulain's side. [fn# ] pronounced something like croogh. "'if cuchulain would come to me,' fand thus told, 'how goodly that day would shine! then on high would our silver be heaped, and gold, our revellers pour the wine. "'and if now in my land, as my friend, had been cuchulain, of sualtam[fn# ] son, the things that in visions he late hath seen in peace would he safe have won. "'in the plains of murthemne, to south that spread, shall liban my word fulfil: she shall seek him on samhain, he naught need dread, by her shall be cured his ill.'" [fn# ] pronounced sooltam. "who art thou, then, thyself?" said the men of ulster. "i am angus, the son of aed abra," he answered; and the man then left them, nor did any of them know whence it was he had come, nor whither he went. then cuchulain sat up, and he spoke to them. "fortunate indeed is this!" said the men of ulster; "tell us what it is that hath happened to thee." "upon samhain night last year," he said, "i indeed saw a vision;" and he told them of all he had seen. "what should now be done, father conor?" said cuchulain. "this hast thou to do," answered conor, "rise, and go until thou comest to the pillar where thou wert before." then cuchulain went forth until he came to the pillar, and then saw he the woman in the green mantle come to him. "this is good, o cuchulain!" said she. "'tis no good thing in my thought," said cuchulain. "wherefore camest thou to me last year?" he said. "it was indeed to do no injury to thee that we came," said the woman, "but to seek for thy friendship. i have come to greet thee," she said, "from fand, the daughter of aed abra; her husband, manannan the son of the sea, hath released her, and she hath thereon set her love on thee. my own name is liban, and i have brought to thee a message from my spouse, labraid the swift, the sword-wielder, that he will give thee the woman in exchange for one day's service to him in battle against senach the unearthly, and against eochaid juil,[fn# ] and against yeogan the stream." "i am in no fit state," he said, "to contend with men to-day." "that will last but a little while," she said; "thou shalt be whole, and all that thou hast lost of thy strength shall be increased to thee. labraid shall bestow on thee that boon, for he is the best of all warriors that are in the world." [fn# ] pronounced, nearly, yeo-hay yool. "where is it that labraid dwelleth?" asked cuchulain. "in mag mell,[fn# ] the plain of delight," said liban; "and now i desire to go to another land," said she. [fn# ] pronounced maw mel. "let laeg go with thee," said cuchulain, "that he may learn of the land from which thou hast come." "let him come, then," said liban. they departed after that, and they went forward until they came to a place where fand was. and liban turned to seek for laeg, and she set him upon her shoulder. "thou wouldest never go hence, o laeg!" said liban, "wert thou not under a woman's protection." "'tis not a thing that i have most been accustomed to up to this time," said laeg, "to be under a woman's guard." "shame, and everlasting shame," said liban, "that cuchulain is not where thou art." "it were well for me," answered laeg, "if it were indeed he who is here." they passed on then, and went forward until they came opposite to the shore of an island, and there they saw a skiff of bronze lying upon the lake before them. they entered into the skiff, and they crossed over to the island, and came to the palace door, and there they saw the man, and he came towards them. and thus spoke liban to the man whom they saw there: say where he, the hand-on-sword, labra swift, abideth? he who, of the triumphs lord, in strong chariot rideth. when victorious troops are led, labra hath the leading; he it is, when spears are red, sets the points a-bleeding. and the man replied to her, and spoke thus: labra, who of speed is son, comes, and comes not slowly; crowded hosts together run, bent on warfare wholly. soon upon the forest plain shall be set the killing; for the hour when men are slain fidga's[fn# ] fields are filling![fn# ] [fn# ] pronounced, nearly, feega. [fn# ] irish metre approximately imitated in these stanzas. they entered then into the palace, and they saw there thrice fifty couches within the palace, and three times fifty women upon the couches, and the women all bade laeg welcome, and it was in these words that they addressed him: hail! for the guide, laeg! of thy quest: laeg we beside hail, as our guest! "what wilt thou do now?" said liban; "wilt thou go on without a delay, and hold speech with fand?" "i will go," he answered, "if i may know the place where she is." "that is no hard matter to tell thee," she answered; "she is in her chamber apart." they went therein, and they greeted fand, and she welcomed laeg in the same fashion as the others had done. fand is the daughter of aed abra; aed means fire, and he is the fire of the eye: that is, of the eye's pupil: fand moreover is the name of the tear that runs from the eye; it was on account of the clearness of her beauty that she was so named, for there is nothing else in the world except a tear to which her beauty could be likened. now, while they were thus in that place, they heard the rattle of labraid's chariot as he approached the island. "the spirit of labraid is gloomy to-day," said liban, "i will go and greet him." and she went out, and she bade welcome to labraid, and she spoke as follows: hail! the man who holdeth sword, the swift in fight! heir of little armies, armed with javelins light; spears he drives in splinters; bucklers bursts in twain; limbs of men are wounded; nobles by him slain. he for error searcheth, streweth gifts not small, hosts of men destroyeth; fairer he than all! heroes whom he findeth feel his fierce attack; labra! swiftest sword-hand! welcome to us back! labraid made no reply to her, and the lady spoke again thus: welcome! swift labra, hand to sword set! all win thy bounty, praise thou shalt get; warfare thou seekest, wounds seam thy side; wisely thou speakest, law canst decide; kindly thou rulest, wars fightest well; wrong-doers schoolest, hosts shalt repel. labraid still made no answer, and she sang another lay thus: labra! all hail! sword-wielder, swift: war can he wage, warriors can sift; valiant is he, fighters excels; more than in sea pride in him swells; down in the dust strength doth he beat; they who him trust rise to their feet weak ones he'll raise, humble the strong; labra! thy praise peals loud and long! "thou speakest not rightly, o lady," said labraid; and he then spoke to her thus: o my wife! naught of boasting or pride is in me; no renown would i claim, and no falsehood shall be: lamentation alone stirs my mind, for hard spears rise in numbers against me: dread contest appears: the right arms of their heroes red broadswords shall swing; many hosts eochaid juil holds to heart as their king: let no pride then be ours; no high words let there be; pride and arrogance far should be, lady, from me! "let now thy mind be appeased," said the lady liban to him. "laeg, the charioteer of cuchulain, is here; and cuchulain hath sent word to thee that he will come to join thy hosts." then labraid bade welcome to laeg, and he said to him: "welcome, o laeg! for the sake of the lady with whom thou comest, and for the sake of him from whom thou hast come. do thou now go to thine own land, o laeg!" said labraid, "and liban shall accompany thee." then laeg returned to emain, and he gave news of what he had seen to cuchulain, and to all others beside; and cuchulain rose up, and he passed his hand over his face, and he greeted laeg brightly, and his mind was strengthened within him for the news that the lad had brought him. [at this point occurs the break in the story indicated in the preface, and the description of the bull-feast at which lugaid red-stripes is elected king over all ireland; also the exhortation that cuchulain, supposed to be lying on his sick-bed, gives to lugaid as to the duties of a king. after this insertion, which has no real connection with the story, the story itself proceeds, but from another point, for the thread is taken up at the place where cuchulain has indeed awaked from his trance, but is still on his sick-bed; the message of angus appears to have been given, but cuchulain does not seem to have met liban for the second time, nor to have sent laeg to inquire. ethne has disappeared as an actor from the scene; her place is taken by emer, cuchulain's real wife; and the whole style of the romance so alters for the better that, even if it were not for the want of agreement of the two versions, we could see that we have here two tales founded upon the same legend but by two different hands, the end of the first and the beginning of the second alike missing, and the gap filled in by the story of the election of lugaid. now as to cuchulain it has to be related thus: he called upon laeg to come to him; and "do thou go, o laeg!" said cuchulain, "to the place where emer is; and say to her that women of the fairies have come upon me, and that they have destroyed my strength; and say also to her that it goeth better with me from hour to hour, and bid her to come and seek me;" and the young man laeg then spoke these words in order to hearten the mind of cuchulain: it fits not heroes lying on sick-bed in a sickly sleep to dream: witches before thee flying of trogach's fiery plain the dwellers seem: they have beat down thy strength, made thee captive at length, and in womanish folly away have they driven thee far. arise! no more be sickly! shake off the weakness by those fairies sent: for from thee parteth quickly thy strength that for the chariot-chiefs was meant: thou crouchest, like a youth! art thou subdued, in truth? have they shaken thy prowess and deeds that were meet for the war yet labra's power hath sent his message plain: rise, thou that crouchest: and be great again. and laeg, after that heartening, departed; and he went on until he came to the place where emer was; and he told her of the state of cuchulain: "ill hath it been what thou hast done, o youth!" she said; "for although thou art known as one who dost wander in the lands where the fairies dwell; yet no virtue of healing hast thou found there and brought for the cure of thy lord. shame upon the men of ulster!" she said, "for they have not sought to do a great deed, and to heal him. yet, had conor thus been fettered; had it been fergus who had lost his sleep, had it been conall the victorious to whom wounds had been dealt, cuchulain would have saved them." and she then sang a song, and in this fashion she sang it: laeg! who oft the fairy hill[fn# ] searchest, slack i find thee still; lovely dechtire's son shouldst thou by thy zeal have healed ere now. ulster, though for bounties famed, foster-sire and friends are shamed: none hath deemed cuchulain worth one full journey through the earth. yet, if sleep on fergus fell, such that magic arts dispel, dechtire's son had restless rode till a druid raised that load. aye, had conall come from wars, weak with wounds and recent scars; all the world our hound would scour till he found a healing power. were it laegaire[fn# ] war had pressed, erin's meads would know no rest, till, made whole from wounds, he won mach's grandchild, conna's son. had thus crafty celthar slept, long, like him, by sickness kept; through the elf-mounds, night and day, would our hound, to heal him, stray. furbaid, girt by heroes strong, were it he had lain thus long; ah! our hound would rescue bear though through solid earth he fare. [fn# ] the metre of these verses is that of the irish. [fn# ] pronounced leary. all the elves of troom[fn# ] seem dead; all their mighty deeds have fled; for their hound, who hounds surpassed, elves have bound in slumber fast. ah! on me thy sickness swerves, hound of smith who conor serves! sore my heart, my flesh must be: may thy cure be wrought by me. ah! 'tis blood my heart that stains, sick for him who rode the plains: though his land be decked for feast, he to seek its plain hath ceased. he in emain still delays; 'tis those shapes the bar that raise: weak my voice is, dead its tone, he in evil form is shown. month-long, year-long watch i keep; seasons pass, i know not sleep: men's sweet speech strikes not mine ear; naught, riangabra's[fn# ] son, i hear. [fn# ] spelt truim. [fn# ] pronounced reen-gabra. and, after that she had sung that song, emer went forward to emain that she might seek for cuchulain; and she seated herself in the chamber where cuchulain was, and thus she addressed him: "shame upon thee!" she said, "to lie thus prostrate for a woman's love! well may this long sickbed of thine cause thee to ail!" and it was in this fashion that she addressed him, and she chanted this lay: stand up, o thou hero of ulster! wake from sleep! rise up, joyful and sound! look on conor the king! on my beauty, will that loose not those slumbers profound? see the ulstermen's clear shining shoulders! hear their trumpets that call to the fight! see their war-cars that sweep through the valleys, as in hero-chess, leaping each knight. see their chiefs, and the strength that adorns them, their tall maidens, so stately with grace; the swift kings, springing on to the battle, the great queens of the ulstermen's race! the clear winter but now is beginning; lo! the wonder of cold that hangs there! 'tis a sight that should warn thee; how chilly! of what length i yet of colour how bare! this long slumber is ill; it decays thee: 'tis like "milk for the full" the saw saith hard is war with fatigue; deadly weakness is a prince who stands second to death. wake! 'tis joy for the sodden, this slumber; throw it off with a great glowing heat: sweet-voiced friends for thee wait in great number: ulster's champion! stand up on thy feet! and cuchulain at her word stood up; and he passed his hand over his face, and he cast all his heaviness and his weariness away from him, and then he arose, and went on his way before him until he came to the enclosure that he sought; and in that enclosure liban appeared to him. and liban spoke to him, and she strove to lead him into the fairy hill; but "what place is that in which labraid dwelleth?" said cuchulain. it is easy for me to tell thee!" she said: labra's home's a pure lake, whither troops of women come and go; easy paths shall lead thee thither, where thou shalt swift labra know. hundreds his skilled arm repelleth; wise be they his deeds who speak: look where rosy beauty dwelleth; like to that think labra's cheek. head of wolf, for gore that thirsteth, near his thin red falchion shakes; shields that cloak the chiefs he bursteth, arms of foolish foes he breaks. trust of friend he aye requiteth, scarred his skin, like bloodshot eye; first of fairy men he fighteth; thousands, by him smitten, die. chiefs at echaid[fn# ] juil's name tremble; yet his land-strange tale-he sought, he whose locks gold threads resemble, with whose breath wine-scents are brought. more than all strife-seekers noted, fiercely to far lands he rides; steeds have trampled, skiffs have floated near the isle where he abides. labra, swift sword-wielder, gaineth fame for actions over sea; sleep for all his watch sustaineth! sure no coward hound is he. the chains on the necks of the coursers he rides, and their bridles are ruddy with gold: he hath columns of crystal and silver besides, the roof of his house to uphold. [fn# ] pronounced, apparently, ech-ay, the ch like the sound in "loch." "i will not go thither at a woman's call," said cuchulain. "let laeg then go," said the lady, "and let him bring to thee tidings of all that is there." "let him depart, then," said cuchulain; and laeg rose up and departed with liban, and they came to the plain of speech, and to the tree of triumphs, and over the festal plain of emain, and over the festal plain of fidga, and in that place was aed abra, and with him his daughters. then fand bade welcome to laeg, and "how is it," said she, "that cuchulain hath not come with thee?" "it pleased him not," said laeg, "to come at a woman's call; moreover, he desired to know whether it was indeed from thee that had come the message, and to have full knowledge of everything." "it was indeed from me that the message was sent," she said; "and let now cuchulain come swiftly to seek us, for it is for to-day that the strife is set." then laeg went back to the place where he had left cuchulain, and liban with him; and "how appeareth this quest to thee, o laeg?" said cuchulain. and laeg answering said, "in a happy hour shalt thou go," said he, "for the battle is set for to-day;" and it was in this manner that he spake, and he recited thus: i went gaily through regions, though strange, seen before: by his cairn found i labra, a cairn for a score. there sat yellow-haired labra, his spears round him rolled; his long bright locks well gathered round apple of gold. on my five-folded purple his glance at length fell, and he said, "come and enter where failbe doth dwell." in one house dwells white failbe, with labra, his friend; and retainers thrice fifty each monarch attend. on the right, couches fifty, where fifty men rest; on the left, fifty couches by men's weight oppressed. for each couch copper frontings, posts golden, and white; and a rich flashing jewel as torch, gives them light. near that house, to the westward, where sunlight sinks down, stand grey steeds, with manes dappled and steeds purple-brown. on its east side are standing three bright purple trees whence the birds' songs, oft ringing the king's children please. from a tree in the fore-court sweet harmony streams; it stands silver, yet sunlit with gold's glitter gleams. sixty trees' swaying summits now meet, now swing wide; rindless food for thrice hundred each drops at its side. near a well by that palace gay cloaks spread out lie, each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye. they who dwell there, find flowing a vat of glad ale: 'tis ordained that for ever that vat shall not fail. from the hall steps a lady well gifted, and fair: none is like her in erin; like gold is her hair. and so sweet, and so wondrous her words from her fall, that with love and with longing she breaks hearts of all. "who art thou?" said that lady, "for strange thou art here; but if him of murthemne thou servest, draw near." slowly, slowly i neared her; i feared for my fame: and she said, "comes he hither, of dechtire who came?" ah! long since, for thy healing, thou there shouldst have gone, and have viewed that great palace before me that shone. though i ruled all of erin and yellow breg's hill, i'd give all, no small trial, to know that land still. "the quest then is a good one?" said cuchulain. "it is goodly indeed," said laeg, "and it is right that thou shouldest go to attain it, and all things in that land are good." and thus further also spoke laeg, as he told of the loveliness of the fairy dwelling: i saw a land of noble form and splendid, where dwells naught evil; none can speak a lie: there stands the king, by all his hosts attended, brown labra, swift to sword his hand can fly. we crossed the plain of speech, our steps arrested near to that tree, whose branches triumphs bear; at length upon the hill-crowned plain we rested, and saw the double-headed serpent's lair. then liban said, as we that mount sat under: "would i could see--'twould be a marvel strange-- yet, if i saw it, dear would be that wonder, if to cuchulain's form thy form could change." great is the beauty of aed abra's daughters, unfettered men before them conquered fall; fand's beauty stuns, like sound of rushing waters, before her splendour kings and queens seem small. though i confess, as from the wise ones hearing, that adam's race was once unstained by sin; - yet did i swear, when fand was there appearing, none in past ages could such beauty win. i saw the champions stand with arms for slaying, right splendid was the garb those heroes bore; gay coloured garments, meet for their arraying, 'twas not the vesture of rude churls they wore. women of music at the feast were sitting, a brilliant maiden bevy near them stood; and forms of noble youths were upwards flitting through the recesses of the mountain wood. i saw the folk of song; their strains rang sweetly, as for the lady in that house they played; had i not i fled away from thence, and fleetly, hurt by that music, i had weak been made. i know the hill where ethne took her station, and ethne inguba's a lovely maid; but none can drive from sense a warlike nation save she alone, in beauty then displayed. and cuchulain, when he had heard that report, went on with liban to that land, and he took his chariot with him. and they came to the island of labraid, and there labraid and all the women that were there bade them welcome; and fand gave an especial welcome to cuchulain. "what is there now set for us to do?" said cuchulain. "no hard matter to answer," said labraid; "we must go forth and make a circuit about the army." they went out then, and they came to the army, and they let their eyes wander over it; and the host seemed to them to be innumerable. "do thou arise, and go hence for the present," said cuchulain to labraid; and labraid departed, and cuchulain remained confronting the army. and there were two ravens there, who spake, and revealed druid secrets, but the armies who heard them laughed. "it must surely be the madman from ireland who is there," said the army; "it is he whom the ravens would make known to us;" and the armies chased them away so that they found no resting-place in that land. now at early morn eochaid juil went out in order to bathe his hands in the spring, and cuchulain saw his shoulder through the hood of his tunic, and he hurled his spear at him, and he pierced him. and he by himself slew thirty-and-three of them, and then senach the unearthly assailed him, and a great fight was fought between them, and cuchulain slew him; and after that labraid approached, and he brake before him those armies. then labraid entreated cuchulain to stay his hand from the slaying; and "i fear now," said laeg, "that the man will turn his wrath upon us; for he hath not found a war to suffice him. go now," said laeg, "and let there be brought three vats of cold water to cool his heat. the first vat into which he goeth shall boil over; after he hath gone into the second vat, none shall be able to bear the heat of it: after he hath gone into the third vat, its water shall have but a moderate heat." and when the women saw cuchulain's return, fand sang thus: fidga's[fn# ] plain, where the feast assembles, shakes this eve, as his car he guides; all the land at the trampling trembles; young and beardless, in state he rides. blood-red canopies o'er him swinging chant, but not as the fairies cry; deeper bass from the car is singing, deeply droning, its wheels reply. steeds are bounding beneath the traces, none to match them my thought can find; wait a while! i would note their graces: on they sweep, like the spring's swift wind. high in air, in his breath suspended, float a fifty of golden balls; kings may grace in their sports have blended, none his equal my mind recalls. [fn# ] pronounced, nearly, fee-ga. dimples four on each cheek are glowing, one seems green, one is tinged with blue, one dyed red, as if blood were flowing, one is purple, of lightest hue. sevenfold light from his eyeballs flashes, none may speak him as blind, in scorn; proud his glances, and dark eyelashes black as beetle, his eyes adorn. well his excellence fame confesses, all through erin his praise is sung; three the hues of his high-piled tresses; beardless yet, and a stripling young. red his blade, it hath late been blooded; shines above it its silver hilt; golden bosses his shield have studded, round its rim the white bronze is spilt. o'er the slain in each slaughter striding, war he seeketh, at risk would snatch: heroes keen in your ranks are riding, none of these is cuchulain's match. from murthemne he comes, we greet him, young cuchulain, the champion strong; we, compelled from afar to meet him, daughters all of aed abra, throng. every tree, as a lordly token, stands all stained with the red blood rain war that demons might wage is woken, wails peal high as he raves again. liban moreover bade a welcome to cuchulain, and she chanted as follows: hail to cuchulain! lord, who canst aid; murthemne ruling, mind undismayed; hero-like, glorious, heart great and still battle-victorious, firm rock of skill; redly he rageth, foemen would face; battle he wageth meet for his race! brilliant his splendour, like maidens' eyes, praises we render: praise shall arise! "tell us now of the deeds thou hast done, o cuchulain! cried liban, and cuchulain in this manner replied to her: from my hand flew a dart, as i made my cast, through the host of stream-yeogan the javelin passed; not at all did i know, though great fame was won, who my victim had been, or what deed was done. whether greater or less was his might than mine i have found not at all, nor can right divine; in a mist was he hid whom my spear would slay, yet i know that he went not with life away. a great host on me closed, and on every side rose around me in hordes the red steeds they ride; from manannan, the son of the sea, came foes, from stream-yeogan to call them a roar arose. and i went to the battle with all at length, when my weakness had passed, and i gat full strength; and alone with three thousands the fight i fought, till death to the foes whom i faced was brought. i heard echaid juil's groan, as he neared his end, the sound came to mine ears as from lips of friend; yet, if truth must be told, 'twas no valiant deed, that cast that i threw, if 'twas thrown indeed. now, after all these things had passed, cuchulain slept with the lady, and he abode for a month in her company, and at the end of the month he came to bid her farewell. "tell me," she said, "to what place i may go for our tryst, and i will be there;" and they made tryst at the strand that is known as the strand of the yew-tree's head. now word was brought to emer of that tryst, and knives were whetted by emer to slay the lady; and she came to the place of the tryst, and fifty women were with her. and there she found, cuchulain and laeg, and they were engaged in the chess-play, so that they perceived not the women's approach. but fand marked it, and she cried out to laeg: "look now, o laeg!" she said, "and mark that sight that i see." "what sight is that of which thou speakest?" said laeg, and he looked and saw it, and thus it was that the lady, even fand, addressed him: laeg! look behind thee! close to thine ear wise, well-ranked women press on us near; bright on each bosom shines the gold clasp; knives, with green edges whetted, they grasp: as for the slaughter chariot chiefs race, comes forgall's daughter; changed is her face. "have no fear," said cuchulain, "no foe shalt thou meet; enter thou my strong car, with its sunny bright seat: i will set thee before me, will guard thee from harm against women, from ulster's four quarters that swarm: though the daughter of forgall the war with thee vows, though her dear foster-sisters against thee she rouse, no deed of destruction bold emer will dare, though she rageth against thee, for i will be there." moreover to emer he said: i avoid thee, o lady, as heroes avoid to meet friends in a strife; the hard spear thy hand shakes cannot injure, nor the blade of thy thin gleaming knife; for the wrath pent within thee that rageth is but weak, nor can cause mine affright: it were hard if the war my might wageth must be quenched by a weak woman's might! "speak! and tell me, cuchulain," cried emer, "why this shame on my head thou wouldst lay? before women of ulster dishonoured i stand, and all women who dwell in the wide irish land, and all folk who love honour beside: though i came on thee, secretly creeping, though oppressed by thy might i remain, and though great is thy pride in the battle, if thou leavest me, naught is thy gain: why, dear youth, such attempt dost thou make? "speak thou, emer, and say," said cuchulain, "should i not with this lady delay? for this lady is fair, pare and bright, and well skilled, a fit mate for a monarch, in beauty fulfilled, and the billows of ocean can ride: she is lovely in countenance, lofty in race, and with handicraft skilled can fine needlework trace, hath a mind that with firmness can guide: and in steeds hath she wealth, and much cattle doth she own; there is naught under sky a dear wife for a spouse should be keeping but that gift with this lady have i: though the vow that i made thee i break, thou shalt ne'er find champion rich, like me, in scars; ne'er such worth, such brilliance, none who wins my wars." "in good sooth," answered emer, "the lady to whom thou dost cling is in no way better than am i myself! yet fair seems all that's red; seems white what's new alone; and bright what's set o'erhead; and sour are things well known! men worship what they lack; and what they have seems weak; in truth thou hast all the wisdom of the time! o youth!" she said, "once we dwelled in honour together, and we would so dwell again, if only i could find favour in thy sight!" and her grief weighed heavily upon her. "by my word," said cuchulain, "thou dost find favour, and thou shalt find it so long as i am in life." "desert me, then!" cried fand. "nay," said emer, "it is more fitting that i should be the deserted one." "not so, indeed," said fand. "it is i who must go, and danger rusheth upon me from afar." and an eagerness for lamentation seized upon fand, and her soul was great within her, for it was shame to her to be deserted and straightway to return to her home; moreover the mighty love that she bare to cuchulain was tumultuous in her, and in this fashion she lamented, and lamenting sang this song: mighty need compels me, i must go my way; fame for others waiteth, would i here could stay! sweeter were it resting guarded by thy power, than to find the marvels in aed abra's bower. emer! noble lady! take thy man to thee: though my arms resign him, longing lives in me. oft in shelters hidden men to seek me came; none could win my trysting, i myself was flame. ah! no maid her longing on a man should set till a love full equal to her own she get. fifty women hither, emer! thou hast brought thou wouldst fand make captive, hast on murder thought. till the day i need them waits, my home within; thrice thy host! fair virgins, these my war shall win. now upon this it was discerned by manannan that fand the daughter of aed abra was engaged in unequal warfare with the women of ulster, and that she was like to be left by cuchulain. and thereon manannan came from the east to seek for the lady, and he was perceived by her, nor was there any other conscious of his presence saving fand alone. and, when she saw manannan, the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind and by grief, and being thus, she made this song: lo! the son of the sea-folk from plains draws near whence yeogan, the stream, is poured; 'tis manannan, of old he to me was dear, and above the fair world we soared. yet to-day, although excellent sounds his cry, no love fills my noble heart, for the pathways of love may be bent awry, its knowledge in vain depart. when i dwelt in the bower of the yeogan stream, at the son of the ocean's side, of a life there unending was then our dream, naught seemed could our love divide. when the comely manannan to wed me came, to me, as a spouse, full meet; not in shame was i sold, in no chessmen's game the price of a foe's defeat. when the comely manannan my lord was made, when i was his equal spouse, this armlet of gold that i bear he paid as price for my marriage vows. through the heather came bride-maids, in garments brave of all colours, two score and ten; and beside all the maidens my bounty gave to my husband a fifty men. four times fifty our host; for no frenzied strife in our palace was pent that throng, where a hundred strong men led a gladsome life, one hundred fair dames and strong. manannan draws near: over ocean he speeds, from all notice of fools is he free; as a horseman he comes, for no vessel he needs who rides the maned waves of the sea. he hath passed near us now, though his visage to view is to all, save to fairies, forbid; every troop of mankind his keen sight searcheth through, though small, and in secret though hid. but for me, this resolve in my spirit shall dwell, since weak, being woman's, my mind; since from him whom so dearly i loved, and so well, only danger and insult i find. i will go! in mine honour unsullied depart, fair cuchulain! i bid thee good-bye; i have gained not the wish that was dear to my heart, high justice compels me to fly. it is flight, this alone that befitteth my state, though to some shall this parting be hard: o thou son of riangabra! the insult was great: not by laeg shall my going be barred. i depart to my spouse; ne'er to strife with a foe shall manannan his consort expose; and, that none may complain that in secret i go, behold him! his form i disclose! then that lady rose behind manannan as he passed, and manannan greeted her: "o lady!" he said, "which wilt thou do? wilt thou depart with me, or abide here until cuchulain comes to thee?" "by my troth," answered fand, "either of the two of ye were a fitting spouse to adhere to; and neither of you two is better than the other; yet, manannan, it is with thee that i go, nor will i wait for cuchulain, for he hath betrayed me; and there is another matter, moreover, that weigheth with me, o thou noble prince!" said she, "and that is that thou hast no consort who is of worth equal to thine, but such a one hath cuchulain already." and cuchulain saw the lady as she went from him to manannan, and he cried out to laeg: "what meaneth this that i see?" "'tis no hard matter to answer thee," said laeg. "fand goeth away with manannan the son of the sea, since she hath not been pleasing in thy sight!" then cuchulain bounded three times high into the air, and he made three great leaps towards the south, and thus he came to tara luachra,[fn# ] and there he abode for a long time, having no meat and no drink, dwelling upon the mountains, and sleeping upon the high-road that runneth through the midst of luachra. then emer went on to emain, and there she sought out king conor, and she told conor of cuchulain's state, and conor sent out his learned men and the people of skill, and the druids of ulster, that they might seek for cuchulain, and might bind him fast, and bring him with them to emain. and cuchulain strove to slay the people of skill, but they chanted wizard and fairy songs against him, and they bound fast his feet and his hands until he came a little to his senses. then he begged for a drink at their hands, and the druids gave him a drink of forgetfulness, so that afterwards he had no more remembrance of fand nor of anything else that he had then done; and they also gave a drink of forgetfulness to emer that she might forget her jealousy, for her state was in no way better than the state of cuchulain. and manannan shook his cloak between cuchulain and fand, so that they might never meet together again throughout eternity. [fn# ] pronounced looch-ra: tara luachra is on the borders of limerick and kerry. the exile of the sons' of usnach introduction the version given in the following pages of the well-known tale of deirdre has been translated from the irish text of the book of leinster version as printed by windisch in irische texte, vol. i. readings from the two parallel texts of the book of lecan, and egerton, , have been used where the leinster text is deficient or doubtful, but the older ms. has in the main been followed, the chief alterations being indicated in the notes. the only english translation hitherto given of this version is the unreliable one in atlantis, vol. iii. there is a german translation in thurneysen's sagen aus dem alten irland which may be consulted for literal renderings of most of the verse portions, which, however, are sometimes nearer the original than thurneysen's renderings. it was at first intended to place beside this version the much better known version of the tale given by the glenn masain manuscript and its variants; but, as this version is otherwise available in english,[fn# ] it has been thought better to omit most of it: a verse translation of deirdre's final lament in this version has, however, been added for the purpose of comparing it with the corresponding lament in the leinster text. these two poems are nearly of the same length, but have no other point in common; the lament in the leinster version strikes the more personal note, and it has been suggested that it shows internal evidence that it must have been written by a woman. the idea of deirdre as a seer, which is so prominent in the glenn masain version of the tale, does not appear in the older leinster text; the supernatural druidic mist, which even in the glenn masain version only appears in the late manuscript which continues the story after the fifteenth-century manuscript breaks off, does not appear in the book of leinster; and the later version introduces several literary artifices that do not appear in the earlier one. that portion of the glenn masain version immediately following after deirdre's lament is given as an instance of one of these, the common artifice of increase of horror at a catastrophe by the introduction of irrelevant matter, the tragedy of deirdre's death being immediately followed by a cheerful account of the relationships of the chief heroes of the heroic period; a still better example of this practice in the old irish literature is the almost comic relief that is introduced at the most tragic part of the tale of the murder of the son of ronan. [fn# ] see irische texte, vol. ii., and the celtic review, vol. i. - . the exile of the sons of usnach book of leinster version in the house of feidlimid,[fn# ] the son of dall, even he who was the narrator of stories to conor the king, the men of ulster sat at their ale; and before the men, in order to attend upon them, stood the wife of feidlimid, and she was great with child. round about the board went drinking-horns, and portions of food; and the revellers shouted in their drunken mirth. and when the men desired to lay themselves down to sleep, the woman also went to her couch; and, as she passed through the midst of the house, the child cried out in her womb, so that its shriek was heard throughout the whole house, and throughout the outer court that lay about it. and upon that shriek, all the men sprang up; and, head closely packed by head, they thronged together in the house, whereupon sencha, the son of ailill, rebuked them: "let none of you stir!" cried he, "and let the woman be brought before us, that we may learn what is the meaning of that cry." then they brought the woman before them, and thus spoke to her feidlimid, her spouse: what is that, of all cries far the fiercest, in thy womb raging loudly and long? through all ears with that clamour thou piercest; with that scream, from bides swollen and strong: of great woe, for that cry, is foreboding my heart; that is torn through with terror, and sore with the smart. [fn# ] pronounced feylimid. then the woman turned her, and she approached cathbad[fn# ] the druid, for he was a man of knowledge, and thus she spoke to him: [fn# ] pronounced cah-ba. give thou ear to me, cathbad, thou fair one of face, thou great crown of our honour, and royal in race; let the man so exalted still higher be set, let the druid draw knowledge, that druids can get. for i want words of wisdom, and none can i fetch; nor to felim a torch of sure knowledge can stretch: as no wit of a woman can wot what she bears, i know naught of that cry from within me that tears. and then said cathbad: 'tis a maid who screamed wildly so lately, fair and curling shall locks round her flow, and her eyes be blue-centred and stately; and her cheeks, like the foxglove, shall glow. for the tint of her skin, we commend her, in its whiteness, like snow newly shed; and her teeth are all faultless in splendour and her lips, like to coral, are red: a fair woman is she, for whom heroes, that fight in their chariots for ulster, to death shall be dight. 'tis a woman that shriek who hath given, golden-haired, with long tresses, and tall; for whose love many chiefs shall have striven, and great kings for her favours shall call. to the west she shall hasten, beguiling a great host, that from ulster shall steal: red as coral, her lips shall be smiling, as her teeth, white as pearls, they reveal: aye, that woman is fair, and great queens shall be fain of her form, that is faultless, unflawed by a stain. then cathbad laid his hand upon the body of the woman; and the little child moved beneath his hand: "aye, indeed," he said, "it is a woman child who is here: deirdre shall be her name, and evil woe shall be upon her." now some days after that came the girl child into the world; and then thus sang cathbad: o deirdre! of ruin great cause thou art; though famous, and fair, and pale: ere that felim's hid daughter from life shall part, all ulster her deeds shall wail. aye, mischief shall come, in the after-time, thou fair shining maid, for thee; hear ye this: usna's sons, the three chiefs sublime, to banishment forced shall be. while thou art in life, shall a fierce wild deed in emain, though late, be done: later yet, it shall mourn it refused to heed the guard of rog's powerful son. o lady of worth! it is to thee we owe that fergus to exile flies; that a son of king conor we hail in woe, when fiachna[fn# ] is hurt, and dies. o lady of worth! it is all thine the guilt! gerrc, illadan's son, is slain; and when eogan mac doorha's great life is spilt, not less shall be found our pain. grim deed shalt thou do, and in wrath shalt rave against glorious ulster's king: in that spot shall men dig thee thy tiny grave; of deirdre they long shall sing. [fn# ] pronounced feena. "let that maiden be slain!" cried out the young men of ulster; but "not so!" said conor; "she shall in the morning be brought to me, and shall be reared according to my will, and she shall be my wife, and in my companionship shall she dwell." the men of ulster were not so hardy as to turn him from his purpose, and thus it was done. the maiden was reared in a house that belonged to conor, and she grew up to be the fairest maid in all ireland. she was brought up at a distance from the king's court; so that none of the men of ulster might see her till the time came when she was to share the royal couch: none of mankind was permitted to enter the house where she was reared, save only her foster-father, and her foster-mother; and in addition to these levorcham, to whom naught could any refuse, for she was a witch. now once it chanced upon a certain day in the time of winter that the foster-father of deirdre had employed himself in skinning a calf upon the snow, in order to prepare a roast for her, and the blood of the calf lay upon the snow, and she saw a black raven who came down to drink it. and "levorcham," said deirdre, "that man only will i love, who hath the three colours that i see here, his hair as black as the raven, his cheeks red like the blood, and his body as white as the snow." "dignity and good fortune to thee!" said levorcham; "that man is not far away. yonder is he in the burg which is nigh; and the name of him is naisi, the son of usnach." "i shall never be in good health again," said deirdre, "until the time come when i may see him." it befell that naisi was upon a certain day alone upon the rampart of the burg of emain, and he sent his warrior-cry with music abroad: well did the musical cry ring out that was raised by the sons of usnach. each cow and every beast that heard them, gave of milk two-thirds more than its wont; and each man by whom that cry was heard deemed it to be fully joyous, and a dear pleasure to him. goodly moreover was the play that these men made with their weapons; if the whole province of ulster had been assembled together against them in one place, and they three only had been able to set their backs against one another, the men of ulster would not have borne away victory from those three: so well were they skilled in parry and defence. and they were swift of foot when they hunted the game, and with them it was the custom to chase the quarry to its death. now when this naisi found himself alone on the plain, deirdre also soon escaped outside her house to him, and she ran past him, and at first he know not who she might be. "fair is the young heifer that springs past me!" he cried. "well may the young heifers be great," she said, "in a place where none may find a bull." "thou hast, as thy bull," said he, "the bull of the whole province of ulster, even conor the king of ulster." "i would choose between you two," she said, "and i would take for myself a younger bull, even such as thou art." "not so indeed," said naisi, "for i fear the prophecy of cathbad." "sayest thou this, as meaning to refuse me?" said she. "yea indeed," he said; and she sprang upon him, and she seized him by his two ears. "two ears of shame and of mockery shalt thou have," she cried, "if thou take me not with thee." "release me, o my wife!" said he. "that will i." then naisi raised his musical warrior-cry, and the men of ulster heard it, and each of them one after another sprang up: and the sons of usnach hurried out in order to hold back their brother. "what is it," they said, "that thou dost? let it not be by any fault of thine that war is stirred up between us and the men of ulster." then he told them all that had been done; and "there shall evil come on thee from this," said they; "moreover thou shalt lie under the reproach of shame so long as thou dost live; and we will go with her into another land, for there is no king in all ireland who will refuse us welcome if we come to him." then they took counsel together, and that same night they departed, three times fifty warriors, and the same number of women, and dogs, and servants, and deirdre went with them. and for a long time they wandered about ireland, in homage to this man or that; and often conor sought to slay them, either by ambuscade or by treachery; from round about assaroe, near to ballyshannon in the west, they journeyed, and they turned them back to benn etar, in the north-east, which men to-day call the mountain of howth. nevertheless the men of ulster drave them from the land, and they came to the land of alba, and in its wildernesses they dwelled. and when the chase of the wild beasts of the mountains failed them, they made foray upon the cattle of the men of alba, and took them for themselves; and the men of alba gathered themselves together with intent to destroy them. then they took shelter with the king of alba, and the king took them into his following, and they served him in war. and they made for themselves houses of their own in the meadows by the king's burg: it was on account of deirdre that these houses were made, for they feared that men might see her, and that on her account they might be slain. now one day the high-steward of the king went out in the early morning, and he made a cast about naisi's house, and saw those two sleeping therein, and he hurried back to the king, and awaked him: "we have," said he, "up to this day found no wife for thee of like dignity to thyself. naisi the son of usnach hath a wife of worth sufficient for the emperor of the western world! let naisi be slain, and let his wife share thy couch." "not so!" said the king, "but do thou prepare thyself to go each day to her house, and woo her for me secretly." thus was it done; but deirdre, whatsoever the steward told her, was accustomed straightway to recount it each even to her spouse; and since nothing was obtained from her, the sons of usnach were sent into dangers, and into wars, and into strifes that thereby they might be overcome. nevertheless they showed themselves to be stout in every strife, so that no advantage did the king gain from them by such attempts as these. the men of alba were gathered together to destroy the sons of usnach, and this also was told to deirdre. and she told her news to naisi: "depart hence!" said she, "for if ye depart not this night, upon the morrow ye shall he slain!" and they marched away that night, and they betook themselves to an island of the sea. now the news of what had passed was brought to the men of ulster. "'tis pity, o conor!" said they, "that the sons of usnach should die in the land of foes, for the sake of an evil woman. it is better that they should come under thy protection,[fn# ] and that the (fated) slaying should be done here, and that they should come into their own land, rather than that they should fall at the hands of foes." "let them come to us then," said conor, "and let men go as securities to them." the news was brought to them. [fn# ] literally, "it is better their protection, and their slaying, and coming for them to their own land, &c." if this reading is right (and three mss. agree), the extended words of the text seem to give the intention: it is, however, possible that the reading should be, "it is better their protection than their slaying" (oldaas for ocus), which would make sense at once. the idea of the text seems to be that the sons of usnach were, owing to cathbad's prophecy, thought of as fated men; and it was only a question where they should be put to death. "this is welcome news for us," they said; "we will indeed come, and let fergus come as our surety, and dubhtach, and cormac the son of conor." these then went to them, and they moved them to pass over the sea. but at the contrivance of conor, fergus was pressed to join in an ale-feast, while the sons of usnach were pledged to eat no food in erin, until they had eaten the food of conor. so fergus tarried behind with dubhtach and cormac; and the sons of usnach went on, accompanied by fiacha, fergus' son; until they came to the meadows around emain. now at that time eogan the son of durthacht had come to emain to make his peace with conor, for they had for a long time been at enmity; and to him, and to the warmen of conor, the charge was given that they should slay the sons of usnach, in order that they should not come before the king. the sons of usnach stood upon the level part of. the meadows, and the women sat upon the ramparts of emain. and eogan came with his warriors across the meadow, and the son of fergus took his place by naisi's side. and eogan greeted them with a mighty thrust of his spear, and the spear brake naisi's back in sunder, and passed through it. the son of fergus made a spring, and he threw both arms around naisi, and he brought him beneath himself to shelter him, while he threw himself down above him; and it was thus that naisi was slain, through the body of the son of fergus. then there began a murder throughout the meadow, so that none escaped who did not fall by the points of the spears, or the edge of the sword, and deirdre was brought to conor to be in his power, and her arms were bound behind her back. now the sureties who had remained behind, heard what had been done, even fergus and dubhtach, and cormac. and thereon they hastened forward, and they forthwith performed great deeds. dubhtach slew, with the one thrust of his spear, mane a son of conor, and fiachna the son of feidelm, conor's daughter; and fergus struck down traigthren, the son of traiglethan, and his brother. and conor was wrath at this, and he came to the fight with them; so that upon that day three hundred of the men of ulster fell and dubhtach slew the women of ulster; and, ere the day dawned, fergus set emain on fire. then they went away into exile, and betook them to the land of connaught to find shelter with ailill and maev, for they knew that that royal pair would give them good entertainment. to the men of ulster the exiles showed no love: three thousand stout men went with them; and for sixteen years never did they allow cries of lamentation and of fear among the ulstermen to cease: each night their vengeful forays caused men to quake, and to wail. deirdre lived on for a year in the household of conor; and during all that time she smiled no smile of laughter; she satisfied not herself with food or with sleep, and she raised not her head from her knee. and if any one brought before her people of mirth, she used to speak thus: though eager troops, and fair to see,[fn# ] may home return, though these ye wait: when usna's sons came home to me, they came with more heroic state. with hazel mead, my naisi stood: and near our fire his bath i'd pour; on aindle's stately back the wood; on ardan's ox, or goodly boar. though sweet that goodly mead ye think that warlike conor drinks in hall, i oft have known a sweeter drink, where leaps in foam the waterfall: our board was spread beneath the tree, and naisi raised the cooking flame: more sweet than honey-sauced to me was meat, prepared from naisi's game. [fn# ] a literal rendering of this poem will be found in the notes, p. . though well your horns may music blow, though sweet each month your pipes may sound, i fearless say, that well i know a sweeter strain i oft have found. though horns and pipes be sounding clear, though conor's mind in these rejoice, more magic strain, more sweet, more dear was usna's children's noble voice. like sound of wave, rolled naisi's bass; we'd hear him long, so sweet he sang: and ardan's voice took middle place; and clearly aindle's tenor rang. now naisi lies within his tomb: a sorry guard his friends supplied; his kindred poured his cup of doom, that poisoned cup, by which he died. ah! berthan dear! thy lands are fair; thy men are proud, though hills be stern: alas! to-day i rise not there to wait for usna's sons' return. that firm, just mind, so loved, alas! the dear shy youth, with touch of scorn, i loved with him through woods to pass, and girding in the early morn. when bent on foes, they boded ill, those dear grey eyes, that maids adored; when, spent with toil, his troops lay still, through irish woods his tenor soared. for this it is, no more i sleep; no more my nails with pink i stain: no joy can break the watch i keep; for usna's sons come not again. for half the night no sleep i find; no couch can me to rest beguile: 'mid crowds of thoughts still strays my mind; i find no time to eat or smile. in eastern emain's proud array no time to joy is left for me; for gorgeous house, and garments gay, nor peace, nor joy, nor rest can be. and when conor sought to soothe her; thus deirdre would answer him: ah conor! what of thee! i naught can do! lament and sorrow on my life have passed: the ill you fashioned lives my whole life through; a little time your love for me would last. the man to me most fair beneath the sky, the man i loved, in death away you tore: the crime you did was great; for, till i die, that face i loved i never shall see more. that he is gone is all my sorrow still; before me looms the shape of usna's son; though o'er his body white is yon dark hill, there's much i'd lavish, if but him i won. i see his cheeks, with meadow's blush they glow; black as a beetle, runs his eyebrows' line; his lips are red; and, white as noble snow i see his teeth, like pearls they seem to shine. well have i known the splendid garb he bears, oft among alba's warriors seen of old: a crimson mantle, such as courtier wears, and edged with border wrought of ruddy gold. of silk his tunic; great its costly price; for full one hundred pearls thereon are sewn; stitched with findruine,[fn# ] bright with strange device, full fifty ounces weighed those threads alone. gold-hilted in his hand i see his sword; two spears he holds, with spear-heads grim and green; around his shield the yellow gold is poured, and in its midst a silver boss is seen. fair fergus ruin on us all hath brought! we crossed the ocean, and to him gave heed: his honour by a cup of ale was bought; from him hath passed the fame of each high deed. if ulster on this plain were gathered here before king conor; and those troops he'd give, i'd lose them all, nor think the bargain dear, if i with naisi, usna's son, could live. break not, o king, my heart to-day in me; for soon, though young, i come my grave unto: my grief is stronger than the strength of sea; thou, conor, knowest well my word is true. "whom dost thou hate the most," said conor, "of these whom thou now seest?" "thee thyself," she answered, "and with thee eogan the son of durthacht." [fn# ] pronounced find-roony; usually translated "white bronze." "then," said conor, "thou shalt dwell with eogan for a year;" and he gave deirdre over into eogan's hand. now upon the morrow they went away over the festal plain of macha, and deirdre sat behind eogan in the chariot; and the two who were with her were the two men whom she would never willingly have seen together upon the earth, and as she looked upon them, "ha, deirdre," said conor, "it is the same glance that a ewe gives when between two rams that thou sharest now between me and eogan!" now there was a great rock of stone in front of them, and deirdre struck her head upon that stone, and she shattered her head, and so she died. this then is the tale of the exile of the sons of usnach, and of the exile of fergus, and of the death of deirdre. the lament of deirdre over the sons of usnach according to the glenn masain version also the conclusion of the tale from the same version i grieved not, usna's sons beside; but long, without them, lags the day: their royal sire no guest denied; three lions from cave hill were they. three dragons bred in mona's fort are dead: to them from life i go; three chiefs who graced the red branch court, three rocks, who broke the rush of foe. o loved by many a british maid! o swift as hawks round gullion's peak! true sons of king, who warriors swayed, to whom bent chiefs in homage meek. no vassal look those champions wore; full grief is mine that such should die! those sons, whom cathbad's daughter bore; those props, who cualgne's[fn# ] war held high. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. three bears of might, to war they came; from oona's walls, like lions, burst; three hero-chiefs, who loved their fame; three sons, on ulster's bosom nursed. twas aife[fn# ] reared them; 'neath her yoke a kingdom bowed, and tribute brought; they propped the war, when armies broke, those foster-sons, whom scathach[fn# ] taught. the three, who once from bohvan's skill all feats have learned that heroes know; king usna's glorious sons! 'tis ill that these afar from me should go. that i should live, with naisi dead, let none such shame believe of me; when ardan's life, when ainnle's fled, but short my life i knew would be. great ulster's king my hand had won; i left him, naisi's love to find; till naisi's funeral rites be done, i wait a little while behind. this widowed life no more i'll bear; the three rejoiced, when toil they faced; where'er 'twas found, the war they'd dare, and proffered fight with joy embraced. a curse on cathbad's wizard spell! 'twas naisi's death! and i the cause! none came to aid that king, who well to all the world might grant his laws. [fn# ] pronounced eefa. [fn# ] pronounced ska-ha. o man, who diggest low the grave, and from my sight my love would hide, make wide the tomb; its room i crave, i come to seek my hero's side. great load of hardship i'd endure with joy, if yet those heroes my companions were; no lack of house or fire could then annoy, no gloom i'd know with them, nor aught of care. ah! many a time each shield and guardian spear to make my couch have piled those noble three: o labouring man, their grave who diggest here, their hardened swords above well set should be. the hounds of all the three their masters lack, their hawks no quarry leave, nor hear their call; the three are dead, who battle's line held back who learned their skill in conall cernach's hall! their hounds i view; from out my heart that sight hath struck a groan; behind their leashes trail, 'twas mine to hold them once, and keep them tight;, now slack they lie, and cause me thus to wail. oft in the desert i and they have strayed, yet never lonely was that desert known for all the three a grave to-day is made, and here i sit, and feel indeed alone. i gazed on naisi's grave, and now am blind, for naught remains to see; the worst is spent; my soul must leave me soon, no help i find, and they are gone, the folk of my lament. 'twas guile that crushed them: they would save my life and died therefor; themselves three billows strong: ere usna's children fell in cruel strife, would i had died, and earth had held me long! to red-branch hall we made our mournful way; deceitful fergus led; our lives he stole; a soft sweet speech indeed he'd learned to say, for me, for them was ruin near that goal. all ulster's pleasures now are nothing worth i shun them all, each chief, each ancient friend; alone i sit, as left behind on earth, and soon my lonely life in death shall end. i am deirdre, the joyless, for short time alive, though to end life be evil, 'tis worse to survive. and, after she had made this lament, deirdre seated herself in the tomb, and she gave three kisses to naisi before that he was laid in his grave; and with heaviness and grief cuchulain went on to dun delga. and cathbad the druid laid a curse upon emain macha to take vengeance for that great evil, and he said that, since that treachery had been done, neither king conor nor any other of his race should hold that burg. and as for fergus, the son of rossa the red, he came to emain macha on the morrow after the sons of usnach had been slain. and, when he found that they had been slain, and that his pledge had been dishonoured, he himself, and cormac the partner of exile, king conor's own son, also dubhtach, the beetle of ulster, and the armies they had with them, gave battle to the household of conor; and they slew maine the son of conor, and three hundred of conor's people besides. and emain macha was destroyed, and burned by them, and conor's women were slain, and they collected their adherents on every side; the number of their host was three thousand warriors. and they went away to the land of connaught, even to ailill the great, who was the king of connaught at that time, and to maev of croghan, and with them they found a welcome and support. moreover fergus and cormac the partner of exile and their warriors, after that they had come to the land of connaught, never let pass one single night wherein reavers went not forth from them to harry and burn the land of ulster, so that the district which men to-day call the land of cualgne was subdued by them; and from that in the after-time came between the two kingdoms much of trouble and theft; and in this fashion they spent seven years, or, as some say, ten years; nor was there any truce between them, no, not for one single hour. and while those deeds were doing, deirdre abode by conor in his household for a whole year after the sons of usnach had been slain. and, though it might have seemed but a small thing for her to raise her head, or to let laughter flow over her lips, yet she never did these things during all that time. and when conor saw that neither sport nor kindness could hold her; and that neither jesting nor pleasing honour could raise her spirits, he sent word to eogan the son of durthacht, the lord of fernmay;[fn# ] as some tell the story, it was this eogan who had slain naisi in emain macha. and after that eogan had come to the place where conor was, conor gave command to deirdre that, since he himself had failed to turn her heart from her grief, she must depart to eogan, and spend another space of time with him. and with that she was placed behind eogan in his chariot, and conor went also in the chariot in order to deliver deirdre into eogan's hand. and as they went on their way, she cast a fierce glance at eogan in front of her, and another at conor behind her; for there was nothing in all the world that she hated more than those two men. and when conor saw this, as he looked at her and at eogan, he said: "ah deirdre! it is the glance of a ewe when set between two rams that thou castest on me and on eogan!" and when deirdre heard that, she sprang up, and she made a leap out of the chariot, and she struck her head against the stony rocks that were in front of her, and she shattered her head so that the brains leapt out, and thus came to deirdre her death. [fn# ] the irish is fernmag; written fearnmhuidh in the late manuscript of this part of the tale. this is the tree of their race, and an account of the kinships of some of the champions of the red branch, which is given here before we proceed to speak of the deeds of cuchulain: 'twas cathbad first won magach's love, and arms around her threw; from maelchro's loins, the battle chief, his princely source he drew; two, more in love she knew, of these the wrath was long and dread, fierce rossa, named the ruddy-faced, and carbre, thatched with red. to all the three were children born, and all with beauty graced, to cathbad, and to carbre red, and rossa ruddy-faced; a gracious three indeed were they to whom she gave her love, fair magach, brown the lashes were that slept her eyes above. three sons to rossa ruddy-faced as children magach bore; to carbre sons again she gave, the count of these was four; and three white shoots of grace were hers, on these no shame shall fall; to cathbad children three she bare, and these were daughters all. to cathbad, who in wizard lore and all its arts had might, three daughters lovely magach bore, each clothed in beauty white; all maids who then for grace were famed in grace those maids surpassed, and finuchoem,[fn# ] ailbhe twain he named, and deithchim named the last. [fn# ] pronounced finn-hoom, ail-vy, and die-himm. to finnchoem, wizard cathbad's child, was born a glorious son, and well she nursed him, conall wild, who every field hath won; and ailbhe glorious children bare in whom no fear had place, these ardan, ainnle, naisi were, who came of usnach's race. a son to deithchim fair was born, a bright-cheeked mother she; she bore but one: cuchulain of dun delga's hold was he: of those whom cathbad's daughters reared the names full well ye know, and none of these a wound hath feared, or therefore shunned a foe. the sons of usnach, who like shields their friends protected well, by might of hosts on battle-field to death were borne, and fell; and each was white of skin, and each his friends in love would hold, now naught remains for song to teach, the third of griefs is told. the combat at the ford introduction this version of the "combat at the ford," the best-known episode of the irish romance or romantic epic, the "war of cualnge," will hardly be, by irish scholars, considered to want a reference. it is given in the book of leinster, which cannot have been written later than a.d., and differs in many respects from the version in the fourteenth-century book of lecan, which is, for the purposes of this text, at least equal in authority to the leabbar na h-uidhri, which must have been written before a.d. mr. alfred nutt has kindly contributed a note on the comparison of the two versions, which has been placed as a special note at the end of the translation of the "combat." to this note may be added the remark that the whole of the leabhar na h-uidhri version of the "war of cualnge" seems, to be subject to the same criticisms that have to be passed on the "sickbed" and the "courtship of etain" in the same volume, viz. that it is a compilation from two or three different versions of the same story, and is not a connected and consistent romance, which the version in the book of leinster appears to be. as an illustration of this, the appearance of conall cernach as on the side of connaught in the early part of the l.u. version may be mentioned; he is never so represented in other versions of the "war." in the description of the array of ulster at the end of l.u., he is noted as being expected to be with the ulster army but as absent (following in this the book of leinster, but not a later manuscript which agrees with the book of leinster in the main); then at the end of the l.u. version conall again appears in the connaught army and saves conor from fergus, taking the place of cormac in the book of leinster version. miss faraday, in her version of the "war" as given in l.u., notes the change of style at page of her book. several difficulties similar to that of the position of conall could be mentioned; and on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the leabhar na h-uidhri and the yellow book of lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the "war," one of which is represented by the book of leinster version. this version shows no signs of patchwork, at any rate in the story of the "combat at the ford;" which has, ever since it was reintroduced to the world by o'curry, been renowned for the chivalry of its action. it forms one of the books of aubrey de vere's "foray of queen meave," and is there well reproduced, although with several additions; perhaps sufficient attention has not. been paid to the lofty position of the character, as distinguished from the prowess, that this version gives to cuchulain. the first verse, put in cuchulain's mouth, strikes a new note, contrasting alike with the muddle-headed bargaining of ferdia and maev, and the somewhat fussy anxiety of fergus. the contrast between the way in which cuchulain receives fergus's report of the valour of ferdia, and that in which ferdia receives the praises of cuchulain from his charioteer, is well worked out; cuchulain, conscious of his own strength, accepts all fergus's praises of his opponent and adds to them; ferdia cannot bear to hear of cuchulain's valour, and charges his servant with taking a bribe from his enemy in order to frighten him. ferdia boasts loudly of what he will do, cuchulain apologises for his own confidence in the issue of the combat, and gently banters fergus, who is a bit of a boaster himself, on the care he had taken to choose the time for the war when king conor was away, with a modest implication that he himself was a poor substitute for the king. cuchulain's first two stanzas in the opening dialogue between himself and ferdia show a spirit quite as truculent as that of his opponent; the reason of this being, as indicated in the first of these stanzas and more explicitly stated in the preceding prose, that his anxiety for his country is outweighing his feeling for his friend; but in the third stanza he resumes the attitude of conscious strength that marks all his answers to fergus; and this, added to a feeling of pity for his friend's inevitable fate, is maintained up to the end of the tale. in the fourth stanza, which is an answer to a most insulting speech from ferdia, he makes the first of those appeals to his former friend to abandon his purpose that come from him throughout the first three days of the fight; even in the fatal battle of the fourth day, he will not at first put forward all his strength, and only uses the irresistible gae-bulg when driven to it by his foe. the number of cuchulain's laments after the battle--there are five of these (one in prose), besides his answers to laeg--has been adversely criticised; and it is just possible that one or more of these come from some other version, and have been incorporated by a later hand than that of the author; but the only one that seems to me not to develop the interest is the "brooch of gold," which it may be noticed is very like the only lament which is preserved in the book of lecan text of the l.u. version. cuchulain's allusion to aife's only son in the first verse lament is especially noticeable (see note, p. ). ferdia's character, although everywhere inferior to that of his victor, is also a heroic one; he is represented at the commencement of the episode as undertaking the fight for fear of disgrace if he refused; and this does appear to be represented throughout as the true reason; his early boasts and taunts are obviously intended to conquer a secret uneasiness, and the motif of a passion for finnabar with which cuchulain charges him hardly appears outside cuchulain's speeches, and has not the importance given to it in the leabhar na h-uidhri version. the motif of resentment against cuchulain for a fancied insult, invented by maev, which is given in the l.u. version as the determining cause, does not appear in the leinster version at all; and that of race enmity of the firbolg against the celt, given to him by aubrey de vere, is quite a modern idea and is in none of the old versions. his dialogue with maev suggests that, as stated in the text, he was then slightly intoxicated; his savage language to his servant gives the idea of a man who feels himself in the wrong and makes himself out to be worse than he is by attributing to himself the worst motives, the hope of pay; but as the battle proceeds he shows himself equal to cuchulain in generosity, and in the dialogue at the beginning of the third day's fight his higher character comes out, for while his old boastfulness appears in one passage of it, and is immediately repressed, the language of both heroes in this dialogue is noticeable for a true spirit of chivalry. the mutual compliments, "thy kingly might," "fair graceful hound" "gently ruling hound" recall the french "beausire"; it may be also noted that these compliments are paid even when ferdia is protesting against cuchulain's reproaches; similar language is used elsewhere, as "much thine arms excel" (page ), and "cuchulain for beautiful feats renowned" (page ). it may be considered that these passages are an indication that the episode is late, but it should be noticed that the very latest date that can possibly be assigned to it, the eleventh century, precedes that of all other known romances of chivalry by at least a hundred years. to this later attitude of ferdia, and to that maintained by cuchulain throughout the whole episode, nothing in french or welsh romance of approximately so early a date can be compared. is it not possible that the chivalric tone of the later welsh romances, like the "lady of the fountain," which is generally supposed to have come from france, really came from an irish model? and that this tone, together with the arthurian saga, passed to the continent? a great contrast to both the two heroes is afforded by the introduction of laeg with his cries of exultation, which come between the dying groans of ferdia and the fine prose lament of cuchulain, increasing the effect of both. laeg seems quite unable to see his master's point of view, and he serves as a foil for ferdia, just as the latter's inferiority increases the character of cuchulain. the consistency of the whole, and the way in which our sympathy is awakened for ferdia contrast with the somewhat disconnected character of the l.u. version, which as it stands gives a poor idea of the defeated champion; although, as mr. nutt suggests, the lost part may have improved this idea, and the version has beauties of its own. for the convenience of those readers who may be unacquainted with the story of the war, the following short introduction is given:-- at a time given by the oldest irish annalists as a.d. , the war of cualnge was undertaken by maev, queen of connaught, against the kingdom or province of ulster. gathering together men from all the other four provinces of ireland, maev marched against ulster, the leaders of her army being herself, her husband ailill, and fergus the son of rog, an exile from ulster, and formerly, according to one account, king of that province. not only had maev great superiority in force, but the time she ed chosen for the war was when conor, king of ulster, and with him nearly all his principal warriors, were on their sick-bed in accordance with a curse that had fallen on them in return for a cruel deed that he and his people had done. one hero however, cuchulain, the greatest of the ulster heroes, was unaffected by this curse; and he, with only a few followers, but with supernatural aid from demi-gods of whose race he came, had caused much loss to the queen and her army, so that maev finally made this compact: she was each day to provide a champion to oppose cuchulain, and was to be permitted to advance so long as that combat lasted; if her champion was killed, she was to halt her army until the next morning. before the combat at the ford between cuchulain and ferdia, cuchulain had killed many of maev's champions in duel, and the epic romance of the "war of cualnge" gives the full story of these combats and of the end of the war. the episode given in the following pages commences at the camp of queen maev, where her chiefs are discussing who is to be their champion against cuchulain on the following day. the combat at the ford an episode of the cattle spoil of cualnge in the book of leinster version at that time debate was held among the men of ireland who should be the man to go early in the morning of the following day to make combat and fight with cuchulain. and all agreed that ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dire, was the man who should go; even the great and valiant champion of the men of irross donnand, for the manner in which he fought and did battle was like to the manner of cuchulain. they had got their skill in arms, and valour, and bravery from the same teachers, from scathach, from uathach, and from aife[fn# ]; nor had either of them advantage over the other except that cuchulain alone could perform the feat of the gae-bulg. yet ferdia was fenced by a horny skin-protecting armour, and this should guard him when he faced a hero in battle and combat at the ford. so to ferdia were sent messengers and heralds; but ferdia denied the heralds, and he refused to depart with them, for well he knew why it was he was called; even to fight against his own friend, his comrade and fellow-pupil cuchulain; and for that cause he came not with the heralds who were sent. [fn# ] pronounced scaha, ooha, and eefa: scaha and ooha end with a slight guttural like the ch in the scotch lock, difficult to express in english. and then did maev send to ferdia druids, and satirists and revilers, in order that against him should be made three crushing reproaches, and three satires; that the stains of shame, and of blemish, and of disgrace should be raised on his face; so that even if he died not at once, death should be his within the space of nine days if he went with them not. and for the sake of his honour, ferdia came at their call; for to him it was better to fall before the shafts of valour, of bravery, and of daring than by the stings of satire, of abuse, and of reproach. and he, when he arrived, was received with all worship and service, and was served with pleasant, sweet intoxicating liquor, so that his brain reeled, and he became gently merry. and these were the great rewards that were promised to him if he consented to make that combat and fight: a chariot of the value of four times seven cumals, and the equipment of twelve men with garments of all colours, and the length and breadth of his own territory on the choice part of the plains of maw ay; free of tribute, without purchase, free from the incidents of attendance at courts and of military service, that therein his son, and his grandson, and all his descendants might dwell in safety to the end of life and time; also finnabar the daughter of maev as his wedded wife, and the golden brooch which was in the cloak of queen maev in addition to all this. and thus ran the speech of maev, and she spake these words, and thus did ferdia reply: maev of rings great treasure sending,[fn# ] wide plains and woodlands bending i grant: till time hath ending i free thy tribe and kin. o thou who oft o'ercamest! 'tis thine what gift thou namest! why hold'st thou back, nor claimest a boon that all would win? [fn# ] the metre of this dialogue and rhyme-system are taken from the irish but one syllable has been added to each line. the exact irish metre is that given on page . ferdia a bond must hold thee tightly, no force i lend thee lightly; dread strife 'twill be; for rightly he bears that name of "hound." for sharp spear-combat breaketh that morn; hard toil it waketh the war cuchulain maketh shall fearless war be found. maev our chiefs, with oaths the gravest, shall give the pledge thou cravest; for thee, of all men bravest, brave bridled steeds shall stand. from tax my word hath freed thee, to hostings none shall lead thee, as bosom friend i need thee, as first in all the land. ferdia mere words are naught availing if oaths to bind be failing; that wondrous ford-fight hailing, all time its tale shall greet: though sun, moon, sea for ever and earth from me i sever; though death i win--yet never, unpledged, that war i'll meet. maev these kings and chiefs behind me their oaths shall pledge to bind me: with boundless wealth thou'lt find me, with wealth too great to pay. 'tis thou who oaths delayest; 'tis done whate'er thou sayest; for well i know thou slayest the foe who comes to slay. ferdia ere thou to slaughter lure me, six champions' oaths procure me; till these rewards assure me i meet, for thee, no foe: if six thou grant as gages, i'll face the war he wages, and where cuchulain rages, a lesser chief, i go. maev in chariots donnal raceth, fierce strife wild neeman faceth, their halls the bards' song graceth, yet these in troth i bind. firm pledge morand is making, none carpri min knew breaking his troth: thine oath he's taking; two sons to pledge i find. ferdia much poison, maev, inflameth thy heart; no smile thee tameth but well the land thee nameth proud queen of croghan's hold; thy power no man can measure; 'tis i will do thy pleasure; now send thy silken treasure, thy silver gifts, and gold. maev this brooch, as champion's token, i give of troth unbroken; all words my lips have spoken performed shall sunday see. thou glorious chief, who darest this fight, i give thee rarest of gifts on earth, and fairest, yea greater meed shall be. for findabar my daughter; all elgga's chiefs have sought her; when thou that hound shalt slaughter, i give in love to thee. and then did maev bind ferdia in an easy task; that on the next day he was to come to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel against cuchulain; whichever of the two he should think the easier. and ferdia on his side bound her by a condition that seemed to him easy for her to fulfil: even that she should lay it upon those same six champions to see to it that all those things she had promised to him should be fulfilled, in case cuchulain should meet death at ferdia's hand. thereupon fergus caused men to harness for him his horses, and his chariot was yoked, and he went to that place where cuchulain was that he might tell him what had passed, and cuchulain bade him welcome. i am rejoiced at your coming, o my good friend fergus," said cuchulain. and i gladly accept thy welcome, o my pupil," said fergus. but i have now come hither in order to tell thee who that man is who comes to combat and fight with thee early on the morning of the day which is at hand." "we shall give all heed to thy words," said cuchulain. "'tis thine own friend," said fergus, "thy companion, and thy fellow pupil; thine equal in feats and in deeds and in valour: even ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dare, the great and valiant champion of the men of irross donnan." "truly," said cuchulain, "i make mine oath to thee that i am sorry that my friend should come to such a duel." "therefore," said fergus, "it behoves thee to be wary and prepared, for unlike to all those men who have come to combat and fight with thee upon the tain be cuailgne is ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dare." "i have stood here," said cuchulain, "detaining and delaying the men of the four great provinces of ireland since the first monday in samhain (november) till the beginning of the spring, and not one foot have i gone back before any one man during all that time, nor shall i, as i trust, yield before him." and in this manner did fergus continue to put him on his guard, and these were the words that he spoke, and thus did cuchulain reply: fergus rise, cuchulain! foes are near,[fn# ] all their covenant is clear; daman's ruddy son in rage comes the war with thee to wage. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish; a literal rendering of the whole dialogue is given in the notes, p. . cuchulain here i stand, whose valiant toil erin's bands held back from spoil; never a foot of ground they won, never a foe they found me shun. fergus fierce is he in rage; his trust in his blade's deep searching thrust: plates of horn protect his side, pierced by none his strength who tried. cuchulain fergus, much thine arms excel; cease, this tale no longer tell land is none, nor battle-field where to his my strength must yield. fergus he is fierce, with scores can fight, spear nor sword can on him bite; from that strength, a hundred's match, hard 'twill be the prize to snatch. cuchulain yea! ferdia's power i know; how from foughten field we go; how was fought our piercing war, bards shall tell to ages far. fergus loss of much i'd little mourn could i hear how, eastward borne, great cuchulain's bloody blade proud ferdia's spoils displayed. cuchulain though in boasts i count me weak, hear me now as braggart speak: daman's son, of darry's race, soon shall i, his victor, face. fergus brought by me, hosts eastward came, ulster sought to hurt my fame; here have come, to ease my grief, many a champion, many a chief. cuchulain sickness conor's might withheld, else his sight thy host had quelled; less the shouts of joy had been, raised by maev, maw scayl's high queen. fergus greater deeds than done by me o cuchulain! thine shall be: daman's son thy battle nears; hear thy friend! keep hard thy spears. then fergus returned to where the army was encamped: ferdia, also went from maev and came to his own tent; and there he found his followers, and he told them how he had been bound to maev as in an easy task, that he was on the morrow to combat and fight with six of her champions, or to make duel with cuchulain, whichever of the two he might think the easier. also he told them how she had been bound by a condition that was easy for her to grant: that she should lay it on these same six champions to see that her promises to him of rewards should be fulfilled in case cuchulain met his death at ferdia's hand. there was no cheerfulness, or happiness, or even melancholy pleasure among the inmates of ferdia's camp that night: they were all cheerless, and sorrowful, and low in spirit; for they knew that whenever those two champions, those two slayers of hundreds met, one of the two must fall in that place, or that both of them should fall: and if one only was to fall they were sure that that one would be their own master; for it was not easy for any man to combat and fight with cuchulain on the tain bo cuailnge. now the first part of that night ferdia slept very heavily, and when the middle of the night had come his sleep had left him, and the dizziness of his brain has passed away, and care for the combat and the fight pressed heavily upon him. then he called for his charioteer to harness his horses, and to yoke his chariot; and the charioteer began to rebuke him, if haply he might turn him from his purpose. "it would be better for thee to stay!" said the charioteer. "be thou silent, o my servant!" said ferdia, and he then spoke the words that follow, and thus did his servant reply to him:-- ferdia 'tis a challenge provoking to war, and i go where the ravens' hoarse croaking shall rise for my foe: with cuchulain still seeking the strife at yon ford; till his strong body, reeking, be pierced by my sword! servant nay, thy threats show no meekness; yet here thou should'st stay; for on thee shall come weakness, woe waits on thy way: for by ulster's rock broken this battle may be, and it long shall be spoken how ill 'twas to thee. ferdia an ill word art thou saying; it fits not our race that a champion, delaying from fight, should thee grace. then thy speech, my friend, fetter, no foe will we fear; but, since valour is better, his challenge we near. then ferdia's horses were harnessed for him, and his chariot was yoked, and he came forward to the ford of battle; but when he had come there he found that the full light of the day had not yet dawned, and "o my servant!" said ferdia, "spread out for me the cushions and skins that are upon my chariot, that i may rest upon them till i take the deep repose of refreshing sleep, for during the latter part of this night have i taken no rest, on account of the care that i had for this combat and fight." and the servant unharnessed his horses, and he placed together the cushions and the skins that were upon the chariot, so that ferdia might rest upon them, and he sank into the deep repose of refreshing sleep. now in this place i will tell of the acts of cuchulain. he rose not at all from his couch until the full light of the day; and this he did in order that the men of ireland should not be able to say that it was from fear or from dread that he rose, if it had been early that he had arisen. and when the full daylight had come, he commanded his charioteer to harness for him his horses, and to yoke his chariot: "o my servant!" said cuchulain, "harness for us our horses, and put the yoke to our chariot, for early rises the champion who cometh to meet us this day: even ferdia, the son of daman, the son of dare." "the horses are harnessed," said the charioteer, "and the chariot is yoked; step thou into it, for it will bring no shame on thy valour." then did cuchulain, the fighter of battles, the skilful in feats, the winner of victory, that red-sworded hero, the son of sualtam, leap into his chariot. all around him screamed the bocanachs, and the bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air; for it was the custom of the people of the wizard race of danu to raise their cries about him in every battle, on every stricken field, in every duel, and in every fight to which he went, that thereby in such fight the hatred, and the fear, and the avoidance, and the terror that men felt for him should be increased. in no short time the charioteer of ferdia heard the roar of cuchulain's approach; the clamour, and the hissing, and the tramp; and the thunder, and the clatter, and the buzz: for he heard the shields that were used as missiles clank together as they touched; and he heard the spears hiss, and the swords clash, and the helmet tinkle, and the armour ring; and the arms sawed one against the other, and the javelins swung, and the ropes strained, and the wheels of the chariot clattered, and the chariot creaked, and the hoofs of the horses trampled on the ground as that warrior and champion came forward in triumph to the ford, and approached him. then that servant of ferdia arose, and he placed his hand upon his lord: "arise now, o ferdia!" said the servant, "for here they come towards thee, even to the ford;" and this was the speech of the driver of the chariot of ferdia as he stood before him: lo! a chariot yoked with silver, creaking loud, draws nigh;[fn# ] o'er the chariot-wheels a man his perfect form rears high: the warlike car rolls on from far braeg ross, from braina's bounds; past that burg they ride whose wooded side the roadway rounds; for its triumphs high in triumph cry its song resounds. [fn# ] for a literal translation of the above poem and another rendering, see the notes. urged by hero-hound, and yoked by charioteer's hand true, flies the war-car southward ever; nobler hawk ne'er flew than he who speeds his rushing steeds, that chief of stubborn might; soon the blood to flow from slaughtered foe shall meet his sight; sure for us 'tis ill, for soon with skill he gives us fight. woe to him who here on hillock stands, that hound to wait; emain macha's perfect hound is he, foretold by fate: last year i cried that him i spied who guards his land from foe: that battle-hound, on whom are found all hues to glow: 'twas then from far i heard that car: its sound i know. "o my servant!" said ferdia, "wherefore is it: that thou hast continued in thy praise of this man ever since the time that i left my tent? surely it must be a reward that thou seekest at his hand, so greatly dost thou extol him; yet ailill and maev have foretold that it is by me he shall fall. certain it is that for sake of the fee i shall gain he shall be slain quickly; and 'tis full time that the relief that we wait for should come." thus then it was that in that place he spoke these words, and thus did his servant reply: ferdia 'tis time that i grant my assistance! be still: let thy praise of him sink: peer not, like a seer, at the distance; wilt fail me on battle-field's brink? though cualgne's proud champion, displaying his gambols and pride thou dost see; full soon shalt thou witness his slaying for price to be paid down to me. servant if he who this glory is showing be champion of cualgne indeed; 'tis not in retreat he is going; to meet us he cometh with speed: he comes, nor 'tis slowly he blunders, like wind his swift journey he makes; as stream, from the cliff-top that thunders; as bolt, from the storm-cloud that breaks. ferdia 'tis pay at his hand thou hast taken, so loudly resoundeth thy praise; else why, since our tent was forsaken, hast sung with such frequence thy lays? men, like thou, who, when foes are appearing, would to chant the foe's praises begin, will attack not, when battle is nearing, but the name of base cowards shall win. now the charioteer of ferdia was not long in that place before he saw a marvellous sight; for before his eyes came the beautiful five-pointed, four-peaked chariot, skilfully driven with swiftness and power. a canopy of green overspread it; thin and well-seasoned was the body of it; lofty and long were the spears that adorned it; well was it fashioned for war. under the yokes of that chariot sped forward with great bounds two great-eared, savage, and prancing steeds; bellies had they like whales, broad were their chests, and quick-panting their hearts; their flanks were high, and their hoofs wide; their pasterns fine, their loins broad, and their spirits untamable. the horse under one of the yokes was grey, with a long mane and with broad hind quarters; swiftly he galloped, and his leaps were great; the horse beneath the other yoke was black, his mane was in tufts, his back was broad, and eager was his pace. as a hawk, on a day when the wind bloweth hard, darts up from the furrow; as the gusts of the wind in spring sweep forward over a smooth plain upon a day in march; swift as a going stag at the beginning of the chase, after he hath been roused by the cry of the hounds; such was the pace of the two steeds that bore forward cuchulain and his chariot, touching upon the soil as rapidly as if the stones that they trod on were hot with the fire, so that the whole earth trembled and shook at the violence of their going. and cuchulain reached the ford, and ferdia awaited him on the south side of it, and cuchulain halted his horses upon the north. then did ferdia bid welcome to cuchulain: "o cuchulain!" said ferdia, i rejoice to see thine approach." "thy welcome would have been received by me upon an earlier day," said cuchulain, "but this day i cannot receive it as one from a friend. and ferdia," said he, "it were more suitable that it was i who bade welcome to thee rather than that thou shouldest welcome me; for out in flight before thee are my women, and my children; my youths, and my steeds, and my mares; my flocks, and my herds, and my cattle." "ah, cuchulain!" said ferdia, "how hast thou been persuaded to come to this fight and this battle at all? for when we were with scathach, with uathach, and with aife, thou wert mine attendant; thine was the office to whet my spears, and to make ready my couch." "'tis true indeed," said cuchulain, "but it was then as thy younger in years and in standing that it was my custom to perform this office for thee; and that is not my quality to-day; for now there is not in all the world any champion with whom i would refuse to fight." and then each of them reproached the other bitterly with breach of friendship, and there ferdia spoke the words which here follow, and thus did cuchulain reply: ferdia hound! why hither faring,[fn# ] strife with strong ones daring? as if home were flaring, woe shall come on thee! blood from out thee draining shall thy steeds be staining; thou, thy home if gaining, wounded sore shalt be. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. cuchulain hot with indignation, take i battle-station, face yon warrior nation, round their warlike king: they shall see me meet thee, count the strifes that greet thee, watch, as down i beat thee, drowning, suffering. ferdia here is one to shame thee; how 'twas i o'ercame thee, they who champion name thee long the tale shall tell. ulster, near thee lying, soon shall see thee dying; all shall say, with sighing, theirs the chief who fell. cuchulain thine shall be the choosing; say, what warfare using hosts shall see thee losing at the ford this fight? swords dost choose, hard-clashing cars, in conflict crashing? spears, thy life-blood splashing? 'tis thy death in sight. ferdia ere the twilight gleameth, red thy life-blood streameth: small thy stature seemeth, like a cliff thy foe. ulster's hosts who prated, and thy pride inflated; through them feel thy hated spectre sadly go. cuchulain down a chasm appalling thou to death art falling; one thy foe: yet galling weapons press thee sore. proud thou wert but lately, strife shall change thee greatly, thee as champion stately earth shall know no more. ferdia cease this endless vaunting, speech for ever flaunting, thou a chief! a taunting, giggling child thou art. none would pay, or fee thee, i as coward see thee; strength hast none to free thee, caged bird! quaking heart! cuchulain ah! in bygone story we, as peers in glory, sports and combats gory shared when scaha taught: thou, of all who nearest to my soul appearest! clansman! kinsman dearest! woe thy fate hath brought! ferdia naught this strife avails thee, glory fades, and fails thee; cock-crow loudly hails thee, high on stake thy head! cualgne's[fn# ] hound, cuchulain! faults thy soul bear rule in: thee to bitter schooling frantic grief hath led. [fn# ] pronounced kell-ny. "o my friend ferdia!" said cuchulain, "it was not right for thee to have come to the combat and the fight with me, at the instigation and the meddling of ailill and maev: none of those who came before thee have gained for themselves victory or success, and they all fell at my hand; neither shalt thou win victory or success from this battle, by me shalt thou fall." and it was in this manner that he was speaking, and he recited these words, and ferdia hearkened to him: come not near, thou powerful man![fn# ] o ferdia mac daman: worst of woe on thee is hurled, though thy fate shall grieve the world. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. come not near, nor right forget in my hand thy fate is set: those recall, whom late i fought, hath their fall no wisdom taught? thou for gifts wert passed in sale, purple sash, firm coat of mail; never maid, o daman's son! in this war of thine is won. findabar, maev's lovely child, with her form thy sense beguiled: brightly though her beauty glows, she no love on thee bestows. wouldst thou win the prize they bring, findabar, the child of king? many ere now that maid could cheat here, like thee, their wounds to meet. thou hast sworn, and plighted. troth, ne'er to fight me: keep thine oath: friendship's tie thee firm should hold, come not nigh me, champion bold. fifty chiefs, who sought that maid, fought me, fell, in earth are laid; well i know that tempting bait, all have found, and earned their fate. ferbay fell, though bold his boast, him obeyed a valiant host; quickly here his rage i stilled; cast my spear but once, and killed. cruel fate srub darry slew, tales of hundred dames he knew; great his fame in days of yore; silver none, 'twas gold he wore. though that maid, whom erin's best hope to gain, my heart would charm; south and north, and east and west i would keep thee safe from harm. "and, o my friend ferdia!" said cuchulain "this is the cause why it was not thy part to come here to the combat and the fight with me. it is because that when with scathach, with uathach, and with aife we abode, it was the custom with us that together we should go to every battle, and to every field of battle; to every fight and to every skirmish; to every forest and to all wildernesses; to all things dark and difficult." these were the words of his speech, and it was in that place that he recited these staves: tuned our hearts were beating, we, where chiefs were meeting, brotherly went: when slumbering one was our couch: we sought fierce fights, and fought. oft in woods that are far away joined we stood in our skilful play; scathach our feats had taught. and ferdia replied to him thus: o cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned, though together we learned our skill; though thou tellest of friendship that once we found, from me shall come first thine ill; ah, recall not the time of our friendship's day: it shall profit thee nothing, o hound, i say. "for too long now have we thus waited," said ferdia; "tell me now o cuchulain! to what weapons shall we resort?" "thou hast the choice of the weapons till the night," said cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the ford." "hast thou any remembrance," said ferdia, "of the weapons for casting, that we were accustomed to practise the use of when we were with scathach, with uathach, and with aife?" "i do indeed remember them," said cuchulain." "if thou rememberest them, let us resort to them now," said ferdia. then they resorted to their weapons used for the casting. they took up two shields for defence, with devices emblazoned upon them, and their eight shields with sharp edges such that they could hurl, and their eight javelins, and their eight ivory-hilted dirks, and their eight little darts for the fight. to and fro from one to the other, like bees upon a sunny day, flew the weapons, and there was no cast that they threw that did not hit. each of them then continued to shoot at the other with their weapons for casting, from the dawn of the morning to the full middle of the day, until all of their weapons had been blunted against the faces and the bosses of their shields; and although their casting was most excellent, yet so good was the defence that neither of them wounded the other nor drew the other's blood during all that time. "cease now from these feats, o cuchulain!" said ferdia, "for it is not by means of these that the struggle between us shall come." "let us cease indeed," said cuchulain, "if the time for ceasing hath arrived." and they ceased from their casting, and they threw the weapons they had used for it into the hands of their charioteers. "to what weapons shall we next resort, o cuchulain?" said ferdia. "thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," said cuchulain, "because thou wert the first to reach the ford." "then," said ferdia, "let us turn to our straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with tough cords of flax upon them." "let us do so indeed," said cuchulain. then they took two stout shields of defence, and they turned to their straight, well-trimmed, hard, and polished casting-spears with the tough cords of flax upon them, and each of them continued to hurl his spears at the other from the middle of midday until the ninth hour of the evening: and though the defence was most excellent that each of them made, yet so good was the casting of the spears that each of them wounded the other at that time, and drew red blood from him. "let us desist from this now, o cuchulain!" said ferdia. "let us desist indeed," said cuchulain, "if the time has come." they ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands; and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. and such folk as can heal and cure came to heal and to cure them, and they applied soothing and salving herbs and plants to their bruises, and their cuts, and their gashes, and to all their many wounds. and of every soothing and salving herb and plant that was brought for the bruises, the cuts, and the gashes, and all the wounds of cuchulain, he used to send an equal portion westward across the ford to ferdia, so that in case ferdia fell at his hand the men of ireland should not be able to say that it was owing to superiority in leech-craft that he had done it. and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of ireland brought to ferdia, he would send a fair half northward across the ford to cuchulain; for the men who provided food for ferdia were more in number than they who provided food for cuchulain. all the army of the men of ireland helped to provide ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against cuchulain; yet to cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the breg. and it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. thus they remained that night, but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the ford of combat. "what weapons shall we turn to to-day, o ferdia?" said cuchulain. "thou hast the choice of weapons until the night," answered ferdia, "because it is i who had my choice of them in the day that is past." "let us then," said cuchulain, "resort to our great, broad-bladed, heavy spears this day, for nearer shall we be to our battle by the thrusting of our spears this day than we were by the throwing weapons of yesterday: let our horses be harnessed for us, and our chariots yoked, that upon this day from our chariots and our horses we may fight." "let us turn to these indeed," said ferdia. they then took to them two exceedingly stout, broad shields, and they resorted to their great, broad-bladed, heavy spears that day. and each of them continued to thrust at, and to pierce through, and to redden, and to tear the body of the other from the dawn of the morning until the ninth hour of the evening; and if it were the custom for birds in their flight to pass through the bodies of men, they could have passed through the bodies of those warriors that day, carrying with them pieces of their flesh from their wounds into the clouds and to the sky around them. so when the ninth hour of the evening was come, the horses were weary, and the charioteers were weak; and they themselves, champions and heroes of valour as they were, had themselves become weary; and "let us cease now from this, o ferdia!" said cuchulain, "for our horses are weary, and our charioteers are weak; and now that these are weary, why should not we be weary too?" and then it was that he sang this stave: not like fomorians, men of the sea, stubborn, unending our struggle should be; now that the clamour of combat must cease, quarrels forget, and between us be peace. let us cease now indeed," said ferdia, "if the time for it hath come." they ceased, and they threw away their weapons into their charioteers' hands, and each of them at the end of that fight sought the other, and each threw his arms about the other's neck, and gave him three kisses. their horses were in the same paddock that night, the men who had driven their chariots sat by the same fire, moreover the charioteers of both those warriors spread couches of fresh rushes for the two, and supplied them with such pillows as are needed by wounded men. and such folk as can heal and cure came to examine into their wounds and to tend them that night, for they could do nothing more for them, so severe and so deadly were the stabs and the thrusts, and the gashes of the many wounds that they had, than to apply to them spells and incantations and charms, in order to staunch their blood, and their bleeding mortal wounds. and for every spell and incantation and charm that was applied to the stabs and the wounds of cuchulain, he sent a full half westward across the ford to ferdia; and of each kind of food, and of pleasant, palatable, intoxicating drink that the men of ireland brought to ferdia, he sent a half across the ford to cuchulain, in the north. for the men who brought food to ferdia were more in number than they who brought food to cuchulain, for all the army of the men of ireland helped to provide ferdia with food, because he was their champion to defend them against cuchulain; yet to cuchulain also food was brought by the people who dwell in the breg. and it was the custom with these that they came to converse with him at the dusk of each night. thus they rested that night: but early in the morning they arose, and repaired to the ford of combat; and cuchulain saw that an evil look and a lowering cloud was on the face of ferdia that day. "ill dost thou appear to me to-day, o ferdia!" said cuchulain. "thy hair hath been darkened to-day, and thine eye hath been dimmed, and the form and the features and the visage that thou art wont to have are gone from thee." "'tis from no fear or from terror of thee that i am what i am to-day," said ferdia, "for there is not in ireland to-day a champion that i am not able to subdue." and cuchulain complained and lamented, and he spoke the words that follow, and thus did ferdia reply: cuchulain is't indeed ferdia's face?[fn# ] sure his meed is dire disgrace; he, to war by woman led, comes his comrade's blood to shed. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. ferdia thou who warrior art indeed, champion tried! who wounds dost breed, i am forced the sod to see where my final grave shall be. cuchulain maev her daughter, findabar, who all maids excelleth far, gave thee, not at love's behest, she thy kingly might would test. ferdia gently ruling hound, i know that was tested long ago; none so great is known to fame, none, till now, to match it came. cuchulain all that's chanced from thee hath sprung, darry's grandchild, daman's son; woman's hest hath brought thee here swords to test with comrade dear. ferdia comrade! had i fled, nor found fight with thee, fair graceful hound, maev my word could broken call; croghan hold my fame but small. cuchulain none put meat his lips between, none to king or stainless queen yet was born, whose praise i'd gain, none whose scorn would win thy pain. ferdia thou who deep in wars dost wade, 'twas not thou, 'twas maev betrayed: back with conquest shalt thou ride, fault hast none thy fame to hide. cuchulain clots of blood my faithful heart choke; my soul is like to part: 'tis with little force my arm strikes, to do ferdia harm! "greatly although thou makest complaint against me to-day," said ferdia, "tell me to what arms shall we resort?" thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said cuchulain, "because it was i who had the choice in the day that is past." "then," said ferdia, "let us this day take to our heavy hard-smiting swords; for sooner shall we attain to the end of our strife by the edge of the sword this day than we did by the thrusts of our spears in the day that is gone." "let us do so indeed," said cuchulain. that day they took upon them two long and exceedingly great shields, and they resorted to their heavy and hard-striking swords. and each of them began to hew, and to cut, and to slaughter, and to destroy till larger than the head of a month-old child were the masses and the gobbets of flesh which each of them cut from the shoulders and the thighs and the shoulder-blades of his foe. after this fashion did each of them hew at each other from the dawn of the day until the ninth hour of the even, and then ferdia said, "let us desist from this now, o cuchulain!" "let us cease indeed," said cuchulain, "if the time has come." they ceased from their strife, and they threw from them their arms into the hands of their charioteers. pleasant and cheerful and joyous was the meeting of the two: mournfully, and sorrowfully, and unhappily did they part from each other that night. their horses were not in the same paddock, their charioteers were not at the same fire, and there they stayed for that night. it was early in the morning when ferdia arose, and he advanced alone towards the ford of combat. well did he know that the battle and the conflict would be decided that day; that upon that day and in that place one of the two would fall or that both would fall. and then, before cuchulain could come, ferdia put on the armour that he was to use for that battle in the conflict and fight. and this was the battle armour that he used for that conflict and fight; he put a kilt of striped silk, bordered with spangles of gold, next to his white skin, and over that he put his well-sewn apron of brown leather to protect the lower part of his body. upon his belly he put a great stone as large as a millstone, and over that great stone as large as a millstone he put his firm deep apron of purified iron, on account of the fear and the dread that he had of the gae-bulg that day. and his crested helmet that he used for battle and conflict and fight he put upon his head: there were upon it four jewels of carbuncle, each one of them fit to adorn it: also it was studded with enamels, with crystals, with carbuncles, and with blazing rubies that had come from the east. into his right hand he took his death-dealing sharp-pointed strong spear; upon his left side he hung his curved sword of battle with its golden hilt and its pommels of red gold: upon the slope of his back he took his great and magnificent shield with great bosses upon it: fifty was the number of the bosses, and upon each of them could be supported a full-grown hog: moreover in the centre of the shield was a great boss of red gold. upon that day ferdia displayed many noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats of arms on high; feats which he had never learned from any other, either from his nurse or his tutor, or from scathach, or from uathach, or from aife, but which he himself invented that day for his battle with cuchulain. and cuchulain approached the ford, and he saw the many, rapidly changing, wonderful feats that ferdia displayed on high; and "o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "i mark those noble, rapidly changing, wonderful feats which ferdia displays, and i know that all of those feats will in turn be tried upon me; and for this reason if it be i who begin to go backwards this day, let it be thy part to rouse me by reproaches, and by evil speech, so that my rage and my wrath may be kindled, and increase. and if it be i that shall prevail, then do thou give to me praise and approval; and speak good words tome, that my courage may be the greater." "this indeed will i do, o cuchulain!" said laeg. then did cuchulain put on his battle armour that he used for the combat and fight. and that day he displayed noble, many-changing, wonderful, and many feats that he had learned from none: neither from scathach, from uathach, or from aife. and ferdia marked those feats, and he know that each in turn would be tried upon him. "o ferdia!" said cuchulain, "tell me to what arms we shall resort? "thine is the choice of weapons until the night," said ferdia. "then," said cuchulain, "let us try the feat of the ford."[fn# ] "let us do so indeed," said ferdia; but although he thus spoke, it was with sorrow that he consented, for he knew that cuchulain had ever destroyed every hero and champion who had contended with him at the feat of the ford. [fn# ] i.e. in which all weapons were allowed. mighty were the deeds that were done upon that day at the ford by those two heroes, the champions of the west of europe; by those two hands which in the north-west of the world were those that best bestowed bounty, and pay, and reward; those twin loved pillars of valour of the gael; those two keys of the bravery of the gaels, brought to fight from afar, owing to the urging and the intermeddling of ailill and maev. from the dawn till the middle of the day, each began to shoot at the other with his massive weapons; and when midday had come, the wrath of the two men became more furious, and each drew nearer to the other. and then upon a time cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, and he lit upon the boss of the shield of ferdia the son of daman, the son of dare, to strike at his head from above, over the rim of his shield. and then it was that ferdia gave the shield a blow of his left elbow, and he cast cuchulain from him like a bird, till he came down again, upon the shore of the ford. and again cuchulain sprang from the shore of the ford, till he lit upon the boss of the shield of ferdia the son of daman, the son of dare, to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. and ferdia, gave the shield a stroke of his left knee, and he cast cuchulain from him like a little child, till he came down on the shore of the ford. laeg saw what had been done. "ah!" said laeg, "the warrior who is against thee, casts thee away as a loose woman casts her child; he flings thee as high as the river flings its foam; he grinds thee even as a mill would grind fresh malt; pierces thee as the axe would pierce the oak that it fells; binds thee as the woodbine binds the tree; darts upon thee even as the hawk darts upon little birds, so that never until time and life shall end, shalt thou have a call, or right, or claim for prowess or for valour: thou little fairy phantom!" said laeg. up sprang cuchulain, swift as the wind; quick as the swallow; fiery as the dragon; powerful as the lion; and he bounded into the air for the third time into the troubled clouds of it, until he lit upon the boss of the shield of ferdia, the son of daman, striving to strike his head from above, over the rim of the shield. and the warrior shook his shield, and he threw cuchulain from him, into the middle of the ford, just as if he had never been cast off at all. and then for the first time the countenance of cuchulain was changed, and he rose in his full might, as if the air had entered into him, till he towered as a terrible and wonderful giant, with the hero-light playing about his head; rising as a wild man of the sea; that great and valiant champion, till he overtopped ferdia. and now so closely were they locked in the fight, that their heads met above them, and their feet below them; and in their middles met their arms over the rims and the bosses of their shields. so closely were they locked in the fight, that they turned and bent, and shivered their spears from the points to the hafts; and cleft and loosened their shields from the centres to the rims. so closely were they locked, that the bocanachs, and the bananachs, and the wild people of the glens, and the demons of the air screamed from the rims of their shields, and from the hilts of their swords, and from the hafts of their spears. and so closely did they fight, that they cast the river from its bed and its course, so that there might have been a couch fit for a king and a queen to he in, there in the midst of the ford, for there was no drop of water left in it, except such as fell therein from off those two heroes and champions, as they trampled and hewed at each other in the midst of the ford. and so fierce was their fight, that the horses of the gaels, in fear and in terror, rushed away wildly and madly, bursting their chains, and their yokes, and their tethers, and their traces; and the women, and the common folk, and the followers of the camp, fled south-westwards out of the camp. all this time they fought with the edges of their swords. and then it was that ferdia found cuchulain for a moment off his guard, and he struck him with the straight edge of his sword, so that it sank into his body, till the blood streamed to his girdle, and the soil of the ford was crimson with the blood that fell from the body of that warrior so valiant in fight. and cuchulain's endurance was at an end, for ferdia continually struck at him, not attempting to guard, and his downright blows, and quick thrusts, and crushing strokes fell constantly upon him, till cuchulain demanded of laeg the son of riangabra to deliver to him the gae-bulg. now the manner of using the gae-bulg was this: it was set with its end pointing down a stream, and was cast from beneath the toes of the foot: it made the wound of one spear on entering a person's body; but it had thirty barbs to open behind, and it could not be drawn out from a man's body until he was cut open. and when ferdia heard mention of the gae-bulg, he made a stroke of his shield downwards to guard the lower part of his body. and cuchulain thrust his unerring thorny spear off the centre of his palm over the rim of the shield, and through his breast covered by horny defensive plates of armour, so that its further half was visible behind him after piercing the heart in his chest. ferdia gave an upward stroke of his shield to guard the upper part of his body, though too late came that help, when the danger was past. and the servant set the gae-bulg down the stream, and cuchulain caught it between the toes of his foot, and he threw it with an unerring cast against ferdia, and it broke through the firm deep apron of wrought iron, and it burst the great stone that was as large as a millstone into three parts, and it passed through the protection of his body into him, so that every crevice and cavity in him was filled with its barbs. "'tis enough now," said ferdia. "i have my death of that; and i have but breath enough to say that thou hast done an ill deed against me. it was not right that thy hand should be that by which i should fall." and thus did he cry, as he gasped out these words: hound, of feats so fair![fn# ] death from thee is ill: thou the blame must bear, thou my blood dost spill. help no wretch hath found down this chasm of woe: sick mine accents sound, as a ghost, i go. torn my ribs, and burst, gore my heart hath filled: this of fights is worst, hound! thou hast me killed. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. and after those words, cuchulain ran towards him, and with his arms and armour about him, carried him northwards across the ford, in order that the slain man might be on the north side of the ford, and not upon the western side together with the men of erin. then cuchulain laid ferdia down, and there it was that a trance and a faint and a weakness came upon cuchulain when he saw the body of ferdia, laeg saw his weakness, and the men of ireland all arose to come upon him. "rise up now, o cuchulain!" said laeg, "for the men of erin are coming towards us, and no single combat will they give to us, since ferdia the son of daman, the son of dare, has fallen by thy hand." "how shall i be the better for arising, o my servant!" said he, "now that he who lieth here hath fallen by me?" and it was in this manner that his servant spoke to him, and he recited these words, and thus did cuchulain reply: laeg now arise, battle-hound of emania! it is joy and not grief should be sought; for the leader of armies, ferdia, thou hast slain, and hard battle hast fought. cuchulain what availeth me triumph or boasting? for, frantic with grief for my deed, i am driven to mourn for that body that my sword made so sorely to bleed. laeg 'tis not thou shouldst lament for his dying, rejoicing should spring to thy tongue; for in malice, sharp javelins, flying for thy wounding and bleeding he flung. cuchulain i would mourn, if my leg he had severed, had he hewn through this arm that remains, that he mounts not his steeds; and for ever in life, immortality gains. laeg to the dames of red branch thou art giving more pleasure that thus he should fall: they will mourn for him dead, for thee living, nor shall count of thy victims be small. great queen maev thou hast chased, and hast fought her since the day when first cualgne was left; she shall mourn for her folk, and their slaughter, by thy hand of her champions bereft. neither sleep nor repose hast thou taken, but thy herd, her great plunder, hast chased, though by all but a remnant forsaken, oft at dawn to the fight thou didst haste. now it was in that place that cuchulain commenced his lament and his moan for ferdia, and thus it was that he spoke: "o my friend ferdia! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst make no inquiry from any of the heroes who knew of the valorous deeds i had done before thou camest to meet me in that battle that was too hard for thee! unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not inquire from laeg, the son of riangabra[fn# ] about what was due from thee to a comrade. unhappy was it for thee that thou didst not ask for the honest and sincere counsel of fergus. unhappy it was for thee that thou hast not sought counsel from the comely, the fresh-coloured, the cheery, the victorious conall about what was due from thee to a comrade. well do these men know, that never, till life and time come to an end, shall be born in the land of connaught one who shall do deeds equal to those which have been done by thee. and if thou hadst made inquiry from these men concerning the habitations, the gatherings, the promises, and the broken faith of the fair-haired ladies of connaught; hadst thou asked them concerning spear-play and sword-play; concerning skill in backgammon and chess; concerning feats with horses, and chariots of war; they would have said that never had been found the arm of a champion who could wound a hero's flesh like the arm of ferdia; he whose colour matched the tints of the clouds: none who like thee could excite the croak of the bloody-mouthed vulture, as she calls her friends to the feast of the many-coloured flocks; none who shall fight for croghan or be the equal of thee to the end of life and time, o thou ruddy-cheeked son of daman!" said cuchulain. and then cuchulain stood over ferdia. "ah! ferdia," said cuchulain, "great was the treachery and desertion that the men of ireland had wrought upon thee, when they brought thee to combat and fight with me. for it was no light matter to combat and fight with me on the occasion of the tain bo cuailnge." and thus it was that he spoke, and he then recited these words: [fn# ] pronounced reen-gabra. 'twas guile to woe that brought thee; 'tis i that moan thy fate; for aye thy doom hath caught thee, and here, alone, i wait. to scathach, glorious mother, our words, when boys, we passed; no harm for each from other should come while time should last. alas! i loved thee dearly, thy speech; thy ruddy face; thy gray-blue eyes, so clearly that shone; thy faultless grace. in wrath for strife advances no chief; none shield can rear to piercing storm of lances of daman's son the peer. since he whom aife[fn# ] bore me by me was slain in fight, no champion stood before me who matched ferdia's might. he came to fight, thus trusting might findabar be won; such hopes have madmen, thrusting with spears at sand or sun. [fn# ] pronounced eefa. see note on this line. still cuchulain continued to gaze upon ferdia. and now, o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "strip for me the body of ferdia, and take from him his armour and his garments, that i may see the brooch for the sake of which he undertook this combat and fight." then laeg arose, and he stripped ferdia; he took his armour and his garments from him, and cuchulain saw the brooch, and he began to lament and to mourn for him, and he spake these words: ah! that brooch of gold![fn# ] bards ferdia knew: valiantly on foes with hard blows he flew. curling golden hair, fair as gems it shone; leaflike sash, on side tied, till life had gone. [fn# ] the metre and the rhyme-system is that of the irish. see notes, p. . comrade, dear esteemed! bright thy glances beamed: chess play thine, worth gold: gold from shield rim gleamed. none of friend had deemed could such tale be told! cruel end it seemed: ah! that brooch of gold! "and now, o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "open the body of ferdia, and take the gae-bulg out of him, for i cannot afford to be without my weapon." laeg came, and he opened ferdia's body, and he drew the gae-bulg out of him, and cuchulain saw his weapon all bloody and red by the side of ferdia, and then he spake these words: ferdia, i mourn for thy dying, thou art pale, although purple with gore: unwashed is my weapon still lying, and the blood-streams from out of thee pour. our friends in the east who have seen us, when with uathach and scathach[fn# ] we dwelled, can bear witness, no quarrel between us or with words or with weapons was held. scathach came; and to conflict inciting were her accents that smote on mine ear; "go ye all, where a swift battle fighting, german wields his green terrible spear! to ferdia, i flew with the story, to the son of fair baitan i sped, and to lugaid, whose gifts win him glory, "come ye all to fight german," i said. [fn# ] pronounced ooha and scaha. where the land by loch formay lies hollowed had we come, fit for fight was the place; and beside us four hundred men followed; from the athisech isles was their race. as beside me ferdia contended against german, at door of his dun; i slew rind, who from niul[fn# ] was descended, i slew rood, of finnool was he son. [fn# ] pronounced nyool. 'twas ferdia slew bla by the water, son of cathbad red-sworded was he: and from lugaid mugarne gat slaughter, the grim lord of the torrian sea. four times fifty men, stubborn in battle, by my hand in that gateway were slain; to ferdia, of grim mountain cattle fell a bull, and a bull from the plain. then his hold to the plunderers giving, over ocean waves spangled with foam, did we german the wily, still living, to the broad-shielded scathach bring home. there an oath our great mistress devising, both our valours with friendship she bound; that no anger betwixt us uprising should 'mid erin's fair nations be found. much of woe with that tuesday was dawning, when ferdia's great might met its end; though red blood-drink i served him that morning: yet i loved, though i slew him, my friend. if afar thou hadst perished when striving with the bravest of heroes of greece, 'tis not i would thy loss be surviving; with thy death should the life of me cease. ah! that deed which we wrought won us sorrow, who, as pupils, by scathach were trained: thou wilt drive not thy chariot to-morrow; i am weak, with red blood from me drained. ah! that deed which we wrought won us anguish, who, as pupils, by scathach were taught: rough with gore, and all wounded, i languish; thou to death altogether art brought. ah! that deed that we wrought there was cruel for us pupils, from scathach who learned: i am strong; thou art slain in the duel, in that conflict, with anger we burned. "come now, cuchulain," said laeg, "and let us quit this ford, for too long have we been here." "now indeed will we depart, o my friend laeg!" said cuchulain, "but every other combat and fight that i have made hath been only a game and a light matter to me compared with this combat and fight with ferdia." thus it was that he spoke; and in this fashion he recited: wars were gay, and but light was fray[fn# ] ere at the ford his steeds made stay: like had we both been taught, both one kind mistress swayed; like the rewards we sought, like was the praise she paid. [fn# ] metre and rhyme-system of the irish imitated, but not exactly reproduced. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: like were our fights, oft fought, like were our haunts in play; scathach to each of us brought a shield one day. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: pillar of gold, loved well, low at the ford's side laid; he, when on troops he fell, valour unmatched displayed. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: lionlike, on he sped; high, in his wrath, he blazed; rose, as a wave of dread; ruin his onset raised. wars were gay, and but light was fray ere at the ford his steeds made stay: never, till hour of doom, ferdia's form shall fade; high as a cliff it loomed, now is but left his shade. three great armies went this raid,[fn# ] all the price of death have paid; choicest cattle, men, and steeds lie in heaps, to tell my deeds. [fn# ] the metre is that of the irish. widely spread their battle-line, less than half their host was mine; though to war stout croghan came, all i slew, for me a game! none the battle neared like thee, none of all whom banba nursed passed thy fame; on land, on sea, thou, of sons of kings, art first! special note on the "combat at the ford" the episode translated in the foregoing pages is not only one of the famous examples on which irish literature can fairly rest its claim to universal recognition, but it also affords an excellent instance of the problems involved when it comes to be studied critically. these problems, upon the solution of which must to some extent depend our estimate of the place of irish in the general development of european literature) axe briefly dealt with in mr. leahy's preface, as well as in his special introduction (supra, pp. , ), but may perhaps be thought worthy of somewhat more detailed examination. the existence of two markedly different versions of the "tain bo cuailnge," one, obviously older, represented by the eleventh-century ms. leabhar na h-uidhri (l.u.), and the fourteenth-century ms. yellow book of lecan (y.b.l.); the other, obviously younger, by the twelfth-century book of leinster (l.l.), was pointed out by professor heinrich zimmer twenty-seven years ago in his study of the l.u. heroic saga texts (keltische studien v.: zeitschrift für vergleichende sprachforschung, vol. xxviii.). the conclusion that he drew from the fact, as also from the peculiarities disclosed by his analysis of the l.u. texts, is substantially that stated by mr. leahy: "on the whole it seems as if the compiler of the manuscript from which both the leabhar na h-uidhri and the yellow book of lecan were copied, combined into one several different descriptions of the 'war,' one of which is represented by the book of leinster version." he furthermore emphasised a particular aspect of this compiler's activity to which mr. leahy also draws repeated attention; he (the compiler) was a man interested in the historical and antiquarian rather than in the literary side of the texts he harmonised and arranged: hence his preference for versions that retain archaic and emphasise mythical elements; hence his frequent interpolation of scraps of historical and antiquarian learning; hence his indifference to consistency in the conduct of the story, and to its artistic finish. professor zimmer urged that the "compiler" was no other than flann, abbot of monasterboice, who died in , and was regarded as the most famous representative of irish learning in his day. there has come down to us under his name a considerable mass of chronological and historical writing, partly in prose, partly in verse, and it seems certain that he was one of the chief artisans in framing that pragmatic redaction of irish myth, heroic legend, and historical tradition most fully represented by the two great compilations of the seventeenth century: the annals of the four masters, emphasising its antiquarian, historical side; keating's history, emphasising its romantic, legendary side. whilst professor zimmer's conclusion as to the personality of the l.u. compiler has been challenged, his main thesis has remained unshaken. on the whole, it can be asserted positively that the common source of l.u. and y.b.l. goes back to the early eleventh century; on the whole, that this common source itself utilised texts similar to those contained in the book of leinster. moreover, the progress of linguistic analysis during the past quarter-century has strengthened the contention that some of the elements used by flann (or another) in compiling his eleventh-century harmony are as old, in point of language, as any existing remains of irish outside the ogham inscriptions; in other words, being as old as the earliest glosses, they may date back to the eighth or even seventh century. in particular the l.u.-y.b.l. version of the "tain bo cuailnge" contains a large proportion of such elements and may, in the main, be treated as an eighth-century text. it must, however, be pointed out, and for this reason i have italicised the qualifying "on the whole," "in the main," that this conclusion does not enable us to declare dogmatically ( ) that all portions of the l.u.-y.b.l. version must go back to the eighth century; ( ) that all portions of the book of leinster version must precede the compilation of the common source of l.u. and y.b.l. for as regards ( ), not only must the definitely ascertained activity of the eleventh-century compiler be taken into account, but also the possible activity of later scribes. if we possessed the complete text of the l.u.-y.b.l. redaction in both mss., we could at least be sure concerning the possible variations introduced during the two centuries that elapsed between the writing of the yellow book (early fourteenth century) and that of l.u. (late eleventh century). but most unfortunately both mss. are imperfect, the yellow book at the opening, l.u. at the close of our tale. thus of the special episode under consideration, the "combat at the ford," the older redaction is only extant in the fourteenth-century ms., and it is always open to impugners of its archaic character to say that it has been introduced there from the rival leinster version. again, as regards ( ), whilst it is practically certain that the great mass of the leinster version was in existence before the time of the source whence both l.u. and y.b.l. are derived, and must therefore date back to the early eleventh century, it is by no means certain that this version was not considerably altered and enlarged before it came to be written down in the book of leinster some time before . the older version of the "tain bo cuailnge" has been translated by miss winifred faraday (grimm library, no. xvi. ). in her introduction (p. xvii.) miss faraday argues against the assumption "that l.l. preserves an old version of the episode," and questions "whether the whole fer diad[fn# ] episode may not be late." the truth of this one contention would by no means involve that of the other; and again, both might be true without invalidating any of the conclusions drawn by mr. leahy (supra, p. ). if the episode as we have it first took shape in the tenth century, it would be late as compared with much of the rest of the "tain," and yet it would be the earliest example in post-classic european literature of the sentiments and emotions to which it gives such fine and sympathetic expression. in comparing the two versions, the following fact is at once noticeable. the y.b.l. text occupies pp. - of miss faraday's translation, in round figures, lines of words to the line, or some words; the leinster version, omitting the verse, fills some lines of words, or words. up to a certain point, however, the actual meeting of the two champions, there is no difference between the versions in length; the prose of both runs to about words. but the whole of the actual fight (supra, pp. - in the leinster version) is compressed into a page and a half in the older redaction, some words as against over . obviously this cannot represent the original state of things; it would be psychologically impossible for any story-teller to carry on his narrative up to a given stage with the dramatic vigour, point, and artistically chosen detail displayed in the first portion of the y.b.l. version of the combat, and then to treat the culmination of the tale in such a huddled, hasty, scamped manner. the most likely explanation is that the original from which the y.b.l. scribe was copying was imperfect, and that the lacuna was supplied from memory, and from a very faulty memory. no conclusion can thus, i think, be drawn from the fact that the details of the actual combat are so bald and meagre in the only extant text of the older redaction. [fn# ] this is the spelling in y. b. l. in l.l. the name appears as one word, "ferdiad"; usually scanned as a dissyllable--though occasionally as a trisyllable. the spelling ferdia is the conventional one sanctioned by the usage of ferguson, aubrey de vere, and others; the scansion of the word as a trisyllable is on the same authority. if the two versions be compared where they are really comparable, i.e. in that portion which both narrate at approximately the same length, the older redaction will be found fuller of incident, the characters drawn with a bolder, more realistic touch, the presentment more vigorous and dramatic. ferdiad is unwilling to go against cuchulain not, apparently, solely for prudential reasons, and he has to be goaded and taunted into action by medb, who displays to the full her wonted magnificently resourceful unscrupulousness, regardless of any and every consideration, so long as she can achieve her purpose. the action of fergus is far more fully dwelt upon, and the scones between him and his charioteer, as also between him and cuchulain, are given with far greater spirit. the hero is indignant that fergus should think it necessary to warn him against a single opponent, and says roundly that it is lucky no one else came on such an errand. the tone of the older redaction is as a whole rough, animated, individualistic as compared with the smoother, more generalised, less accentuated presentment of the leinster version. but to conclude from this fact that the older redaction of the actual combat, if we had it in its original fulness instead of in a bald and fragmentary summary, would not have dwelt upon the details of the fighting, would not have insisted upon the courteous and chivalrous bearing of the two champions, would not have emphasised the inherent pathos of the situation, seems to me altogether unwarranted. on the contrary the older redaction, by touches of strong, vivid, archaic beauty lacking in the leinster version leads up to and prepares for just such a situation as the latter describes so finely. one of these touches must be quoted. cuchulain's charioteer asks him what he will do the night before the struggle, and then continues, "it is thus fer diad will come to seek you, with new beauty of plaiting and haircutting and washing and bathing.... it would please me if you went to the place where you will got the same adorning for yourself, to the place where is emer of the beautiful hair.... so cuchulain went thither that night, and spent the night with his own wife." there is indeed the old irish hero faring forth to battle as a lover to the love tryst! how natural, how inevitable with warriors of such absurd and magnificent susceptibility, such boyish love of swagger, how natural, i say, the free and generous emotion combined with an overmastering sense of personal honour, and a determination to win at all costs, which are so prominent in the leinster version of the fight.[fn# ] [fn# ] the trait must not be put down as a piece of story-teller's fancy. in another text of the ulster cycle, cath ruis na rig, conchobor's warriors adorn and beautify themselves in this way before the battle. the aryan celt behaved as did the aryan hellene. all readers of herodotus will recall how the comrades of leonidas prepared for battle by engaging in games and combing out their hair, and how demaretus, the counsellor of xerxes, explained to the king "that it is a custom with these men that when they shall prepare to imperil their lives; that is the time when they adorn their heads" (herodotus vii. .) the contention that the older redaction, if we had it complete, would resemble the younger one in its insistence upon the chivalrous bearing of the two opponents, may also be urged on historical grounds. the sentiment which gives reality and power to the situation is based upon the strength of the tie of blood-brotherhood; so strong is this that it almost balances the most potent element in the ideal of old irish heroism--the sense of personal honour and pre-eminence in all that befits a warrior. the tie itself and the sentiment based upon it certainly belong to pre-christian times, and must have been losing rather than gaining in strength during the historic period, say from the fourth century onwards. the episode of cuchulain's combat with ferdiad must have existed in the older redaction of the "tain" for the simple reason that a tenth and eleventh century story-teller would have found nothing in the feelings, customs, or literary conventions of his own day to suggest to him such a situation and such a manner of working it out. but--and this consideration may afford a ground of conciliation with miss faraday and the scholars who hold by the lateness of the episode--the intrinsic beauty and pathos of the situation, the fact of its constituting an artistic climax, would naturally tempt the more gifted of the story-telling class. there would be a tendency to elaborate, to adorn in the newest fashion, hence to modernise, and it is not only conceivable but most probable that the original form should be farther departed from than in the case of much else in the epic. alfred nutt. general notes the courtship of etain the translation of both versions of this romance has been revised by professor strachan, and the linguistic notes are due to him, unless otherwise stated. the rendering given in the text is noted as "doubtful," in cases where professor strachan does not assent. page @@both line ? line . "by a means that he devised," do airec memman, lit. "by a device of mind." compare airecc memman aith (meyer, hib. minora, p. ). line . "so that she became well-nourished, &c.," lit. "till there came to her fatness and form;" sult probably means "fatness," and feth "form." page line . "curvetting and prancing," tuagmar, foran. these are guesses by o'curry: curvetting may be right, but there is little authority for rendering foran as "prancing "; this word is doubtful. "with a broad forehead," forlethan, lit. "broad above," o'curry renders "broad-rumped." line . "upon the shore of the bay," forsin purt. windisch's rendering of port is "bank, harbour"; but it is doubtful whether the word means more than "place." page the literal rendering adopted for the poem runs thus: etain is here thus at the elf-mound of the fair-haired women west of alba among little children to her on the shore of the bay of cichmaine. it is she who cured the eye of the king from the well of loch da lig, it is she who was drunk in a draught by the wife of etar in a heavy draught. through war for her the king will chase the birds from tethba, and will drown his two horses in the lake da airbrech. there shall be abundant and many wars through the war for thee on echaid of meath, destruction shall be on the elf-mounds, and war upon many thousands. it is she who was hurt in the land (?), it is she who strove to win the king, it is she as compared to whom men men speak of fair women, it is she, our etain afterwards. line . "west of alba" is literally "behind alba," iar n-albai: iar is, however, also used in the sense of "west of." line is given by windisch "through the war over meath rich in horses"; this is impossible. the translation of line is not quite certain; the literal translation of the ms. seems to be "it is she who was hurt and the land." da airbrech in line may mean "of two chariots." page literal translation of the quatrain: ignorant was fuamnach, the wife of mider, sigmall and bri with its trees in bri leth: it was a full trial were burned by means of manannan. page line . "labraid the tracker." this is a very doubtful rendering, the text gives labradae luircc. line . "that he desired full knowledge of." there seems to be something with the irish here; the word is co fessta which could only be third singular subj. pass. "that it might be known," which does not make grammar. it should be co fessed or co festais, "that he (or they) might know." page line . "his officers who had the care of the roads." a very doubtful rendering; the irish is tarraluing sligeth. line . "a bright purple mantle waved round her," lit. "a bright purple curling (?) mantle," but the sense of caslechta as "curling" is not certain. line . "another mantle." the word for mantle here is folai, in the former line it was brat. page line . "as white as the snow." ba gilighuir mechto: not "whiter than the snow," as windisch's dict. gives it. line . "all that's graceful, &c.," cach cruth co hetain, coem cach co hetain. compare conid chucum bagthir cach n-delb. (l.u., b, , "courtship of emer "), and ir. text., iii. p. , . , from which it may be seen that the meaning is that etain is the test to which all beauty must be compared. page line . "so long as they were," not "so long as he was." the irish is cein ropas, and ropas is the impersonal preterite passive. line . "the choking misery, &c.," lit. "he let come to him the slaodan of a heavy sickness:" slaodan is the cough of consumption. page line . lit. "worse and worse," messa a cach. line . "his burial mound," a fert fodbuigh. compare zimmer, kuhn's zeitschrift, xxx. , for fotbuig. literal rendering of the dialogue: b. what hath happened to thee, o young man? long is thy bed of sickness, prostrate is thy full and splendid pace, however fair the weather may be. a. there is cause for my sighs; the music of my harp contents me not; neither does any milk please me, it is this that brings me into a pitiful state. e. tell me what ails thee, o man, for i am a maiden who is wise; tell me of anything which may be of benefit to thee that thy healing may be wrought by me. a. to speak of it is not possible for me (lit. "finds not room in me"), o maiden, lovely is thy form, there is fire of some one behind her eyes (?) nor are the secrets of women good. b. though the secrets of women are bad, yet, if it is love, the remembrance remains for long; from the time when the matter is taken into hand this thing is not deserving of its (?) recognition. a. a blessing on thee, o white maiden, i am not worthy of this speech to me; neither am i grateful to my own mind, my body is in opposition to me. wretched indeed is this, o wife of the king, eochaid fedlech in very truth, my body and my head are sick, it is reported in ireland. e. if there is among the troops of white women any one who is vexing thee, she shall come here, if it is pleasing to thee, there shall be made by my help her courtship. in verse , line , inniss dam gach dal, dal means no more than thing it is not an accusative from dal, a meeting. verse , line . meaning doubtful. verse , line . the confusion between eochaid airemm, the king in this story, and his brother eochaid fedlech is obvious. it may, as windisch thinks, be an indication that the poem is not part of the romance as originally composed, but other explanations are possible. line . "it is reported." not quite certain; irish is issed berair. page line . "and great gain, &c." text defective, and meaning uncertain. line . rhetoric; the literal translation seems to be as follows, but some words are uncertain: it is love that was longer enduring (?) than a year my love, it is like being under the skin, it is the kingdom of strength over destruction. it is the dividing into quarters of the earth, it is summit ( ) of heaven, it is breaking of the neck, it is a battle against a spectre. it is drowning with cold (or ? water), it is a race up heaven, it is a weapon under the ocean, it is affection for an echo; (so is) my affection and my love and my desire of the one on whom i have set (my love). page line . the translation given is windisch's, "it is sorrow under the skin is strachan's rendering. line . translation uncertain. irish is dichend nime. line . is combath fri huacht (i read husce). literal rendering of the poem: arise, o glorious ailill, great bravery is more proper to thee than anything; since thou shalt find here what was wished by thee, thy healing shall be done by me. if it should please thee in thy wise mind, place hand about my neck; a beginning of courtship, beautiful its colour, woman and man kissing each other. but, if this is not enough for thee, o good man, o son of a king, o royal prince, i will give for thy healing, o glorious crime, from my knee to my navel. a hundred cows, a hundred ounces of gold, a hundred bridled horses were collecting, a hundred garments of each variegated colour, these were brought as a price for me. a hundred of each other beast came hither, the drove was great; these to me quickly, till the sum was complete, gave eochaid at the one time. line . of poem. "were collecting," ratinol. this is the rendering in windisch's dictionary, but is a doubtful one. line . imerge means "drove," not "journey," as in windisch. line of text. "wrought a great healing, &c." irish, ro lessaig, "healed him" (windisch); "waited upon him" (strachan). page line . "for fear of danger." baegal, "danger," has sometimes the sense of "chance," "risk." line . "that is what i would demand of thee." translation not quite certain irish, cid rotiarfaiged. page line . "that both of us do indeed deem, &c." lit. "it is so indeed well to us both." line . for the incident compare bodleian dinnshenchas (nutt, p. ): the introduction of crochen is a human touch which seems to be characteristic of the author of this version. the dinnshenchas account seems to be taken from the romance, but it gives the name of sinech as mider's entertainer at mag cruachan. line . "the fairy mound of croghan." irish, co sith sínighe cruachan; for sínighe read maighe, "to the sid of mag c." page line . until the same day upon the year, &c.," on lo cu cele, "from that day to its fellow," i.e. "till the same day next year." line . "three wands of yew." this looks like an early case of a divining-rod. line . "hath smitten thee," rotirmass for ro-t-ormaiss, "hath hit thee." line . "they ruined," "docuas ar," an idiomatic phrase; "they overcame," an idiomatic phrase. compare annals of ulster under years , , . page line . "messbuachalla." this makes etain the great-grandmother of conary, the usual account makes her the grandmother, so that there is here an extra generation inserted. yet in the opening she and eochaid airem are contemporary with kings who survived conary! line . "the fairy host, &c." the order of the words in the original is misleading and difficult sithchaire and mider are the subjects to ro choillsiut and to doronsat. page line . that there should be adjusted)" fri commus, lit. "for valuation," but commus has also the sense of "adjusting." page line . "since he for a long time, &c.," fodaig dognith abairt dia sirsellad. see meyer's contributions, s.v. abairt. line . "to gaze at her." up to this point the l.u. version (exclusive of the prologue) bears the character of an abstract, afterwards the style improves. page line . "but it shall not be in the abode, &c." windisch seems to have mimed the point here, he considers these lines to be an interpolation. page line . following windisch's suggestion, this poem has been placed here instead of the later place where it occurs in the text. this famous poem has been often translated; but as there appear to be points in it that have been missed, a complete literal rendering is appended: o fair-haired woman, will you come with me into a marvellous land wherein is music (?); the top of the head there is hair of primrose, the body up to the head is colour of snow. in that country is no "mine" and no "thine"; white are teeth there, black are eyebrows, the colour of the eyes is the number of our hosts, each cheek there the hue of the foxglove. the purple of the plain is (on) each neck, the colour of the eyes is (colour of) eggs of blackbird; though pleasant to the sight are the plains of fal (ireland), they are a wilderness ( ) for a man who has known the great plain. though intoxicating to ye the ale of the island of fal, the ale of the great country is more intoxicating a wonder of a land is the land i speak of, a young man there goes not before an old man. stream smooth and sweet flow through the land, there is choice of mead and wine; men handsome (?) without blemish, conception without sin, without crime. we see all on every side, and yet no one seeth us, the cloud of the sin of adam it is that encompasses us from the reckoning. o woman, if thou wilt come to my strong people, it is top of head of gold shall be on thy head, unsalted pork, new milk and mead for drink shalt thou have with me there, o fair-haired woman. line . hi fil rind. the meaning of rind (?) music) is uncertain. line . is barr sobarche folt and. this line is often translated as "hair is wreathed with primrose": the image would be better, but it is not the irish. barr is "top of head," and folt is "hair." line . is and nad bi mui na tai. muisse is in old irish the possessive of the first sing when followed by a noun it becomes mo, when not so followed it is mui; tai is also found for do. o'curry gave this line as "there is no sorrow nor care." lines and . is li sula lin ar sluag and is li sula ugai luin are so similar that is li sula must mean the same in both, and cannot mean "splendour of eyes" in the first case unless it does so in the second. the idea in the first case seems to be that the hosts are reflected in the eyes; it is so rendered in the verse translation. a blackbird's egg has a blue ground, but is so thickly powdered with brown spots of all shapes that it looks brown at a distance. at first i was inclined to take the idea to be "hazel" eyes, but comparing line , it seems more likely that the idea is that all sorts of shapes appear in the pupil. line . the translation of annam as a "wilderness" is very doubtful, it more probably is "seldom"; and the line should be "seldom will it be so after knowledge of, &c." line . this has always been rendered "no youth there grows to old age." but the irish is ni thecht oac and re siun, and re siun can only mean "before an old (man)." the sense possibly is, that as men do not become feeble with advancing years, the younger man has not the same advantage over his elders in the eyes of women that he has in this world. line . teith millsi, "smooth and honey-sweet" (meyer, maccongl., p. ). line . compare a story of some magical pigs that could not be counted accurately (revue celtique, vol. xiii. p. ). line . muc ur, "unsalted pork"; see glossary to laws, p. ; also macconglinne (kuno meyer), p, . page line . "he ascended." fosrocaib for sosta: fosrocaib is an unknown compound (=fo-sro-od-gaib). perhaps frisocaib for sosta, "mounted on the heights." line . co brainni a da imdae, "to the edges of his two shoulders"; see braine, in meyer's contributions. page . line . "casting their light on every side," cacha air di = cacha airidi, "in every direction." line . "if thou dost obtain the forfeit of my stake," mad tu beras mo thocell. for tocell see zimmer, kuhn's zeitsch., xxx. . line . "eager" (?), femendae. see bruiden da derga (stokes), , . line . "easily stopped," so-ataidi suggested for sostaidi in the text: cf. bruiden da derga. the conjecture has not strachan's authority. page line . literal translation of rhetoric: "put it in hand, place it close in hand, noble are oxen for hours after sunset, heavy is the request, it is unknown to whom the gain, to whom the loss from the causeway." line . "over the chariot-pole of life" seems to be a literal rendering of for fertas in betha. strachan renders "on the face of the world," which is of course the meaning of the simile. line . "high was he girt," ard chustal. the meaning of custal is not known; it was used of some arrangement of the dress. see ir. text., iii. ; also l.u. a, , l.l. a, ; a, ; a, . line . "eochaid arose," atrigestar eochaid. strachan thinks it much more likely that this is "eochaid feared him," the verb coming from atagur. it is, however, just possible that the word might be a deponent form from atregaim, "i arise." eochaid does not elsewhere show any fear of mider, the meaning given agrees better with the tone of the story, and is grammatically possible. page line . "all things that seemed good, &c.," lit. "i have been accustomed to get what seemed good to thee," adethaind ni bad maith. line . "anger for anger," bara fri bure. compare the word bura in meyer's contributions. line . "in order that eochaid should stand in his debt," lit. "that there might be cause of reproach for him to eochaid." line . "forest that is over breg." ms. fid dar bre, with mark of abbreviation. this is read to be dar breg. professor rhys (arthurian legend, p. ) renders "to cover darbrech with trees." line . "as it is written in the book of drom snechta. "this is a conjecture by mrs. hutton as a restoration of the words in l.u., which is torn just here: the words appear to be amal atbert lebor drums. page line . this rhetoric is very obscure; much of it cannot be translated. the text seems to be as follows, according to strachan: cuisthe illand tochre illand airderg damrad trom inchoibden clunithar fír ferdi buidni balc-thruim crandchuir forderg saire fedar sechuib slimprib snithib scítha lama indrosc cloina fo bíth oen mna. duib in dígail duib in trom daim tairthim flatho fer ban fomnis fomnis in fer mbranie cerpiae fomnis diad dergae fer arfeid soluig fria iss esslind fer bron for-tí ertechta in de lamnado luachair for di thethbi dílecud (? diclochud) midi in dracht coich les coich amles ? thocur ? dar c? moin. apparent rendering: "place on the land, place close on the land, very red oxen, heavy troop which hears, truly manlike ? troops, strong heavy placing of trees, very red . . . is led past them with twisted wattles, weary hands, the eye slants aside (squints) because of one woman. to you the vengeance, to you the heavy ? oxen ? splendour of sovereignty over white men, . . . man sorrow on thee . . . of childbirth, rushes over tethba, clearing of stones from meath . . . where the benefit where the evil, causeway over . . . moor." it seems that the oxen were transformed people of mider's race; this appears from fír-ferdi, which is taken to mean "really men"; and duib in digail duib in trom-daim, which is taken to mean "to you the vengeance, to you heavy oxen." professor strachan disagrees with this, as daim, to be "oxen," should not have the accent, he makes trom-daim "heavy companies." he also renders clunithar fír ferdi buindi, as "which hears truth, manly troops." the rest of the translation he agrees to, most of it is his own. the passage from fomnis fomnis to lamnado seems untranslatable. page line . lit. "no evil wedding feast (banais, text banas) for thee? mac datho's boar page line . the rawlinson version gives, instead of "who was the guardian of all leinster," the variant "who would run round leinster in a day." this semi-supernatural power of the hound is the only supernatural touch in either version of the tale. line . the verse "mesroda son of datho" is from the rawlinson ms. the literal version of it is in anecdota oxoniensia, mediaeval series, part viii. p. . (this reference will in future be given as a.o., p. .) line . the list of the hostelries or guest-houses of ireland includes the scene of the famous togail da derga, in the sack of which conaire, king of ireland, was killed. forgall the wily was the father of emer, cuchulain's wife. the tale of the plunder of da choca is in the ms. classed as h. , in the trinity college, dublin, library. page the literal version of the dialogue between mac datho and his wife is given in a.o., p. , following the leinster text (there are only two lines of it given in the rawlinson ms.); but i note a few divergencies in the literal version from which the verse translation was made. verse , line . asbert crimthann nia nair, "crimthann nia nair has said" (a.o.). nia is "sister's son," and has been so rendered. nia is a champion, and this is the meaning given in the coir anmann; but nia has no accent in either the leinster or harleian manuscripts of the text. the coir anmann (ir. tex., iii. ) says that nar was a witch. verse , lines , . cid fri mnai atbertha-su mani thesbad ní aire, "why wouldest thou talk to a woman if something were not amiss?" (a.o.). "why dost thou speak against a woman unless something fails on that account" seems as good a translation, and fits the sense better. verse , line . leis falmag dar sin tuaith, "by him ireland (shall be roused) over the people." the omitted verb is apparently "to be," as above. line of the same verse is left untranslated in a.o., it is ata neblai luim luaith. it seems to mean "there is nothing on the plain for bareness (luim) of ashes," more literally, "there is a no-plain for, &c." verse , lines , . isi ním dení cutal. ailbe do roid dia. "it does not make sorrow for me; as for ailbe, "god sent him" seems to be the sense; but the meaning of cutal is obscure. page line . "forty oxen as side-dishes," lit. "forty oxen crosswise to it" (dia tarsnu). the rawlinson ms. gives "sixty oxen to drag it" (dia tarraing). line . "the son of dedad." clan dedad was the munster hero clan, having their fortress in tara luachra; they correspond to the more famous clan rury of ulster, whose stronghold was emain macha. curoi of munster seems to have been a rival hero to cuchulain. page line . "pierced through with a spear." the different ways in which ket claims to have conquered his rivals or their relations may be noted; the variety of them recalls the detailed descriptions of wounds and methods of killing so common in homer. there are seven victories claimed, and in no two is the wound the same, a point that distinguishes several of the old irish romances from the less elaborate folk-tales of other nations. arthur's knights in malory "strike down" each other, very occasionally they "pierce through the breast" or "strike off a head," but there is seldom if ever more detail. in the volsunga saga men "fall," or are "slain," in a few cases of the more important deaths they are "pierced," or "cut in half," but except in the later niebelungenlied version where siegfried is pierced through the cross embroidered on his back, a touch which is essential to the plot, none of the homeric detail as to the wounds appears. the same remark applies to the saga of dietrich and indeed to most others; the only cases that i have noticed which resemble the irish in detail are in the icelandic sagas (the laxdale saga and others), and even there the feature is not at all so prominent as here, in the "tain be cuailnge," and several other irish romances, though it is by no means common to all of them. it may be noted that the irish version of the "tale of troy" shows this feature, and although it is possible that the peculiarity is due to the great clearness and sharpness of detail that characterises much of the early irish work, it may be that this is a case of an introduction into irish descriptions of homeric methods. it may be also noted that six of ket's seven rivals are named among the eighteen ulster chiefs in the great gathering of ulster on the hill of slane before the final battle of the tain, angus being the only one named here who is not in the hill of slane list. two others in the hill of slane list, fergus mac lets and feidlimid, are mentioned elsewhere in this tale. several of these are prominent in other tales: laegaire (leary) is a third with cuchulain and conall in the feast of bricriu, and again in the "courtship of emer;" cuscrid makes a third with the same two principal champions in the early part of the "sick-bed;" eogan mac durthacht is the slayer of the sow of usnach in the old version of that tale; and celtchar mac uitechar is the master of the magic spear in the "bruiden da derga," and has minor romances personal to himself. page the literal translation of the rhetoric seems to be: ket. "welcome, conall! heart of stone: wild glowing fire: sparkle of ice: wrathfully boiling blood in hero breast: the scarred winner of victory: thou, son of finnchoem, canst measure thyself with me!" conall. "welcome, ket! first-born of mata! a dwelling place for heroes thy heart of ice: end of danger ( ); chariot chief of the fight: stormy ocean: fair raging bull: ket, magach's son! that will be proved if we are in combat: that will be proved if we are separated: the goader of oxen (?) shall tell of it: the handcraftsman (?) shall testify of it: heroes shall stride to wild lion-strife: man overturns man to-night in this house." page the literal translation of the quatrain is in a.o., p. . the quatrain does not occur in the leinster version. page line . "a great oak-tree." after the plucking up of the oak-tree by fergus, the rawlinson ms. adds: "others say that it was curoi mac dari who took the oak to them, and it was then that he came to them, for there was no man of munster there (before) except lugaid the son of curoi and cetin pauci. when curoi had come to them, he carried off all alone one half of the boar from all the northern half of ireland." this exploit attributed to curoi is an example of the survival of the munster account of the heroic age, part of which may be preserved in the tales of finn mac cumhail. page the rawlinson manuscript adds, after mentioning the rewards given to ferloga but he did not get the serenade (cepoca), though he got the horses." literal translation of the final poem: o lads of connaught, i will not fill your heaviness with a lying tale; a lad, small your portion, divided the boar of mac datho. three fifties of fifty men are gone with troops of heroes; combat of pride for that ailbe, small the fault in the matter of the dog. victorious conor came (?), ailill of the hosts, and ket; bodb over the slaughters after the fight, cuchulain conceded no right. congal aidni there from the east, fiamain the man of harmony from the sea, (he who) suffered in journeys after that eogan the son of dark durthacht. three sons of nera (famous) for numbers of battle-fields, three sons of usnach, fierce shields: senlaech the charioteer, he was not foolish, (came) from high conalad cruachan; dubhtach of emain, high his dignity; berba baither of the gentle word; illan glorious for the multitude of his deeds; fierce munremur of loch sail; conall cernach, hard his valour; marcan . . . celtchar the ulsterman, man over man; lugaid of munster, son of three dogs. fergus waits great ailbe, shakes for them the . . . oak, took hero's cloak over very strong shield; red sorrow over red shield. by cethern the son of finntan they were smitten, single his number at the ford (i.& he was alone); the men of connaught's host he released not for the time of six hours. feidlimid with multitude of troops, loegaire the triumphant eastwards, was half of complaint about the dog with aed son of morna not great. great nobles, mighty (?) deeds, hard heroes, fair companions in a house, great champions, destruction of clans, great hostages, great sepulchres. @@line x ? in this poem may be noted the reference to cuchulain in line x in close connection with that to bodb the goddess of war, as indicating the original divine nature of cuchulain as a war-god also the epithet of lugaid, "son of three dogs." two of the dogs are elsewhere stated to be cu-roi and cu-chulain, the third seems uncertain. line , describing marcan, seems untranslatable; the irish is marcan sinna set rod son. the epithet of the oak in line is also obscure, the irish is dairbre n-dall. the sick-bed of cuchulain page line . "samhain." samhain was held on november st, and on its eve, "hallow-e'en". the exhibition of tips of tongues, on the principle of indian scalps, has nothing at all to do with the story, and is not mentioned in the usual descriptions of the romance. it is a piece of antiquarian information, possibly correct, and should serve to remind us that the original form of these legends was probably of a barbaric kind, before they were taken in hand by the literary men who gave to the best forms of the romances the character they now have. line . for the demons screaming from the weapons of warriors compare the book of leinster version of the "combat at the ford": pages , in this volume. page line . the delay of conall and fergus leads to nothing, it is perhaps an introduction from some third form of the story. line . leborcham is, in the story of deirdre, deirdre's nurse and confidant. line . "their three blemishes." this disfigurement of the women of ulster in honour of their chosen heroes seems to point to a worship of these heroes as gods in the original legend. it may, however, be a sort of rough humour intentionally introduced by the author of the form of the story that we call the antiquarian form; there are other instances of such humour in this form of the story. page line . "like the cast of a boomerang." this is an attempt to translate the word taithbeim, return-stroke, used elsewhere (l.u., a., ) for cuchulain's method of capturing birds. line . "i deem it as being by me that the distribution was made." the words "i deem it" are inserted, they are not in the text. it appears that what ethne meant was that the distribution by cuchulain was regarded by her as done by her through her husband. page line . "dun imrith nor yet to dun delga." dun imrith is the castle in which cuchulain was when he met the war-goddess in the "apparition of the morrigan," otherwise called the "tain bo regamna." dun delga or dundalk is the residence usually associated with cuchulain. the mention of emer here is noticeable; the usual statement about the romance is that ethne is represented as cuchulain's mistress, and emer as his wife; the mention here of emer in the antiquarian form may support this; but this form seems to be drawn from so many sources, that it is quite possible that ethne was the name of cuchulain's wife in the mind of the author of the form which in the main is followed. there is no opposition between emer and ethne elsewhere hinted at. line . the appearance of lugaid red-stripes gives a reason for his subsequent introduction in the link between the two forms of the story. line . "near the entrance of the chamber in which cuchulain lay." it does not yet seem certain whether imda was a room or a couch, and it would seem to have both meanings in the antiquarian form of this story. the expression forsind airiniuch na imdai which occurs here might be rendered "at the head of the bed"; but if we compare i n-airniuch ind rigthige which occurs twice in "bricriu's feast," and plainly means "at the entrance of the palace," it seems possible that airinech is here used in the same sense, in which case imda would mean "room," as whitley stokes takes it in the "bruiden da derga." on the other hand, the word imda translated on page , line , certainly means "couches." line . "ah cuchulain, &c." reference may be made for most of the verses in this romance to thurneysen's translation of the greater part of it in sagen aus dem alten irland but, as some of his renderings are not as close as the verse translations in the text, they require to be supplemented. the poem on pp. , is translated by thurneysen, pp. and ; but the first two lines should run:-- ah cuchulain, under thy sickness not long would have been the remaining. and lines and should be: dear would be the day if truly cuchulain would come to my land. the epithet "fair" given to aed abra's daughters in line by thurneysen is not in the irish, the rest of his translation is very close. line . "plain of cruach." cromm cruach is the name of the idol traditionally destroyed by st. patrick in the "lives." cromm cruach is also described in the book of leinster (l.l. b) as an idol to whom human sacrifices were offered. the name of this plain is probably connected with this god. page line . "hath released her," irish ros leci. these words are usually taken to mean that manannan had deserted fand, and that she had then turned to cuchulain, but to "desert" is not the only meaning of lecim. in the second form of the story, fand seems to have left manannan, and though of course the two forms are so different that it is not surprising to find a contradiction between the two, there does not seem to be any need to find one here; and the expression may simply mean that manannan left fand at liberty to pursue her own course, which divine husbands often did in other mythologies. manannan is, of course, the sea god, the celtic poseidon. page line . eogan inbir (yeogan the stream) occurs in the book of leinster version of the book of invasions as one of the opponents of the tuatha de danaan, the folk of the gods (l.l. b, , and elsewhere). line . "said liban." the text gives "said fand." this seems to be a scribal slip: there is a similar error corrected on page , line , where the word "fand" is written "emer" in the text. line . "a woman's protection." the "perilous passage," passed only by a woman's help, occurs elsewhere both in irish and in other early literatures. see maelduin, para. ; ivain (chretien de troyes), vv. sqq.; and mabinogion, "lady of the fountain" (nutt's edition, p. ). line . "labra." labraid's usual title, as given to him by liban in both forms of the romance and once by laeg in the second description of fairyland, is labraid luath lamar-claideb, the title being as closely connected with him as {greek boh`n a?gaðo`s mene'laos}with menelaus in homer. it is usually translated as "labraid quick-hand-on-sword," but the luath need not be joined to lam, it is not in any of the places in the facsimile closely joined to it, and others than liban give to labraid the title of luath or "swift," without the addition. the literal translation of the short pieces of rhetoric on pages , are, "where is labraid the swift hand-on-sword, who is the head of troops of victory? (who) triumphs from the strong frame of his chariot, who reddens red spear-points." "labraid the son of swiftness is there, he is not slow, abundant shall be the assembly of war, slaughter is set when the plain of fidga shall be full." "welcome to thee, o laeg! for the sake of her with whom thou hast come; and since thou hast come, welcome to thee for thyself!" the metre of the first two pieces is spirited and unusual. the second one runs: ata labraid luithe cland, ni ba mall bid immda tinol catha, cuirther ar, día ba ian mag fidgae. page line . "fand." the derivations of the names of fand and of aed abra are quite in keeping with the character of the antiquarian form, and would be out of place in the other form of the romance. it may perhaps be mentioned that the proper meaning of abra is "an eyelash," but the rendering "aed abra of the fiery eyebrows," which has been employed in accounts of this romance, would convey a meaning that does not seem to have been in the mind of the authors of either of the two forms. for the literal translations of the three invocations to labraid, on pp. , , thurneysen (p. ) may be referred to; but there would be a few alterations. in the first, line should be "heir of a little host, equipped with light spears," if windisch's dictionary is to be followed; line would seem to begin "he seeketh out trespasses" (oirgniu); and line should begin, "attacker of heroes," not "an attacking troop," which hardly makes sense. in the second invocation the first line should alter labraid's title to "labraid the swift hand-on-sword-of-battle;" line should end with "wounded his side." in line and again in the third line of the third invocation, thurneysen translates gus as "wrath": windisch gives the word to mean "strength." line of the third invocation is rendered "he pierceth through men" by thurneysen; the irish is criathraid ocu. criathraim is given by o'reilly as meaning "to sift": "he sifteth warriors" seems a satisfactory meaning, if o'reilly is to be relied on. page labraid's answer to the three invocations seems to run thus, but the translation is doubtful, many words are marked unknown by windisch: "i have no pride or arrogance, o lady, nor renown, it is not error, for lamentation is stirred our judgment" (reading na ardarc nid mell, chai mescthair with the second ms.), "we shall come to a fight of very many and very hard spears, of plying of red swords in right fists, for many peoples to the one heart of echaid juil (?), (let be) no anbi of thine nor pride, there is no pride or arrogance in me, o lady." i can make nothing of anbi. page thurneysen does not translate the rhetoric; the translation seems to run thus: great unprofitableness for a hero to lie in the sleep of a sick-bed; for unearthly women show themselves, women of the people of the fiery plain of trogach, and they have subdued thee, and they have imprisoned thee, and they have chased thee away (?) amid great womanish folly. rouse thyself from the contest of distress (gloss, "the sickness sent by the fairy women") for all is gone of thy vigour among heroes who ride in chariots, and thou sittest (?) in the place of the young and thou art conquered (? condit chellti if connected with tochell), and thou art disturbed (?) in thy mighty deeds, for that which labraid's power has indicated rise up, o man who sittest (?) that thou mayest be great. "chased thee away" in line , for condot ellat, perhaps connected with do-ellaim (?). page thurneysen's translation (p. ) of emer's lament may be referred to, but he misses some strong points. among these are: line . "woe to ulster where hospitality abounds." line . "till he found a druid to lift the weight." line . "were it furbaide of the heroes." line . "the hound would search through the solid earth." line . "the hosts of the sid of train are dead." line . "for the hound of the smith of conor." line . "sick for the horseman of the plains." note the familiarity with the land of the fairies which laeg is asserted to have in the first verse of the poem: this familiarity appears more than once in the literary form of the story. laeg speaks of the land of labraid as "known to him" in his- first description of that land, again in the same description laeg is recognised by labraid by his five-folded purple mantle, which seems to have been a characteristic fairy gift. also, laeg seems at the end of the tale to be the only one to recognise manannan. there is no indication of any familiarity of laeg with the fairy country in the antiquarian form. the different ulster heroes alluded to are mostly well-known; all except furbaide are in "mae datho's boar." furbaide was a son of conor; be is one of the eighteen leaders who assemble on the hill of slane in the "tain bo cuailgne." the smith of conor is of course culann, from whom cuchulain got his name. pages , a translation of emer's "awakening of cuchulain" may be found in thurneysen, p. but there are one or two points that seem to be noted as differing from the rendering there given. lines and seem to mean: "look on the king of macha, on my beauty / does not that release thee from deep sleep?" thurneysen gives "look on the king of macha, my heart! thy sleep pleases him not." mo crath can hardly mean "my heart." line is in the irish deca a churnu co comraim! "see their horns for the contest!" instead of comraim thurneysen seems to prefer the reading of the second ms., co cormaim, and translates "their horns full of beer." churnu may mean trumpets as well as drinking-horns, and emer would hardly call on cuchulain to throw off a drunken sleep (line ) and then take to beer! the following translation of lines to seems preferable to thurneysen's: "heavy sleep is decay, and no good thing; it is fatigue against a heavy war; it is 'milk for the satiated,' the sleep that is on thee; death-weakness is the tanist of death." the last line is tanaisi d'ec ecomnart. the tanist was the prince who stood next to the king; the image seems too good a one to be lost; thurneysen translates "weakness is sister to death." line seems to mean "see each wonder wrought by the cold"; emer calls cuchulain's attention to the icicles which she thinks he is in danger of resembling. page for the literal translation of liban's invitation see thurneysen, p. . line should run: "colour of eyes his skin in the fight;" the allusion is, apparently, to a bloodshot eye. page line . the plain of speech (mag luada) and the tree of triumphs (bile buada) are apparently part of the irish mythology; they appear again in laeg's second description of fairyland, which is an additional reason for keeping this poem where it is in the second version, and not following thurneysen in transferring it to the first. mag luada is sometimes translated as "moving plain," apparently deriving the word from luath, "swift." laeg's two descriptions of the fairyland are (if we except the voyage of bran) the two most definite descriptions of that country in irish literature. there is very little extravagance in these descriptions; the marvellously fruitful trees, the ever-flowing vat of mead, and the silver-branched tree may be noted. perhaps the trees of "purple glass" may be added, but for these, see note on line . the verse translation has been made to follow the original as closely as possible; for a literal translation thurneysen's versions (pp. and ) may be referred to, but some alterations may be made. the first description seems to begin thus: i went with noble sportiveness to a land wonderful, yet well-known; until i came to a cairn for twenty of troops where i found labraid the long-haired. there i found him on that hill sitting among a thousand weapons, yellow hair on him with beautiful colour, an apple of gold for the confining of it. and it ends thus: alas i that he went not long ago, and each cure (should come) at his searching, that he might see how it is the great palace that i saw. though all erin were mine and the kingship of yellow bregia, i would resign it; no slight trial; for knowledge of the place to which i came. the following points should also be noted: line of this first description is tri bile do chorcor glain. this undoubtedly means "three trees of purple glass"; but do chorcor glan would mean "of bright purple"; and this last rendering, which is quite a common expression (see etain, p. ), has been adopted in the verse translation. the order of the words in the expression in the text is unusual, and the adoption of them would give an air of artificiality to the description which is otherwise quite absent from it. lines and run thus: there are there thrice twenty trees, their tops meet, and meet not. lines , , rendering: "each with splendid gold fastening well hooked through its eye," are literally "and a brooch of gold with its splendour in the 'ear' of each cloak." the ears of a cloak, usually described as made of the peculiar white bronze, occur elsewhere in the tales, and there are different speculations as to their use and meaning. the most probable explanation is that they were bronze rings shaped like ears, and sewn into the cloak; a brooch to fasten the cloak being passed through the rings. this explanation has been suggested by professor ridgeway, and seems to fit admirably the passages in which these "ears" occur. compare fraech, line , in the second volume; also the "courtship of ferb" (nutt), p. . there are also a few corrections necessary to thurneysen's translation of the second description. lines to should run thus: a beautiful band of women;--victory without fetters;-- are the daughters of aed abra; the beauty of fand is a rushing sound with splendour, exceeding the beauty of a queen or king. (the last line is more literally, "not excepting a queen or, &c.") i will say, since it hath been heard by me, that the seed of adam was sinless; but the beauty of fand up to my time hath not found its equal. for the allusion to adams sin, compare etain, p. . allusions like these show that the tales were composed in christian times. there seems no reason to suppose them to be insertions, especially in cases like this one, where they come in quite naturally. line is literally "with their arms for slaying"; not "who warred on each other with weapons" as in thurneysen. page for the cooling of cuchulain's battle-frenzy with water compare the similar treatment in the account of his first foray (l.u., a; miss faraday's translation, p. ). for a literal translation of faud's triumph song over cuchulain's return see thurneysen's translation on page of the work already referred to. thurneysen's translation is very close; perhaps the last verse should run: "long rain of red blood at the side of the trees, a token of this proud and masterful, high with wailing is the sorrow for his fiend-like frenzy." the description of cuchulain's appearance in verses and seems to point to a conception of him as the sun-god. compare the "sunlike" seat of his chariot on page . page the literal translation of liban's rhetoric in welcome to cuchulain seems to be, "hail to cuchulain! king who brings help, great prince of murthemne! great his mind; pomp of heroes; battle-triumphing; heart of a hero; strong rock of skill; blood-redness of wrath; ready for true foes of the hero who has the valour of ulster (?); bright his splendour; splendour of the eyes of maidens; hail to cuchulain!" torc in the second line is glossed in the ms. by "that is, a king." cuchulain's account of his own battle is omitted by thurneysen, possibly because the account that he gives differs from that in the text, as is pointed out by windisch, ir. text., vol. i. p. ). but it is quite in keeping with the hero's character that he should try to lessen his own glory; and the omission of this account destroys one of the features of the tale. the literal rendering is: i threw a cast with my light spear into the host of eogan the stream; not at all do i know, though renowned the price, the victory that i have done, or the deed. whether he was better or inferior to my strength hitherto i chanced not on for my decision, a throw, ignorance of the man in the mist, certainly he came not away a living man. a white army, very red for multitudes of horses, they followed after me on every side (?), people of manannan mac lir, eogan the stream called them. i set out in each manner when my full strength had come to me; one man to their thirty, hundreds, until i brought them to death. i heard the groan of echaid juil, lips speak in friendship, if it is really true, certainly it was not a fight (?), that cast, if it was thrown. the idea of a battle with the waves of the sea underlies the third verse of this description. page five pieces of rhetoric follow, all of which are translated by thurneysen. a few alterations may be made, but all of them would be small ones. the verse translations given are, it is believed, a little closer to the text than thurneysen's. the metres of the first three pieces are discussed by professor rhys in y cymmrodor for (pages , ). professor rhys reduces the second of these to a hexameter followed by three pentameters, then a hexameter followed by a pentameter. the other two reduce to hexameters mixed with curtailed hexameters and pentameters. the last two pieces of the five, not mentioned by professor rhys, show a strophic correspondence, which has been brought out in the verse translation; note especially their openings, and the last line of emer's speech, cia no triallta, as balancing the last line but four of cuchulain's speech, cia no comgellta. the last of these five pieces shows the greatest differences between the verse and literal translations. a literal translation of this would run: "wherefore now, o emer!" said cuchulain, "should i not be permitted to delay with this lady? for first this lady here is bright, pure, and clear, a worthy mate for a king; of many forms of beauty is the lady, she can pass over waves of mighty seas, is of a goodly shape and countenance and of a noble race, with embroidery and skill, and with handiwork, with understanding, and sense, and firmness; with plenty of horses and many cattle, so that there is nothing under heaven, no wish for a dear spouse that she doth not. and though it hath been promised (?), emer," he said, "thou never shalt find a hero so beautiful, so scarred with wounds, so battle-triumphing, (so worthy) as i myself am worthy." page line . "fair seems all that's red, &c.," is literally "fair is each red, white is each new, beautiful each lofty, sour is each known, revered is each thing absent, failure is each thing accustomed." for a translation of the poem in which fand resigns cuchulain reference may be made to thurneysen (p. ). a more accurate translation of the first verse seems to run thus: i am she who will go on a journey which is best for me on account of strong compulsion; though there is to another abundance of her fame, (and) it were dearer to me to remain. line of poem, translated by thurneysen "i was true and held my word," is in the original daig is misi rop iran. iran is a doubtful word, if we take it as a form of aur-an, aur being the intensitive prefix, a better translation may be, "i myself was greatly glowing." page line . "the lady was seized by great bitterness of mind," irish ro gab etere moir. the translation of etere is doubtful. page for the final poem, in which fand returns to manannan, reference may as before be made to thurneysen's translation; but a few changes may be noted: line should be, "see the son of the hero people of the sea." line seems to be, "although" (lit. "if") "it is to-day that his cry is excellent." line is a difficult one. thurneysen gives, "that indeed is the course of love," apparently reading rot, a road, in place of ret; but he leaves eraise untranslated; the irish is is eraise in ret in t-serc. might not eraise be "turning back," connected with eraim, and the line run: "it is turning back of the road of love"? lines to are omitted by thurneysen. they seem to mean: when the comely manannan took me, he was to me a fitting spouse; nor did he at all gain me before that time, an additional stake (?) at a game at the chess. the last line, cluchi erail (lit. "excess") ar fidchill, is a difficult allusion. perhaps the allusion is to the capture of etain by mider as prize at chess from her husband. fand may be claiming superiority over a rival fairy beauty. lines and repeat lines and . lines and are translated by thurneysen, "too hard have i been offended; laeg, son of riangabra, farewell," but there is no "farewell" in the irish. the lines seem to be: "indeed the offence was great, o laeg, o thou son of riangabra," and the words are an answer to laeg, who may be supposed to try to stop her flight. page line . "that she might forget her jealousy," lit. "a drink of forgetfulness of her jealousy," deoga dermait a heta. the translation seems to be an accepted one, and certainly gives sense, but it is doubtful whether or not eta can be regarded as a genitive of et, "jealousy "; the genitive elsewhere is eoit. there is a conclusion to this romance which is plainly added by the compiler: it is reproduced here, to show the difference between its style and the style of the original author: "this then was a token given to cuchulain that he should be destroyed by the people of the mound, for the power of the demons was great before the advent of the faith; so great was that power that the demons warred against men in bodily form, and they showed delights and secret things to them; and that those demons were co-eternal was believed by them. so that from the signs that they showed, men called them the ignorant folk of the mounds, the people of the sid." the exile of the sons of usnach page the four pieces of rhetoric, at the beginning of this text are translated by thurneysen, sagen aus dem alten irland, pp. and . in the first, third, and fourth of those, the only difference of any importance between the text adopted and thurneysen's versions is the third line of the third piece, which perhaps should run: "with stately eyes with blue pupils," segdaib suilib sellglassaib, taking the text of the yellow book of lecan. the second piece appears to run as follows: let cathbad hear, the fair one, with face that all love, the prince, the royal diadem, let he who is extolled be increased by druid arts of the druid: because i have no words of wisdom to oppose (?) to feidlimid, the light of knowledge; for the nature of woman knows not what is under her body, (or) what in the hollow of my womb cries out. these rhetorics are remarkable for the great number of the alliterations in the original. page thurneysen omits a verse of cathbad's poem. a translation of the whole seems to run thus: deirdre, great cause of destruction, though thou art fair of face, famous, pale, ulster shall sorrow in thy time, thou hidden (?) daughter of feidlimid. windisch's dict. gives "modest daughter" in the last line; the original is ingen fial. but the word might be more closely connected with fial, "a veil." "modest" is not exactly the epithet that one would naturally apply to the deirdre of the leinster version, and the epithet of "veiled" or "hidden" would suit her much better, the reference being to her long concealment by conor. there shall be mischief yet afterwards on thy account, o brightly shining woman, hear thou this! at that time shall be the exile of the three lofty sons of usnach. it is in thy time that a violent deed shall be done thereupon in emain, yet afterwards shall it repent the violation of the safeguard of the mighty son of rog. do foesam is read in the last verse, combining the leinster and the egerton texts. it is through thee, o woman with excellence, (is) the exile of fergus from the ulstermen, and a deed from which weeping will come, the wound of fiachna, the son of conor. fiachna. is grandson to conor in the book of leinster account of the battle. fiacha is conor's son in the glenn masain version. it is thy fault, o woman with excellence, the wound of gerrc son of illadan, and a deed of no smaller importance, the slaying of eogan mac durthacht. there is no account of the slaying of eogan in the book of leinster version; and eogan appears on the hill of slane in the ulster army in the war of cualgne. the sequel to the glenn masain version, however, describes eogan's death at the hand of fergus (celtic review, jan. , p. ). thou shalt do a deed that is wild and hateful for wrath against the king of noble ulster; thy little grave shall be in that place, thy tale shall be renowned, o deirdre. page line . "release me, o my wife!" eirgg uaim a ben. it is suggested that the vocative ben is "wife," not "woman." it occurs in seven other places besides this in windisch's dictionary, and in six of these it means wife (emer is addressed as wife of cuchulain in a deig-ben, in "sick-bed," ). in the remaining case ("fled bricrend," ) the word is abbreviated, and stands b in the text, which might be for be, "o lady," though we should have then expected the accent. i suggest that naisi, by giving to deirdre the name of "wife," accepts her offer, for no other sign of acceptance is indicated, and the subsequent action shows that she is regarded as his wife afterwards. line . "near to ballyshannon," and "which men to-day call the mountain of howth," are inserted as the modern names of the places. the words correspond to nothing in the irish. page line . "fiacha." fiacha, the son of fergus, corresponds to illan in the better known version. there is no one in this version who corresponds to the traitor son, buinne. page the "lament of deirdre," one of the finest of the older irish poems, has been rendered by thurneysen and by others, among which should be specially mentioned miss hull, in the cuchullin saga, pp. - . o'curry's and o'flanagan's versions seem to be very far from correct, and it will be more convenient to give that literal translation which seems nearest to the original, instead of indicating divergencies. the literal translation adopted runs as follows: though fair to you seems the keen band of heroes who march into emain that they lately left (lit "after departing"), more stately was the return to their home of the three heroic sons of usnach. naisi, with mead of delicious hazel-nuts (came), to be bathed by me at the fire, ardan, with an ox or boar of excellence, aindle, a faggot on his stately back. though sweet be the excellent mead to you which is drunk by the son of ness, the rich in strife, there has been known to me, ere now, leaping over a bank, frequent sustenance which was sweeter. line of the above stanza seems to be baithium riam reim for bra, taking reim from the egerton text. the allusion is to a cascade. when the noble naisi spread out a cooking-hearth on hero-board of tree, sweeter than any food dressed under honey[fn# ] was what was captured by the son of usnach. [fn# ] for "food dressed under honey" compare fraech, line , in the second volume. though melodious to you each month (are the) pipers and horn-blowers, it is my open statement to you to-day i have heard melody sweeter far than these. for conor, the king, is melody pipers and blowers of horns, more melodious to me, renowned, enchanting the voice given out by the sons of usnach. like the sound of the wave the voice of naisi, it was a melodious sound, one to hearken to for ever, ardan was a good barytone, the tenor of aindle rang through the dwelling-place. naisi is laid in his tomb, sad was the protection that he got; the nation by which he was reared poured out the cup of poison by which he died. dear is berthan, beautiful its lands, stately the men, though hilly the land, it is sorrowful that to-day i rise not to await the sons of usnach. dear the mind, firm, upright, dear the youth, lofty, modest, after going with him through the dark wood dear the girding (?) at early morning. dear his gray eye, which women loved, it was evil-looking against enemies, after circuit of the wood (was) a noble assembly, dear the tenor through the dark wood. i sleep not therefor, and i stain not my nails with red, joy comes not to my wakefulness, for the sons of usnach return not. the last line is the egerton reading. i sleep not for half the night on my bed, my mind wanders amidst clouds of thoughts, i eat not, nor smile. there is no leisure or joy for me in the assemblies of eastern emain; there is no peace, nor pleasure, nor repose in beholding fine houses or splendid ornaments. what, o conor, of thee? for me only sorrow under lamentation hast thou prepared, such will be my life so long as it remains to me, thy love for me will not last. the man who under heaven was fairest to me, the man who was so dear thou hast torn from me; great was the crime; so that i shall not see him until i die. his absence is the cause of grief to me, the shape of the son of usnach shows itself to me, a dark hill is above his white body which was desired before many things by me. his ruddy cheeks, more beautiful than meadows (?), red lips, eyebrows of the colour of the chafer, his teeth shining like pearls, like noble colour of snow. well have i known his splendid garb among the warrior men of alba; mantle of crimson, meet for an assembly, with a border of red gold. his tunic of satin of costly price, on it a hundred pearls could be counted, goodly the number (lit. "a smooth number" ? a round number), for its embroidery had been used, it was bright, fifty ounces of findruine (i.e. white bronze). a gold-hilted sword in his hand, two green spears with terrible points (?), a shield with border of yellow gold, and a boss of silver upon it. fair fergus brought injury upon us when inducing us to cross the sea; he has sold his honour for ale, the glory of his high deeds is departed. if there were upon this plain the warriors of ulster in the presence of conor, all of them would i give up without a struggle for the companionship of naisi, the son of usnach. break not to-day my heart (o conor!), soon shall i reach my early grave, stronger than the sea is my grief, dost thou not know it, o conor? page for the literal translations of the poems in the glenn masain version see whitley stokes in irische texte, ii. , sqq. stanzas to are not in lvi. (the manuscript which is the second authority used by stokes for this version, and is the chief authority for this part of the version). they are in the manuscript that stokes calls ii. (the version used by o'flanagan), which, like lvi., agrees pretty closely with the glenn masain text so far as the latter manuscript extends. stanza is also from o'flanagan's manuscript. this verse is not translated by stokes, but it seems worth inserting. the literal translation of it is: i am deirdre without joy, it is for me the end of my life; since to remain behind them is the worst thing, not long life to myself. page line . two passages, one describing fergus' sons born in connaught, the other summing up his deeds, are omitted, as it is not intended to reproduce this version in full. the combat at the ford the well-known translation by o'curry of this part of the book of leinster version of the "tain bo cuailgne" is given in the third volume of his "manners and customs," pp. - . there are, as has often been pointed out, many inaccuracies in the translation, and the present version does not claim to correct all or even the greater part of them; for the complete version of the great tain by windisch which has so long eagerly been expected should give us a trustworthy text, and the present translation is in the main founded on o'curry; to whose version reference may be made for literal translations for such parts of the verse passages as are not noted below. a few more obvious corrections have been made; most of those in the prose will appear by comparing the rendering with o'curry's; some of the corrections in the literal versions adopted for the poems are briefly indicated. two poems have been literally translated in full: in these the renderings which have no authority other than o'curry's are followed by a query, in order to give an indication of the extent to which the translation as given may for the present be regarded as uncertain. for all the more valuable of the corrections made to o'curry's translation i am indebted to the kindness of mr. e. j. quiggin, fellow of caius college, cambridge. page line of the first stanza. o'curry gives this as "thou hast come out of every strife," which seems to be an impossible rendering; "take whatever is thy will" seems to be nearer the sense of the passage, and has been adopted. lines to of the fourth stanza are very uncertain; and the translation given, which is in part based upon o'curry, is very doubtful; a more trustworthy one has not, however, been arrived at. line of the fifth stanza in o'curry's rendering means "here is what thou wilt not earn," i.e. "we can pay more than a full reward for thy services." lines and of the sixth stanza should be, "if my request be granted me i will advance, though i am not his match." line of the eighth stanza, "not thine a pleasant smile for a consort." brachail in the next line is "guardian." line of the last stanza. elgga is one of the names of ireland. page line . maeth n-araig, "in an easy task," the force of which o'curry seems to miss, translating it "as he thought." there are several changes to make in o'curry's rendering of the dialogue between fergus and cuchulain. it should run thus: f. o cuchulain, manifest is the bargain, i see that rising is timely for thee; here comes to thee in anger ferdiad, son of daman, of the ruddy face. c. i am here, it is no light task valiantly delaying the men of erin; i have not yielded a foot in retreat to shun the combat of any one man. f. fierce is the man in his excited (?) rage because of his blood-red sword: a horny skin is about ferdiad of the troops, against it prevails not battle or combat. c. be silent, urge not thy story, o fergus of the powerful weapons! on any field, on any ground, there is no unequal fight for me. f. fierce is the man, a war for twenties, it is not easy to vanquish him, the strength of a hundred in his body, valiant his deed (?), spears pierce him not, swords cut him not. c. should we happen to meet at a ford (i.e. a field of battle), i and ferdiad of well-known valour, the separation shall not be without history, fierce shall be our edge-combat. f. better would it be to me than reward, o cuchulain of the blood-stained sword, that it was thou who carried eastward the spoils (coscur, not corcur) of the proud ferdiad. c. i give thee my word with boasting, though i am not good at bragging, that it is i who shall gain the victory over the son of daman, the son of dare. f. it is i who gathered the forces eastwards in revenge for my dishonour by the men of ulster; with me they have come from their lands, their champions and their battle warriors. c. if conor had not been in his sickness hard would have been his nearness to thee; medb of magh in scail had not made an expedition of so loud boastings. f. a greater deed awaits thy hand, battle with ferdiad son of daman, hardened bloody weapons, friendly is my speech, do thou have with thee, o cuchulain! page line of o'curry's rendering of the first stanza should run: "so that he may take the point of a weapon through him." stanza of the poem should run thus: it would be better for thee to stay, thy threats will not be gentle, there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account, distressful will be thy departure to encounter the rock of ulster; and ill may this venture turn out; long will be the remembrance of it, woe shall be to him who goeth that journey. line of the next stanza, "i will not keep back to please you." page the literal rendering of the poem seems to be: i hear the creaking of a chariot with a beautiful silver yoke, the figure of a man with perfection (rises) from the wheels of the stout chariot; over breg row, over braine they come (?), over the highway beside the lower part of the burg of the trees; it (the chariot?) is triumphant for its victories. it is a heroic (?) hound who drives it, it is a trusty charioteer who yokes it, it is a noble hawk who scourges his horses to the south: he is a stubborn hero, he is certain (to cause) heavy slaughter, it is well-known that not with indexterity (?) is the bringing of the battle to us. woe for him who shall be upon the hillock waiting for the hound who is fitly framed (lit. in harmony"); i myself declared last year that there would come, though it be from somewhere, a hound the hound of emain macha, the hound with a form on which are hues of all colours, the hound of a territory, the hound of battle; i hear, we have heard. as a second rendering of the above in a metre a little closer to the original than that given in the text, the following may be suggested: shrieks from war-car wake my hearing, silver yokes are nigh appearing; high his perfect form is rearing, he those wheels who guides! braina, braeg ross past it boundeth, triumph song for conquests soundeth, lo! the roadway's course it roundeth, skirting wooded sides. hero hound the scourge hard plieth, trusty servant yoke-strap tieth, swift as noble hawk, he flieth, southward urging steeds! hardy chief is he, and story soon must speak his conquests gory, great for skilful war his glory; we shall know his deeds! thou on hill, the fierce hound scorning, waitest; woe for thee is dawning; fitly framed he comes, my warning spoke him thus last year: "emain's hound towards us raceth, guards his land, the fight he faceth, every hue his body graceth:" whom i heard, i hear. page in o'curry's rendering of the dialogue between ferdia and his servant, line should be, "that it be not a deed of prophecy," not "a deferred deed"; and line , with his proud sport." last stanza of the poem: it seems thou art not without rewards, so greatly hast thou praised him; why else hast thou extolled him ever since i left my house? they who now extol the man when he is in their sight come not to attack him, but are cowardly churls. page line . "as a hawk darts up from the furrow." o'curry gives "from the top of a cliff." the word in the irish is claiss. page the metre of this poem, which is also the metre of all the preceeding poems except the second in this romance, but does not occur elsewhere in the collection, may be illustrated by quoting the original of the fifth verse, which runs as follows: re funiud, re n-aidchi madit eicen airrthe, comrac dait re bairche, ni ba ban in gleo: ulaid acot gairmsiu, ra n-gabartar aillsiu, bud olc doib in taidbsiu rachthair thairsiu is treo. literal translation of the first two stanzas: what has brought thee here, o hound, to fight with a strong champion? crimson-red shall flow thy blood over the breaths of thy steeds; woe is thy journey: it shall be a kindling of fuel against a house, need shalt thou have of healing if thou reach thy home (alive). i have come before warriors who gather round a mighty host-possessing prince, before battalions, before hundreds, to put thee under the water, in anger with thee, and to slay thee in a combat of hundreds of paths of battle, so that thine shall the injury as thou protectest thy head. line of the fifth stanza, "good is thy need of height." line of the seventh stanza, "without valour, without strength." page line . literally: "whatever be the excellence of her beauty." a similar literal translation for page , line , of the dialogue; the same line occurs in verse on page , but is not rendered in the verse translation. page line . "o cuchulain! for beautiful feats renowned." o'curry gives this as prose, but it is clearly verse in the original. page lines , of dialogue. "o cuchulain! who art a breeder of wounds" (lit. "pregnant with wounds"); "o true warrior! o true" (?accent probably omitted) "champion!" lines , . "there is need for some one" (i.e. himself) "to go to the sod where his final resting-place shall be." the irish of line is is eicen do neoch a thecht, which o'curry translates "a man is constrained to come," and he is followed by douglas hyde, who renders the two lines: fate constrains each one to stir, moving towards his sepulchre. but do neoch cannot possibly mean "every man," it means "some man;" usually the person in question is obvious. compare page of this romance, line , which is literally: "there will be some one who shall have sickness on that account," biaid nech diamba galar, meaning, as here, ferdia. the line is an explanation of ferdia's appearance, and is not a moral reflection. line . "o cuchulain! with floods of deeds of valour," or "brimming over with deeds, &c." page line . "four jewels of carbuncle." this is the reading of h. , ; t.c.d; which o'curry quotes as an alternative to "forty" of the book of leinster. "each one of them fit to adorn it" is by o'curry translated "in each compartment." the irish is a cach aen chumtach: apparently "for each one adornment." page line of poem. "alas for the departing of my ghost." page lines , . "though he had struck off the half of my leg that is sound, though he had smitten off half my arm." page line . "since he whom aife bore me," literally "never until now have i met, since i slew aife's only son, thy like in deeds of battle, never have i found it, o ferdia." this is o'curry's rendering; if it is correct, and it seems to be so substantially, the passage raises a difficulty. aife's only son is, according to other records, conlaoch, son of cuchulain and aife, killed by his father, who did not at the time know who conlaoch was. this battle is usually represented as having taken place at the end of cuchulain's life; but here it is represented as preceding the war of cualgne, in which cuchulain himself is represented to be a youth. the allusion certainly indicates an early date for the fight with conlaoch, and if we are to lay stress on the age of cuchulain at the time of the war, as recorded in the book of leinster, of whose version this incident is a part, the "son of aife" would not have been a son of cuchulain at all in the mind of the writer of this verse. it is possible that there was an early legend of a fight with the son of aife which was developed afterwards by making him the son of cuchulain; the oldest version of this incident, that in the yellow book of lecan, reconciles the difficulty by making conlaoch only seven years old when he took up arms; this could hardly have been the original version. line of poem is literally: "it is like thrusting a spear into sand or against the sun." the metre of the poem "ah that brooch of gold," and of that on page , commencing "hound, of feats so fair," are unique in this collection, and so far as i know do not occur elsewhere. both have been reproduced in the original metre, and the rather complicated rhyme-system has also been followed in that on page . the first verse of the irish of this is dursan, a eo oir a fhirdiad na n-dam a belc bemnig buain ba buadach do lamh. the last syllable of the third line has no rhyme beyond the echo in the second syllable of the next line; oir, "gold," has no rhyme till the word is repeated in the third line of the third verse, rhymed in the second line of the fourth, and finally repeated at the end. the second verse has two final words echoed, brass and maeth; it runs thus do barr bude brass ba cass, ba cain set; do chriss duillech maeth immut taeb gu t-ec. the rhymes in the last two verses are exactly those of the reproduction, they are cain sair, main, laim, chain, the other three end rhymes being oir, choir, and oir. line of this poem is "o hero of strong-striking blows." line . "triumphant was thine arm." page lines and of the poem. "go ye all to the swift battle that shall come to you from german the green-terrible" (? of the terrible green spear). page line . the torrian sea is the mediterranean. page line . literally: "thou in death, i alive and nimble." line . "wars were gay, &c." cluchi cach, gaine cach, "each was a game, each was little," taking gaine as gainne, the known derivative of gand, "scanty." o'curry gives the meaning as "sport," and has been followed by subsequent translators, but there does not seem any confirmation of this rendering. page line . banba is one of the names of ireland. end of vol. i. old celtic romances old celtic romances translated from the gaelic by p.w. joyce, m.a., ll.d., t.c.d. m.r.i.a. _one of the commissioners for the publication of the ancient laws of ireland president of the royal society of antiquaries, ireland_ author of "a social history of ancient ireland" "the story of ancient irish civilisation" "a short history of ireland" "a child's history of ireland" "irish names of places" "ancient irish music" and other works relating to ireland "i shall tell you a pretty tale" --coriolanus. dublin the educational co. of ireland, limited talbot street london longmans, green, and company paternoster row preface. among the celtic people of ireland and the north-west of scotland, story-telling has always been a favourite amusement. in the olden time, they had professional story-tellers, variously designated according to rank--ollaves, shanachies, filès, bards, etc.--whose duty it was to know by heart a number of old tales, poems, and historical pieces, and to recite them at festive gatherings, for the entertainment of the chiefs and their guests. these story-tellers were always well received at the houses of princes and chiefs, and treated with much consideration; and on occasions when they acquitted themselves well, so as to draw down the applause of the audience, they were often rewarded with costly presents. to meet the demand for this sort of entertainment, ingenious "men of learning," taking legends or historical events as themes, composed stories from time to time; of which those that struck the popular fancy were caught up and remembered, and handed down from one generation of story-tellers to another. in course of time, a body of romantic literature grew up, consisting chiefly of prose tales, which were classified, according to subject, into battles, voyages, tragedies, military expeditions, cattle-raids, courtships, pursuits, adventures, visions, etc.[i.] some of these tales were historical, _i.e._ founded on historical events, and corresponded closely with what is now called the historical romance; while others were altogether fictitious--pure creations of the imagination. but it is to be observed that even in the fictitious tales, the main characters are always historical, or such as were considered so. the old ollaves wove their fictions round conor mac nessa and his red branch knights, or finn and his fena, or luga of the long arms and his dedannans, or conn the hundred-fighter, or cormac mac art; like the welsh legends of arthur and his round table, or the arabian romances of haroun-al-raschid and his court. the greater number of the tales were, as i have said, in prose. but some were in poetry; and in many of the prose tales the leading characters are often made to express themselves in verse, or some striking incident of the story is repeated in a poetical form. not unfrequently the fragments of verse introduced into a prose tale are quotations from an older poetical version of the same tale; and hence it often happens that while the prose may be plain enough, the poetry is often archaic and obscure. at some very early period in ireland--how early we have now no means of determining with certainty--celtic thought began to be committed to writing; and as everything seems to have been written down that was considered worth preserving, manuscripts accumulated in course of time, which were kept either in monasteries, or in the houses of the hereditary professors of learning. but in the dark time of the danish ravages, and during the troubled centuries that followed the anglo-norman invasion, the manuscript collections were gradually dispersed, and a large proportion lost or destroyed. yet we have remaining--rescued by good fortune from the general wreck--a great body of manuscript literature. our two most important collections are those in trinity college and in the royal irish academy, dublin; where we have manuscripts of various ages, from the year down to the present century, on every conceivable subject--annals, history, biography, theology, romance, legend, science, etc. these manuscripts, which, it should be remarked, are nearly all copies from older books, contain a vast collection of romantic literature: it may, indeed, be said that there is scarcely one important event in our early history, or one important native personage or native legend, that has not been made the subject of some fanciful story. the volume i now offer to the notice of the public contains eleven tales, selected and translated from the manuscripts of trinity college and of the royal irish academy. some have been already published, with original text and _literal_ translation, and are to be found in the transactions of various literary societies, where, however, they are inaccessible to the general run of readers; and even if they were accessible, they are almost unreadable, the translations having been executed, not for literary, but for linguistic purposes. others have never been translated or given to the public in any shape or form till now. of the whole collection of eleven tales, therefore, it may be said that they are quite new to the general mass of the reading public. and furthermore, this is the first collection of the old gaelic prose romances that has ever been published in fair english translation. scraps and fragments of some of these tales have been given to the world in popular publications, by writers who, not being able to read the originals, took their information from printed books in the english language. but i am forced to say that many of these specimens have been presented in a very unfavourable and unjust light--distorted to make them look _funny_, and their characters debased to the mere modern conventional stage irishman. there is none of this silly and odious vulgarity in the originals of these fine old tales, which are high and dignified in tone and feeling--quite as much so as the old romantic tales of greece and rome.[ii.] a translation may either follow the very words, or reproduce the life and spirit, of the original; but no translation can do both. if you render word for word, you lose the spirit; if you wish to give the spirit and manner, you must depart from the exact words, and frame your own phrases. i have chosen this latter course. my translation follows the original closely enough in narrative and incident; but so far as mere phraseology is concerned, i have used the english language freely, not allowing myself to be trammelled by too close an adherence to the very words of the text. the originals are in general simple in style; and i have done my best to render them into simple, plain, homely english. in short, i have tried to tell the stories as i conceive the old shanachies themselves would have told them, if they had used english instead of gaelic. in the originals, the stories run on without break or subdivision;[iii.] but i have thought it better to divide the longer ones into chapters, with appropriate headings. in almost all cases i had at my command several copies of the same story, some of them differing in phraseology and in minor points of detail, though agreeing, in the main, in narrative and incident. i found this a considerable advantage, as it gave me more freedom in the choice of expression. i have made full use of the literal translations of those tales that have been already published in the transactions of the ossianic society, in the _atlantis_, in the proceedings of the royal irish academy, and in the journal of the royal historical and archæological association of ireland. but, in order to secure the advantage of various readings, i compared, in every case, the published text with at least one copy of the story, in the royal irish academy, in trinity college, or in my own private manuscript collection. the ancient institution of professional story-telling held its ground both in ireland and in scotland down to a very recent period; and it is questionable if it be even yet quite extinct. within my own memory, this sort of entertainment was quite usual among the farming classes of the south of ireland. the family and workmen, and any neighbours that chose to drop in, would sit round the kitchen fire after the day's work--or perhaps gather in a barn on a summer or autumn evening--to listen to some local shanachie reciting one of his innumerable gaelic tales. the story-teller never chose his own words--he always had the story by heart, and recited the words from memory, often gliding into a sort of recitative in poetical passages, or when he came to some favourite grandiose description abounding in high-sounding alliterative adjectives. and very interesting it was to mark the rapt attention of the audience, and to hear their excited exclamations when the speaker came to relate some mighty combat, some great exploit of the hero, or some other striking incident. three years ago, i met a man in kilkee, who had a great number of these stories by heart, and who actually repeated for me, without the slightest hitch or hesitation, more than half--and if i had not stopped him would have given me the whole--of "cúirt an mheadhon-oidhche" ("the midnight court"), a poem about six times as long as gray's "elegy." i will now proceed to give a few particulars concerning these tales, including a short account of the manuscript or manuscripts from which each has been translated. the three tragic stories of erin. among the ancient gaelic tales, three were known as "the three most sorrowful (tales) of story-telling," or "the three tragic stories of erin;" viz., "the fate of the children of usna," "the fate of the children of lir," and "the fate of the children of turenn." i have not included the first in this volume, but a poetical version of it has been written and published by my brother.[iv.] the fate of the children of lir. two translations of this tale have been published: one literal, with the gaelic text, by professor o'curry, in the _atlantis_ (nos. vii. and viii.); and another, less literal, by gerald griffin, in his "tales of a jury-room." the oldest known copies of the tale are, one in the catholic university, dublin, made by andrew mac curtin, a well-known gaelic scholar and scribe of the county clare, who lived between and ; one in trinity college, dublin, made by hugh o'daly, in ; and one in the british museum, made by richard tipper of dublin, in .[v.] there is also a very good copy in the royal irish academy ( . c. ), of which i made considerable use, written in or about , by peter o'connell, a good gaelic scholar of the county clare. from a comparison of several of these versions, o'curry made his copy of the text as published in the _atlantis_. there may be, and there probably are, older copies, in trinity college, in the british museum, or elsewhere, if we knew only where to find them. and this observation applies to several of the tales that follow, of which we have at hand only modern copies. the fate of the children of turenn. in the book of lecan (folio ), which was compiled by the mac firbises, about a.d. , is a short account, partly in prose and partly in verse, of the celebrated eric-fine imposed on the three sons of turenn, by luga of the long arms, for killing his father kian; but this old book does not give the story of the quest for the fine. the full tale, text and literal translation, has been published by o'curry in the _atlantis_. there are several good copies in the royal irish academy: one in . g. , transcribed by patrick brown of the county clare, in ; another in . e. , written out by michael oge o'longan, in ; and a third (imperfect) in . m. , copied by andrew mac curtin, in . there are references to these three sons of turenn, and to the manner of their death, in two very old authorities, viz., cormac's "glossary" (about a.d. ); and a poem by flann of monaster-boice (who died a.d. ), a copy of which is in the book of leinster, written about a.d. . in the older references to the sons of turenn, they are called brian, iuchar, iucharba; but in some comparatively modern copies of the tale the names are a little different--for instance, peter o'connell calls them uar, iuchar, and iucharba; and they vary still further in other copies. i have taken advantage of this variety to give the names in a more pronounceable form in my translation. in the original, this tale is introduced by an anecdote of nuada of the silver hand and the two great dedannan leeches, midac and armedda (see page , _infra_), which has nothing whatever to do with the story, and which i have omitted. the overflowing of lough neagh. "leabhar na h-uidhre," or "the book of the dun cow," from which this and the two following tales are taken, is the oldest manuscript of miscellaneous gaelic literature we possess. it was transcribed from older books by maelmuire mac ceilechair, who died a.d. ; and it is now deposited in the royal irish academy, dublin--or rather, i should say, a large fragment of it, for the book has suffered much mutilation. this venerable book may now be said to be in the hands of the public, as it has been lately reproduced in lithograph fac-simile, and published by the council of the royal irish academy, at the government expense. the story of "the overflowing of lough neagh" (called in the original "the destruction of eocho mac mairedo") has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late j. o'beirne crowe, in the kilkenny archæological journal volume for - . in this story i have been obliged to make a few transpositions in the mere order of the incidents, for the narrative in the original is in some places very ill arranged. it is now nearly eight hundred years since this story was _transcribed_ from some old authority into "the book of the dun cow;" and it is singular that the tradition of the formation of lough neagh, by the overflow of an enchanted well which was neglected by the woman in charge of it, still maintains a vivid existence among the peasantry. (see on this subject the author's "origin and history of irish names of places," series i. th edition, page .) connla of the golden hair, and the fairy maiden. this tale (called in the original "echtra condla cain," "the adventures of connla the comely") is taken from "the book of the dun cow." it has been published, with text and literal translation, by the late j. o'beirne crowe, in the kilkenny archæological journal (volume - , page ). this is one of the many tales that illustrate the ancient and widespread superstition that fairies sometimes take away mortals to their palaces in the fairy forts and pleasant green hills;[ ] of which the last story in this book--"oisin in tirnanoge"--is another example. this superstition prevailed in ireland and the scottish highlands as far back as either history or tradition reaches; it flourished in full vigour within my own memory; and it is scarcely quite extinct--in ireland at least--at the present day.[vi.] in connection with the antiquity of this superstition, it must be borne in mind that the present story was transcribed into "the book of the dun cow" in or about the year , from some older book; and that it relates to the time of conn the hundred-fighter, king of ireland, who reigned in the second century of the christian era. the voyage of maildun. of this tale (which is now given to the public for the first time) the oldest copy is in "the book of the dun cow" (about the year ); but it is imperfect at both beginning and end--a portion having been torn away when the book was mutilated at some former time. there is a perfect copy in the yellow book of lecan, in trinity college, dublin, and another in the british museum (ms. harl. ). after i had made a rough translation of the greater part of this piece, i discovered a good literal translation in manuscript in the royal irish academy, made by the late j. o'beirne crowe, which was of great use to me, as it helped to explain some strange terms, and to clear up some obscure passages. this voyage would appear from internal evidence to have been made in the beginning of the eighth century (o'curry says about the year ); for i think it likely that maildun did actually go on a voyage, which was afterwards made the framework of the story. on my translation of this tale, lord tennyson founded his poem "the voyage of maeldune." of the _imrama_ or voluntary sea expeditions (to which the present story belongs) there are, according to o'curry (lect. ms. mat. ), only four remaining, all very ancient. of these the best known is the "voyage of st. brendan," undertaken in the sixth century, which was at one time celebrated all over europe, and which has been lately made the theme of a fine poem by denis florence mccarthy. another of these _imrama_ is the "voyage of the sons of o'corra," which has been described at some length by professor o'curry (lect. ms. mat. ). of this i have a copy which i made from the ms. . m. , royal irish academy (and which i afterwards carefully compared with another copy lent me by my friend, mr. w.m. hennessy). i made a translation of this story, intending to print it in the present volume; but as there is a much older and better copy in the ancient "book of fermoy," which i had not time to consult in detail, i have thought it better to hold back for the present the strange adventures of the sons of o'corra. a beautiful poetical translation of the whole tale has been made by mr. t.d. sullivan of dublin, and published in his volume of poems. the fairy palace of the quicken trees. the "bruighean caerthainn," or "the fairy palace of the quicken trees," which is now translated for the first time, is one of the most popular of the gaelic romances. i had three of the royal irish academy mss. before me when translating it--viz., . c. , transcribed in , by the irish writer and lexicographer, andrew mac curtin of the county clare; . b. , written in ; and . l. , copied in , by dermot o'mulqueen of the county clare. this is one of a type of stories very common in gaelic romantic literature:--one or more of the heroes are entrapped by some enchanter and held under a spell in a castle, or a cave, or a dungeon; till, after a series of adventures, they are released by the bravery or mother-wit of some of their companions. "the chase of slieve fuad" and "the chase of slieve cullinn" are two other examples of this class of gaelic tales. the pursuit of the gilla dacker and his horse. this is a humorous story of a trick--a very serious practical joke--played by avarta, a dedannan enchanter, on sixteen of the fena, whom he carried off to "the land of promise;" and of the adventures of finn, dermat o'dyna, and the others, in their pursuit of avarta (who had taken the shape of the gilla dacker) to recover their companions. it may be regarded as belonging to the same class as the last story. o'curry described the opening of this tale in his lectures (ms. mat. ); and he was the first, so far as i know, to draw attention to it. i think it strange that such a story should not have been noticed before by writers on gaelic literature; for as a work of imagination, it seems to me a marvellous and very beautiful creation. the battles fought by the king of sorca, aided by finn and his fena, against the king of the world, are described at much length in the original; but i have cut them down to a very short compass; and i have omitted altogether a long episode towards the end, which travels away from the main story. this tale has never been translated till now. i translated it chiefly from the royal irish academy ms., . b. , a well-written manuscript, which was copied out by edmond terry, in : but i kept another good copy beside me for comparison, viz., that contained in the royal irish academy ms., . g. , written in , by michael oge o'longan of cork, father of mr. joseph o'longan, now the irish scribe in the royal irish academy, and the transcriber in fac-simile of "leabhar na h-uidhre," "leabhar breac," and "leabhar laighneach." the pursuit of dermat and grania. this tale is one of those mentioned in the list contained in the book of leinster, which was written about a.d. (see note, page iv.); but though this proves the tale to be an ancient one, i have never come across a copy older than the last century. "the pursuit of dermat and grania" has been published, with text and a very racy idiomatic literal translation, by mr. standish hayes o'grady, in the transactions of the ossianic society for , from a comparison of two manuscripts, one of and the other of . in addition to mr. o'grady's published text, i made use of another good copy (ms. royal irish academy, . g. ) written in , by michael oge o'longan, already spoken of. i cannot help believing that this fine story originally ended with the death of dermat; though in all the current versions (including mr. o'grady's printed text) there is an additional part recounting the further proceedings of grania and her sons, after the death of the hero. but this part is in every respect inferior to the rest--in language, in feeling, and in play of imagination. it seems to me very clear that it was patched on to the original story by some unskilful hand; and i have accordingly omitted it, and ended the story with the death of dermat. i have also omitted two short episodes--that of the _cnumh_ or reptile of corca divna, as a mere excrescence; and finn's expedition to scotland for aid against dermat. and, for the sake of clearness, i have slightly changed the place of that part of the tale which recounts the origin of the fairy quicken tree of dooros. there are one or two other trifling but very necessary modifications, which need not be mentioned here. the chase of slieve cullinn: the chase of slieve fuad: oisin in tirnanoge. in the original gaelic these are three poetical tales. all three have been printed, with gaelic text and literal translation, in the transactions of the ossianic society: the two first by the late john o'daly, and "oisin in tirnanoge" by professor o'looney. there are many good copies of these tales in the manuscripts of the royal irish academy; though of not one of them have i seen a copy older than the last century. "the chase of slieve cullinn" (commonly known as "the poem of the chase") has been translated into english verse by miss brooke; and there is another metrical translation in the _irish penny journal_ (page ). and of "oisin in tirnanoge," mr. t.d. sullivan has given a graceful poetical rendering in his volume of poems, already mentioned. preface to the third edition. in this edition there is an additional tale, "the fate of the sons of usna," a notice of which will be found at page x, above. lyre-na-grena, leinster road, rathmines, . footnotes: [i.] in the book of leinster, a manuscript now in trinity college, dublin, which was transcribed about the year , there is a very interesting list of ancient historic tales-- in all--classified in the manner indicated above, which an ollave was obliged to master, so as to be able to repeat any one of them from memory, whenever his patron required him to do so. (see o'curry, "lectures on the ms. materials of irish history," pages and .) [ii.] macpherson never sinned in this way. he caught the true keynote; and his "poems of ossian," however perverted in other respects, are always dignified in thought and expression. among other examples of the true interpretation of the spirit of these old romances, prose and poetry, i may mention miss brooke's "reliques of irish poetry," published in the end of the last century; the rev. dr. drummond's "ancient irish minstrelsy," published in ; lady ferguson's graceful and interesting book, "the story of the irish before the conquest" ( ); and mr. standish o'grady's ably written volume, the "history of ireland" (vol. i., the heroic period ). [iii.] with one partial exception. in "the book of the dun cow," "the voyage of maildun" is divided into parts or chapters, which are numbered on the margin in roman numerals, each chapter relating to one particular island; but no spaces are left, and the chapters have no headings. in this tale i have followed the old sub-division. [iv.] "deirdrè," by robert d. joyce, m.d., m.r.i.a. boston: roberts brothers. dublin: m.h. gill and son. [v.] o'curry, _atlantis_, nos. vii. and viii., page . [vi.] see the ballad and air of "the fairy king's courtship," in the author's "ancient irish music," page . contents. the fate of the children of lir; or, the four white swans. chapter page i. bove derg chosen king of the dedannans, ii. the children of lir, iii. the four children of lir are turned into four white swans by their stepmother, iv. the four white swans on lake darvra, v. the four white swans on the sea of moyle, vi. the four white swans on the western sea, vii. the children of lir regain their human shape and die, the fate of the children of turenn; or, the quest for the eric-fine. i. the lochlanns invade erin, ii. the murder of kian, iii. defeat and flight of the lochlanns, iv. the eric-fine on the sons of turenn for the slaying of kian, v. the sons of turenn obtain mannanan's canoe, the wave-sweeper, vi. the apples of the garden of hisberna, vii. the gifted skin of the pig, viii. the blazing spear of the king of persia, ix. the chariot and steeds of the king of sigar, x. the seven pigs of the king of the golden pillars, xi. the hound-whelp of the king of iroda, xii. return of the sons of turenn, with part of the eric-fine, xiii. the cooking-spit of the women of fincara, xiv. the three shouts on midkena's hill, xv. return and death of the sons of turenn, the overflowing of lough neagh, and the story of liban the mermaid. connla of the golden hair and the fairy maiden. the voyage of maildun. i. maildun's childhood and youth. he begins his voyage in quest of the plunderers who slew his father, ii. the first island. tidings of the plunderers, iii. the island of the monstrous ants, iv. the terraced isle of birds, v. a monster, vi. the demon horse-race, vii. the palace of solitude, viii. the island of the wonderful apple tree, ix. the island of bloodthirsty quadrupeds, x. an extraordinary monster, xi. the isle of red-hot animals, xii. the palace of the little cat, xiii. an island that dyed black and white, xiv. the island of the burning river, xv. the miller of hell, xvi. the isle of weeping, xvii. the isle of the four precious walls, xviii. the palace of the crystal bridge, xix. the isle of speaking birds, xx. the aged hermit and the human souls, xxi. the island of the big blacksmiths, xxii. the crystal sea, xxiii. a lovely country beneath the waves, xxiv. an island guarded by a wall of water, xxv. a water-arch in the air, xxvi. the silver pillar of the sea, xxvii. an island standing on one pillar, xxviii. the island queen detains them with her magic thread-clew, xxix. the isle of intoxicating wine-fruits, xxx. the isle of the mystic lake, xxxi. the isle of laughing, xxxii. the isle of the blest, xxxiii. the hermit of the sea-rock, xxxiv. signs of home, xxxv. maildun meets his enemy, and arrives home, the fairy palace of the quicken trees. i. colga, king of lochlann, invades erin, and is slain, ii. midac, the son of colga, meditates revenge, iii. finn is entrapped by midac, and held by enchantment in the palace of the quicken trees, iv. innsa, finn's foster son, defends the ford leading to the palace of the quicken trees, v. ficna, the son of finn, defends the ford, vi. dermat o'dyna slays the three kings of the island of the torrent, breaks the spell with their blood, and frees finn, vii. the fight at the ford with the foreign army, the pursuit of the gilla dacker and his horse. i. arrival of the gilla dacker and his horse, ii. conan and fifteen of the fena are carried off by the gilla dacker's horse, iii. pursuit, iv. dermat o'dyna, in quest of the gilla dacker, encounters the wizard-champion at the well, v. dermat o'dyna in tir-fa-tonn, vi. finn, in quest of dermat, fights many battles, vii. finn and dermat meet, viii. conan and his companions found and rescued, the pursuit of dermat and grania. i. finn, the son of cumal, seeks the princess grania to wife, ii. dermat o'dyna secretly espouses the princess grania, iii. flight and pursuit, iv. the fastness of the seven narrow doors, v. the three sea-champions and their three venomous hounds on the track of dermat and grania, vi. what befell the three sea-champions and their three venomous hounds, vii. sharvan, the surly giant, and the fairy quicken tree of dooros, viii. the attack of the witch-hag, ix. peace and rest at last, x. the death of dermat, the chase of slieve cullinn, the chase of slieve fuad, oisin in tirnanoge; or, the last of the fena, the voyage of the sons of o'corra, the fate of the sons of usna, notes, list of proper names, the fate of the children of lir; or, _the four white swans._ silent, o moyle, be the roar of thy water; break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose; while murmuring mournfully, lir's lonely daughter tells to the night-star her tale of woes. moore. chapter i. bove derg chosen king of the dedannans. after the battle of tailltenn,[vii.] the dedannans[ ][viii.] of the five provinces of erin assembled in one place of meeting, to consider on their state, and to choose a king. for their chiefs said it was better for them to have one king over all, than to be divided, as they were, serving sundry lords and princes. now of those who expected the sovereignty for themselves, the following chiefs were the noblest, namely:--bove derg,[ix.] son of the dagda; his brother angus, of bruga on the boyne, who, however, had no earnest wish to become king, preferring to remain as he was; ilbrec of assaroe; lir of shee finnaha; and midir the haughty of bri-leth.[ ] then the chief people went into council, all except the five above named; and the decision they came to was to elect bove derg, son of the dagda, king over the whole of the dedannan race. when the election was made known, none of those who were disappointed took the matter to heart except lir of shee finnaha alone. and when lir found that the chiefs had chosen bove derg, he was greatly offended, and straightway left the assembly in anger, without taking leave of any one, and without showing any mark of respect or obedience to the new king. when the chiefs heard this, they were wroth; and they said they would follow him to shee finnaha,[x.] and slay him with spear and sword, and burn his house, because he did not yield obedience to the king they had elected in lawful council. but bove derg would not permit them to do so. "this man," he said, "will defend his territory, and many will be slain; and i am none the less your king, although he has not submitted to me." matters remained so for a long time. but at last a great misfortune happened to lir, for his wife died after an illness of three days. this weighed heavily on him, and his heart was weary with sorrow after her. her death, moreover, was a great event at that time, and was much spoken of throughout erin. when the tidings reached the mansion of bove derg, where the chief men of the dedannans were then assembled, the king said-- "as lir's wife is now dead, my friendship would be of service to him, if he were willing to accept it. for i have in my house three maidens, the most beautiful and the best instructed in all erin, namely, eve, eva, and alva, my own foster children, and daughters of allil of ara."[xi.] the dedannans agreed to this, and said that their king had spoken wisely and truly. messengers were accordingly sent to lir, and they were told to say to him-- "if thou art willing to submit to the king, he will give thee for a wife one of his three foster children; and thou shalt have his friendship for ever." it was pleasing to lir to make this alliance; and accordingly he set out next day from shee finnaha with a company of fifty chariots; and they never halted or turned aside till they reached the palace of bove derg, on the shore of the great lake.[xii.] their arrival gave much joy and happiness to the king and his household; for although lir did not submit at first to bove derg, he was a good man, and was greatly beloved by the king himself and by all his subjects. so lir and his followers got a kindly welcome; and they were supplied with everything necessary, and were well attended to that night. next day, the three daughters of allil of ara sat on the same couch with the queen their foster mother; and the king said to lir-- "take thy choice of the three maidens, and whichever thou choosest, she shall be thy wife." "they are all beautiful," said lir, "and i cannot tell which of them is best; but i will take the eldest, for she must be the noblest of the three." then the king said, "eve is the eldest, and she shall be given to thee if it be thy wish." so lir chose eve for his wife, and they were wedded that day. lir remained a fortnight in the king's palace, and then departed with his wife to his own house, shee finnaha, where he celebrated his marriage by a great royal wedding feast. footnotes: [vii.] now teltown, on the river blackwater, between kells and navan, in meath. (see note at the end, for this battle.) [viii.] the numbers refer to the notes at the end of the book. [ix.] at the end of the book will be found an alphabetical list of all the names of persons and places mentioned through the volume, with their gaelic forms, and, in many cases, their meanings. [x.] shee finnaha, lir's residence, is thought to have been situated near the boundary of armagh and monaghan, not far from newtown hamilton. [xi.] ara, the islands of aran, in galway bay. [xii.] the great lake, _i.e._ lough derg, on the shannon, above killaloe. chapter ii. the children of lir. in course of time, lir's wife bore him two children at a birth, a daughter and a son, whose names were finola and aed. a second time she brought forth twins, two sons, who were named ficra and conn: and she died in giving them birth. this was a cause of great anguish to lir; and he would almost have died of grief, only that his mind was turned from his sorrow by his great love for his four little children. when the news of eve's death reached the mansion of bove derg, the king was in deep grief, and the people of his household raised three great cries of lamentation for her. and when their mourning was ended, the king said-- "we grieve for our foster child, both on her own account, and for the sake of the good man to whom we gave her; for we are thankful for his alliance and his friendship. but our acquaintance shall not be ended, and our alliance shall not be broken; for i will give him her sister to wife, my second foster child, eva." messengers were sent to lir to shee finnaha, to tell him of this; and he consented. so after some time he came to the king's house to espouse her, and they were united; and he brought her home with him to his own house. the four children grew up under eva's care. she nursed them with great tenderness, and her love for them increased every day. they slept near their father; and he would often rise from his own bed at the dawn of morning, and go to their beds, to talk with them and to fondle them. the king, bove derg, loved them almost as well as did their father. he went many times every year to shee finnaha to see them; and he used to bring them often to his palace, where he kept them as long as he could on each occasion, and he always felt sad when he sent them home. at this time, too, the dedannans used to celebrate the feast of age[ ] at the houses of their chiefs by turns; and whenever it happened that the festival was held at shee finnaha, these children were the delight and joy of the dedannans. for nowhere could four lovelier children be found; so that those who saw them were always delighted with their beauty and their gentleness, and could not help loving them with their whole heart. chapter iii. the four children of lir are turned into four white swans by their stepmother. now when eva saw that the children of lir received such attention and affection from their father, and from all others that came to his house, she fancied she was neglected on their account; and a poisonous dart of jealousy entered her heart, which turned her love to hatred; and she began to have feelings of bitter enmity for her sister's children. her jealousy so preyed on her that she feigned illness, and lay in bed for nearly a year, filled with gall and brooding mischief; and at the end of that time she committed a foul and cruel deed of treachery on the children of lir. one day she ordered her horses to be yoked to her chariot, and she set out for the palace of bove derg, bringing the four children with her. finola did not wish to go, for it was revealed to her darkly in a dream that eva was bent on some dreadful deed of fratricide;[xiii.] and she knew well that her stepmother intended to kill her and her brothers that day, or in some other way to bring ruin on them. but she was not able to avoid the fate that awaited her. when they had gone some distance from shee finnaha on their way to the palace, eva tried to persuade her attendants to kill the children. "kill them, and you shall be rewarded with all the worldly wealth you may desire; for their father loves me no longer, and has neglected and forsaken me on account of his great love for these children." but they heard her with horror, and refused, saying, "we will not kill them. fearful is the deed thou hast contemplated, o eva; and evil will surely befall thee for having even thought of killing them." then she took the sword to slay them herself; but her woman's weakness prevented her, and she was not able to strike them. so they set out once more, and fared on till they came to the shore of lake darvra,[xiv.] where they alighted, and the horses were unyoked. she led the children to the edge of the lake, and told them to go to bathe; and as soon as they had got into the clear water, she struck them one by one with a druidical[ ] fairy wand, and turned them into four beautiful snow-white swans. and she addressed them in these words-- out to your home, ye swans, on darvra's wave; with clamorous birds begin your life of gloom: your friends shall weep your fate, but none can save; for i've pronounced the dreadful words of doom. after this, the four children of lir turned their faces to their stepmother; and finola spoke-- "evil is the deed thou hast done, o eva; thy friendship to us has been a friendship of treachery; and thou hast ruined us without cause. but the deed will be avenged; for the power of thy witchcraft is not greater than the druidical power of our friends to punish thee; and the doom that awaits thee shall be worse than ours." our stepmother loved us long ago; our stepmother now has wrought us woe: with magical wand and fearful words, she changed us to beautiful snow-white birds; and we live on the waters for evermore, by tempests driven from shore to shore. finola again spoke and said, "tell us now how long we shall be in the shape of swans, so that we may know when our miseries shall come to an end." "it would be better for you if you had not put that question," said eva; "but i shall declare the truth to you, as you have asked me. three hundred years on smooth lake darvra; three hundred years on the sea of moyle, between erin and alban;[xv.] three hundred years at irros domnann and inis glora[xvi.] on the western sea. until the union of largnen, the prince from the north, with decca, the princess from the south; until the taillkenn[xvii.] shall come to erin, bringing the light of a pure faith; and until ye hear the voice of the christian bell. and neither by your own power, nor by mine, nor by the power of your friends, can ye be freed till the time comes." then eva repented what she had done; and she said, "since i cannot afford you any other relief, i will allow you to keep your own gaelic speech; and ye shall be able to sing sweet, plaintive, fairy music, which shall excel all the music of the world, and which shall lull to sleep all that listen to it. moreover, ye shall retain your human reason; and ye shall not be in grief on account of being in the shape of swans." and she chanted this lay-- depart from me, ye graceful swans; the waters are now your home: your palace shall be the pearly cave, your couch the crest of the crystal wave, and your mantle the milk-white foam! depart from me, ye snow-white swans with your music and gaelic speech: the crystal darvra, the wintry moyle, the billowy margin of glora's isle;-- three hundred years on each! victorious lir, your hapless sire, his lov'd ones in vain shall call; his weary heart is a husk of gore, his home is joyless for evermore, and his anger on me shall fall! through circling ages of gloom and fear your anguish no tongue can tell; till faith shall shed her heavenly rays, till ye hear the taillkenn's anthem of praise, and the voice of the christian bell! then ordering her steeds to be yoked to her chariot she departed westwards, leaving the four white swans swimming on the lake. our father shall watch and weep in vain; he never shall see us return again. four pretty children, happy at home; four white swans on the feathery foam; and we live on the waters for evermore, by tempests driven from shore to shore. footnotes: [xiii.] the word "fratricide" is the nearest english equivalent to the original word, _fionghal_, which means the murder of a relative. [xiv.] lake darvra, now lough derravaragh, in westmeath. [xv.] the sea between erin and alban (ireland and scotland) was anciently called the sea of moyle, from the moyle, or mull, of cantire. [xvi.] irros domnann; erris, in the county mayo. inis glora; a small island about five miles west from belmullet, in the same county, still known by the same name. [xvii.] taillkenn, a name given by the druids to st. patrick. chapter iv. the four white swans on lake darvra. when eva arrived at the house of bove derg, the chiefs bade her welcome; and the king asked her why she had not brought the children of lir to him. "because," she replied, "lir no longer loves thee; and he does not wish to intrust his children to thee, lest thou shouldst harm them." the king was greatly astonished and troubled at this, and he said, "how can that be? for i love those children better than i love my own." but he thought in his own mind that eva had played some treachery on them. and he sent messengers with all speed northwards to shee finnaha, to inquire for the children, and to ask that they might be sent to him. when the messengers had told their errand, lir was startled; and he asked, "have the children not reached the palace with eva?" they answered, "eva arrived alone, and she told the king that you refused to let the children come." a sad and sorrowful heart had lir when he heard this; and he now felt sure that eva had destroyed his four lovely children. so, early next morning, his chariot was yoked for him, and he set out with his attendants for the king's palace; and they travelled with all speed till they arrived at the shore of lake darvra. the children of lir saw the cavalcade approaching; and finola spoke these words-- i see a mystic warrior band from yonder brow approach the strand; i see them winding down the vale, their bending chariots slow advancing; i see their shields and gilded mail, their spears and helmets brightly glancing. ah! well i know that proud array; i know too well their thoughts to-day: the dannan host and royal lir; four rosy children they are seeking: too soon, alas! they find us here, four snowy swans like children speaking! come, brothers dear, approach the coast, to welcome lir's mysterious host. oh, woful welcome! woful day, that never brings a bright to-morrow! unhappy father, doomed for aye to mourn our fate in hopeless sorrow! when lir came to the shore, he heard the birds speaking, and, wondering greatly, he asked them how it came to pass that they had human voices. "know, o lir," said finola, "that we are thy four children, who have been changed into swans and ruined by the witchcraft of our stepmother, our own mother's sister, eva, through her baleful jealousy." when lir and his people heard this, they uttered three long mournful cries of grief and lamentation. after a time, their father asked them, "is it possible to restore you to your own shapes?" "it is not possible," replied finola; "no man has the power to release us until largnen from the north and decca from the south are united. three hundred years we shall be on lake darvra; three hundred years on the sea-stream of moyle; three hundred years on the sea of glora in the west. and we shall not regain our human shape till the taillkenn come with his pure faith into erin, and until we hear the voice of the christian bell." and again the people raised three great cries of sorrow. "as you have your speech and your reason," said lir, "come now to land, and ye shall live at home, conversing with me and my people." "we are not permitted to leave the waters of the lake, and we cannot live with our people any more. but the wicked eva has allowed us to retain our human reason, and our own gaelic speech; and we have also the power to chant plaintive, fairy music, so sweet that those who listen to us would never desire any other happiness. remain with us to-night, and we will chant our music for you." lir and his people remained on the shore of the lake; and the swans sang their slow, fairy music, which was so sweet and sad, that the people, as they listened, fell into a calm, gentle sleep. at the glimmer of dawn next morning, lir arose, and he bade farewell to his children for a while, to seek out eva. the time has come for me to part:-- no more, alas! my children dear, your rosy smiles shall glad my heart, or light the gloomy home of lir. dark was the day when first i brought this eva in my home to dwell! hard was the woman's heart that wrought this cruel and malignant spell! i lay me down to rest in vain; for, through the livelong, sleepless night, my little lov'd ones, pictured plain, stand ever there before my sight. finola, once my pride and joy; dark aed, adventurous and bold; bright ficra, gentle, playful boy; and little conn, with curls of gold;-- struck down on darvra's reedy shore, by wicked eva's magic power: oh, children, children, never more my heart shall know one peaceful hour! lir then departed, and travelled south-west till he arrived at the king's palace, where he was welcomed; and bove derg began to reproach him, in presence of eva, for not bringing the children. "alas!" said lir; "it was not by me that the children were prevented from coming. but eva, your own foster child, the sister of their mother, has played treachery on them; and has changed them by her sorcery into four white swans on lake darvra." the king was confounded and grieved at this news; and when he looked at eva, he knew by her countenance that what lir had told him was true; and he began to upbraid her in a fierce and angry voice. "the wicked deed thou hast committed," said he, "will be worse for thee than for the children of lir; for their suffering shall come to an end, and they shall be happy at last." again he spoke to her more fiercely than before; and he asked her what shape of all others, on the earth, or above the earth, or beneath the earth, she most abhorred, and into which she most dreaded to be transformed. and she, being forced to answer truly, said, "a demon of the air."[xviii.] "that is the form you shall take," said bove derg; and as he spoke he struck her with a druidical magic wand, and turned her into a demon of the air. she opened her wings, and flew with a scream upwards and away through the clouds; and she is still a demon of the air, and she shall be a demon of the air till the end of time. then bove derg and the dedannans assembled on the shore of the lake, and encamped there; for they wished to remain with the birds, and to listen to their music. the milesian people[xix.] came and formed an encampment there in like manner; for historians say that no music that was ever heard in erin could be compared with the singing of these swans. and so the swans passed their time. during the day they conversed with the men of erin, both dedannans and milesians, and discoursed lovingly with their friends and fellow nurselings; and at night they chanted their slow, sweet, fairy music, the most delightful that was ever heard by men; so that all who listened to it, even those who were in grief, or sickness, or pain, forgot their sorrows and their sufferings, and fell into a gentle, sweet sleep, from which they awoke bright and happy. so they continued, the dedannans and the milesians, in their encampments, and the swans on the lake, for three hundred years.[xx.] and at the end of that time, finola said to her brothers-- "do you know, my dear brothers, that we have come to the end of our time here; and that we have only this one night to spend on lake darvra?" when the three sons of lir heard this, they were in great distress and sorrow; for they were almost as happy on lake darvra, surrounded by their friends, and conversing with them day by day, as if they had been in their father's house in their own natural shapes; whereas they should now live on the gloomy and tempestuous sea of moyle, far away from all human society. early next morning, they came to the margin of the lake, to speak to their father and their friends for the last time, and to bid them farewell; and finola chanted this lay-- i. farewell, farewell, our father dear! the last sad hour has come: farewell, bove derg! farewell to all, till the dreadful day of doom![xxi.] we go from friends and scenes beloved, to a home of grief and pain; and that day of woe shall come and go, before we meet again! ii. we live for ages on stormy moyle, in loneliness and fear; the kindly words of loving friends we never more shall hear. four joyous children long ago; four snow-white swans to-day; and on moyle's wild sea our robe shall be the cold and briny spray. iii. far down on the misty stream of time, when three hundred years are o'er, three hundred more in storm and cold, by glora's desolate shore; till decca fair is largnen's spouse; till north and south unite; till the hymns are sung, and the bells are rung, at the dawn of the pure faith's light. iv. arise, my brothers, from darvra's wave, on the wings of the southern wind; we leave our father and friends to-day in measureless grief behind. ah! sad the parting, and sad our flight to moyle's tempestuous main; for the day of woe shall come and go, before we meet again! the four swans then spread their wings, and rose from the surface of the water in sight of all their friends, till they reached a great height in the air, then resting, and looking downwards for a moment, they flew straight to the north, till they alighted on the sea of moyle between erin and alban. the men of erin were grieved at their departure, and they made a law, and proclaimed it throughout the land, that no one should kill a swan in erin from that time forth. footnotes: [xviii.] demon of the air was held in great abhorrence by the ancient irish. [xix.] the milesian people; the colony who conquered and succeeded the dedannans. (see note at end.) [xx.] the dedannans were regarded as gods, and were immortal or semi-immortal. (see note at the end.) [xxi.] it must be remembered that the children of lir had some obscure foreknowledge of the coming of christianity. chapter v. the four white swans on the sea of moyle. as to the children of lir, miserable was their abode and evil their plight on the sea of moyle. their hearts were wrung with sorrow for their father and their friends; and when they looked towards the steep, rocky, far-stretching coasts, and saw the great, dark wild sea around them, they were overwhelmed with fear and despair. they began also to suffer from cold and hunger, so that all the hardships they had endured on lake darvra appeared as nothing compared with their suffering on the sea-current of moyle. and so they lived, till one night a great tempest fell upon the sea. finola, when she saw the sky filled with black, threatening clouds, thus addressed her brothers-- "beloved brothers, we have made a bad preparation for this night; for it is certain that the coming storm will separate us; and now let us appoint a place of meeting, or it may happen that we shall never see each other again." and they answered, "dear sister, you speak truly and wisely; and let us fix on carricknarone, for that is a rock that we are all very well acquainted with." and they appointed carricknarone as their place of meeting. midnight came, and with it came the beginning of the storm. a wild, rough wind swept over the dark sea, the lightnings flashed, and the great waves rose, and increased their violence and their thunder. the swans were soon scattered over the waters, so that not one of them knew in what direction the others had been driven. during all that night they were tossed about by the roaring winds and waves, and it was with much difficulty they preserved their lives. towards morning the storm abated, and the sea became again calm and smooth; and finola swam to carricknarone. but she found none of her brothers there, neither could she see any trace of them when she looked all round from the summit of the rock over the wide face of the sea. then she became terrified, for she thought she should never see them again; and she began to lament them plaintively in these words-- the heart-breaking anguish and woe of this life i am able no longer to bear: my wings are benumbed with this pitiless frost; my three little brothers are scattered and lost; and i am left here to despair. my three little brothers i never shall see till the dead shall arise from the tomb: how i sheltered them oft with my wings and my breast, and i soothed their sorrows and lulled them to rest, as the night fell around us in gloom! ah, where are my brothers, and why have i lived, this last worst affliction to know? what now is there left but a life of despair?-- for alas! i am able no longer to bear this heart-breaking anguish and woe.[xxii.] soon after this she looked again over the sea, and she saw conn coming towards the rock, with his head drooping, and his feathers all drenched with the salt spray; and she welcomed him with joyful heart. not long after, ficra appeared, but he was so faint with wet and cold and hardship, that he was scarce able to reach the place where finola and conn were standing; and when they spoke to him he could not speak one word in return. so finola placed the two under her wings, and she said-- "if aed were here now, all would be happy with us." in a little time they saw aed coming towards them, with head erect and feathers all dry and radiant and finola gave him a joyful welcome. she then placed him under the feathers of her breast, while conn and ficra remained under her wings; and she said to them-- "my dear brothers, though ye may think this night very bad, we shall have many like it from this time forth." so they continued for a long time on the sea of moyle, suffering hardships of every kind, till one winter night came upon them, of great wind and of snow and frost so severe, that nothing they ever before suffered could be compared to the misery of that night. and finola uttered these words-- our life is a life of woe; no shelter or rest we find: how bitterly drives the snow; how cold is this wintry wind! from the icy spray of the sea, from the wind of the bleak north east, i shelter my brothers three, under my wings and breast. our stepmother sent us here, and misery well we know:-- in cold and hunger and fear; our life is a life of woe! another year passed away on the sea of moyle; and one night in january, a dreadful frost came down on the earth and sea, so that the waters were frozen into a solid floor of ice all round them. the swans remained on carricknarone all night, and their feet and their wings were frozen to the icy surface, so that they had to strive hard to move from their places in the morning; and they left the skin of their feet, the quills of their wings, and the feathers of their breasts clinging to the rock. "sad is our condition this night, my beloved brothers," said finola, "for we are forbidden to leave the sea of moyle; and yet we cannot bear the salt water, for when it enters our wounds, i fear we shall die of pain." and she spoke this lay-- our fate is mournful here to-day; our bodies bare and chill, drenched by the bitter, briny spray, and torn on this rocky hill! cruel our stepmother's jealous heart that banished us from home; transformed to swans by magic art, to swim the ocean foam. this bleak and snowy winter day, our bath is the ocean wide; in thirsty summer's burning ray, our drink the briny tide. and here 'mid rugged rocks we dwell, in this tempestuous bay; four children bound by magic spell;-- our fate is sad to-day! they were, however, forced to swim out on the stream of moyle, all wounded and torn as they were; for though the brine was sharp and bitter, they were not able to avoid it. they stayed as near the coast as they could, till after a long time the feathers of their breasts and wings grew again, and their wounds were healed. after this they lived on for a great number of years, sometimes visiting the shores of erin, and sometimes the headlands of alban. but they always returned to the sea-stream of moyle, for it was destined to be their home till the end of three hundred years. one day they came to the mouth of the bann, on the north coast of erin, and looking inland, they saw a stately troop of horsemen approaching directly from the south-west. they were mounted on white steeds, and clad in bright-coloured garments, and as they wound towards the shore their arms glittered in the sun. "do ye know yonder cavalcade?" said finola to her brothers. "we know them not," they replied; "but it is likely they are a party of the milesians, or perchance a troop of our own people, the dedannans." they swam towards the shore, to find out who the strangers were; and the cavalcade on their part, when they saw the swans, knew them at once, and moved towards them till they were within speaking distance. now these were a party of the dedannans; and the chiefs who commanded them were the two sons of bove derg, the dedannan king, namely, aed the keen-witted, and fergus the chess-player, with a third part of the fairy host.[xxiii.] they had been for a long time searching for the children of lir along the northern shores of erin, and now that they had found them, they were joyful; and they and the swans greeted each other with tender expressions of friendship and love. the children of lir inquired after the dedannans, and particularly after their father lir, and bove derg, and all the rest of their friends and acquaintances. "they are all well," replied the chiefs; "and they and the dedannans in general are now gathered together in the house of your father, at shee finnaha, celebrating the feast of age,[ ] pleasantly and agreeably. their happiness would indeed be complete, only that you are not with them, and that they know not where you have been since you left lake darvra." "miserable has been our life since that day," said finola; "and no tongue can tell the suffering and sorrow we have endured on the sea of moyle." and she chanted these words-- ah, happy is lir's bright home to-day, with mead and music and poet's lay: but gloomy and cold his children's home, for ever tossed on the briny foam. our wreathèd feathers are thin and light when the wind blows keen through the wintry night: yet oft we were robed, long, long ago, in purple mantles and furs of snow. on moyle's bleak current our food and wine are sandy sea-weed and bitter brine: yet oft we feasted in days of old, and hazel-mead drank from cups of gold. our beds are rocks in the dripping caves; our lullaby song the roar of the waves: but soft rich couches once we pressed, and harpers lulled us each night to rest. lonely we swim on the billowy main, through frost and snow, through storm and rain: alas for the days when round us moved the chiefs and princes and friends we loved! my little twin brothers beneath my wings lie close when the north wind bitterly stings, and aed close nestles before my breast; thus side by side through the night we rest. our father's fond kisses, bove derg's embrace, the light of mannanan's[ ] godlike face, the love of angus[ ]--all, all are o'er; and we live on the billows for evermore! after this they bade each other farewell, for it was not permitted to the children of lir to remain away from the stream of moyle. as soon as they had parted, the fairy cavalcade returned to shee finnaha, where they related to the dedannan chiefs all that had passed, and described the condition of the children of lir. and the chiefs answered-- "it is not in our power to help them; but we are glad that they are living; and we know that in the end the enchantment will be broken, and that they will be freed from their sufferings." as to the children of lir, they returned to their home on the sea of moyle, and there they remained till they had fulfilled their term of years. footnotes: [xxii.] many of these old poems begin and end with the same line or couplet. [xxiii.] fairy host; _i.e._ the dedannans. (see note at the end of the book.) chapter vi. the four white swans on the western sea. and when their three hundred years were ended, finola said to her brothers-- "it is time for us to leave this place, for our period here has come to an end." the hour has come; the hour has come; three hundred years have passed: we leave this bleak and gloomy home, and we fly to the west at last! we leave for ever the stream of moyle; on the clear, cold wind we go; three hundred years round glora's isle, where wintry tempests blow! no sheltered home, no place of rest, from the tempest's angry blast: fly, brothers, fly, to the distant west, for the hour has come at last! so the swans left the sea of moyle, and flew westward, till they reached irros domnann and the sea round the isle of glora. there they remained for a long time, suffering much from storm and cold, and in nothing better off than they were on the sea of moyle. it chanced that a young man named ebric, of good family, the owner of a tract of land lying along the shore, observed the birds and heard their singing. he took great delight in listening to their plaintive music, and he walked down to the shore almost every day, to see them and to converse with them; so that he came to love them very much, and they also loved him. this young man told his neighbours about the speaking swans, so that the matter became noised abroad; and it was he who arranged the story, after hearing it from themselves, and related it as it is related here. again their hardships were renewed, and to describe what they suffered on the great open western sea would be only to tell over again the story of their life on the moyle. but one particular night came, of frost so hard that the whole face of the sea, from irros domnann to achill, was frozen into a thick floor of ice; and the snow was driven by a north-west wind. on that night it seemed to the three brothers that they could not bear their sufferings any longer, and they began to utter loud and pitiful complaints. finola tried to console them, but she was not able to do so, for they only lamented the more; and then she herself began to lament with the others. after a time, finola spoke to them and said, "my dear brothers, believe in the great and splendid god of truth, who made the earth with its fruits, and the sea with its wonders; put your trust in him, and he will send you help and comfort." "we believe in him," said they. "and i also," said finola, "believe in god, who is perfect in everything, and who knows all things." and at the destined hour they all believed, and the lord of heaven sent them help and protection; so that neither cold nor tempest molested them from that time forth, as long as they abode on the western sea. so they continued at the point of irros domnann, till they had fulfilled their appointed time there. and finola addressed the sons of lir-- "my dear brothers, the end of our time here has come; we shall now go to visit our father and our people." and her brothers were glad when they heard this. then they rose lightly from the face of the sea, and flew eastward with joyful hopes, till they reached shee finnaha. but when they alighted they found the place deserted and solitary, its halls all ruined and overgrown with rank grass and forests of nettles; no houses, no fire, no mark of human habitation. then the four swans drew close together, and they uttered three loud mournful cries of sorrow. and finola chanted this lay-- what meaneth this sad, this fearful change, that withers my heart with woe? the house of my father all joyless and lone, its halls and its gardens with weeds overgrown,-- a dreadful and strange overthrow! no conquering heroes, no hounds for the chase, no shields in array on its walls, no bright silver goblets, no gay cavalcades, no youthful assemblies or high-born maids, to brighten its desolate halls! an omen of sadness--the home of our youth all ruined, deserted, and bare. alas for the chieftain, the gentle and brave; his glories and sorrows are stilled in the grave, and we left to live in despair! from ocean to ocean, from age unto age, we have lived to the fulness of time; through a life such as men never heard of we've passed, in suffering and sorrow our doom has been cast, by our stepmother's pitiless crime! the children of lir remained that night in the ruins of the palace--the home of their forefathers, where they themselves had been nursed; and several times during the night they chanted their sad, sweet, fairy music. early next morning they left shee finnaha, and flew west to inis glora, where they alighted on a small lake. there they began to sing so sweetly that all the birds of the district gathered in flocks round them on the lake, and on its shore, to listen to them; so that the little lake came to be called the lake of the bird-flocks. during the day the birds used to fly to distant points of the coast to feed, now to iniskea of the lonely crane,[xxiv.] now to achill, and sometimes southwards to donn's sea rocks,[xxv.] and to many other islands and headlands along the shore of the western sea, but they returned to inis glora every night. they lived in this manner till holy patrick came to erin with the pure faith; and until saint kemoc came to inis glora. the first night kemoc came to the island, the children of lir heard his bell at early matin time, ringing faintly in the distance. and they trembled greatly, and started, and ran wildly about; for the sound of the bell was strange and dreadful to them, and its tones filled them with great fear. the three brothers were more affrighted than finola, so that she was left quite alone; but after a time they came to her, and she asked them-- "do you know, my brothers, what sound is this?" and they answered, "we have heard a faint, fearful voice, but we know not what it is." "this is the voice of the christian bell," said finola; "and now the end of our suffering is near; for this bell is the signal that we shall soon be freed from our spell, and released from our life of suffering; for god has willed it." and she chanted this lay-- listen, ye swans, to the voice of the bell, the sweet bell we've dreamed of for many a year; its tones floating by on the night breezes, tell that the end of our long life of sorrow is near! listen, ye swans, to the heavenly strain; 'tis the anchoret tolling his soft matin bell: he has come to release us from sorrow, from pain, from the cold and tempestuous shores where we dwell! trust in the glorious lord of the sky; he will free us from eva's druidical spell: be thankful and glad, for our freedom is nigh, and listen with joy to the voice of the bell! then her brothers became calm; and the four swans remained listening to the music of the bell, till the cleric had finished his matins. "let us sing our music now," said finola. and they chanted a low, sweet, plaintive strain of fairy music, to praise and thank the great high king of heaven and earth. kemoc heard the music from where he stood; and he listened with great astonishment. but after a time it was revealed to him that it was the children of lir who sang that music; and he was glad, for it was to seek them he had come. when morning dawned he came to the shore of the lake, and he saw the four white swans swimming on the water. he spoke to them, and asked them were they the children of lir. they replied, "we are indeed the children of lir, who were changed long ago into swans by our wicked stepmother." "i give god thanks that i have found you," said kemoc; "for it is on your account i have come to this little island in preference to all the other islands of erin. come ye now to land, and trust in me; for it is in this place that you are destined to be freed from your enchantment." so they, filled with joy on hearing the words of the cleric, came to the shore, and placed themselves under his care. he brought them to his own house, and, sending for a skilful workman, he caused him to make two bright, slender chains of silver; and he put a chain between finola and aed, and the other chain he put between ficra and conn. so they lived with him, listening to his instructions day by day, and joining in his devotions. they were the delight and joy of the cleric, and he loved them with his whole heart; and the swans were so happy that the memory of all the misery they had suffered during their long life on the waters caused them neither distress nor sorrow now. footnotes: [xxiv.] iniskea; a little rocky island near the coast of erris, in mayo. "the lonely crane of iniskea" was one of the "wonders of ireland." according to an ancient legend, which still lives among the peasantry of mayo, a crane--one lonely bird--has lived on the island since the beginning of the world, and will live there till the day of judgment. [xxv.] donn's sea rocks--called in the text _teach-dhuinn_, or donn's house, which is also the present irish name; a group of three rocks off kenmare bay, where donn, one of the milesian brothers, was drowned. these remarkable rocks are now called in english the "bull, cow, and calf." chapter vii. the children of lir regain their human shape and die. the king who ruled over connaught at this time was largnen, the son of colman; and his queen was decca, the daughter of finnin,[xxvi.] king of munster,--the same king and queen whom eva had spoken of in her prophecy long ages before. now word was brought to queen decca regarding these wonderful speaking swans, and their whole history was related to her; so that even before she saw them, she could not help loving them, and she was seized with a strong desire to have them herself. so she went to the king, and besought him that he would go to kemoc and get her the swans. but largnen said that he did not wish to ask them from kemoc. whereupon decca grew indignant; and she declared that she would not sleep another night in the palace till he had obtained the swans for her. so she left the palace that very hour, and fled southwards towards her father's home. largnen, when he found she had gone, sent in haste after her, with word that he would try to procure the swans; but the messengers did not overtake her till she had reached killaloe. however, she returned with them to the palace; and as soon as she had arrived, the king sent to kemoc to request that he would send the birds to the queen; but kemoc refused to give them. largnen became very angry at this; and he set out at once for the cleric's house. as soon as he had come, he asked the cleric whether it was true that he had refused to give the swans to the queen. and when kemoc answered that it was quite true, the king, being very wroth, went up to where the swans stood, and seizing the two silver chains, one in each hand, he drew the birds from the altar, and turned towards the door of the church, intending to bring them by force to the queen; while kemoc followed him, much alarmed lest they should be injured. the king had proceeded only a little way, when suddenly the white feathery robes faded and disappeared; and the swans regained their human shape, finola being transformed into an extremely old woman, and the three sons into three feeble old men, white-haired and bony and wrinkled. when the king saw this, he started with affright, and instantly left the place without speaking one word; while kemoc reproached and denounced him very bitterly. as to the children of lir, they turned towards kemoc; and finola spoke-- "come, holy cleric, and baptise us without delay, for our death is near. you will grieve after us, o kemoc; but in truth you are not more sorrowful at parting from us than we are at parting from you. make our grave here and bury us together; and as i often sheltered my brothers when we were swans, so let us be placed in the grave--conn standing near me at my right side, ficra at my left, and aed before my face."[xxvii.] come, holy priest, with book and prayer; baptise and shrive us here: haste, cleric, haste, for the hour has come, and death at last is near! dig our grave--a deep, deep grave, near the church we loved so well; this little church, where first we heard the voice of the christian bell. as oft in life my brothers dear were sooth'd by me to rest-- ficra and conn beneath my wings, and aed before my breast; so place the two on either hand-- close, like the love that bound me; place aed as close before my face, and twine their arms around me. thus shall we rest for evermore, my brothers dear and i: haste, cleric, haste, baptise and shrive, for death at last is nigh! then the children of lir were baptised, and they died immediately. and when they died, kemoc looked up; and lo, he saw a vision of four lovely children, with light, silvery wings, and faces all radiant with joy. they gazed on him for a moment; but even as they gazed, they vanished upwards, and he saw them no more. and he was filled with gladness, for he knew they had gone to heaven; but when he looked down on the four bodies lying before him, he became sad and wept. and kemoc caused a wide grave to be dug near the little church; and the children of lir were buried together, as finola had directed--conn at her right hand, ficra at her left, and aed standing before her face. and he raised a grave-mound over them, placing a tombstone on it, with their names graved in ogam;[xxviii.] after which he uttered a lament for them, and their funeral rites were performed. so far we have related the sorrowful story of the fate of the children of lir. footnotes: [xxvi.] these are well-known historical personages, who flourished in the seventh century. [xxvii.] among the ancient celtic nations, the dead were often buried standing up in the grave. it was in this way finola and her brothers were buried. [xxviii.] ogam, a sort of writing, often used on sepulchral stones to mark the names of the persons buried. the fate of the children of turenn; or, _the quest for the eric-fine._ for the blood that we spilled, for the hero we killed, toil and woe, toil and woe, till the doom is fulfilled! chapter i. the lochlanns invade erin. when the dedannans[ ] held sway in erin, a prosperous free-born king ruled over them, whose name was nuada of the silver hand.[ ] in the time of this king, the fomorians,[ ] from lochlann,[ ] in the north, oppressed the dedannans, and forced them to pay heavy tributes; namely, a tax on kneading-troughs, a tax on querns, and a tax on baking flags; and besides all this, an ounce of gold for each man of the dedannans. these tributes had to be paid every year at the hill of usna;[xxix.] and if any one refused or neglected to pay his part, his nose was cut off by the fomorian tyrants. at this time a great fair-meeting was held by the king of ireland, nuada of the silver hand, on the hill of usna. not long had the people been assembled, when they saw a stately band of warriors, all mounted on white steeds, coming towards them from the east; and at their head, high in command over all, rode a young champion, tall and comely, with a countenance as bright and glorious as the setting sun. this young warrior was luga of the long arms.[ ] he was accompanied by his foster brothers, namely, the sons of mannanan mac lir; and the troop he led was the fairy host from the land of promise.[ ] now in this manner was he arrayed. he rode the steed of mannanan mac lir,[ ] namely, enbarr of the flowing mane: no warrior was ever killed on the back of this steed, for she was as swift as the clear, cold wind of spring, and she travelled with equal ease on land and on sea. he wore mannanan's coat of mail: no one could be wounded through it, or above it, or below it. he had on his breast mannanan's breast-plate, which no weapon could pierce. his helmet had two glittering precious stones set in front, and one behind; and whenever he took it off, his face shone like the sun on a dry day in summer. mannanan's sword, the answerer, hung at his left side: no one ever recovered from its wound; and those who were opposed to it in the battle-field were so terrified by looking at it, that their strength left them till they became weaker than a woman in deadly sickness. this troop came forward to where the king of erin sat surrounded by the dedannans, and both parties exchanged friendly greetings. a short time after this they saw another company approaching, quite unlike the first, for they were grim and fierce and surly looking; namely, the tax-gatherers of the fomorians, to the number of nine nines, who were coming to demand their yearly tribute from the men of erin. when they reached the place where the king sat, the entire assembly--the king himself among the rest--rose up before them. for the whole dedannan race stood in great dread of these fomorian tax-collectors; so much so that no man dared even to chastise his own son without first seeking their consent. then luga of the long arms spoke to the king and said, "why have ye stood up before this hateful-looking company, when ye did not stand up for us?" "we durst not do otherwise," replied the king; "for if even an infant of a month old remained seated before them, they would deem it cause enough for killing us all." when luga heard this he brooded in silence for a little while, and then he said, "of a truth, i feel a great desire to kill all these men!" then he mused again, and after a time, said, "i am strongly urged to kill these men!" "that deed would doubtless bring great evil on us," said the king, "for then the fomorians would be sure to send an army to destroy us all." but luga, after another pause, started up, exclaiming, "long have ye been oppressed in this manner!" and so saying, he attacked the fomorians, dealing red slaughter among them. neither did he hold his hand till he had slain them all except nine. these he spared, because they ran with all speed and sat nigh the king, that he might protect them from luga's wrath. then luga put his sword back into its scabbard, and said, "i would slay you also, only that i wish you to go and tell your king, and the foreigners in general, what you have seen." these nine men accordingly returned to their own country, and they told their tale to the fomorian people from beginning to end--how the strange, noble-faced youth had slain all the tax-collectors except nine, whom he spared that they might bring home the story. when they had ended speaking, the king, balor[ ] of the mighty blows and of the evil eye, asked the chiefs, "do ye know who this youth is?" and when they answered, "no," kethlenda,[ ] balor's queen, said-- "i know well who the youth is: he is the ildana,[xxx.] luga of the long arms, the son of your daughter and mine; and it has been long foretold that when he should appear in erin, our sway over the dedannans should come to an end." then the chief people of the fomorians held council; namely, balor of the mighty blows, and his twelve sons, and his queen kethlenda of the crooked teeth; ebb and sencab, the grandsons of neid; sotal of the large heels; luath the long-bodied; luath the story-teller; tinna the mighty, of triscadal; loskenn of the bare knees; lobas, the druid; besides the nine prophetic poets and philosophers of the fomorians. after they had debated the matter for some time, bres, the son of balor, arose and said, "i will go to erin with seven great battalions of the fomorian army, and i will give battle to the ildana, and i will bring his head to you to our palace of berva."[ ] the fomorian chiefs thought well of this proposal, and it was agreed to. so the ships were got ready for bres; abundant food and drink and war stores were put into them, their seams were calked with pitch, and they were filled with sweet-smelling frankincense. meantime the two luaths, that is to say, luath the story-teller and luath of the long body, were sent all over lochlann to summon the army. and when all the fighting men were gathered together, they arrayed themselves in their battle-dresses, prepared their arms, and set out for erin. balor went with them to the harbour where they were to embark, and when they were about to go on board, he said to them-- "give battle to the ildana, and cut off his head. and after ye have overcome him and his people, put your cables round this island of erin, which gives us so much trouble, and tie it at the sterns of your ships: then sail home, bringing the island with you, and place it on the north side of lochlann, whither none of the dedannans will ever follow it." then, having hoisted their many-coloured sails and loosed their moorings, they sailed forth from the harbour into the great sea, and never slackened speed or turned aside from their course till they reached the harbour of eas-dara.[xxxi.] and as soon as they landed, they sent forth an army through west connaught, which wasted and spoiled the whole province. footnotes: [xxix.] the hill of usna, in the parish of conry, in westmeath, one of the royal residences of ireland. [xxx.] luga of the long arms is often called the ildana, _i.e._ the man of many sciences, to signify his various accomplishments. chapter ii. the murder of kian. now the king of connaught at that time was bove derg, the son of the dagda,[xxxii.] a friend to luga of the long arms. it chanced that luga was then at tara,[xxxiii.] and news was brought to him that the fomorians had landed at eas-dara, and were spoiling and wasting the province. he immediately got ready his steed, enbarr of the flowing mane; and early in the morning, when the point of night met the day, he went to the king and told him that the foreigners had landed, and that they had wasted and plundered the province of bove derg. "i shall give them battle," said luga; "and i wish to get from thee some help of men and arms." "i will give no help," said the king; "for i do not wish to avenge a deed that has not been done against myself." when luga heard this reply he was wroth, and departing straightway from tara, he rode westward. he had not travelled long when he saw at a distance three warriors, fully armed, riding towards him. now these were three brothers, the sons of canta; namely, kian and cu and kethen; and kian was luga's father. and they saluted each other, and conversed together for a time. "why art thou abroad so early?" said they. "cause enough have i," replied luga; "for the fomorians have landed in erin, and have wasted the province of bove derg, the son of the dagda. it is well indeed that i have met you, for i am about to give them battle, and i wish now to know what aid i shall get from you." "we will go into the battle with you," said they; "and each of us will ward off from you a hundred of the fomorian warriors." "that, indeed, is good help," said luga; "but, for the present, i wish you to go to the several places throughout erin where the fairy host[xxxiv.] are abiding, and summon them all to me." the three brothers accordingly separated, cu and kethen going south, while luga's father, kian, turned his face northwards, and rode on till he came to moy murthemna.[xxxv.] he had not been long travelling over the plain when he saw three warriors, clad in armour and fully armed, coming towards him. these were three dedannan chiefs, the sons of turenn, and their names were brian, ur, and urcar. now these three and the three sons of canta were at deadly feud with each other, on account of an old quarrel, and whenever they met there was sure to be a fight for life or death. as soon as kian saw these three, he said, "if my two brothers were now with me, we should have a brave fight; but as they are not, and as i am only one against three, it is better to avoid the combat." so saying, he looked round, and seeing near him a herd of swine he struck himself with a golden druidical[ ] wand, and changed himself into a pig; and he quickly joined the herd. no sooner had he done so than brian, the eldest of the sons of turenn, said to his brothers, "tell me, my brothers, do you know what has become of the warrior that we saw just now approaching us on the plain?" "we saw him," said they, "but we know not whither he has gone." "you deserve great blame," said he, "that you are not more watchful while traversing the country during this time of war. now i know what has happened to this warrior; he has changed himself, by a druidical spell, into a pig; and he is now among yonder herd. and whoever he may be, of this be sure--he is no friend of ours." "this is an unlucky matter," said they; "for as these pigs belong to one of the dedannans, it would be wrong for us to kill them; and even if we should do so, the enchanted pig might escape after all." "but," answered brian, "i think i can manage to distinguish any druidical beast from a natural one; and if you had attended well to your learning, you would be able to do the same." saying this, he struck his brothers one after the other with his golden druidical wand, and turned them into two fleet, slender, sharp-nosed hounds. the moment he had done so they put their noses to the earth, and, yelping eagerly, set off towards the herd on the trail of their enemy. when they had come near, the druidical pig fell out from the herd, and made towards a thick grove that grew hard by; but brian was there before him, and drove his spear through his chest. the pig screamed and said, "you have done an ill deed to cast your spear at me, for you know well who i am." "your voice, methinks, is the voice of a man," said brian; "but i know not who you are." and the pig answered, "i am kian, the son of canta; and now i ask you to give me quarter." ur and urcar, who had regained their shape and come up, said, "we will give you quarter indeed, and we are sorry for what has happened to you." but brian, on the other hand, said, "i swear by the gods of the air, that if your life returned to you seven times, i would take it from you seven times." "then," said kian, "as you will not grant me quarter, allow me first to return to my own shape." "that we will grant you," said brian; "for i often feel it easier to kill a man than to kill a pig." kian accordingly took his own shape; and then he said, "you indeed, ye sons of turenn, are now about to slay me; but even so, i have outwitted you. for if you had slain me in the shape of a pig, you would have to pay only the eric-fine[ ] for a pig; whereas, now that i am in my own shape, you shall pay the full fine for a man. and there never yet was killed, and there never shall be killed, a man for whom a greater fine shall be paid, than you will have to pay for me. the weapons with which i am slain shall tell the deed to my son; and he will exact the fine from you." "you shall not be slain with the weapons of a warrior," said brian; and so saying, he and his brothers laid aside their arms, and smote him fiercely and rudely with the round stones of the earth, till they had reduced his body to a disfigured mass; and in this manner they slew him. they then buried him a man's height in the earth; but the earth, being angry at the fratricide,[xxxvi.] refused to receive the body, and cast it up on the surface. they buried him a second time, and again the body was thrown up from beneath the clay. six times the sons of turenn buried the body of kian a man's height in the earth, and six times did the earth cast it up, refusing to receive it. but when they had buried him the seventh time, the earth refused no longer, and the body remained in the grave. then the sons of turenn prepared to go forward after luga of the long arms to the battle. but as they were leaving the grave, they thought they heard a faint, muffled voice coming up from the ground beneath their feet-- the blood you have spilled, the hero you've killed, shall follow your steps till your doom be fulfilled! footnotes: [xxxi.] eas-dara, now ballysodare, in the county sligo. [xxxii.] see page . [xxxiii.] tara, in meath, the chief seat of the kings of ireland. [xxxiv.] fairy host, _i.e._ the dedannans. (see notes and at end.) [xxxv.] moy murthemna, a plain in the county of louth. [xxxvi.] fratricide; gaelic, _fionghal_, the murder of a relative. (see note, page .) the sons of turenn and the sons of canta appear to have been related to each other (see the third stanza of the poem, page ). chapter iii. defeat and flight of the lochlanns. now as to luga. after parting from his father, he journeyed westward till he reached ath-luan,[xxxvii.] thence to ros-coman, and over moy-lurg to the curlieu hills, and to the mountain of kesh-corran, till he reached the "great plain of the assembly," where the foreigners were encamped, with the spoils of connaught around them. as he drew nigh to the fomorian encampment, bres, the son of balor, arose and said-- "a wonderful thing has come to pass this day; for the sun, it seems to me, has risen in the west." "it would be better that it were so," said the druids,[ ] "than that matters should be as they are." "what else can it be, then?" asked bres. "the light you see," replied the druids, "is the brightness of the face, and the flashing of the weapons of luga of the long arms, our deadly enemy, he who slew our tax-gatherers, and who now approaches." then luga came up peacefully and saluted them. "how does it come to pass that you salute us," said they, "since you are, as we know well, our enemy?" "i have good cause for saluting you," answered luga; "for only one half of my blood is dedannan; the other half comes from you; for i am the son of the daughter of balor of the mighty blows, your king.[ ] and now i come in peace, to ask you to give back to the men of connaught all the milch cows you have taken from them." "may ill luck follow thee," said one of the fomorian leaders, in a voice loud and wrathful, "until thou get one of them, either a milch cow or a dry cow!" and the others spoke in a like strain. then luga put a druidical spell upon the plundered cattle; and he sent all the milch cows home, each to the door of her owner's house, throughout all that part of connaught that had been plundered. but the dry cows he left, so that the fomorians might be cumbered, and that they might not leave their encampment till the fairy host should arrive to give them battle. luga tarried three days and three nights near them, and at the end of that time the fairy host arrived, and placed themselves under his command. they encamped near the fomorians, and in a little time bove derg, son of the dagda, joined them with twenty-nine hundred men. then they made ready for the fight. the ildana put on mannanan's coat of mail and his breast-plate; he took also his helmet, which was called cannbarr, and it glittered in the sun with dazzling brightness; he slung his broad, dark-blue shield from his shoulder at one side; his long, keen-edged sword hung at his thigh; and lastly, he took his two long, heavy-handled spears, which had been tempered in the poisonous blood of adders. the other kings and chiefs of the men of erin arrayed their men in battle ranks; hedges of glittering spears rose high above their heads; and their shields, placed edge to edge, formed a firm fence around them. then at the signal they attacked the fomorians, and the fomorians, in no degree dismayed, answered their onset. at first a cloud of whizzing javelins flew from rank to rank across the open space, and as the warriors rushed together in closer conflict, their spears were shivered in their hands. then they drew their gold-hilted swords, and fought foot to foot and shield to shield, so that a forest of bright flashes rose high above their helmets, from the clashing of their keen-tempered weapons. in the midst of the fight, luga looked round, and seeing at some distance, bres, surrounded by his fomorian warriors, dealing havoc and death among the dedannans, he rushed through the press of battle, and attacked first bres's guards so fiercely that in a few moments twenty of them fell beneath his blows. then he struck at bres himself, who, unable to withstand his furious onset, cried aloud-- "why should we be enemies, since thou art of my kin? let there be peace between us, for nothing can withstand thy blows. let there be peace, and i will undertake to bring my fomorians to assist thee at moytura,[ ] and i will promise never again to come to fight against thee." and bres swore by the sun and the moon, by the sea and land, and by all the elements,[xxxviii.] to fulfil his engagement; and on these conditions luga granted him his life. then the fomorians, seeing their chief overcome, dropped their arms, and sued for quarter. the fomorian druids and men of learning next came to luga to ask him to spare their lives; and luga answered them-- "so far am i from wishing to slay you, that in truth, if you had taken the whole fomorian race under your protection, i would have spared them." and after this, bres, the son of balor, returned to his own country with his druids, and with those of his army who had escaped from the battle. footnotes: [xxxvii.] _ath-luan_, now athlone; _ros-coman_, now roscommon; _moy-lurg_, a plain in the county roscommon; curlieu hills, a range of hills near boyle, in roscommon; kesh-corran, a well-known mountain in sligo. the "great plain of the assembly" must have been near ballysodare, in sligo. [xxxviii.] a usual form of oath among the ancient irish. (see, for an account of this oath, the author's "origin and history of irish names of places," series ii. chap. xiv.) chapter iv. the eric-fine on the sons of turenn for the slaying of kian. towards the close of the day, when the battle was ended, luga espied two of his near friends; and he asked them if they had seen his father, kian, in the fight. and when they answered, "no," luga said-- "my father is not alive; for if he lived he would surely have come to help me in the battle. and now i swear that neither food nor drink will i take till i have found out who has slain him, and the manner of his death." then luga set out with a small chosen band of the fairy host, and he halted not till he reached the place where he had parted from his father. and from that he travelled on to the plain of murthemna, where kian had been forced to take the shape of a pig to avoid the sons of turenn, and where they had slain him. when he had come near to the very spot, he walked some little way before his companions, and the stones of the earth spoke beneath his feet, and said-- "here thy father lies, o luga. grievous was kian's strait when he was forced to take the shape of a pig on seeing the three sons of turenn; and here they slew him in his own shape!" the blood that they spilled, the hero they killed, shall darken their lives till their doom be fulfilled! luga stood for a while silent, pondering on these words. but as his companions came up, he told them what had happened; and having pointed out the spot from which the voice came, he caused the ground to be dug up. there they found the body, and raised it to the surface; and when they had examined it, they saw that it was covered all over with gory wounds and bruises. then luga spoke after a long silence, "a cruel and merciless death has my beloved father suffered at the hands of the sons of turenn!" he kissed his father's face three times, and again spoke, grieving, "ill fare the day on which my father was slain! woful is this deed to me, for my eyes see not, my ears hear not, and my heart's pulse has ceased to beat, for grief. why, o ye gods whom i worship, why was i not present when this deed was done? alas! an evil thing has happened, for the dedannans have slain their brother dedannan. ill shall they fare of this fratricide, for its consequences shall follow them, and long shall the crime of brother against brother continue to be committed in erin!" and he spoke this speech-- a dreadful doom my father found on that ill-omened even-tide; and here i mourn beside the mound, where, whelmed by numbers, kian died,-- this lonely mound of evil fame, that long shall bear the hero's name! alas! an evil deed is done, and long shall erin rue the day: there shall be strife 'twixt sire and son, and brothers shall their brothers slay; vengeance shall smite the murderers too, and vengeance all their race pursue! the light has faded from mine eyes; my youthful strength and power have fled weary my heart with ceaseless sighs; ambition, hope, and joy are dead; and all the world is draped in gloom-- the shadow of my father's tomb! then they placed the hero again in the grave, and they raised a tomb over him with his name graved in ogam;[xxxix.] after which his lamentation lays were sung, and his funeral games were performed. when these rites were ended, luga said to his people, "go ye now to tara, where the king of erin sits on his throne with the dedannans around him; but do not make these things known till i myself have told them." so luga's people went straightway to tara, as he had bade them; but of the murder of kian they said naught. luga himself arrived some time after, and was received with great honour, being put to sit high over the others, at the king's side; for the fame of his mighty deeds at the battle of the assembly plain had been noised over the whole country, and had come to the ears of the king. after he was seated, he looked round the hall, and saw the sons of turenn in the assembly. now these three sons of turenn exceeded all the champions in tara, in comeliness of person, in swiftness of foot, and in feats of arms; and, next to luga himself, they were the best and bravest in the battles against the fomorians; wherefore they were honoured by the king beyond most others. luga asked the king that the chain of silence[xl.] should be shaken; and when it was shaken, and when all were listening in silence, he stood up and spoke-- "i perceive, ye nobles of the dedannan race, that you have given me your attention, and now i have a question to put to each man here present: what vengeance would you take of the man who should knowingly and of design kill your father?" they were all struck with amazement on hearing this, and the king of erin said-- "what does this mean? for that your father has not been killed, this we all know well!" "my father has indeed been killed," answered luga; "and i see now here in this hall those who slew him. and furthermore, i know the manner in which they put him to death, even as they know it themselves." the sons of turenn, hearing all this, said nothing; but the king spoke aloud and said-- "if any man should wilfully slay my father, it is not in one hour or in one day i would have him put to death; but i would lop off one of his members each day, till i saw him die in torment under my hands!" all the nobles said the same, and the sons of turenn in like manner. "the persons who slew my father are here present, and are joining with the rest in this judgment," said luga; "and as the dedannans are all now here to witness, i claim that the three who have done this evil deed shall pay me a fitting eric-fine for my father. should they refuse, i shall not indeed transgress the king's law nor violate his protection; but of a certainty they shall not leave this hall of micorta[xli.] till the matter is settled." and the king of erin said, "if i had killed your father, i should be well content if you were willing to accept an eric-fine from me." now the sons of turenn spoke among themselves; and ur and urcar said, "it is of us luga speaks this speech. he has doubtless found out that we slew his father; and it is better that we now acknowledge the deed, for it will avail us naught to hide it." brian, however, at first set his face against this, saying that he feared luga only wanted an acknowledgment from them in presence of the other dedannans, and that afterwards he might not accept a fine. but the other two were earnest in pressing him, so that he consented, and then he spoke to luga-- "it is of us thou speakest all these things, luga; for it has been said that we three have been at enmity with the three sons of canta. now, as to the slaying of thy father kian, let that matter rest; but we are willing to pay an eric-fine for him, even as if we had killed him." "i shall accept an eric-fine from you," said luga, "though ye indeed fear i shall not. i shall now name before this assembly the fine i ask, and if you think it too much, i shall take off a part of it. "the first part of my eric-fine is three apples; the second part is the skin of a pig; the third is a spear; the fourth, two steeds and a chariot; the fifth, seven pigs; the sixth, a hound-whelp; the seventh, a cooking-spit; and the eighth, three shouts on a hill. that is my eric," said luga; "and if ye think it too much, say so now, that i may remit a part; but if not, then it will be well that ye set about paying it." "so far," said brian, "we do not deem it too great. it seems, indeed, so small that we fear there is some hidden snare in what you ask, which may work us mischief." "i do not deem my eric too small," said luga; "and now i engage here, before the assembled dedannans, that i will ask no more, and that i will seek no further vengeance for my father's death. but, as i have made myself answerable to them for the faithful fulfilment of my promise, i demand the same guarantee from you, that you also be faithful to me." "alas that you should doubt our plighted word!" said the sons of turenn. "are we not ourselves sufficient guarantee for the payment of an eric-fine greater even than this?" "i do not deem your word sufficient guarantee," answered luga; "for often have we known great warriors like you to promise a fine before all the people, and afterwards to go back of their promise." and the sons of turenn consented, though unwillingly, for they grieved that their word should be doubted. so they bound themselves on either side--luga not to increase his claims; and the sons of turenn, on their part, to pay him the full fine. and the king of erin and bove derg, son of the dagda, and the nobles of the dedannans in general, were witnesses and sureties of this bond. then luga stood up and said, "it is now time that i give you a full knowledge of this eric-fine. "the three apples i ask are the apples of the garden of hisberna,[xlii.] in the east of the world, and none others will i have. there are no apples in the rest of the world like them, for their beauty and for the secret virtues they possess. their colour is the colour of burnished gold; they have the taste of honey; and if a wounded warrior or a man in deadly sickness eat of them, he is cured immediately. and they are never lessened by being eaten, being as large and perfect at the end as at the beginning. moreover any champion that possesses one of them may perform with it whatsoever feat he pleases, by casting it from his hand, and the apple will return to him of itself. and though you are three brave warriors, ye sons of turenn, methinks you will not find it easy to bring away these apples; for it has been long foretold that three young champions from the island of the west would come to take them by force, so that the king has set guards to watch for your coming. "the pig's skin i seek from you belongs to tuis, the king of greece. when the pig was alive, every stream of water through which she walked was turned into wine for nine days, and all sick and wounded people that touched her skin were at once cured, if only the breath of life remained. now the king's druids told him that the virtue lay, not in the pig herself, but in her skin; so the king had her killed and skinned, and he has her skin now. this, too, ye valiant champions, is a part of my eric-fine which you will find it hard to get, either by force or by friendship. "the spear i demand from you is the venomed spear of pezar, king of persia. its name is slaughterer. in time of peace, its blazing, fiery head is always kept in a great caldron of water, to prevent it from burning down the king's palace; and in time of war, the champion who bears it to the battle-field can perform any deed he pleases with it. and it will be no easy matter to get this spear from the king of persia. "the two steeds and the chariot belong to dobar, king of sigar.[xliii.] the chariot exceeds all the chariots in the world for beauty of shape and goodliness of workmanship. the two noble steeds have no equal for strength and fleetness, and they travel with as much ease on sea as on land. "the seven pigs i demand are the pigs of asal, the king of the golden pillars. whoever eats a part of them shall not suffer from ill health or disease; and even though they should be killed and eaten to-day, they will be alive and well to-morrow. "the hound-whelp belongs to the king of iroda,[xliv.] and his name is failinis. he shines as brightly as the sun in a summer sky; and every wild beast of the forest that sees him falls down to the earth powerless before him. "the cooking-spit belongs to the warlike women of the island of fincara. they are thrice fifty in number, and woe to the champion who approaches their house; for each of them is a match for three good warriors in single combat; and they never yet gave a cooking-spit to any one without being overcome in battle. "the hill on which i require you to give three shouts is the hill of midkena, in the north of lochlann.[ ] midkena and his sons are always guarding this hill, for they are under gesa[ ] not to allow any one to shout on it. moreover, it was they that instructed my father in championship and feats of arms, and they loved him very much; so that even if i should forgive you his death they would not. and, though you should be able to procure all the rest of the eric-fine, you will not, i think, succeed in this, for they will be sure to avenge on you my father's death. "and this, ye sons of turenn, is the eric-fine i demand from you!" footnotes: [xxxix.] a kind of writing. (see note, page .) [xl.] chain of silence; a chain, probably hung with little bells, which the lord of a mansion shook when he wished to get silence and attention. [xli.] mic[=o]'rta; the name of the great banqueting hall of tara, the ruins of which are to be seen to this day. [xlii.] the garden of the hesperides. [xliii.] sigar, _i.e._ sicily. [xliv.] iroda was the name given by the irish to some country in the far north of europe, probably norway. chapter v. the sons of turenn obtain mannanan's canoe, "the wave-sweeper." the sons of turenn were so astounded on hearing this eric-fine that they spoke not one word; but rising up, they left the meeting, and repaired to the house of their father turenn. he heard their story to the end, and then said, "your tidings are bad, my sons, and i fear me you are doomed to meet your death in seeking what the ildana asks. but the doom is a just one, for it was an evil thing to kill kian. now as to this eric-fine: it cannot be obtained by any living man without the help of either luga himself or of mannanan mac lir;[ ] but if luga wishes to aid you, ye shall be able to get it. go ye now, therefore, and ask him to lend you mannanan's steed, enbarr of the flowing mane. if he wishes you to get the full eric-fine, he will lend you the steed; otherwise he will refuse, saying that she does not belong to him, and that he cannot lend what he himself has got on loan. then, if ye obtain not the steed, ask him for the loan of mannanan's canoe, the wave-sweeper, which would be better for you than the steed; and he will lend you that, for he is forbidden to refuse a second request." so the sons of turenn returned to luga, and having saluted him, they said-- "it is not in the power of any man to obtain this eric-fine without thy own aid, o luga; we ask thee, therefore, to lend us mannanan's steed, enbarr of the flowing mane." "that steed is not my own," said luga; "and i cannot lend that which i have myself obtained on loan." "if that be so," said brian, "then i pray thee lend us mannanan's canoe, the wave-sweeper." "i shall lend you that," replied luga; "it lies at bruga of the boyne;[xlv.] and ye have my consent to take it." so they came again to their father, and this time ethnea, their sister, was with him; and they told them that luga had given them the canoe. "i have much fear," said turenn, "that it will avail you little against the dangers of your quest. nevertheless, luga desires to obtain that part of the eric that will be useful to him at the battle of moytura,[ ] and so far he will help you. but in seeking that which is of no advantage to him, namely, the cooking-spit, and the three shouts on midkena's hill, therein he will give you no aid, and he will be glad if ye perish in your attempts to obtain it." they then set out for bruga of the boyne, accompanied by their sister ethnea, leaving turenn lamenting after them. the canoe they found lying in the river; and brian went into it and said-- "it seems to me that only one other person can sit here along with me;" and he began to complain very bitterly of its smallness. he ceased, however, at the bidding of ethnea, who told him that the canoe would turn out large enough when they came to try it, and that it was under strict command not to let any one grumble at its smallness. and she went on to say-- "alas, my beloved brothers, it was an evil deed to slay the father of luga of the long arms! and i fear you will suffer much woe and hardship on account of it." ethnea. the deed was a dark one, a deed full of woe, your brother dedannan to slay; and hard and relentless the heart of your foe, the bright-faced ildana, that forced you to go, this eric of vengeance to pay! the brothers. oh, cease, sister ethnea, cease thy sad wail; why yield to this terror and gloom? long, long shall the poets remember the tale, for our courage and valour and swords shall prevail, or win us a glorious tomb! ethnea. then search ye, my brothers, go search land and sea; go search ye the isles of the east.-- alas, that the cruel ildana's decree has banished my three gentle brothers from me, on this fearful and perilous quest! footnotes: [xlv.] bruga of the boyne, the palace of angus, the great dedannan magician, was situated on the north shore of the boyne, not far from slane. (see note at end.) chapter vi. the apples of the garden of hisberna. after this the three brothers entered the canoe, which they now found large enough to hold themselves and their arms, and whatsoever else they wished to bring; for this was one of its secret gifts. they then bade their sister farewell, and, leaving her weeping on the shore, they rowed swiftly till they had got beyond the beautiful shores and bright harbours of erin, out on the open sea. then the two younger brothers said, "now our quest begins: what course shall we take?" brian answered, "as the apples are the first part of the fine, we shall seek them first." and then he spoke to the canoe, "thou canoe of mannanan, thou sweeper of the waves, we ask thee and we command thee, that thou sail straightway to the garden of hisberna!" the canoe was not unmindful of the voice of its master, and obeyed the command without delay, according to its wont. it took the shortest way across the deep sea-chasms, and, gliding over the green-sided waves more swiftly than the clear, cold wind of march, it stayed not in its course till it reached the harbour near the land of hisberna. brian now spoke to his brothers, "be sure that this quest is a perilous one, since we know that the best champions of the country, with the king at their head, are always guarding the apples. and now in what manner, think you, is it best for us to approach the garden?" "it seems to us," answered his brothers, "that we had better go straight and attack these champions, and either bring away the apples, or fall fighting for them. for we cannot escape the dangers that lie before us; and if we are doomed to fall in one of these adventures, it may, perchance, be better for us to die here than to prolong our hardships." but brian answered, "not so, my brothers; for it becomes a warrior to be prudent and wary as well as brave. we should now act so that the fame of our skill and valour may live after us, and that future men may not say, 'these sons of turenn did not deserve to be called brave champions, for they were senseless and rash, and sought their own death by their folly.' in the present case, then, what i counsel is this: let us take the shape of strong, swift hawks; and as we approach the garden, have ye care of the light, sharp lances of the guards, which they will certainly hurl at us: avoid them actively and cunningly, and when the men have thrown all, let us swoop down and bring away an apple each." they approved this counsel; and brian, striking his two brothers and himself with a druidical magic wand, all three were changed into three beautiful hawks. then, flying swiftly to the garden, they began to descend in circles towards the tops of the trees; but the sharp-eyed guards perceived them, and with a great shout they threw showers of venomous darts at them. the hawks, however, mindful of brian's warning, watched the spears with keen glances, and escaped them every one, until the guards had thrown all their light weapons. then, swooping suddenly down on the trees, the two younger brothers carried off an apple each, and brian two, one between his talons and the other in his beak; and the three rose again into the air without wound or hurt of any kind. then, directing their course westward, they flew over the wide sea with the speed of an arrow. the news spread quickly through the city, how three beautiful hawks had carried off the apples; and the king and his people were in great wrath. now the king had three daughters, very skilful in magic and cunning in counsel; and they forthwith transformed themselves into three swift-winged, sharp-taloned griffins, and pursued the hawks over the sea. but the hawks, when they saw they were pursued, increased their speed, and flew like the wind, and left their pursuers so far behind that they appeared to the griffins like three specks on the sky. then the angry griffins let fly from their eyes, and from their open beaks, bright flashes of flame straight forward, which overtook and blinded the hawks, and scorched them, so that they could bear the heat no longer. "evil is our state now," said ur and urcar, "for these sheets of flame are burning us, and we shall perish if we do not get relief." "i will try whether i cannot relieve you," said brian; and with that he struck his brothers and himself with his golden druidical wand; and all three were instantly turned into swans. the swans dropped down on the sea; and when the griffins saw the hawks no longer straight before them, they gave up the chase. and the sons of turenn went safely to their canoe, bringing the apples with them. chapter vii. the gifted skin of the pig. after resting a little while, they held council as to their next journey; and what they resolved on was to go to greece, to seek the skin of the pig, and to bring it away, either by consent or by force. so they went into the canoe, and brian spoke-- "thou canoe of mannanan, thou sweeper of the waves, we ask thee and we command thee that thou sail with us straightway to greece!" and the canoe, obeying as before, glided swiftly and smoothly over the waves, till the sons of turenn landed near the palace of the king of greece. "in what shape, think you, should we go to this court?" said brian. "we think it best," answered the others, "to go in our own shapes; that is to say, as three bold champions." "not so," said brian. "it seems best to me that we should go in the guise of learned poets from erin; for poets are held in much honour and respect by the great nobles of greece." "it is, indeed, hard for us to do that," answered his brothers, "for as to poems, we neither have any, nor do we know how to compose them." however, as brian would have it so, they consented, though unwillingly; and, tying up their hair after the manner of poets, they knocked at the door of the palace. the door-keeper asked who was there. "we are skilful poets from erin," said brian, "and we have come to greece with a poem for the king." the door-keeper went and gave the message. "let them be brought in," said the king, "for it is to seek a good and bountiful master whom they may serve faithfully that they have come so far from erin." the sons of turenn were accordingly led in to the banquet hall, where sat the king surrounded by his nobles; and, bowing low, they saluted him; and he saluted them in return, and welcomed them. they sat at the table among the company, and joined the feast at once, drinking and making merry like the others; and they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so grand, or a household so numerous and mirthful. at the proper time the king's poets arose, according to custom, to recite their poems and their lays for the company. and when they had come to an end, brian, speaking low, said to his brothers-- "as we have come here as poets, it is meet that we should practise the poetic art like the others; therefore now arise, and recite a poem for the king." "we have no poems," they replied, "and we do not wish to practise any art except the art we have learned and practised from our youth, namely, to fight like brave champions, and to take by valour and force of arms that which we want, if we be stronger than our enemies, or to fall in battle if they be the stronger." "that is not a pleasant way of making poetry," said brian; and with that he arose and requested attention for his poem. and when they sat listening, he said-- to praise thee, o tuis, we've come to this land: like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand: thy bounty, great monarch, shall gladden the bard; and the _imnocta-fessa_ i claim as reward. two neighbours shall war, with an o to an o; a bard unrequited--how dreadful a foe! thy bounty shall add to thy wealth and thy fame; and the _imnocta-fessa_ is all that i claim. "your poem would doubtless be thought a very good one," said the king, "if we were able to judge of it; but it is unlike all other poems i have ever heard, for i do not in the least understand its sense." "i will unfold its sense," said brian. to praise thee, o tuis, we've come to this land: like an oak among shrubs, over kings thou dost stand: "this means that as the oak excels all the other trees of the forest, so dost thou excel all the other kings of the world for greatness, nobility, and generosity. "'_imnocta-fessa._' _imnocta_ means 'skin,' and _fessa_ 'a pig.' that is to say; thou hast, o king, the skin of a pig, which i desire to get from thee as a guerdon for my poetry. two neighbours shall war, with an o to an o; a bard unrequited--how dreadful a foe! "_o_ means 'an ear;' that is to say, thou and i shall be ear to ear fighting with each other for the skin, if thou give it not of thy own free will. "and that, o king, is the sense of my poem." "thy poem would have been a very good one," said the king, "and i would have given it due meed of praise if my pig's skin had not been mentioned in it. but it is a foolish request of thine, o ferdana,[xlvi.] to ask for that skin; for, even though all the poets and men of science of erin, and all the nobles of the whole world were to demand it from me, i would refuse it. nevertheless, thou shalt not pass unrewarded, for i will give thee thrice the full of the skin of red gold--one for thyself, and one for each of thy brothers." "thy ransom is a good one, o king," said brian; "but i am a near-hearted and suspicious man, and i pray thee let me see with my eyes thy servants measure the gold, lest they deal unfairly with me." the king agreed to this; so his servants went with the three sons of turenn to the treasure-room, and one of them drew forth the skin from its place, to measure the gold. as soon as brian caught sight of it, he sprang suddenly towards the servant, and, dashing him to the ground with his right hand, he snatched the skin with his left, and bound it hastily over his shoulders. then the three drew their keen swords, and rushed into the banquet hall. the king's nobles, seeing how matters stood, surrounded and attacked them; but the sons of turenn, nothing daunted by the number of their foes, hewed down the foremost and scattered the rest, so that scarce one of the whole party escaped death or deadly wounds. then at last brian and the king met face to face, nor was either slow to answer the challenge of the other. they fought as great champions fight, and it was long doubtful which should prevail; but the end of the combat was, that the king of greece fell by the overpowering valour of brian, the son of turenn. after this victory, the three brothers rested in the palace till they had regained their strength, and healed up their wounds by means of the apples and the pig's skin; and at the end of three days and three nights they found themselves able to undertake the next adventure. footnotes: [xlvi.] ferdana, a poet; literally, "a man of verse." chapter viii. the blazing spear of the king of persia. so, after holding council, they resolved to go to seek the spear of the king of persia; and brian reminded his brothers that now, as they had the apples and the skin to aid them, it would be all the easier to get the spear, as well as the rest of the fine. leaving now the shores of greece with all its blue streams, they went on board the canoe, which, at brian's command, flew across the wide seas; and soon they made land near the palace of pezar, king of persia. and seeing how they had fared so well in their last undertaking, they resolved to put on the guise of poets this time also. and so they put the poet's tie on their hair, and, passing through the outer gate, they knocked at the door of the palace. the door-keeper asked who they were, and from what country they had come. "we are poets from erin," answered brian; "and we have brought a poem for the king." so they were admitted and brought to the presence of the king, who seated them among the nobles of his household; and they joined in the drinking and the feasting and the revelry. the king's poets now arose, and chanted their songs for the king and his guests. and when the applause had ceased, brian, speaking softly, said to his brothers-- "arise, now, and chant a poem for the king." but they answered, "ask us not to do that which we are unable to do; but if you wish us to exercise the art we have learned from our youth, we shall do so, namely, the art of fighting and overcoming our foes." "that would be an unusual way of reciting poetry," said brian; "but i have a poem for the king, and i shall now chant it for him." so saying, he stood up; and when there was silence, he recited this poem-- in royal state may pezar ever reign, like some vast yew tree, monarch of the plain; may pezar's mystic javelin, long and bright, bring slaughter to his foes in every fight! when pezar fights and shakes his dreadful spear, whole armies fly and heroes quake with fear: what shielded foe, what champion can withstand, the blazing spear in mighty pezar's hand! "your poem is a good one," said the king; "but one thing in it i do not understand, namely, why you make mention of my spear." "because," answered brian, "i wish to get that spear as a reward for my poem." "that is a very foolish request," said the king, "for no man ever escaped punishment who asked me for my spear. and as to your poetry, the highest reward i could now bestow on you, and the greatest favour these nobles could obtain for you, is that i should spare your life." thereupon brian and his brothers started up in great wrath and drew their swords, and the king and his chiefs drew their swords in like manner; and they fought a deadly fight. but brian at last, drawing forth one of his apples, and taking sure aim, cast it at the king and struck him on the forehead; so that pezar fell, pierced through the brain. after this brian fought on more fiercely than before, dealing destruction everywhere around him; but when the chiefs saw that their king had fallen, they lost heart and fled through the doors, till at length none remained in the banquet hall but the three sons of turenn. then they went to the room where the spear was kept; and they found it with its head down deep in a great caldron of water, which hissed and bubbled round it. and brian, seizing it boldly in his hand, drew it forth; after which the three brothers left the palace and went to their canoe. chapter ix. the chariot and steeds of the king of sigar. resting now for some days from their toil, they resolved to seek the steeds and chariot of the king of sigar; for this was the next part of the ildana's eric-fine. so they commanded the canoe, and the canoe, obedient to their behest, glided swiftly and smoothly over the green waves till they landed in sigar. brian bore the great, heavy, venomed spear in his hand; and the three brothers were of good heart, seeing how they had succeeded in their last quest, and that they had now three parts of the fine. "in what shape think you we should go to this court?" said brian. "how should we go," answered the others, "but in our own shapes, namely, as three hostile champions, who have come to get the chariot and steeds, either by force or by good will?" "that is not what seems best to me," said brian. "my counsel is, that we go as soldiers from erin, willing to serve for pay; and should the king take us into his service, it is likely we shall find out where the chariot and steeds are kept." his brothers having agreed to this, the three set out for the palace. it happened that the king was holding a fair-meeting on the broad, level green before the palace; and when the three warriors came near, the people made way for them. they bowed low to the king; and he asked them who they were, and from what part of the world they had come. "we are valiant soldiers from erin," they answered, "seeking for service and pay among the great kings of the world." "do you wish to enter my service?" asked the king: and they answered, "yes." so they made a covenant with each other--the king to place them in a post of honour and trust, and they to serve him faithfully, and to name their own reward. whereupon the brothers entered the ranks of the king's body-guard. they remained in the palace for a month and a fortnight, looking round and carefully noting everything; but they saw nothing of the chariot and steeds. at the end of that time brian said to his brothers-- "it fares ill with us here, my brothers; for we know nothing of the chariot and steeds at this hour, more than when we first came hither." the others said this was quite true, and asked if he meant to do anything in the matter. "this is what i think we should do," answered brian. "let us put on our travelling array, and take our arms of valour in our hands; and in this fashion let us go before the king, and tell him that unless he shows us the chariot and steeds, we shall leave his service." this they did without delay; and when they had come before the king, he asked them why they came to his presence so armed and in travelling gear. "we will tell thee of that, o king," answered brian. "we are valiant soldiers from erin, and into whatsoever lands we have travelled, we have been trusted with the secret counsels of the kings who have taken us into their service; and we have been made the guardians of their rarest jewels and of all their gifted arms of victory. but as to thee, o king, thou hast not so treated us since we came hither; for thou hast a chariot and two steeds, which exceed all the chariots and steeds in the world, and yet we have never seen them." "a small thing it is that has caused you to prepare for departure," said the king; "and there is, moreover, no need that you should leave my service; for i would have shown you those steeds the day you came, had i only known that you wished it. but ye shall see them now; for i have never had in my service soldiers from a distant land, in whom i and my people have placed greater trust than we have placed in you." he then sent for the steeds, and had them yoked to the chariot--those steeds that were as fleet as the clear, cold wind of march, and which travelled with equal speed on land and on sea. brian, viewing them narrowly, said aloud, "hear me, o king of sicily. we have served thee faithfully up to this time; and now we wish to name our own pay, according to the covenant thou hast made with us. the guerdon we demand is yonder chariot and steeds; these we mean to have, and we shall ask for nothing more." but the king, in great wrath, said, "foolish and luckless men! ye shall certainly die because you have dared to ask for my steeds!" and the king and his warriors drew their swords, and rushed towards the sons of turenn to seize them. they, on the other hand, were not taken unaware; and a sore fight began. and brian, watching his opportunity, sprang with a sudden bound into the chariot, and, dashing the charioteer to the ground, he seized the reins in his left hand; then, raising the venomed spear of pezar in his right, he smote the king with its fiery point in the breast, so that he fell dead. and the three brothers dealt red slaughter among the king's guards, till those who were not slain scattered and fled in all directions. so they fared in this undertaking. chapter x. the seven pigs of the king of the golden pillars. after resting till their wounds were healed, ur and urcar asked where they should go next. "we shall go," said brian, "to asal, the king of the golden pillars, to ask him for his seven pigs; for this is the next part of the ildana's eric-fine." so they set out; and the canoe brought them straightway to the land of the golden pillars, without delay and without mishap. as they drew nigh to the harbour, they saw the shore lined with men all armed. for the fame of the deeds of these great champions had begun to be noised through many lands; how they had been forced to leave erin by the hard sentence of the ildana; and how they were seeking and bearing away the most precious and gifted jewels of the world to pay the fine. wherefore the king of the golden pillars had armed his people, and had sent them to guard the harbours. the king himself came down to the beach to meet them. as soon as they had come within speaking distance, he bade them stay their course; and then he asked them, in an angry and chiding tone, if they were the three champions from erin, who had overcome and slain so many kings. brian answered, "be not displeased with us, o king for in all this matter we are not to blame. the ildana has demanded a fine which we perforce must pay; for we have promised, and the dedannans are our guarantee. if the kings to whom he sent us had given us peaceably the precious things we demanded, we would gladly have departed in peace; but as they did not, we fought against them, unwillingly indeed and overthrew them; for no one has as yet been able to withstand us." "tell me now," said the king, "what has brought you to my country?" "we have come for thy seven pigs," answered brian; "for they are a part of the fine." "and in what manner do you think ye shall get them?" asked the king. brian answered, "thou hast heard, o king, how the ildana has brought us to these straits, and we must pay him the fine, every jot, or else we shall die at the hands of our people. thou, perchance, wilt have pity on our hardships, and give us these pigs in token of kindness and friendship, and if so we shall be thankful; but if not, then we will fight for them, and either bring them away by force, after slaying thee and thy people or fall ourselves in the attempt." hearing this, the king and his people went into council; and after debating the matter at full length, they thought it best to give the pigs peaceably, seeing that no king, however powerful, had as yet been able to withstand the sons of turenn. the three champions wondered greatly when this was told to them; for in no other country had they been able to get any part of the fine without battle and hardship, and without leaving much of their blood behind them. so they were now very glad; and thanked asal and his people. the king then brought them to his palace, and gave them a kind welcome; and they were supplied with food and drink to their hearts' desire, and slept on soft, downy beds. so they rested after all their weary journeys and toils. when they arose next morning, they were brought to the king's presence, and the pigs were given to them; and brian addressed the king in these words-- the prizes we've brought to this land, we have won them in conflict and blood; but the gift we have sought at thy hand, that gift thou hast freely bestowed. the red spear rewarded our deeds, when pezar the mighty we slew; and the fight for the chariot and steeds, ah, long shall the sigarites rue! great asal! in happier days, when our deeds bring us glory and fame, green erin shall echo thy praise, and her poets shall honour thy name! chapter xi. the hound-whelp of the king of iroda. "whither do you go next, ye sons of turenn?" asked asal. "we go," answered brian, "to iroda, for failinis, the king's hound-whelp." "then grant me this boon," said the king, "namely, that ye let me go with you to iroda. for my daughter is the king's wife; and i will try to prevail on him that he give you the hound-whelp freely and without battle." this they agreed to. but the king wished that they should go in his own ship; so it was got ready, and they went on board with all their wealth; and it is not told how they fared till they reached the borders of iroda. the shores were covered with fierce, armed men, who were there by orders of the king to guard the harbour; and these men shouted at the crew, warning them to come no farther; for they knew the sons of turenn, and well they knew what they came for. asal then requested the three champions to remain where they were for a time, while he went on shore to talk with his son-in-law. accordingly he landed, and went to the king, who, after he had welcomed him, asked what had brought the sons of turenn to his country. "they have come for your hound-whelp," answered asal. and the king of iroda said, "it was an evil counsel you followed, when you came with these men to my shores; for to no three champions in the world have the gods given such strength or such good luck as that they can get my hound-whelp, either by force or by my own free will." "it will be unwise to refuse them," replied asal. "they have overpowered and slain many great kings; for they have gifted arms that no warrior, however powerful, can withstand; and behold, i have come hither to tell you what manner of men these are, that you might be advised by me, and give them your hound-whelp in peace." so he pressed him earnestly; but his words were only thrown away on the king of iroda, who spoke scornfully of the sons of turenn, and refused asal's request with wrathful words. asal, much troubled at this, went and told the sons of turenn how matters stood. and they, having without delay put on their battle-dress, and taken their arms in their hands, challenged the king of iroda and his people. then began a very fierce and bloody battle; for though nothing could stand before the sons of turenn, yet the warriors of iroda were many and very brave. so they fought till the two younger brothers became separated from brian, and he was quite surrounded. but as he wielded the dreadful spear of pezar, with its blazing, fiery point, his enemies fell back dismayed, and the ranks were broken before him, so that those who crossed his path stood in a gap of danger. at length he espied the king of iroda, where he fought hedged round by spears; and he rushed through the thick of the battle straight towards him, striking down spears and swords and men as he went. and now these two valiant warriors fought hand to hand a stout and watchful and fierce battle--for the others fell back by the king's command; and it was long before any advantage was gained on either side. but though to those who looked on, brian seemed the more wrathful of the two, yet he held back his hand, so as not to slay his foe; and this it was, indeed, that prolonged the combat, for he sought to tire out the king. at length, watching his opportunity, brian closed suddenly, and, seizing the king in his strong arms, he lifted him clean off the ground, and bore him to where asal stood. then, setting him down, he said-- "behold thy son-in-law; it would have been easier to kill him three times over than to bring him to thee once!" when the people saw their king a prisoner, they ceased fighting; and the end of all was that peace was made, and the hound-whelp was given over to the sons of turenn. then they took their leave, and left the shores of iroda in friendship with the king and with asal his father-in-law. chapter xii. return of the sons of turenn, with part of the eric-fine. now we shall speak of luga of the long arms. it was revealed to him that the sons of turenn had obtained all those parts of the fine which he wanted for the battle of moytura;[ ] but that they had not yet got the cooking-spit, or given the three shouts on midkena's hill. so he sent after them a druidical spell, which, falling on them soon after they had left iroda, caused them to forget the remaining part of the fine, and filled them with a longing desire to return to their native home. accordingly they went on board their canoe, bringing with them every part of the fine they had gotten already; and the canoe glided swiftly over the waves to erin. at this time luga was with the king at a fair-meeting on the plain before tara; and it was made known to him secretly that the sons of turenn had landed at bruga of the boyne. he left the assembly anon, telling no one; and he went direct to caher-crofinn[xlvii.] at tara, and, closing the gates and doors after him, he put on his battle array, namely, the smooth greek armour of mannanan mac lir, and the enchanted mantle of the daughter of flidas. soon after, the sons of turenn were seen approaching; and as they came forward, the multitude flocked out to meet them, gazing with wonder at the many marvellous things they had brought. when the three champions had come to the royal tent, they were joyfully welcomed by the king and by the dedannans in general; and then the king spoke kindly to them, and asked if they had brought the eric-fine. "we have obtained it after much hardship and danger," they replied; "and now we wish to know where luga is, that we may hand it over to him." the king told them that luga was at the assembly; but when they sent to search for him, he was nowhere to be found. "i can tell where he is," said brian. "it has been made known to him that we have arrived in erin, bringing with us gifted arms that none can withstand; and he has gone to one of the strongholds of tara, to avoid us, fearing we might use these venomed weapons against himself." messengers were then sent to luga to tell him that the sons of turenn had arrived, and to ask him to come forth to the meeting, that they might give him the fine. but he answered, "i will not come to the meeting yet; but go ye back, and tell the sons of turenn to give the fine to the king for me." the messengers returned with this answer; and the sons of turenn gave to the king for luga all the wonderful things they had brought, keeping, however their own arms; after which the whole company went into the palace. when luga was told how matters stood, he came to where the king and all the others were; and the king gave him the fine. then luga, looking narrowly at everything that had been given up to him, said-- "here, indeed, is an eric enough to pay for any one that ever yet was slain, or that shall be slain to the end of time. but yet there is one kind of fine that must be paid to the last farthing, namely, an eric-fine; for of this it is not lawful to hold back even the smallest part. and moreover, o king, thou and the dedannans whom i see here present, are guarantees for the full payment of my eric-fine. now i see here the three apples, and the skin of the pig, and the fiery-headed spear, and the chariot and steeds, and the seven pigs, and the hound-whelp; but where, ye sons of turenn, is the cooking-spit of the women of fincara? and i have not heard that ye have given the three shouts on midkena's hill." on hearing this, the sons of turenn fell into a faintness like the faintness before death. and when they had recovered they answered not one word, but left the assembly and went to their father's house. to him and their sister ethnea they told all that had befallen them; and how they should set out on another quest, as they had forgotten part of the eric-fine through the spells of luga. at this turenn was overwhelmed with grief; and ethnea wept in great fear and sorrow. and so they passed that night. next day, they went down to the shore, and their father and sister went with them to their ship, and bade them farewell. footnotes: [xlvii.] caher-crofinn, otherwise called rath-ree, the principal fortress at tara, the remains of which are still to be seen. chapter xiii. the cooking-spit of the women of fincara. then they went on board their ship--for they had mannanan's canoe no longer--and they sailed forth on the green billowy sea to search for the island of fincara. for a whole quarter of a year they wandered hither and thither over the wide ocean, landing on many shores and inquiring of all they met; yet they were not able to get the least tidings of the island. at last, they came across one very old man, who told them that he had heard of the island of fincara in the days of his youth; and that it lay not on the surface, but down deep in the waters, for it was sunk beneath the waves by a spell in times long past.[ ] then brian put on his water-dress, with his helmet of transparent crystal on his head, and, telling his brothers to await his return, he leaped over the side of the ship, and sank at once out of sight. he walked about for a fortnight down in the green salt sea, seeking for the island of fincara; and at last he found it. there were many houses on the island; but one he saw larger and grander than the rest. to this he straightway bent his steps, and found it open. on entering, he saw in one large room a great number of beautiful ladies, busily employed at all sorts of embroidery and needlework; and in their midst was a long, bright cooking-spit lying on a table. without speaking a word, he walked straight to the table, and, seizing the spit in one hand, he turned round and walked towards the door. the women neither spoke nor moved, but each had her eyes fixed on him from the moment he entered, admiring his manly form, his beauty, and his fearlessness; but when they saw him about to walk off with the spit, they all burst out laughing; and one, who seemed chief among them, said-- "thou hast attempted a bold deed, o son of turenn! know that there are thrice fifty warlike women here, and that the weakest among us would be able of herself to prevent thee taking this cooking-spit, even if thy two brothers were here to help thee. but thou art a brave and courageous champion, else thou wouldst not have attempted, unaided, to take it by force, knowing the danger. and for thy boldness and valour, and for the comeliness of thy person, we will let thee take this one, for we have many others besides." so brian, after thanking them, brought away the spit joyfully, and sought his ship. ur and urcar waited for brian in the same spot the whole time, and when he came not, they began to fear that he would return no more. with these thoughts they were at last about to leave the place, when they saw the glitter of his crystal helmet down deep in the water, and immediately after he came to the surface with the cooking-spit in his hand. they brought him on board, and now all felt very joyful and courageous of heart. chapter xiv. the three shouts on midkena's hill. the three brothers next sailed away towards the north of lochlann, and never abated speed till they moored their vessel near the hill of midkena, which rose smooth and green over the sea-shore. when midkena saw them approaching, he knew them at once, and, coming towards them armed for battle, he addressed them aloud-- "you it was that slew kian, my friend and pupil; and now come forth and fight, for you shall not leave these shores till you answer for his death." brian, in no degree daunted by the fierce look and threatening speech of midkena, sprang ashore, and the two heroes attacked each other with great fury. when the three sons of midkena heard the clash of arms, they came forth, and, seeing how matters stood, they rushed down to aid their father; but just as they arrived at the shore, midkena fell dead, cloven through helmet and head by the heavy sword of brian. and now a fight began, three on each side; and if men were afar off, even in the land of hisberna, in the east of the world, they would willingly come the whole way to see this battle, so fierce and haughty were the minds of those mighty champions, so skilful and active were they in the use of their weapons, so numerous and heavy were their blows, and so long did they continue to fight without either party giving way. the three sons of turenn were at last dreadfully wounded--wounded almost to death. but neither fear nor weakness did this cause them, for their valour and their fury arose all the more for their wounds, and with one mighty onset they drove their spears through the bodies of their foes; and the sons of midkena fell before them into the long sleep of death. but now that the fight was ended, and the battle-fury of the victors had passed off--now it was that they began to feel the effects of their wounds. they threw themselves full length on the blood-stained sward, and long they remained without moving or speaking a word, as if they were dead; and a heavy curtain of darkness fell over their eyes. at last brian, raising his head, spoke to his brothers to know if they lived, and when they answered him feebly, he said-- "my dear brothers, let us now arise and give the three shouts on the hill while there is time, for i feel the signs of death." but they were not able to rise. then brian, gathering all his remaining strength, stood up and lifted one with each hand, while his own blood flowed plentifully; and then they raised three feeble shouts on midkena's hill. chapter xv. return and death of the sons of turenn. making no further delay, he led them to their ship, and they set sail for erin. while they were yet far off, brian, gazing over the sea towards the west, suddenly cried out-- "lo, i see ben edar[xlviii.] yonder, rising over the waters; and i see also dun turenn farther towards the north." and ur answered from where he reclined with urcar on the deck, "if we could but get one sight of ben edar methinks we should regain our health and strength; and as thou lovest us, and as thou lovest thy own renown, my brother, come and raise our heads and rest them on thy breast, that we may see erin once more. after that, we shall welcome either life or death." ur. o brother, torch of valour, strong of hand, come, place our weary heads upon thy breast; and let us look upon our native land, before we sink to everlasting rest! brian. belovèd sons of turenn, woe is me! my wounds are deep, my day of strength is past; yet not for this i grieve, but that i see your lives, my noble brothers, ebbing fast! ur. would we could give our lives to purchase thine; ah, gladly would we die to ease thy pain! for art thou not the pride of turenn's line, the noblest champion of green erin's plain? brian. that mighty dannan healer, dianket;[xlix.] or midac, who excelled his sire in skill; the maiden-leech, armedda, mightier yet, who knew the herbs to cure, the herbs to kill: oh, were they here; or had we now at hand those gifted apples from the distant east; then might we hope to reach our native land, and live again in joy and peace and rest! ur. brother, methinks could we but see once more ben edar's slopes, or bregia's[l.] dewy plain, tailltenn,[li.] or bruga's[lii.] mystic mansion hoar, our blood would course in health and strength again. or let us once behold our father's home, or winding liffey down by ahaclee,[liii.] old frevan's hill,[liv.] or tara's[lv.] regal dome; then welcome death or life, whiche'er may be! so brian raised their heads and rested them on his breast, and they gazed on the rocky cliffs and green slopes of ben edar while the ship wafted slowly towards land. soon after this they landed on the north side of ben edar, from which they made their way slowly to dun turenn. and when they had reached the green in front of the house, brian cried out-- "father, dear father, come forth to thy children!" turenn came forth and saw his sons all wounded and pale and feeble. and brian said, "go, beloved father--go quick to tara, and quickly return. bring this cooking-spit to luga, and tell him that we have given the three shouts on midkena's hill. say that we have now paid the full eric-fine, and bring back from him the apples of the garden of hisberna, to heal our wounds, else we die." brian. father, our wounds are deadly; nought can save thy children's lives but luga's friendly hand: go, seek him, father--fare thee fast--and crave the healing apples from hisberna's land! turenn. in vain, my sons, ye seek to fly your doom; the stern ildana's mind too well i know: alas! far liefer would he see your tomb, than all the treasures all this world could show! brian. but he is just; and though his sire we slew, have we not paid full eric for the deed? the great ildana is our kinsman too, and will relent in this our time of need. then go, my father, thou art swift and strong; speed like the wind--why linger here to mourn? go straight to luga's home, nor tarry long; or, father, we shall die ere thou return! turenn set out and travelled like the wind till he reached tara, where he found luga. he gave him the cooking-spit, and said, "behold, my three sons have now paid thee the full eric-fine, for they have given the three shouts on midkena's hill. but they are wounded even unto death; and now give me, i pray thee, the apples from the garden of hisberna, to cure them, else they die." but luga refused, and turned away from turenn. turenn hastened back to his sons with a sorrowful heart, and told them that he had failed to get the apples. then brian said, "take me with thee to tara. i will see him, and perchance he may have pity on us, and give us the apples." and it was done so. but when brian begged for the apples, luga said-- "i will not give them to thee. if thou shouldst offer me the full of the whole earth of gold, i would not give them to thee. thou and thy brothers committed a wicked and pitiless deed when you slew my father. for that deed you must suffer, and with nothing short of your death shall i be content." for the blood that you spilled, for the hero you killed-- the deed is avenged, and your doom is fulfilled! brian turned away and went back to his brothers, and, lying down between them, his life departed; and his brothers died at the same moment. then their father and their sister stood hand in hand over their bodies, lamenting. and turenn spoke this lay-- oh, pulseless is my heart this woful hour, my strength is gone, my joy for ever fled; three noble champions, erin's pride and power, my three fair youths, my children, cold and dead! mild ur, the fair-haired; urcar, straight and tall; the kings of banba[lvi.] worthy both to be; and brian, bravest, noblest, best of all, who conquered many lands beyond the sea: lo, i am turenn, your unhappy sire, mourning with feeble voice above your grave; no life, no wealth, no honours i desire; a place beside my sons is all i crave! after this turenn and ethnea fell on the bodies of the three young heroes and died. and they were all buried in one grave. this is the story of the fate of the children of turenn. footnotes: [xlviii.] ben edar, now howth hill, near dublin. dun turenn, the fortress of their father turenn. [xlix.] dianket, the great dedannan physician. his son midac and his daughter armedda were still more skilful than their father. (see note at the end.) [l.] bregia, the plain lying between the liffey and the boyne. [li.] tailltenn, now teltown, on the blackwater, about midway between navan and kells, in meath. here annual meetings were held from the most ancient times, on the first of august, and for some days before and after, at which games were celebrated, like the olympic games of greece. [lii.] bruga on the boyne, where angus or mac indoc, the great dedannan enchanter, had his "mystic mansion hoar." (see note at the end.) [liii.] ahaclee, the old name of dublin. [liv.] frevan, now the hill of frewen, rising over lough owei, near mullingar, where the ancient irish kings had one of their palaces. [lv.] tara, in meath, the chief seat of the irish kings. [lvi.] banba, one of the ancient names of ireland. the overflowing of lough neagh, and the story of liban the mermaid. in the days of old a good king ruled over muman,[lvii.] whose name was marid mac carido. he had two sons, ecca and rib. ecca was restless and unruly, and in many ways displeased the king; and he told his brother rib that he had made up his mind to leave his home, and win lands for himself in some far off part of the country. rib tried hard to dissuade him; but though this delayed his departure for a while, he was none the less bent on going. at last ecca, being wrought upon by his stepmother ebliu (from whom slieve eblinne[lviii.] was afterwards named), did a grievous wrong to his father, and fled from muman with all his people; and his brother rib and his stepmother ebliu went with him. ten hundred men they were in all, besides women and children; and they turned their faces towards the north. after they had travelled for some time, their druids[ ] told them that it was not fated for them to settle in the same place; and accordingly, when they had come to the pass of the two pillar stones, they parted. rib and his people turned to the west, and they journeyed till they came to the plain of arbthenn. and there the water of a fountain burst forth over the land, and drowned them all; and a great lake was formed, which to this day is called the lake of rib.[lix.] ecca continued his journey northwards; and he and his people fared slowly on till they came near to bruga[lx.] of the boyne, the palace of mac indoc, where they were fain to rest. no sooner had they halted, than a tall man came forth from the palace, namely, angus mac indoc of the bruga, son of the dagda, and commanded them to leave the place without delay. but they, being spent with the toil of travel, heeded not his words, and, pitching their tents, they rested on the plain before the palace. whereupon angus, being wroth that his commands were unheeded, killed all their horses that night. next day, he came forth again, and he said to them, "your horses i slew last night; and now, unless ye depart from this place, i will slay your people to-night." and ecca said to him, "much evil hast thou done to us already, for thou hast killed all our horses. and now we cannot go, even though we desire it, for without horses we cannot travel." then angus brought to them a very large horse in full harness, and they put all their goods on him. and when they were about to go, he said to them-- "beware that ye keep this great steed walking continually; not even a moment's rest shall ye give him, otherwise he will certainly be the cause of your death."[ ] after this they set out again, on a sunday in the mid-month of autumn, and travelled on till they reached the plain of the grey copse,[lxi.] where they intended to abide. they gathered then round the great steed to take their luggage off him, and each was busy seeing after his own property, so that they forgot to keep the horse moving. and the moment he stood still, a magic well sprang up beneath his feet.[ ] now ecca, when he saw the well spring up, was troubled, remembering angus's warning. and he caused a house to be built round it, and near it he built his palace, for the better security. and he chose a woman to take care of the well, charging her strictly to keep the door locked, except when the people of the palace came for water. after that the king of ulad,[lxii.] that is to say, muridach, the son of fiaca findamnas (who was grandson of conal carna of the red branch[ ]) came against ecca to drive him forth from ulad. but ecca made a stout fight, so that he won the lordship of half of ulad from muridach. and after that his people settled down on the plain of the grey copse. now ecca had two daughters, ariu and liban, of whom ariu was the wife of curnan the simpleton. and curnan went about among the people, foretelling that a lake would flow over them from the well, and urging them earnestly to make ready their boats. come forth, come forth, ye valiant men; build boats, and build ye fast! i see the water surging out, a torrent deep and vast; i see our chief and all his host o'erwhelmed beneath the wave; and ariu, too, my best beloved, alas! i cannot save. but liban east and west shall swim long ages on the ocean's rim, by mystic shores and islets dim, and down in the deep sea cave! and he ceased not to warn all he met, repeating this verse continually; but the people gave no heed to the words of the simpleton. now the woman who had charge of the well, on a certain occasion forgot to close the door, so that the spell was free to work evil. and immediately the water burst forth over the plain, and formed a great lake, namely the lake of the copse. and ecca and all his family and all his folk were drowned, save only his daughter liban, and conang, and curnan the simpleton. and they buried ariu, and raised a mound over her, which is called from her carn-arenn. of conang nothing more is told. but as to curnan, he died of grief after his wife ariu; and he was buried in a mound, which is called carn-curnan to this day in memory of him. and thus the great lake of the copse was formed, which is now called lough necca,[lxiii.] in memory of ecca, the son of marid. and it was the overflow of this lake which, more than all other causes, scattered the ultonians over erin. now as to liban. she also was swept away like the others; but she was not drowned. she lived for a whole year with her lap-dog, in her chamber beneath the lake, and god protected her from the water. at the end of the year she was weary; and when she saw the speckled salmon swimming and playing all round her, she prayed and said-- "o my lord, i wish i were a salmon, that i might swim with the others through the clear green sea!" and at the words she took the shape of a salmon, except her face and breast, which did not change. and her lap-dog was changed to an otter, and attended her afterwards whithersoever she went, as long as she lived in the sea. and so she remained swimming about from sea to sea for three hundred years; that is to say, from the time of ecca, the son of marid, to the time of comgall of bangor.[ ] now on one occasion, comgall sent beoc, the son of indli, from bangor to rome, to talk with gregory[lxiv.] concerning some matters of order and rule. and when beoc's curragh[ ] was sailing over the sea, he and his crew heard sweet singing in the waters beneath them, as it were the chanting of angels. and beoc, having listened for a while, looked down into the water, and asked what the chant was for, and who it was that sang. and liban answered, "i am liban, the daughter of ecca, son of marid; and it is i who sang the chant thou hast heard." "why art thou here?" asked beoc. and she replied, "lo, i have lived for three hundred years beneath the sea; and i have come hither to fix a day and a place of meeting with thee. i shall now go westward; and i beseech thee, for the sake of the holy men of dalaradia,[lxv.] to come to inver ollarba[lxvi.] to meet me, on this same day at the end of a year. say also to comgall and to the other holy men of bangor, all that i say to thee. come with thy boats and thy fishing-nets, and thou shalt take me from the waters in which i have lived." "i shall not grant thee the boon thou askest," said beoc, "unless thou give me a reward." "what reward dost thou seek?" asked liban. "that thou be buried in one grave with me in my own monastery," answered beoc. "that shall be granted to thee," said liban. beoc then went on his way to rome. and when he had returned, he related to comgall and to the other saints of the monastery at bangor, the story of the mermaid. and now the end of the year was nigh. then they made ready their nets, and on the day appointed they went in their boats to inver ollarba, a goodly company of the saints of erin. and liban was caught in the net of fergus of miluc:[lxvii.] and her head and shoulders were those of a maiden, but she had the body of a fish. now the boat in which she was brought to land was kept half full of sea water, in which she remained swimming about. and many came to see her; and all were filled with wonder when they saw her strange shape and heard her story. among the rest came the chief of the tribe of hua-conang, wearing a purple cloak; and she kept gazing at him earnestly. the young chief, seeing this, said to her-- "dost thou wish to have this cloak? if so, i will give it to thee willingly." but she answered, "not so: i desire not thy cloak. but it brings to my mind my father ecca; for on the day he was drowned, he wore a cloak of purple like thine. but may good luck be on thee for thy gentleness, and on him who shall come after thee in thy place; and in every assembly where thy successor sits, may he be known to all without inquiry." after that there came up a large-bodied, dark-visaged, fierce hero, and killed her lap-dog. whereupon she was grieved; and she told him that the heroism of himself and his tribe should be stained by the baseness of their minds, and that they should not be able to defend themselves against injuries till they should do penance, by fasting, for her sake. then the warrior repented what he had done, and humbled himself before her. and now there arose a contention about her, as to whom she should belong. comgall said she was his, forasmuch as she was caught in his territory. but fergus urged that she belonged to him by right, as it was in his net she was taken. and beoc said he had the best right of all to her, on account of the promise she had made to him. and as no one could settle the dispute, these three saints fasted and prayed that god would give a judgment between them, to show who should own liban. and an angel said to one of the company, "two wild oxen will come hither to-morrow from carn-arenn, that is to say, from the grave-mound of liban's sister, ariu. yoke a chariot to them, and place the mermaid in it; and into whatsoever territory they shall bring her, she shall remain with the owner thereof." the oxen came on the morrow, as the angel had foretold. and when they were yoked, and when liban was placed in the chariot, they brought her straightway to beoc's church, namely to tec-da-beoc. then the saints gave her a choice--either to die immediately after baptism, and go to heaven; or to live on earth as long as she had lived in the sea, and then to go to heaven after these long ages. and the choice she took was to die immediately. whereupon comgall baptised her; and he gave her the name of murgen, that is, "sea-born," or murgelt, that is "mermaid." and she is counted among the holy virgins, and held in honour and reverence, as god ordained for her in heaven; and wonders and miracles are performed through her means at tec-da-beoc. footnotes: [lvii.] muman, _i.e._ munster. [lviii.] slieve eblinne, now slieve eelim or slieve phelim, in tipperary, sometimes called the twelve hills of evlinn. "eblinne" is the genitive of "ebliu." [lix.] now lough ree, on the shannon. [lx.] see note, page ; see also note at the end of the book. [lxi.] the plain of the grey copse, according to the legend, was the name of the plain now covered by lough neagh. [lxii.] ulad, _i.e._ ulster. [lxiii.] lough necca, now lough neagh. [lxiv.] gregory, _i.e._ pope gregory. [lxv.] dalaradia, the old name of a territory which included the southern half of the county antrim and a part of down. [lxvi.] inver ollarba, _i.e._ the _inver_, or mouth of the river ollarba, which was the ancient name of the larne water, in antrim. [lxvii.] miluc, or meelick, the name of an ancient ecclesiastical establishment in the county antrim. see "ecclesiastical antiquities of down, connor, and dromore" (page ), by the rev. william reeves, m.b., m.r.i.a. connla of the golden hair, and the fairy maiden. connla of the golden hair was the son of conn the hundred-fighter.[ ] one day as he stood with his father on the royal hill of usna,[lxviii.] he saw a lady a little way off, very beautiful, and dressed in strange attire. she approached the spot where he stood; and when she was near, he spoke to her, and asked who she was, and from what place she had come. the lady replied, "i have come from the land of the living[ ]--a land where there is neither death nor old age, nor any breach of law. the inhabitants of earth call us aes-shee,[ ] for we have our dwellings within large, pleasant, green hills. we pass our time very pleasantly in feasting and harmless amusements, never growing old; and we have no quarrels or contentions." the king and his company marvelled very much; for though they heard this conversation, no one saw the lady except connla alone. "who is this thou art talking to, my son?" said the king. and anon she answered for the youth, "connla is speaking with a lovely, noble-born young lady, who will never die, and who will never grow old. i love connla of the golden hair, and i have come to bring him with me to moy-mell,[ ] the plain of never-ending pleasure. on the day that he comes with me he shall be made king; and he shall reign for ever in fairyland, without weeping and without sorrow. come with me, o gentle connla of the ruddy cheek, the fair, freckled neck, and the golden hair! come with me, beloved connla, and thou shalt retain the comeliness and dignity of thy form, free from the wrinkles of old age, till the awful day of judgment!" thy flowing golden hair, thy comely face, thy tall majestic form of peerless grace, that show thee sprung from conn's exalted race. king conn the hundred-fighter, being much troubled, called then on his druid,[ ] coran, to put forth his power against the witchery of the banshee[ ]-- "o coran of the mystic arts and of the mighty incantations, here is a contest such as i have never been engaged in since i was made king at tara--a contest with an invisible lady, who is beguiling my son to fairyland by her baleful charms. her cunning is beyond my skill, and i am not able to withstand her power; and if thou, coran, help not, my son will be taken away from me by the wiles and witchery of a woman from the fairy hills." coran, the druid, then came forward, and began to chant against the voice of the lady. and his power was greater than hers for that time, so that she was forced to retire. as she was going away she threw an apple to connla, who straightway lost sight of her; and the king and his people no longer heard her voice. the king and the prince returned with their company to the palace; and connla remained for a whole month without tasting food or drink, except the apple. and though he ate of it each day, it was never lessened, but was as whole and perfect in the end as at the beginning. moreover, when they offered him aught else to eat or drink, he refused it; for while he had his apple he did not deem any other food worthy to be tasted. and he began to be very moody and sorrowful, thinking of the lovely fairy maiden. at the end of the month, as connla stood by his father's side among the nobles, on the plain of arcomin, he saw the same lady approaching him from the west. and when she had come near, she addressed him in this manner-- "a glorious seat, indeed, has connla among wretched, short-lived mortals, awaiting the dreadful stroke of death! but now, the ever-youthful people of moy-mell, who never feel old age, and who fear not death, seeing thee day by day among thy friends, in the assemblies of thy fatherland, love thee with a strange love; and they will make thee king over them if thou wilt come with me." when the king heard the words of the lady, he commanded his people to call the druid again to him, saying-- "bring my druid, coran, to me; for i see that the fairy lady has this day regained the power of her voice." at this the lady said, "valiant conn, fighter of a hundred, the faith of the druids has come to little honour among the upright, mighty, numberless people of this land. when the righteous law shall be restored, it will seal up the lips of the false, black demon; and his druids shall no longer have power to work their guileful spells." now the king observed, and marvelled greatly, that whenever the lady was present, his son never spoke one word to any one, nay, even though they addressed him many times. and when the lady had ceased to speak, the king said-- "connla, my son, has thy mind been moved by the words of the lady?" connla spoke then, and replied, "father, i am very unhappy; for though i love my people beyond all, yet i am filled with sadness on account of this lady!" when connla had said this, the maiden again addressed him, and chanted these words in a very sweet voice-- the chant of the fairy maiden to connla of the golden hair. i. a land of youth, a land of rest, a land from sorrow free; it lies far off in the golden west, on the verge of the azure sea. a swift canoe of crystal bright, that never met mortal view-- we shall reach the land ere fall of night, in that strong and swift canoe: we shall reach the strand of that sunny land, from druids and demons free; the land of rest, in the golden west, on the verge of the azure sea! ii. a pleasant land of winding vales, bright streams, and verdurous plains, where summer all the live-long year, in changeless splendour reigns; a peaceful land of calm delight, of everlasting bloom; old age and death we never know, no sickness, care, or gloom; the land of youth, of love and truth, from pain and sorrow free; the land of rest, in the golden west, on the verge of the azure sea! iii. there are strange delights for mortal men in that island of the west; the sun comes down each evening in its lovely vales to rest; and though far and dim on the ocean's rim it seems to mortal view, we shall reach its halls ere the evening falls, in my strong and swift canoe; and ever more that verdant shore our happy home shall be; the land of rest, in the golden west, on the verge of the azure sea! iv. it will guard thee, gentle connla of the flowing golden hair, it will guard thee from the druids, from the demons of the air; my crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that western shore, where thou and i in joy and love shall live for evermore: from the druid's incantation, from his black and deadly snare, from the withering imprecation of the demon of the air, it will guard thee, gentle connla of the flowing golden hair: my crystal boat will guard thee, till we reach that silver strand where thou shalt reign in endless joy, the king of the fairy-land! [lxix.] when the maiden had ended her chant, connla suddenly walked away from his father's side, and sprang into the curragh, the gleaming, straight-gliding, strong, crystal canoe. the king and his people saw them afar off and dimly, moving away over the bright sea towards the sunset. they gazed sadly after them, till they lost sight of the canoe over the utmost verge; and no one can tell whither they went, for connla was never again seen in his native land. footnotes: [lxviii.] hill of usna. (see note, page .) [lxix.] this is an expansion, rather than a translation, of the original, which is very short, and in some places very obscure. the voyage of maildun. an account of the adventures of maildun and his crew, and of the wonderful things they saw during their voyage of three years and seven months, in their curragh,[ ] on the western sea. chapter i. maildun's childhood and youth. he begins his voyage in quest of the plunderers who slew his father. there was once an illustrious man of the tribe of owenaght[lxx.] of ninus, allil ocar aga by name, a goodly hero, and lord of his own tribe and territory. one time, when he was in his house unguarded, a fleet of plunderers landed on the coast, and spoiled his territory. the chief fled for refuge to the church of dooclone; but the spoilers followed him thither, slew him, and burned the church over his head. not long after allil's death, a son was born to him. the child's mother gave him the name of maildun; and, wishing to conceal his birth, she brought him to the queen of that country, who was her dear friend. the queen took him to her, and gave out that he was her own child, and he was brought up with the king's sons, slept in the same cradle with them, and was fed from the same breast and from the same cup. he was a very lovely child; and the people who saw him thought it doubtful if there was any other child living at the time equally beautiful. as he grew up to be a young man, the noble qualities of his mind gradually unfolded themselves. he was high-spirited and generous, and he loved all sorts of manly exercises. in ball-playing, in running and leaping, in throwing the stone, in chess-playing, in rowing, and in horse-racing, he surpassed all the youths that came to the king's palace, and won the palm in every contest. one day, when the young men were at their games, a certain youth among them grew envious of maildun; and he said, in an angry and haughty tone of voice-- "it is a cause of much shame to us that we have to yield in every game, whether of skill or of strength, whether on land or on water, to an obscure youth, of whom no one can tell who is his father or his mother, or what race or tribe he belongs to." on hearing this, maildun ceased at once from play; for until that moment he believed that he was the son of the king of the owenaght, and of the queen who had nursed him. and going anon to the queen, he told her what had happened; and he said to her-- "if i am not thy son, i will neither eat nor drink till thou tell me who my father and mother are." she tried to soothe him, and said, "why do you worry yourself searching after this matter? give no heed to the words of this envious youth. am i not a mother to you? and in all this country, is there any mother who loves her son better than i love you?" he answered, "all this is quite true; yet i pray thee let me know who my parents are." the queen then, seeing that he would not be put off, brought him to his mother, and put him into her hands. and when he had spoken with her, he asked her to tell him who his father was. "you are bent on a foolish quest, my child," she said; "for even if you knew all about your father, the knowledge would bring neither advantage nor happiness to you; for he died before you were born." "even so," he replied, "i wish to know who he was." so his mother told him the truth, saying, "your father was allil ocar aga, of the tribe of owenaght of ninus." maildun then set out for his father's territory; and his three foster brothers, namely, the king's three sons, who were noble and handsome youths like himself, went with him. when the people of his tribe found out that the strange youth was the son of their chief, whom the plunderers had slain years before, and when they were told that the three others were the king's sons, they gave them all a joyful welcome, feasting them, and showing them much honour; so that maildun was made quite happy, and soon forgot all the abasement and trouble he had undergone. some time after this, it happened that a number of young people were in the churchyard of dooclone--the same church in which maildun's father had been slain--exercising themselves in casting a hand-stone. the game was to throw the stone clear over the charred roof of the church that had been burned; and maildun was there contending among the others. a foul-tongued fellow named brickna, a servant of the people who owned the church, was standing by; and he said to maildun-- "it would better become you to avenge the man who was burned to death here, than to be amusing yourself casting a stone over his bare, burnt bones." "who was he?" inquired maildun. "allil ocar aga, your father," replied the other. "who slew him?" asked maildun. "plunderers from a fleet slew him and burned him in this church," replied brickna; "and the same plunderers are still sailing in the same fleet." maildun was disturbed and sad after hearing this. he dropped the stone that he held in his hand, folded his cloak round him, and buckled on his shield. and he left the company, and began to inquire of all he met, the road to the plunderers' ships. for a long time he could get no tidings of them; but at last some persons, who knew where the fleet lay, told him that it was a long way off, and that there was no reaching it except by sea. now maildun was resolved to find out these plunderers, and to avenge on them the death of his father. so he went without delay into corcomroe,[lxxi.] to the druid[ ] nuca, to seek his advice about building a curragh, and to ask also for a charm to protect him, both while building it, and while sailing on the sea afterwards. the druid gave him full instructions. he told him the day he should begin to build his curragh, and the exact day on which he was to set out on his voyage; and he was very particular about the number of the crew, which, he said, was to be sixty chosen men, neither more nor less. so maildun built a large triple-hide curragh,[ ] following the druid's directions in every particular, chose his crew of sixty, among whom were his two friends, germane and diuran lekerd; and on the day appointed put out to sea. when he had got only a very little way from the land, he saw his three foster brothers running down to the shore, signalling and calling out to him to return and take them on board; for they said they wished to go with him. "we shall not turn back," said maildun; "and you cannot come with us; for we have already got our exact number." "we will swim after you in the sea till we are drowned, if you do not return for us," replied they; and so saying, the three plunged in and swam after the curragh. when maildun saw this, he turned his vessel towards them, and took them on board rather than let them be drowned. footnotes: [lxx.] there were several tribes named owenaght in the south of ireland. this particular tribe were called, as in the text, the owenaght of ninus, and also, according to an interlined gloss in the "book of the dun cow," the owenaght of the aras, _i.e._ of the aran islands. their territory was situated in the north-west of the county clare, opposite the islands of aran. [lxxi.] corcomroe, an ancient territory, now a barony in the north-west of the county clare. (for the meaning and history of this name, see the author's "origin and history of irish names of places," series i. part i. chapter ii.) chapter ii. the first island. tidings of the plunderers. they sailed that day and night, as well as the whole of next day, till darkness came on again; and at midnight they saw two small bare islands, with two great houses on them near the shore. when they drew near, they heard the sounds of merriment and laughter, and the shouts of revellers intermingled with the loud voices of warriors boasting of their deeds. and listening to catch the conversation, they heard one warrior say to another-- "stand off from me, for i am a better warrior than thou; it was i who slew allil ocar aga, and burned dooclone over his head; and no one has ever dared to avenge it on me. thou hast never done a great deed like that!" "now surely," said germane and diuran to maildun, "heaven has guided our ship to this place! here is an easy victory. let us now sack this house, since god has revealed our enemies to us, and delivered them into our hands!" while they were yet speaking, the wind arose, and a great tempest suddenly broke on them. and they were driven violently before the storm, all that night and a part of next day, into the great and boundless ocean; so that they saw neither the islands they had left nor any other land; and they knew not whither they were going. then maildun said, "take down your sail and put by your oars, and let the curragh drift before the wind in whatsoever direction it pleases god to lead us;" which was done. he then turned to his foster brothers, and said to them, "this evil has befallen us because we took you into the curragh, thereby violating the druid's directions; for he forbade me to go to sea with more than sixty men for my crew, and we had that number before you joined us. of a surety more evil will come of it." his foster brothers answered nothing to this, but remained silent. chapter iii. the island of the monstrous ants. for three days and three nights they saw no land. on the morning of the fourth day, while it was yet dark, they heard a sound to the north-east; and germane said-- "this is the voice of the waves breaking on the shore." as soon as it was light they saw land and made towards it. while they were casting lots to know who should go and explore the country, they saw great flocks of ants coming down to the beach, each of them as large as a foal. the people judged by their numbers, and by their eager and hungry look, that they were bent on eating both ship and crew; so they turned their vessel round and sailed quickly away. their multitudes countless, prodigious their size; were never such ants seen or heard of before. they struggled and tumbled and plunged for the prize, and fiercely the famine-fire blazed from their eyes, as they ground with their teeth the red sand of the shore! chapter iv. the terraced isle of birds. again for three days and three nights they saw no land. but on the morning of the fourth day they heard the murmur of the waves on the beach; and as the day dawned, they saw a large high island, with terraces all round it, rising one behind another. on the terraces grew rows of tall trees, on which were perched great numbers of large, bright-coloured birds. when the crew were about to hold council as to who should visit the island and see whether the birds were tame, maildun himself offered to go. so he went with a few companions; and they viewed the island warily, but found nothing to hurt or alarm them; after which they caught great numbers of the birds and brought them to their ship. a shield-shaped island, with terraces crowned, and great trees circling round and round: from the summit down to the wave-washed rocks, there are bright-coloured birds in myriad flocks-- their plumes are radiant; but hunger is keen; so the birds are killed, till the curragh is filled, and the sailors embark on the ocean green! chapter v. a monster. they sailed from this, and on the fourth day discovered a large, sandy island, on which, when they came near, they saw a huge, fearful animal standing on the beach, and looking at them very attentively. he was somewhat like a horse in shape; but his legs were like the legs of a dog; and he had great, sharp claws of a blue colour. maildun, having viewed this monster for some time, liked not his look; and, telling his companions to watch him closely, for that he seemed bent on mischief, he bade the oarsmen row very slowly towards land. the monster seemed much delighted when the ship drew nigh the shore, and gambolled and pranced about with joy on the beach, before the eyes of the voyagers; for he intended to eat the whole of them the moment they landed. "he seems not at all sorry to see us coming," said maildun; "but we must avoid him and put back from the shore." this was done. and when the animal observed them drawing off, he ran down in a great rage to the very water's edge, and digging up large, round pebbles with his sharp claws, he began to fling them at the vessel; but the crew soon got beyond his reach, and sailed into the open sea. a horrible monster, with blazing eyes, in shape like a horse and tremendous in size, awaiting the curragh, they saw; with big bony jaws and murderous claws, that filled them with terror and awe: how gleeful he dances, and bellows and prances, as near to the island they draw; expecting a feast-- the bloodthirsty beast-- with his teeth like edge of a saw: then he ran to the shore, with a deafening roar, intending to swallow them raw: but the crew, with a shout, put their vessel about, and escaped from his ravenous maw![lxxii.] chapter vi. the demon horse-race. after sailing a long distance, they came in view of a broad, flat island. it fell to the lot of germane to go and examine it, and he did not think the task a pleasant one. then his friend diuran said to him-- "i will go with you this time; and when next it falls to my lot to visit an island, you shall come with me." so both went together. they found the island very large; and some distance from the shore they came to a broad green race-course, in which they saw immense hoof-marks, the size of a ship's sail, or of a large dining-table. they found nut-shells, as large as helmets, scattered about; and although they could see no one, they observed all the marks and tokens that people of huge size were lately employed there at sundry kinds of work. seeing these strange signs, they became alarmed, and went and called their companions from the boat to view them. but the others, when they had seen them, were also struck with fear, and all quickly retired from the place and went on board their curragh. when they had got a little way from the land, they saw dimly, as it were through a mist, a vast multitude of people on the sea, of gigantic size and demoniac look, rushing along the crests of the waves with great outcry. as soon as this shadowy host had landed, they went to the green, where they arranged a horse-race. the horses were swifter than the wind; and as they pressed forward in the race, the multitudes raised a mighty shout like thunder, which reached the crew as if it were beside them. maildun and his men, as they sat in their curragh, heard the strokes of the whips and the cries of the riders; and though the race was far off, they could distinguish the eager words of the spectators:--"observe the grey horse!" "see that chestnut horse!" "watch the horse with the white spots!" "my horse leaps better than yours!" after seeing and hearing these things, the crew sailed away from the island as quickly as they were able, into the open ocean, for they felt quite sure that the multitude they saw was a gathering of demons. a spacious isle of meadowy plains, with a broad and sandy shore: two bold and trusty spies are sent, its wonders to explore. mysterious signs, strange, awful sights, now meet the wanderers' eyes: vast hoof-marks, and the traces dire of men of monstrous size: and lo! on the sea, in countless hosts, their shadowy forms expand; they pass the affrighted sailors by, and like demons they rush to land; they mount their steeds, and the race is run, in the midst of hell's uproar: then the wanderers quickly raise their sails, and leave the accursèd shore. footnotes: [lxxii.] see note, page . chapter vii. the palace of solitude. they suffered much from hunger and thirst this time, for they sailed a whole week without making land; but at the end of that time they came in sight of a high island, with a large and very splendid house on the beach near the water's edge. there were two doors--one turned inland, and the other facing the sea; and the door that looked towards the sea was closed with a great flat stone. in this stone was an opening, through which the waves, as they beat against the door every day, threw numbers of salmon into the house. the voyagers landed, and went through the whole house without meeting any one. but they saw in one large room an ornamented couch, intended for the head of the house, and in each of the other rooms was a larger one for three members of the family: and there was a cup of crystal on a little table before each couch. they found abundance of food and ale, and they ate and drank till they were satisfied, thanking god for having relieved them from hunger and thirst. aloft, high towering o'er the ocean's foam, the spacious mansion rears its glittering dome. each day the billows, through the marble door, shoot living salmon floundering on the floor. couches that lure the sailors to recline, abundant food, brown ale, and sparkling wine; tables and chairs in order duly placed, with crystal cups and golden goblets graced. but not a living soul the wanderers found; 'twas silence all and solitude profound. they eat and drink, give thanks, then hoist their sail, and skim the deep once more, obedient to the gale. chapter viii. the island of the wonderful apple tree. after leaving this, they suffered again from hunger, till they came to an island with a high hill round it on every side. a single apple tree grew in the middle, very tall and slender, and all its branches were in like manner exceedingly slender, and of wonderful length, so that they grew over the hill and down to the sea. when the ship came near the island, maildun caught one of the branches in his hand. for three days and three nights the ship coasted the island, and during all this time he held the branch, letting it slide through his hand, till on the third day he found a cluster of seven apples on the very end. each of these apples supplied the travellers with food and drink for forty days and forty nights. chapter ix. the island of bloodthirsty quadrupeds. a beautiful island next came in view, in which they saw, at a distance, multitudes of large animals shaped like horses. the voyagers, as they drew near, viewed them attentively, and soon observed that one of them opened his mouth and bit a great piece out of the side of the animal that stood next him, bringing away skin and flesh. immediately after, another did the same to the nearest of his fellows. and, in short, the voyagers saw that all the animals in the island kept worrying and tearing each other from time to time in this manner; so that the ground was covered far and wide with the blood that streamed from their sides. in needless strife they oft contend, a cruel, mutual-mangling brood; their flesh with gory tusks they rend, and crimson all the isle with blood. chapter x. an extraordinary monster. the next island had a wall all round it. when they came near the shore, an animal of vast size, with a thick, rough skin, started up inside the wall, and ran round the island with the swiftness of the wind. when he had ended his race, he went to a high point, and standing on a large, flat stone, began to exercise himself according to his daily custom, in the following manner. he kept turning himself completely round and round in his skin, the bones and flesh moving, while the skin remained at rest. when he was tired of this exercise, he rested a little; and he then began turning his skin continually round his body, down at one side and up at the other like a mill-wheel; but the bones and flesh did not move. after spending some time at this sort of work, he started and ran round the island as at first, as if to refresh himself. he then went back to the same spot, and this time, while the skin that covered the lower part of his body remained without motion, he whirled the skin of the upper part round and round like the movement of a flat-lying millstone. and it was in this manner that he spent most of his time on the island. maildun and his people, after they had seen these strange doings, thought it better not to venture nearer. so they put out to sea in great haste. the monster, observing them about to fly, ran down to the beach to seize the ship; but finding that they had got out of his reach, he began to fling round stones at them with great force and an excellent aim. one of them struck maildun's shield and went quite through it, lodging in the keel of the curragh; after which the voyagers got beyond his range and sailed away. in a wall-circled isle a big monster they found, with a hide like an elephant, leathery and bare; he threw up his heels with a wonderful bound, and ran round the isle with the speed of a hare. but a feat more astounding has yet to be told: he turned round and round in his leathery skin; his bones and his flesh and his sinews he rolled-- he was resting outside while he twisted within! then, changing his practice with marvellous skill, his carcase stood rigid and round went his hide; it whirled round his bones like the wheel of a mill-- he was resting within while he twisted outside! next, standing quite near on a green little hill, after galloping round in the very same track, while the skin of his belly stood perfectly still, like a millstone he twisted the skin of his back! but maildun and his men put to sea in their boat, for they saw his two eyes looking over the wall; and they knew by the way that he opened his throat, he intended to swallow them, curragh and all![lxxiii.] footnotes: [lxxiii.] the verse in the original is quite serious; but i could not resist the temptation to give it a humorous turn. the same observation applies to the verse at page . chapter xi. the isle of red-hot animals. not daring to land on this island, they turned away hurriedly, much disheartened, not knowing whither to turn or where to find a resting-place. they sailed for a long time, suffering much from hunger and thirst, and praying fervently to be relieved from their distress. at last, when they were beginning to sink into a state of despondency, being quite worn out with toil and hardship of every kind, they sighted land. it was a large and beautiful island, with innumerable fruit trees scattered over its surface, bearing abundance of gold-coloured apples. under the trees they saw herds of short, stout animals, of a bright red colour, shaped somewhat like pigs; but coming nearer, and looking more closely, they perceived with astonishment that the animals were all fiery, and that their bright colour was caused by the red flames which penetrated and lighted up their bodies. the voyagers now observed several of them approach one of the trees in a body, and striking the trunk all together with their hind legs, they shook down some of the apples and ate them. in this manner the animals employed themselves every day, from early morning till the setting of the sun when they retired into deep caves, and were seen no more till next morning. numerous flocks of birds were swimming on the sea, all round the island. from morning till noon, they continued to swim away from the land, farther and farther out to sea; but at noon they turned round, and from that to sunset they swam back towards the shore. a little after sunset, when the animals had retired to their caves, the birds flocked in on the island, and spread themselves over it, plucking the apples from the trees and eating them. maildun proposed that they should land on the island, and gather some of the fruit, saying that it was not harder or more dangerous for them than for the birds; so two of the men were sent beforehand to examine the place. they found the ground hot under their feet, for the fiery animals, as they lay at rest, heated the earth all around and above their caves; but the two scouts persevered notwithstanding, and brought away some of the apples. when morning dawned, the birds left the island and swam out to sea; and the fiery animals, coming forth from their caves, went among the trees as usual, and ate the apples till evening. the crew remained in their curragh all day; and as soon as the animals had gone into their caves for the night, and the birds had taken their place, maildun landed with all his men. and they plucked the apples till morning, and brought them on board, till they had gathered as much as they could stow into their vessel. chapter xii. the palace of the little cat. after rowing for a long time, their store of apples failed them, and they had nothing to eat or drink; so that they suffered sorely under a hot sun, and their mouths and nostrils were filled with the briny smell of the sea. at last they came in sight of land--a little island with a large palace on it. around the palace was a wall, white all over, without stain or flaw, as if it had been built of burnt lime, or carved out of one unbroken rock of chalk; and where it looked towards the sea it was so lofty that it seemed almost to reach the clouds. the gate of this outer wall was open, and a number of fine houses, all snowy white, were ranged round on the inside, enclosing a level court in the middle, on which all the houses opened. maildun and his people entered the largest of them, and walked through several rooms without meeting with any one. but on reaching the principal apartment, they saw in it a small cat, playing among a number of low, square, marble pillars, which stood ranged in a row; and his play was, leaping continually from the top of one pillar to the top of another. when the men entered the room, the cat looked at them for a moment, but returned to his play anon, and took no further notice of them. looking now to the room itself, they saw three rows of precious jewels ranged round the wall from one door-jamb to the other. the first was a row of brooches of gold and silver, with their pins fixed in the wall, and their heads outwards; the second, a row of torques of gold and silver; and the third, a row of great swords, with hilts of gold and silver. round the room were arranged a number of couches, all pure white and richly ornamented. abundant food of various kinds was spread on tables, among which they observed a boiled ox and a roast hog; and there were many large drinking-horns, full of good, intoxicating ale. "is it for us that this food has been prepared?" said maildun to the cat. the cat, on hearing the question, ceased from playing, and looked at him; but he recommenced his play immediately. whereupon maildun told his people that the dinner was meant for them; and they all sat down, and ate and drank till they were satisfied, after which they rested and slept on the couches. when they awoke, they poured what was left of the ale into one vessel; and they gathered the remnants of the food to bring them away. as they were about to go, maildun's eldest foster brother asked him-- "shall i bring one of those large torques away with me?" "by no means," said maildun; "it is well that we have got food and rest. bring nothing away, for it is certain that this house is not left without some one to guard it." the young man, however, disregarding maildun's advice, took down one of the torques and brought it away. but the cat followed him, and overtook him in the middle of the court, and, springing on him like a blazing, fiery arrow, he went through his body, and reduced it in a moment to a heap of ashes. he then returned to the room, and, leaping up on one of the pillars, sat upon it. maildun turned back, bringing the torque with him, and, approaching the cat, spoke some soothing words; after which he put the torque back to the place from which it had been taken. having done this, he collected the ashes of his foster brother, and, bringing them to the shore, cast them into the sea. they all then went on board the curragh, and continued their voyage, grieving for their lost companion, but thanking god for his many mercies to them. chapter xiii. an island that dyed black and white. on the morning of the third day, they came to another island, which was divided into two parts by a wall of brass running across the middle. they saw two great flocks of sheep, one on each side of the wall; and all those at one side were black, while those at the other side were white. a very large man was employed in dividing and arranging the sheep; and he often took up a sheep and threw it with much ease over the wall from one side to the other. when he threw over a white sheep among the black ones, it became black immediately; and in like manner, when he threw a black sheep over, it was instantly changed to white. the travellers were very much alarmed on witnessing these doings and maildun said-- "it is very well that we know so far. let us now throw something on shore, to see whether it also will change colour; if it does, we shall avoid the island." so they took a branch with black-coloured bark and threw it towards the white sheep, and no sooner did it touch the ground than it became white. they then threw a white-coloured branch on the side of the black sheep, and in a moment it turned black. "it is very lucky for us," said maildun, "that we did not land on the island, for doubtless our colour would have changed like the colour of the branches." so they put about with much fear, and sailed away. chapter xiv. the island of the burning river. on the third day, they came in view of a large, broad island, on which they saw a herd of gracefully shaped swine; and they killed one small porkling for food. towards the centre rose a high mountain, which they resolved to ascend, in order to view the island; and germane and diuran lekerd were chosen for this task. when they had advanced some distance towards the mountain, they came to a broad, shallow river; and sitting down on the bank to rest, germane dipped the point of his lance into the water, which instantly burned off the top, as if the lance had been thrust into a furnace. so they went no farther. on the opposite side of the river, they saw a herd of animals like great hornless oxen, all lying down; and a man of gigantic size near them: and germane began to strike his spear against his shield, in order to rouse the cattle. "why are you frightening the poor young calves in that manner?" demanded the big shepherd, in a tremendous voice. germane, astonished to find that such large animals were nothing more than calves, instead of answering the question, asked the big man where the mothers of those calves were. "they are on the side of yonder mountain," he replied. germane and diuran waited to hear no more; but, returning to their companions, told them all they had seen and heard; after which the crew embarked and left the island. chapter xv. the miller of hell. the next island they came to, which was not far off from the last, had a large mill on it; and near the door stood the miller, a huge-bodied, strong, burly man. they saw numberless crowds of men and horses laden with corn, coming towards the mill; and when their corn was ground they went away towards the west. great herds of all kinds of cattle covered the plain as far as the eye could reach, and among them many wagons laden with every kind of wealth that is produced on the ridge of the world. all these the miller put into the mouth of his mill to be ground; and all, as they came forth, went westwards. maildun and his people now spoke to the miller, and asked him the name of the mill, and the meaning of all they had seen on the island. and he, turning quickly towards them, replied in few words-- "this mill is called the mill of inver-tre-kenand, and i am the miller of hell. all the corn and all the riches of the world that men are dissatisfied with, or which they complain of in any way, are sent here to be ground; and also every precious article, and every kind of wealth, which men try to conceal from god. all these i grind in the mill of inver-tre-kenand, and send them afterwards away to the west." he spoke no more, but turned round and busied himself again with his mill. and the voyagers, with much wonder and awe in their hearts, went to their curragh and sailed away.[lxxiv.] chapter xvi. the isle of weeping. after leaving this, they had not been long sailing when they discovered another large island, with a great multitude of people on it. they were all black, both skin and clothes, with black head-dresses also; and they kept walking about, sighing and weeping and wringing their hands, without the least pause or rest. it fell to the lot of maildun's second foster brother to go and examine the island. and when he went among the people, he also grew sorrowful, and fell to weeping and wringing his hands, with the others. two of the crew were sent to bring him back; but they were unable to find him among the mourners; and, what was worse, in a little time they joined the crowd, and began to weep and lament like all the rest. maildun then chose four men to go and bring back the others by force, and he put arms in their hands, and gave them these directions-- "when you land on the island, fold your mantles round your faces, so as to cover your mouths and noses, that you may not breathe the air of the country; and look neither to the right nor to the left, neither at the earth nor at the sky, but fix your eyes on your own men till you have laid hands on them." they did exactly as they were told, and having come up with their two companions, namely, those who had been sent after maildun's foster brother, they seized them and brought them back by force. but the other they could not find. when these two were asked what they had seen on the island, and why they began to weep, their only reply was-- "we cannot tell; we only know that we did what we saw the others doing." and after this the voyagers sailed away from the island, leaving maildun's second foster brother behind. footnotes: [lxxiv.] the incident of the big miller occurs in the voyage of the sons of o'corra, as well as in the voyage of maildun. the two accounts are somewhat different; and i have combined both here. chapter xvii. the isle of the four precious walls. the next was a high island, divided into four parts by four walls meeting in the centre. the first was a wall of gold; the second, a wall of silver; the third, a wall of copper; and the fourth, a wall of crystal. in the first of the four divisions were kings; in the second, queens; in the third, youths; and in the fourth, young maidens. when the voyagers landed, one of the maidens came to meet them, and leading them forward to a house, gave them food. this food, which she dealt out to them from a small vessel, looked like cheese, and whatever taste pleased each person best, that was the taste he found on it. and after they had eaten till they were satisfied, they slept in a sweet sleep, as if gently intoxicated, for three days and three nights. when they awoke on the third day, they found themselves in their curragh on the open sea; and there was no appearance in any direction either of the maiden or of the island. chapter xviii. the palace of the crystal bridge. they came now to a small island, with a palace on it, having a copper chain in front, hung all over with a number of little silver bells. straight before the door there was a fountain, spanned by a bridge of crystal, which led to the palace. they walked towards the bridge, meaning to cross it, but every time they stepped on it they fell backwards flat on the ground. after some time, they saw a very beautiful young woman coming out of the palace, with a pail in her hand; and she lifted a crystal slab from the bridge, and, having filled her vessel from the fountain, she went back into the palace. "this woman has been sent to keep house for maildun," said germane. "maildun indeed!" said she, as she shut the door after her. after this they began to shake the copper chain, and the tinkling of the silver bells was so soft and melodious that the voyagers gradually fell into a gentle, tranquil sleep, and slept so till next morning. when they awoke, they saw the same young woman coming forth from the palace, with the pail in her hand; and she lifted the crystal slab as before, filled her vessel, and returned into the palace. "this woman has certainly been sent to keep house for maildun," said germane. "wonderful are the powers of maildun!" said she, as she shut the door of the court behind her. they stayed in this place for three days and three nights, and each morning the maiden came forth in the same manner, and filled her pail. on the fourth day, she came towards them, splendidly and beautifully dressed, with her bright yellow hair bound by a circlet of gold, and wearing silver-work shoes on her small, white feet. she had a white mantle over her shoulders, which was fastened in front by a silver brooch studded with gold; and under all, next her soft, snow-white skin, was a garment of fine white silk. "my love to you, maildun, and to your companions," she said; and she mentioned them all, one after another, calling each by his own proper name. "my love to you," said she. "we knew well that you were coming to our island, for your arrival has long been foretold to us." then she led them to a large house standing by the sea, and she caused the curragh to be drawn high up on the beach. they found in the house a number of couches, one of which was intended for maildun alone, and each of the others for three of his people. the woman then gave them, from one vessel, food which was like cheese; first of all ministering to maildun, and then giving a triple share to every three of his companions; and whatever taste each man wished for, that was the taste he found on it. she then lifted the crystal slab at the bridge, filled her pail, and dealt out drink to them; and she knew exactly how much to give, both of food and of drink, so that each had enough and no more. "this woman would make a fit wife for maildun," said his people. but while they spoke, she went from them with her pail in her hand. when she was gone, maildun's companions said to him, "shall we ask this maiden to become thy wife?" he answered, "what advantage will it be to you to ask her?" she came next morning, and they said to her, "why dost thou not stay here with us? wilt thou make friendship with maildun; and wilt thou take him for thy husband?" she replied that she and all those that lived on the island were forbidden to marry with the sons of men; and she told them that she could not disobey, as she knew not what sin or transgression was. she then went from them to her house; and on the next morning, when she returned, and after she had ministered to them as usual, till they were satisfied with food and drink, and were become cheerful, they spoke the same words to her. "to-morrow," she replied, "you will get an answer to your question;" and so saying, she walked towards her house, and they went to sleep on their couches. when they awoke next morning, they found themselves lying in their curragh on the sea, beside a great high rock; and when they looked about, they saw neither the woman, nor the palace of the crystal bridge, nor any trace of the island where they had been sojourning. chapter xix. the isle of speaking birds. one night, soon after leaving this, they heard in the distance, towards the north-east, a confused murmur of voices, as if from a great number of persons singing psalms. they followed the direction of the sound, in order to learn from what it proceeded; and at noon the next day, they came in view of an island, very hilly and lofty. it was full of birds, some black, some brown, and some speckled, who were all shouting and speaking with human voices; and it was from them that the great clamour came. chapter xx. the aged hermit, and the human souls. at a little distance from this they found another small island, with many trees on it, some standing singly, and some in clusters, on which were perched great numbers of birds. they also saw an aged man on the island, who was covered thickly all over with long, white hair, and wore no other dress. and when they landed, they spoke to him, and asked him who he was and what race he belonged to. "i am one of the men of erin," he replied. "on a certain day, a long, long time ago, i embarked in a small curragh, and put out to sea on a pilgrimage; but i had got only a little way from shore, when my curragh became very unsteady, as if it were about to overturn. so i returned to land, and, in order to steady my boat, i placed under my feet at the bottom, a number of green surface sods, cut from one of the grassy fields of my own country, and began my voyage anew. under the guidance of god, i arrived at this spot; and he fixed the sods in the sea for me, so that they formed a little island. at first i had barely room to stand; but every year, from that time to the present, the lord has added one foot to the length and breadth of my island, till in the long lapse of ages it has grown to its present size. and on one day in each year, he has caused a single tree to spring up, till the island has become covered with trees. moreover, i am so old that my body, as you see, has become covered with long, white hair, so that i need no other dress. "and the birds that ye see on the trees," he continued, "these are the souls of my children, and of all my descendants, both men and women, who are sent to this little island to abide with me according as they die in erin. god has caused a well of ale to spring up for us on the island: and every morning the angels bring me half a cake, a slice of fish, and a cup of ale from the well; and in the evening the same allowance of food and ale is dealt out to each man and woman of my people. and it is in this manner that we live, and shall continue to live till the end of the world; for we are all awaiting here the day of judgment." maildun and his companions were treated hospitably on the island by the old pilgrim for three days and three nights; and when they were taking leave of him, he told them that they should all reach their own country except one man. chapter xxi. the island of the big blacksmiths. when they had been for a long time tossed about on the waters, they saw land in the distance. on approaching the shore, they heard the roaring of a great bellows, and the thundering sound of smiths' hammers striking a large glowing mass of iron on an anvil; and every blow seemed to maildun as loud as if a dozen men had brought down their sledges all together. when they had come a little nearer, they heard the big voices of the smiths in eager talk. "are they near?" asked one. "hush! silence!" says another. "who are they that you say are coming?" inquired a third. "little fellows, that are rowing towards our shore in a pigmy boat," says the first. when maildun heard this, he hastily addressed the crew-- "put back at once, but do not turn the curragh: reverse the sweep of your oars, and let her move stern forward, so that those giants may not perceive that we are flying!" the crew at once obey, and the boat begins to move away from the shore, stern forward, as he had commanded. the first smith again spoke. "are they near enough to the shore?" said he to the man who was watching. "they seem to be at rest," answered the other; "for i cannot perceive that they are coming closer, and they have not turned their little boat to go back." in a short time the first smith asks again, "what are they doing now?" "i think," said the watcher, "they are flying; for it seems to me that they are now farther off than they were a while ago." at this the first smith rushed out of the forge--a huge, burly giant--holding, in the tongs which he grasped in his right hand, a vast mass of iron sparkling and glowing from the furnace; and, running down to the shore with long, heavy strides, he flung the red-hot mass with all his might after the curragh. it fell a little short, and plunged down just near the prow, causing the whole sea to hiss and boil and heave up around the boat. but they plied their oars, so that they quickly got beyond his reach, and sailed out into the open ocean. chapter xxii. the crystal sea. after a time, they came to a sea like green crystal. it was so calm and transparent that they could see the sand at the bottom quite clearly, sparkling in the sunlight. and in this sea they saw neither monsters, nor ugly animals, nor rough rocks; nothing but the clear water and the sunshine and the bright sand. for a whole day they sailed over it, admiring its splendour and beauty. chapter xxiii. a lovely country beneath the waves. after leaving this they entered on another sea, which seemed like a clear, thin cloud; and it was so transparent, and appeared so light, that they thought at first it would not bear up the weight of the curragh. looking down, they could see, beneath the clear water, a beautiful country, with many mansions surrounded by groves and woods. in one place was a single tree; and, standing on its branches, they saw an animal fierce and terrible to look upon. round about the tree was a great herd of oxen grazing, and a man stood near to guard them, armed with shield and spear and sword; but when he looked up and saw the animal on the tree, he turned anon and fled with the utmost speed. then the monster stretched forth his neck, and, darting his head downward, plunged his fangs into the back of the largest ox of the whole herd, lifted him off the ground into the tree, and swallowed him down in the twinkling of an eye; whereupon the whole herd took to flight. when maildun and his people saw this, they were seized with great terror; for they feared they should not be able to cross the sea over the monster, on account of the extreme mist-like thinness of the water; but after much difficulty and danger they got across it safely. chapter xxiv. an island guarded by a wall of water. when they came to the next island, they observed with astonishment that the sea rose up over it on every side, steep and high, standing, as it were, like a wall all round it. when the people of the island saw the voyagers, they rushed hither and thither, shouting, "there they are, surely! there they come again for another spoil!" then maildun's people saw great numbers of men and women, all shouting and driving vast herds of horses, cows, and sheep. a woman began to pelt the crew from below with large nuts; she flung them so that they alighted on the waves round the boat, where they remained floating; and the crew gathered great quantities of them and kept them for eating. when they turned to go away, the shouting ceased: and they heard one man calling aloud, "where are they now?" and another answering him, "they are gone away!" from what maildun saw and heard at this island, it is likely that it had been foretold to the people that their country should some day be spoiled by certain marauders; and that they thought maildun and his men were the enemies they expected. chapter xxv. a water-arch in the air. on the next island they saw a very wonderful thing, namely, a great stream of water which, gushing up out of the strand, rose into the air in the form of a rainbow, till it crossed the whole island and came down on the strand at the other side. they walked under it without getting wet; and they hooked down from it many large salmon. great quantities of salmon of a very great size fell also out of the water over their heads down on the ground; so that the whole island smelled of fish, and it became troublesome to gather them on account of their abundance. from the evening of sunday till the evening of monday, the stream never ceased to flow, and never changed its place, but remained spanning the island like a solid arch of water. then the voyagers gathered the largest of the salmon, till they had as much as the curragh would hold; after which they sailed out into the great sea. chapter xxvi. the silver pillar of the sea. the next thing they found after this was an immense silver pillar standing in the sea. it had eight sides, each of which was the width of an oar-stroke of the curragh, so that its whole circumference was eight oar-strokes. it rose out of the sea without any land or earth about it, nothing but the boundless ocean; and they could not see its base deep down in the water, neither were they able to see the top on account of its vast height. a silver net hung from the top down to the very water, extending far out at one side of the pillar; and the meshes were so large that the curragh in full sail went through one of them. when they were passing through it, diuran struck the mesh with the edge of his spear, and with the blow cut a large piece off it. "do not destroy the net," said maildun; "for what we see is the work of great men." "what i have done," answered diuran, "is for the honour of my god, and in order that the story of our adventures may be more readily believed; and i shall lay this silver as an offering on the altar of armagh, if i ever reach erin." that piece of silver weighed two ounces and a half, as it was reckoned afterwards by the people of the church of armagh. after this they heard some one speaking on the top of the pillar, in a loud, clear, glad voice; but they knew neither what he said, nor in what language he spoke. chapter xxvii. an island standing on one pillar. the island they saw after this was named encos;[lxxv.] and it was so called because it was supported by a single pillar in the middle. they rowed all round it, seeking how they might get into it; but could find no landing-place. at the foot of the pillar, however, down deep in the water, they saw a door securely closed and locked, and they judged that this was the way into the island. they called aloud, to find out if any persons were living there; but they got no reply. so they left it, and put out to sea once more. footnotes: [lxxv.] encos means "one foot." chapter xxviii. the island queen detains them with her magic thread-clew. the next island they reached was very large. on one side rose a lofty, smooth, heath-clad mountain, and all the rest of the island was a grassy plain. near the sea-shore stood a great high palace, adorned with carvings and precious stones, and strongly fortified with a high rampart all round. after landing, they went towards the palace, and sat to rest on the bench before the gateway leading through the outer rampart; and, looking in through the open door, they saw a number of beautiful young maidens in the court. after they had sat for some time, a rider appeared at a distance, coming swiftly towards the palace; and on a near approach, the travellers perceived that it was a lady, young and beautiful and richly dressed. she wore a blue, rustling silk head-dress; a silver-fringed purple cloak hung from her shoulders; her gloves were embroidered with gold thread; and her feet were laced becomingly in close-fitting scarlet sandals. one of the maidens came out and held her horse, while she dismounted and entered the palace; and soon after she had gone in, another of the maidens came towards maildun and his companions and said-- "you are welcome to this island. come into the palace; the queen has sent me to invite you, and is waiting to receive you." they followed the maiden into the palace; and the queen bade them welcome, and received them kindly. then, leading them into a large hall in which a plentiful dinner was laid out, she bade them sit down and eat. a dish of choice food and a crystal goblet of wine were placed before maildun; while a single dish and a single drinking-bowl, with a triple quantity of meat and drink, were laid before each three of his companions. and having eaten and drunk till they were satisfied, they went to sleep on soft couches till morning. next day, the queen addressed maildun and his companions-- "stay now in this country, and do not go a-wandering any longer over the wide ocean from island to island. old age or sickness shall never come upon you; but you shall be always as young as you are at present, and you shall live for ever a life of ease and pleasure." "tell us," said maildun, "how you pass your life here." "that is no hard matter," answered the queen. "the good king who formerly ruled over this island was my husband, and these fair young maidens that you see are our children. he died after a long reign, and as he left no son, i now reign, the sole ruler of the island. and every day i go to the great plain, to administer justice and to decide causes among my people." "wilt thou go from us to-day?" asked maildun. "i must needs go even now," she replied, "to give judgments among the people; but as to you, you will all stay in this house till i return in the evening, and you need not trouble yourselves with any labour or care." they remained in that island during the three months of winter. and these three months appeared to maildun's companions as long as three years, for they began to have an earnest desire to return to their native land. at the end of that time, one of them said to maildun-- "we have been a long time here; why do we not return to our own country?" "what you say is neither good nor sensible," answered maildun, "for we shall not find in our own country anything better than we have here." but this did not satisfy his companions, and they began to murmur loudly. "it is quite clear," said they, "that maildun loves the queen of this island; and as this is so, let him stay here; but as for us, we will return to our own country." maildun, however, would not consent to remain after them, and he told them that he would go away with them. now, on a certain day, not long after this conversation, as soon as the queen had gone to the great plain to administer justice, according to her daily custom, they got their curragh ready and put out to sea. they had not gone very far from land when the queen came riding towards the shore; and, seeing how matters stood, she went into the palace and soon returned with a ball of thread in her hand. walking down to the water's edge, she flung the ball after the curragh, but held the end of the thread in her hand. maildun caught the ball as it was passing, and it clung to his hand; and the queen, gently pulling the thread towards her, drew back the curragh to the very spot from which they had started in the little harbour. and when they had landed, she made them promise that if ever this happened again, some one should always stand up in the boat and catch the ball. the voyagers abode on the island, much against their will, for nine months longer. for every time they attempted to escape, the queen brought them back by means of the clew, as she had done at first, maildun always catching the ball. at the end of the nine months, the men held council, and this is what they said-- "we know now that maildun does not wish to leave the island; for he loves this queen very much, and he catches the ball whenever we try to escape, in order that we may be brought back to the palace." maildun replied, "let some one else attend to the ball next time, and let us try whether it will cling to his hand." they agreed to this, and, watching their opportunity, they again put off towards the open sea. the queen arrived, as usual, before they had gone very far and flung the ball after them as before. another man of the crew caught it, and it clung as firmly to his hand as to maildun's; and the queen began to draw the curragh towards the shore. but diuran, drawing his sword, cut off the man's hand, which fell with the ball into the sea; and the men gladly plying their oars, the curragh resumed her outward voyage. when the queen saw this, she began to weep and lament, wringing her hands and tearing her hair with grief; and her maidens also began to weep and cry aloud and clap their hands, so that the whole palace was full of grief and lamentation. but none the less did the men bend to their oars, and the curragh sailed away; and it was in this manner that the voyagers made their escape from the island. chapter xxix. the isle of intoxicating wine-fruits. they were now a long time tossed about on the great billows, when at length they came in view of an island with many trees on it. these trees were somewhat like hazels, and they were laden with a kind of fruit which the voyagers had not seen before, extremely large, and not very different in appearance from apples, except that they had a rough, berry-like rind. after the crew had plucked all the fruit off one small tree, they cast lots who should try them, and the lot fell on maildun. so he took some of them, and, squeezing the juice into a vessel, drank it. it threw him into a sleep of intoxication so deep that he seemed to be in a trance rather than in a natural slumber, without breath or motion, and with the red foam on his lips. and from that hour till the same hour next day, no one could tell whether he was living or dead. when he awoke next day, he bade his people to gather as much of the fruit as they could bring away with them; for the world, as he told them, never produced anything of such surpassing goodness. they pressed out the juice of the fruit till they had filled all their vessels; and so powerful was it to produce intoxication and sleep, that, before drinking it, they had to mix a large quantity of water with it to moderate its strength. chapter xxx. the isle of the mystic lake. the island they came to next was larger than most of those they had seen. on one side grew a wood of yew trees and great oaks; and on the other side was a grassy plain, with one small lake in the midst. a noble-looking house stood on the near part of the plain, with a small church not far off; and numerous flocks of sheep browsed over the whole island. the travellers went to the church, and found in it a hermit, with snow-white beard and hair, and all the other marks of great old age. maildun asked who he was, and whence he had come. he replied, "i am one of the fifteen people, who, following the example of our master, brendan of birra,[ ] sailed on a pilgrimage out into the great ocean. after many wanderings, we settled on this island, where we lived for a long time; but my companions died one after another, and of all who came hither, i alone am left." the old pilgrim then showed them brendan's satchel,[ ] which he and his companions had brought with them on their pilgrimage; and maildun kissed it, and all bowed down in veneration before it. and he told them that as long as they remained there, they might eat of the sheep and of the other food of the island; but to waste nothing. one day, as they were seated on a hill, gazing out over the sea, they saw what they took to be a black cloud coming towards them from the south-west. they continued to view it very closely as it came nearer and nearer; and at last they perceived with amazement that it was an immense bird, for they saw quite plainly the slow, heavy flapping of his wings. when he reached the island, he alighted on a little hillock over the lake; and they felt no small alarm, for they thought, on account of his vast size, that if he saw them, he might seize them in his talons, and carry them off over the sea. so they hid themselves under trees and in the crannies of rocks; but they never lost sight of the bird, for they were bent on watching his movements. he appeared very old, and he held in one claw a branch of a tree, which he had brought with him over the sea, larger and heavier than the largest full-grown oak. it was covered with fresh, green leaves, and was heavily laden with clusters of fruit, red and rich-looking like grapes, but much larger. he remained resting for a time on the hill, being much wearied after his flight, and at last he began to eat the fruit off the branch. after watching him for some time longer, maildun ventured warily towards the hillock, to see whether he was inclined to mischief; but the bird showed no disposition to harm him. this emboldened the others, and they all followed their chief. the whole crew now marched in a body round the bird, headed by maildun, with their shields raised; and as he still made no stir, one of the men, by maildun's directions, went straight in front of him, and brought away some of the fruit from the branch which he still held in his talons. but the bird went on plucking and eating his fruit, and never took the least notice. on the evening of that same day, as the men sat looking over the sea to the south-west, where the great bird first appeared to them, they saw in the distance two others, quite as large, coming slowly towards them from the very same point. on they came, flying at a vast height, nearer and nearer, till at last they swooped down and alighted on the hillock in front of the first bird, one on each side. although they were plainly much younger than the other, they seemed very tired, and took a long rest. then, shaking their wings, they began picking the old bird all over, body, wings, and head, plucking out the old feathers and the decayed quill points, and smoothing down his plumage with their great beaks. after this had gone on for some time, the three began plucking the fruit off the branch, and they ate till they were satisfied. next morning, the two birds began at the very same work, picking and arranging the feathers of the old bird as before; and at midday they ceased, and began again to eat the fruit, throwing the stones and what they did not eat of the pulp, into the lake, till the water became red like wine. after this the old bird plunged into the lake and remained in it, washing himself, till evening, when he again flew up on the hillock, but perched on a different part of it, to avoid touching and defiling himself with the old feathers and the other traces of age and decay, which the younger birds had removed from him. on the morning of the third day, the two younger birds set about arranging his feathers for the third time; and on this occasion they applied themselves to their task in a manner much more careful and particular than before, smoothing the plumes with the nicest touches, and arranging them in beautiful lines and glossy tufts and ridges. and so they continued without the least pause till midday, when they ceased. then, after resting for a little while, they opened their great wings, rose into the air, and flew away swiftly towards the south-west, till the men lost sight of them in the distance. meantime the old bird, after the others had left, continued to smooth and plume his feathers till evening; then, shaking his wings, he rose up, and flew three times round the island, as if to try his strength. and now the men observed that he had lost all the appearances of old age: his feathers were thick and glossy, his head was erect and his eye bright, and he flew with quite as much power and swiftness as the others. alighting for the last time on the hillock, after resting a little, he rose again, and turning his flight after the other two, to the point from which he had come, he was soon lost to view, and the voyagers saw no more of him. it now appeared very clear to maildun and his companions that this bird had undergone a renewal of youth from old age, according to the word of the prophet, which says, "thy youth shall be renewed as the eagle." diuran, seeing this great wonder, said to his companions-- "let us also bathe in the lake, and we shall obtain a renewal of youth like the bird." but they said, "not so, for the bird has left the poison of his old age and decay in the water." diuran, however, would have his own way; and he told them he was resolved to try the virtue of the water, and that they might follow his example or not, whichever they pleased. so he plunged in and swam about for some time, after which he took a little of the water and mixed it in his mouth; and in the end he swallowed a small quantity. he then came out perfectly sound and whole; and he remained so ever after, for as long as he lived he never lost a tooth or had a grey hair, and he suffered not from disease or bodily weakness of any kind. but none of the others ventured in. the voyagers, having remained long enough on this island, stored in their curragh a large quantity of the flesh of the sheep; and after bidding farewell to the ancient cleric, they sought the ocean once more. now once again, when winds and tide combine, the flying curragh cleaves the crested brine. far to the west an island rose to view, with verdant plains, clear streams, and mountains blue. an aged hermit, bred in erin's land, welcomed and blessed the chieftain and his band; brought food and drink, and bade them rest awhile, and view the wonders of that lovely isle. lo, from the sea, three birds of monstrous size, with vast wings slowly moving, cleave the skies; and as they nearer drew, the sailors saw one held a fruit branch firmly in his claw. down by the dear, mysterious lake they light, eat from the branch, and rest them from their flight. the aged bird, with plumes decayed and thin, paused on the brink awhile, then, plunging in, he bath'd and smooth'd his feathers o'er and o'er, shook his great wings and rested on the shore. now while the other two his plumes arrange, through all his frame appears a wondrous change: his eyes grow bright, his head erect and bold, his glossy plumage shines like burnished gold; free from old age, his glorious form expands; in radiant youth and beauty proud he stands! such was the gift that lake of wonder gave; such was the virtue of its mystic wave. chapter xxxi. the isle of laughing. they next came to an island with a great plain extending over its whole surface. they saw a vast multitude of people on it, engaged in sundry youthful games, and all continually laughing. the voyagers cast lots who should go to examine the island; and the lot fell upon maildun's third foster brother. the moment he landed he went among the others and joined in their pastimes and in their laughter, as if he had been among them all his life. his companions waited for him a very long time, but were afraid to venture to land after him; and at last, as there seemed no chance of his returning, they left him and sailed away. chapter xxxii. the isle of the blest. they came now to a small island with a high rampart of fire all round it; and that rampart revolved continually round the island. there was one large open door in the rampart; and whenever the door, in its involution, came in front of them, they could see almost the whole island through it, and all that was therein. and this is what they saw: a great number of people, beautiful and glorious-looking, wearing rich garments adorned and radiant all over, feasting joyously, and drinking from embossed vessels of red gold which they held in their hands. the voyagers heard also their cheerful, festive songs; and they marvelled greatly, and their hearts were full of gladness at all the happiness they saw and heard. but they did not venture to land. chapter xxxiii. the hermit of the sea-rock. a little time after leaving this, they saw something a long way off towards the south, which at first they took to be a large white bird floating on the sea, and rising and falling with the waves; but on turning their curragh towards it for a nearer view, they found that it was a man. he was very old, so old that he was covered all over with long, white hair, which grew from his body; and he was standing on a broad, bare rock, and kept continually throwing himself on his knees, and never ceased praying. when they saw that he was a holy man, they asked and received his blessing; after which they began to converse with him; and they inquired who he was, and how he had come to that rock. then the old man gave them the following account:-- "i was born and bred in the island of tory.[lxxvi.] when i grew up to be a man, i was cook to the brotherhood of the monastery; and a wicked cook i was; for every day i sold part of the food intrusted to me, and secretly bought many choice and rare things with the money. worse even than this i did; i made secret passages underground into the church and into the houses belonging to it, and i stole from time to time great quantities of golden vestments, book-covers adorned with brass and gold, and other holy and precious things. "i soon became very rich, and had my rooms filled with costly couches, with clothes of every colour, both linen and woollen, with brazen pitchers and caldrons, and with brooches and armlets of gold. nothing was wanting in my house, of furniture and ornament, that a person in a high rank of life might be expected to have; and i became very proud and overbearing. "one day, i was sent to dig a grave for the body of a rustic that had been brought from the mainland to be buried on the island. i went and fixed on a spot in the little graveyard; but as soon as i had set to work, i heard a voice speaking down deep in the earth beneath my feet-- "'do not dig this grave!' "i paused for a moment, startled; but, recovering myself, i gave no further heed to the mysterious words, and again i began to dig. the moment i did so, i heard the same voice, even more plainly than before-- "'do not dig this grave! i am a devout and holy person, and my body is lean and light; do not put the heavy, pampered body of that sinner down upon me!' "but i answered, in the excess of my pride and obstinacy, 'i will certainly dig this grave; and i will bury this body down on you!' "'if you put that body down on me, the flesh will fall off your bones, and you will die, and be sent to the infernal pit at the end of three days; and, moreover, the body will not remain where you put it.' "'what will you give me,' i asked, 'if i do not bury the corpse on you?' "'everlasting life in heaven,' replied the voice. "'how do you know this; and how am i to be sure of it?' i inquired. "and the voice answered me, 'the grave you are digging is clay. observe now whether it will remain so, and then you will know the truth of what i tell you. and you will see that what i say will come to pass, and that you cannot bury that man on me, even if you should try to do so.' "these words were scarce ended, when the grave was turned into a mass of white sand before my face. and when i saw this, i brought the body away, and buried it elsewhere. "it happened, some time after, that i got a new curragh made, with the hides painted red all over; and i went to sea in it. as i sailed by the shores and islands, i was so pleased with the view of the land and sea from my curragh that i resolved to live altogether in it for some time; and i brought on board all my treasures--silver cups, gold bracelets, and ornamented drinking-horns, and everything else, from the largest to the smallest article. "i enjoyed myself for a time, while the air was clear and the sea calm and smooth. but one day, the winds suddenly arose and a storm burst upon me, which carried me out to sea, so that i quite lost sight of land, and i knew not in what direction the curragh was drifting. after a time, the wind abated to a gentle gale, the sea became smooth, and the curragh sailed on as before, with a quiet, pleasant movement. "but suddenly, though the breeze continued to blow, i thought i could perceive that the curragh ceased moving, and, standing up to find out the cause, i saw with great surprise an old man not far off, sitting on the crest of a wave. "he spoke to me; and, as soon as i heard his voice, i knew it at once, but i could not at the moment call to mind where i had heard it before. and i became greatly troubled, and began to tremble, i knew not why. "'whither art thou going?' he asked. "'i know not,' i replied; 'but this i know, i am pleased with the smooth, gentle motion of my curragh over the waves.' "'you would not be pleased,' replied the old man, 'if you could see the troops that are at this moment around you.' "'what troops do you speak of?' i asked. and he answered-- "'all the space round about you, as far as your view reaches over the sea, and upwards to the clouds, is one great towering mass of demons, on account of your avarice, your thefts, your pride, and your other crimes and vices.' "he then asked, 'do you know why your curragh has stopped?' "i answered, 'no;' and he said, 'it has been stopped by me; and it will never move from that spot till you promise me to do what i shall ask of you.' "i replied that perhaps it was not in my power to grant his demand. "'it is in your power,' he answered; 'and if you refuse me, the torments of hell shall be your doom.' "he then came close to the curragh, and, laying his hands on me, he made me swear to do what he demanded. "'what i ask is this,' said he; 'that you throw into the sea this moment all the ill-gotten treasures you have in the curragh.' "this grieved me very much, and i replied, 'it is a pity that all these costly things should be lost.' "to which he answered, 'they will not go to loss; a person will be sent to take charge of them. now do as i say.' "so, greatly against my wishes, i threw all the beautiful precious articles overboard, keeping only a small wooden cup to drink from. "'you will now continue your voyage,' he said; 'and the first solid ground your curragh reaches, there you are to stay.' "he then gave me seven cakes and a cup of watery whey as food for my voyage; after which the curragh moved on, and i soon lost sight of him. and now i all at once recollected that the old man's voice was the same as the voice that i had heard come from the ground, when i was about to dig the grave for the body of the rustic. i was so astonished and troubled at this discovery, and so disturbed at the loss of all my wealth, that i threw aside my oars, and gave myself up altogether to the winds and currents, not caring whither i went; and for a long time i was tossed about on the waves, i knew not in what direction. "at last it seemed to me that my curragh ceased to move; but i was not sure about it, for i could see no sign of land. mindful, however, of what the old man had told me, that i was to stay wherever my curragh stopped, i looked round more carefully; and at last i saw, very near me, a small rock level with the surface, over which the waves were gently laughing and tumbling. i stepped on to the rock; and the moment i did so, the waves seemed to spring back, and the rock rose high over the level of the water; while the curragh drifted by and quickly disappeared, so that i never saw it after. this rock has been my abode from that time to the present day. "for the first seven years, i lived on the seven cakes and the cup of whey given me by the man who had sent me to the rock. at the end of that time the cakes were all gone; and for three days i fasted, with nothing but the whey to wet my mouth. late in the evening of the third day, an otter brought me a salmon out of the sea; but though i suffered much from hunger, i could not bring myself to eat the fish raw, and it was washed back again into the waves. "i remained without food for three days longer; and in the afternoon of the third day, the otter returned with the salmon. and i saw another otter bring firewood; and when he had piled it up on the rock, he blew it with his breath till it took fire and lighted up. and then i broiled the salmon and ate till i had satisfied my hunger. "the otter continued to bring me a salmon every day, and in this manner i lived for seven years longer. the rock also grew larger and larger daily, till it became the size you now see it. at the end of seven years, the otter ceased to bring me my salmon, and i fasted for three days. but at the end of the third day, i was sent half a cake of fine wheaten flour and a slice of fish; and on the same day my cup of watery whey fell into the sea, and a cup of the same size, filled with good ale, was placed on the rock for me. "and so i have lived, praying and doing penance for my sins to this hour. each day my drinking-vessel is filled with ale, and i am sent half a wheat-flour cake and a slice of fish; and neither rain nor wind, nor heat, nor cold, is allowed to molest me on this rock." this was the end of the old man's history. in the evening of that day, each man of the crew received the same quantity of food that was sent to the old hermit himself, namely, half a cake and a slice of fish; and they found in the vessel as much good ale as served them all. the next morning he said to them, "you shall all reach your own country in safety. and you, maildun, you shall find in an island on your way, the very man that slew your father; but you are neither to kill him nor take revenge on him in any way. as god has delivered you from the many dangers you have passed through, though you were very guilty, and well deserved death at his hands; so you forgive your enemy the crime he committed against you." after this they took leave of the old man and sailed away. the old hermit's story. the storms may roar and the seas may rage, but here, on this bare, brown rock, i pray and repent and i tell my beads, secure from the hurricane's shock. for the good, kind god, in pity to me, holds out his protecting hand; and cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, can molest me where i stand. i robbed the churches and wronged the poor, and grew richer day by day; but now on this bare, brown ocean rock, a heavy penance i pay. a bloated sinner died unshrived, and they brought his corse to me-- "go, dig the grave and bury the dead, and pray for the soul set free." i dug the grave, but my hands were stayed by a solemn and fearful sound, for the feeble tones of a dead man's voice came up from the hollow ground! _the dead monk speaks up from the grave_-- place not that pampered corse on mine, for my bones are weak and thin; i cannot bear the heavy weight of a body defiled by sin. i was a meek and holy man; i fasted and watched and prayed; a sinner's corse would defile the clay where my wasted body is laid. _the old hermit continues his story_-- the voice then ceased, and i heard no more its hollow, beseeching tone; then i closed the grave, and left the old monk to rest in his coffin alone. my curragh sailed on the western main, and i saw, as i viewed the sea, a withered old man upon a wave; and he fixed his eyes on me. he spoke, and his voice my heart's blood froze, and i shook with horror and fear: 'twas the very voice of the dead old monk that sounded in mine ear! _the dead monk speaks again_-- far from my grave the sinner's corse in unhallowed clay lies deep; and now in my coffin, undefiled, for ever in peace i sleep. go, live and pray on the bare, brown rock, far out in the stormy sea; a heavy penance for heavy crimes, and heaven at last for thee! _the old hermit ends his story_-- and here i live from age to age; i pray and repent and fast; an otter brings me food each day, and i hope for heaven at last. the tempests roar and the billows rage, but god holds forth his hand, and cold nor heat nor storm nor sleet, can harm me where i stand. footnotes: [lxxvi.] tory island, off the coast of donegal, where there was a monastery dedicated to st. columkille. chapter xxxiv. signs of home. soon after they saw a beautiful verdant island, with herds of oxen, cows, and sheep browsing all over its hills and valleys; but no houses nor inhabitants were to be seen. and they rested for some time on this island, and ate the flesh of the cows and sheep. one day, while they were standing on a hill, a large falcon flew by; and two of the crew, who happened to look closely at him, cried out, in the hearing of maildun-- "see that falcon! he is surely like the falcons of erin!" "watch him closely," cried maildun; "and observe exactly in what direction he is flying!" and they saw that he flew to the south-east, without turning or wavering. they went on board at once; and, having unmoored, they sailed to the south-east after the falcon. after rowing the whole day, they sighted land in the dusk of the evening, which seemed to them like the land of erin. chapter xxxv. maildun meets his enemy, and arrives home. on a near approach, they found it was a small island; and now they recognised it as the very same island they had seen in the beginning of their voyage, in which they had heard the man in the great house boast that he had slain maildun's father, and from which the storm had driven them out into the great ocean. they turned the prow of their vessel to the shore, landed, and went towards the house. it happened that at this very time the people of the house were seated at their evening meal; and maildun and his companions, as they stood outside, heard a part of their conversation. said one to another, "it would not be well for us if we were now to see maildun." "as to maildun," answered another, "it is very well known that he was drowned long ago in the great ocean." "do not be sure," observed a third; "perchance he is the very man that may waken you up some morning from your sleep." "supposing he came now," asks another, "what should we do?" the head of the house now spoke in reply to the last question; and maildun at once knew his voice-- "i can easily answer that," said he. "maildun has been for a long time suffering great afflictions and hardships; and if he were to come now, though we were enemies once, i should certainly give him a welcome and a kind reception." when maildun heard this he knocked at the door, and the door-keeper asked who was there; to which maildun made answer-- "it is i, maildun, returned safely from all my wanderings." the chief of the house then ordered the door to be opened; and he went to meet maildun, and brought himself and his companions into the house. they were joyfully welcomed by the whole household; new garments were given to them; and they feasted and rested, till they forgot their weariness and their hardships. they related all the wonders god had revealed to them in the course of their voyage, according to the word of the sage who says, "it will be a source of pleasure to remember these things at a future time." after they had remained here for some days, maildun returned to his own country. and diuran lekerd took the five half-ounces of silver he had cut down from the great net at the silver pillar, and laid it, according to his promise, on the high altar of armagh. the fairy palace of the quicken trees.[lxxvii.] chapter i. colga, king of lochlann, invades erin, and is slain. once upon a time, a noble, warlike king ruled over lochlann,[ ] whose name was colga of the hard weapons. on a certain occasion, this king held a meeting of his chief people, on the broad, green plain before his palace of berva.[ ] and when they were all gathered together, he spoke to them in a loud, clear voice, from where he sat high on his throne; and he asked them whether they found any fault with the manner in which he ruled them, and whether they knew of anything deserving of blame in him as their sovereign lord and king. they replied, as if with the voice of one man, that they found no fault of any kind. then the king spoke again and said, "you see not as i see. do you not know that i am called king of the four tribes of lochlann, and of the islands of the sea? and yet there is one island which acknowledges not my rule." and when they had asked which of the islands he meant, he said-- "that island is erin of the green hills. my forefathers, indeed, held sway over it, and many of our brave warriors died there in fight. there fell the great king, balor of the mighty blows;[ ] his son bres[ ] also; and his queen, kethlenda of the crooked teeth;[ ] there, too, fell irann and slana, sisters of the king; and many others that i do not name. but though our hosts at last subdued the land and laid it under tribute, yet they held it not long; for the men of erin arose and expelled our army, regaining their ancient freedom. "and now it is my desire that we once more sail to erin with a fleet and an army, to bring it under my power, and take, either by consent or by force, the tributes that are due to me by right. and we shall thereafter hold the island in subjection till the end of the world." the chiefs approved the counsel of the king, and the meeting broke up. then the king made proclamation, and sent his swift scouts and couriers all over the land, to muster his fighting men, till he had assembled a mighty army in one place. and when they had made ready their curve-sided, white-sailed ships, and their strong, swift-gliding boats, the army embarked. and they raised their sails and plied their oars; and they cleft the billowy, briny sea; and the clear, cold winds whistled through their sails; and they made neither stop nor stay, till they landed on the shore of the province of ulad.[lxxviii.] the king of ireland at that time was cormac mac art,[ ] the grandson of conn the hundred-fighter.[ ] and when cormac heard that a great fleet had come to erin, and landed an army of foreigners, he straightway sent tidings of the invasion to allen[lxxix.] of the green hill-slopes, where lived finn,[ ] and the noble fena[ ] of the gaels. when the king's messengers had told their tale, finn despatched his trusty, swift-footed couriers to every part of erin where he knew the fena dwelt; and he bade them to say that all should meet him at a certain place, near that part of the coast where the lochlann army lay encamped. and he himself led the fena of leinster northwards to join the muster. they attacked the foreigners, and the foreigners were not slow to meet their onset; and the fena were sore pressed in that battle, so that at one time the lochlanns were like to prevail. oscar, the son of oisin,[ ] when he saw his friends falling all round him, was grieved to the heart; and he rested for a space to gather his wrath and his strength. then, renewing the fight, he rushed with fury towards the standard of colga, the lochlann king, dealing havoc and slaughter among those foreigners that stood in his track. the king saw oscar approach, and met him; and they fought a deadly battle hand-to-hand. soon their shields were rent, their hard helmets were dinted with sword-blows, their armour was pierced in many places, and their flesh was torn with deep wounds. and the end of the fight was, that the king of the foreigners was slain by oscar, the son of oisin. when the lochlanns saw their king fall, they lost heart, and the battle went against them. but they fought on nevertheless, till evening, when their army entirely gave way, and fled from the field. and of all the nobles and princes and mighty chiefs who sailed to erin on that expedition, not one was left alive, except the youngest son of the king, whose name was midac. him finn spared on account of his youth; with intent to bring him up in his own household. after the fena had rested for a time, and buried their dead, they turned their faces southward, and marched slowly towards allen, bringing their sick and wounded companions. and finn placed midac among the household of allen, treating him honourably, and giving him servants and tutors. moreover, he enlisted him in the fena, and gave him a high post as befitted a prince. footnotes: [lxxvii.] the quicken tree, or quickbeam, or mountain ash, or roan-tree; gaelic, _caerthainn_. many mystic virtues were anciently attributed to this tree. [lxxviii.] ulad, _i.e._ ulster. [lxxix.] the hill of allen, in the county kildare, where finn had his palace. (see note at the end.) chapter ii. midac, the son of colga, meditates revenge. after this things went on as before, while midac grew up towards manhood, and hunted and feasted with the fena, and fought with them when they fought. but he never lost an opportunity of making himself acquainted with all their haunts and hunting-grounds, their palaces and fortresses, and in particular with their manner of carrying on war. it happened one day that finn and some of his leading chiefs were in council, considering sundry matters, especially the state and condition of the fena; and each chief was commanded by finn to speak, and give his opinion or advice on anything that he deemed weighty enough to be debated by the meeting. and after many had spoken, conan mail, the son of morna, stood up and said-- "it seems to me, o king, that you and i and the fena in general are now in great danger. for you have in your house, and mixing with your people, a young man who has good cause of enmity towards you; that is to say, midac, the son of the king of lochlann. for was it not by you that his father and brothers and many of his friends were slain? now i notice that this young prince is silent and distant, and talks little to those around him. moreover, i see that day after day he takes much pains to know all matters relating to the fena; and as he has friends in lochlann, mighty men with armies and ships, i fear me the day may come when this prince will use his knowledge to our destruction." the king said that all this was quite true, and he asked conan to give his opinion as to what should be done. "what i advise in the matter is this," said conan, "that midac be not allowed to abide any longer in the palace of allen. but as it is meet that he should be treated in a manner becoming a prince, let him be given a tract of land for himself in some other part of erin, with a home and a household of his own. then shall we be freed from his presence, and he can no longer listen to our counsels, and learn all our secrets and all our plans." this speech seemed to finn and the other chiefs reasonable and prudent, and they agreed to follow the advice of conan mail. accordingly finn sent for the prince, and said to him-- "thou knowest, midac, that thou hast been brought up from boyhood in my household, and that thou hast been dealt with in every way as becomes a prince. now thou art a man, and standest in no further need of instruction, for thou hast learned everything needful for a prince and for a champion of the fena; and it is not meet that thou shouldst abide longer in the house of another. choose, therefore, the two cantreds that please thee best in all erin, and they shall be given to thee and to thy descendants for ever as a patrimony. there thou shalt build houses and a homestead for thyself, and i will help thee with men and with cattle and with all things else necessary." midac listened in silence; and when the king had done speaking, he replied in a cold and distant manner and in few words, that the proposal was reasonable and proper, and pleased him well. and thereupon he chose the rich cantred of kenri on the shannon, and the cantred of the islands lying next to it on the north, at the other side of the river.[lxxx.] now midac had good reasons for choosing these two territories beyond all others in erin. for the river opens out between them like a great sea, in which are many islands and sheltered harbours, where ships might anchor in safety; and he hoped to bring a fleet and an army into erin some day, to avenge on finn and the fena the defeats they had inflicted on his countrymen, and above all, the death of his father and brothers. and being bent on treachery, he could not have chosen in all erin a territory better suited for carrying out his secret designs. so these two cantreds were bestowed on midac. finn gave him also much cattle and wealth of all kinds; so that when his houses were built, and when he was settled in his new territory, with his servants and his cattle and his wealth all round him, there was no brugaid[lxxxi.] in erin richer or more prosperous than he. for fourteen years midac lived in his new home, growing richer every year. but the fena knew nothing of his way of life, for he kept himself apart, and none of his old acquaintances visited him. and though he was enrolled in the ranks of the fena, he never, during all that time, invited one of them to his house, or offered them food or drink or entertainment of any kind. one day, finn and the fena went to hunt in the district of fermorc,[c] and over the plains of hy conall gavra.[lxxxii.] and when all was arranged and the chase about to begin, finn himself, and a few of his companions, went to the top of the hill of knockfierna[lxxxiii.] to see the sport; while the main body of the fena scattered themselves over the plain with their dogs and attendants, to start the deer and the wild boars and all the other game of the forest. then finn's people pitched their tents, and made soft couches of rushes and heather, and dug cooking-places[ ]; for they intended the hill to be the resting-place of all who chose to rest, till the chase was ended. after finn and his companions had sat for some time on the hill, they saw a tall warrior coming towards them, armed in full battle array. he wore a splendid coat of mail of lochlann workmanship, and over it a mantle of fine satin dyed in divers colours. a broad shield hung on his left shoulder, and his helmet glittered in the morning sun like polished silver. at his left side hung a long sword, with golden hilt and enamelled sheath; and he held in his right hand his two long, polished, death-dealing spears. his figure and gait were wonderfully majestic, and as he came near, he saluted the king in stately and courteous words. finn returned the salutation, and spoke with him for a while; and at length he asked him whence he had come, and if he had brought any tidings. "as to the place i came from," he answered, "that need not be spoken of; and for news, i have nothing to tell except that i am a ferdana,[lxxxiv.] and that i have come to thee, o king of the fena, with a poem." "methinks, indeed," replied finn, "that conflict and battle are the poetry you profess; for never have i seen a hero more noble in mien and feature." "i am a ferdana nevertheless," answered the stranger; "and if thou dost not forbid me, i will prove it by reciting a poem i have brought for thee." "a mountain-top is not the place for poetry," said finn; "and moreover, there is now no opportunity either for reciting or listening. for i and these few companions of mine have come to sit here that we may view the chase, and listen to the eager shouts of the men, and the sweet cry of the hounds. "but if you are, as you say," continued finn, "a ferdana, remain here with us till the chase is ended; and then you shall come with me to one of our palaces, where i shall listen to your poem, and bestow on you such gifts as are meet for a poet of your rank." but the strange champion answered, "it is not my wish to go to your palace; and i now put you under gesa,[ ] which true heroes do not suffer, that you listen to my poem, and that you find out and explain its meaning." "well then," said finn, "let there be no further delay; repeat your poem." so the hero recited the following verse:-- i saw a house by a river's shore, famed through erin in days of yore, radiant with sparkling gems all o'er, its lord deep skilled in magical lore; no conqueror ever defiled its floor; no spoiler can rive its golden store; fire cannot burn its battlements hoar; safe it stands when the torrents pour; feasting and joy for evermore, to all who enter its open door! now if thou hast learned a champion's lore, tell me the name of that mansion hoar, with roof of crystal and marble floor-- the mansion i saw by the river's shore. "i can explain that poem," said finn. "the mansion you saw is bruga of the boyne,[lxxxv.] the fairy palace of angus, the dedannan prince, son of the dagda, which is open to all who wish to partake of its feasts and its enjoyments. it cannot be burned by fire, or drowned by water, or spoiled by robbers, on account of the great power of its lord and master; for there is not now, and there never was, and there never shall be, in erin, a man more skilled in magic arts than angus of the bruga." "that is the sense of my poem," said the stranger; "and now listen to this other, and explain it to me if thou canst"-- i saw to the south a bright-faced queen, with couch of crystal and robe of green; a numerous offspring, sprightly and small, plain through her skin you can see them all; slowly she moves, and yet her speed exceeds the pace of the swiftest steed! now tell me the name of that wondrous queen, with her couch of crystal and robe of green.[lxxxvi.] "i understand the sense of that poem also," said finn. "the queen you saw is the river boyne, which flows by the south side of the palace of bruga. her couch of crystal is the sandy bed of the river; and her robe of green the grassy plain of bregia,[lxxxvii.] through which it flows. her children, which you can see through her skin, are the speckled salmon, the lively, pretty trout, and all the other fish that swim in the clear water of the river. the river flows slowly indeed; but its waters traverse the whole world in seven years, which is more than the swiftest steed can do." "these are my poems," said the champion; "and thou hast truly explained their meaning." "and now," said finn, "as i have listened to thy poetry and explained it, tell us, i pray thee, who thou art and whence thou hast come; for i marvel much that so noble a champion should live in any of the five provinces of erin without being known to me and my companions." then conan mail spoke. "thou art, o king, the wisest and most far-seeing of the fena, and thou hast unravelled and explained the hard poetical puzzles of this champion. yet, on the present occasion, thou knowest not a friend from a foe; for this man is midac, whom thou didst bring up with much honour in thine own house, and afterwards made rich, but who is now thy bitter enemy, and the enemy of all the fena. here he has lived for fourteen years, without fellowship or communication with his former companions. and though he is enrolled in the order of the fena, he has never, during all that time, invited thee to a banquet, or come to see any of his old friends, or given food or entertainment to any of the fena, either master or man." midac answered, "if finn and the fena have not feasted with me, that is none of my fault; for my house has never been without a banquet fit for either king or chief; but you never came to partake of it. i did not, indeed, send you an invitation; but that you should not have waited for, seeing that i was one of the fena, and that i was brought up in your own household. howbeit, let that pass. i have now a feast ready, in all respects worthy of a king; and i put you under gesa that you and the chiefs that are here with you, come this night to partake of it. i have two palaces, and in each there is a banquet. one is the palace of the island, which stands on the sea; and the other is the palace of the quicken trees, which is a little way off from this hill; and it is to this that i wish you to come." finn consented; and midac, after he had pointed out the way to the palace of the quicken trees, left them, saying he would go before, that he might have things in readiness when they should arrive. footnotes: [lxxx.] the cantreds of kenri and islands are now two baronies: the former the barony of kenry, in limerick, a little below the city; the latter the barony of islands, in clare, on the opposite side of the shannon, including the mouth of the river fergus, with its numerous _islands_, from which the barony has its name. [lxxxi.] brugaid, a sort of local officer, who was allowed a tract of land free, on condition that he maintained a large establishment as a house of public hospitality. many of the brugaids were very rich. [lxxxii.] fermorc and hy conall gavra are now the baronies of upper and lower connello, in the county limerick. [lxxxiii.] knockfierna, a conspicuous hill, celebrated for its fairy lore, near croom, in the county limerick; very near kenri, midac's territory. [lxxxiv.] ferdana, a poet. [lxxxv.] bruga of the boyne. (see note, page .) [lxxxvi.] the poets were much given to proposing poetical puzzles of this kind; and it was considered a mark of superior education, and of great acuteness in a champion to be able to explain them. (for another example, see the enigmatical verse about the skin of the pig, in the story of "the children of turenn," page .) [lxxxvii.] bregia or magh breagh, the ancient name of the plain extending from the liffey northwards to the borders of the county louth. (for this name, see the author's "irish names of places," series ii. part iv. chap. ii.) chapter iii. finn is entrapped by midac, and held by enchantment in the palace of the quicken trees. finn now held council with his companions, and they agreed that the king's son, oisin, and five other chiefs, with their followers, should tarry on the hill till the hunting party returned, while finn went to the palace with the rest. and it was arranged that finn should send back word immediately to the party on the hill, how he fared; and that oisin and the others were to follow him to the palace when the hunting party had returned. those that remained with oisin were dermat o'dyna; fatha conan, the son of the son of conn; kylta mac ronan; ficna, the son of finn; and innsa, the son of swena selga. and of those who went with finn to the palace of the quicken trees, the chief were gaul mac morna; dathkeen the strong-limbed; mac luga of the red hand; glas mac encarda from beara; the two sons of aed the lesser, son of finn; racad and dalgus, the two kings of leinster; angus mac bresal bola; and the two leaders of the connaught fena, namely, mac-na-corra and corr the swift-footed. as finn and his party came nigh to the palace, they were amazed at its size and splendour; and they wondered greatly that they had never seen it before. it stood on a level green, which was surrounded by a light plantation of quicken trees, all covered with clusters of scarlet berries. at one side of the little plain, very near the palace, was a broad river, with a rocky bank at the near side, and a steep pathway leading down to a ford. but what surprised them most was that all was lonely and silent--not a living soul could they see in any direction; and finn, fearing some foul play, would have turned back, only that he bethought him of his gesa and his promise. the great door was wide open, and conan went in before the others; and after viewing the banqueting hall, he came out quite enraptured with what he had seen. he praised the beauty and perfect arrangement of everything, and told his companions that no other king or chief in all erin had a banqueting hall to match the hall of midac, the son of colga. they all now entered, but they found no one--neither host nor guests nor attendants. as they gazed around, they thought they had never seen a banquet hall so splendid. a great fire burned brightly in the middle, without any smoke, and sent forth a sweet perfume, which filled the whole room with fragrance, and cheered and delighted the heroes. couches were placed all round, with rich coverlets and rugs, and soft, glossy furs. the curved walls were of wood,[lxxxviii.] close-jointed and polished like ivory; and each board was painted differently from those above and below; so that the sides of the room, from floor to roof, were all radiant with a wonderful variety of colours. still seeing no one, they seated themselves on the couches and rugs. presently a door opened, and midac walked into the room. he stood for a few moments before the heroes, and looked at them one after another, but never spoke one word; then, turning round, he went out and shut the great door behind him. finn and his friends were much surprised at this; however, they said nothing, but remained resting as they were for some time, expecting midac's return. still no one came, and at length finn spoke-- "we have been invited here, my friends, to a banquet; and it seems to me very strange that we should be left so long without attendance, and without either food or drink. perhaps, indeed, midac's attendants have made some mistake, and that the feast intended for this palace has been prepared in the palace of the island. but i wonder greatly that such a thing should have happened." "i see something more wonderful than that," said gaul mac morna; "for lo, the fire, which was clear and smokeless when we first saw it, and which smelled more sweetly than the flowers of the plain, now fills the hall with a foul stench, and sends up a great cloud of black, sooty smoke!" "i see something more wonderful than that," said glas mac encarda; "for the boards in the walls of this banquet hall, which were smooth and close-jointed and glorious all over with bright colours when we came, are now nothing but rough planks, clumsily fastened together with tough quicken tree withes, and as rude and unshapen as if they had been hacked and hewed with a blunt axe!" "i see something more wonderful than that," said foilan, the son of aed the lesser; "for this palace, which had seven great doors when we came in, all wide open, and looking pleasantly towards the sunshine, has now only one small, narrow door, close fastened, and facing straight to the north!" "i see something more wonderful than that," said conan mail; "for the rich rugs and furs and the soft couches, which were under us when we sat here first, are all gone, not as much as a fragment or a thread remaining; and we are now sitting on the bare, damp earth, which feels as cold as the snow of one night!"[lxxxix.] then finn again spoke. "you know, my friends, that i never tarry in a house having only one door. let one of you then, arise, and break open that narrow door, so that we may go forth from this foul, smoky den!" "that shall be done," cried conan; and, so saying, he seized his long spear, and, planting it on the floor, point downwards, he attempted to spring to his feet. but he found that he was not able to move, and turning to his companions, he cried out with a groan of anguish-- "alas, my friends! i see now something more wonderful than all; for i am firmly fixed by some druidical spell to the cold clay floor of the palace of the quicken trees!" and immediately all the others found themselves, in like manner, fixed where they sat. and they were silent for a time, being quite confounded and overwhelmed with fear and anguish. at length gaul spoke, and said, "it seems clear, o king, that midac has planned this treachery, and that danger lies before us. i wish, then, that you would place your thumb under your tooth of knowledge,[ ] and let us know the truth; so that we may at once consider as to the best means of escaping from this strait." whereupon finn placed his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, and mused for a little while. then suddenly withdrawing his thumb, he sank back in his seat and groaned aloud. "may it be the will of the gods," said gaul, "that it is the pain of thy thumb that has caused thee to utter that groan!" "alas! not so," replied finn. "i grieve that my death is near, and the death of these dear companions! for fourteen years has midac, the son of the king of lochlann, been plotting against us; and now at last he has caught us in this treacherous snare, from which i can see no escape. "for in the palace of the island there is, at this moment, an army of foreigners, whom midac has brought hither for our destruction. chief over all is sinsar of the battles, from greece, the monarch of the world, who has under his command sixteen warlike princes, with many others of lesser note. next to sinsar is his son, borba the haughty, who commands also a number of fierce and hardy knights. "there are, besides, the three kings of the island of the torrent, large-bodied and bloodthirsty, like three furious dragons, who have never yet yielded to an enemy on the field of battle. it is these who, by their sorcery, have fixed us here; for this cold clay that we sit on is part of the soil of the enchanted island of the torrent, which they brought hither, and placed here with foul spells. moreover, the enchantment that binds us to this floor can never be broken unless the blood of these kings be sprinkled on the clay. and very soon some of sinsar's warriors will come over from the palace of the island, to slay us all, while we are fixed here helpless, and unable to raise a hand in our own defence." full of alarm and anguish were the heroes when they heard these tidings. and some began to shed bitter tears in silence, and some lamented aloud. but finn again spoke and said-- "it becomes us not, my friends, being heroes, to weep and wail like women, even though we are in danger of death; for tears and lamentations will avail us nothing. let us rather sound the dord-fian,[xc.] sweetly and plaintively, according to our wont, that it may be a comfort to us before we die." so they ceased weeping, and, joining all together, they sounded the dord-fian in a slow, sad strain. footnotes: [lxxxviii.] the houses of the ancient irish were circular, and generally made of wood. [lxxxix.] "as cold as the snow of one night;" "as white as the snow of one night," are usual comparisons in gaelic. the first night's snow seems particularly cold and white when you see it in the morning on account of the contrast with the green fields of the day before. [xc.] dord-fian, or dord-fiansa, a sort of musical war-cry, usually performed by several persons in chorus. chapter iv. innsa, finn's foster son, defends the ford leading to the palace of the quicken trees. now let us speak of oisin, and the party who tarried with him on the hill of knockfierna. when he found that his father finn had not sent back a messenger as he had promised, though the night was now drawing nigh, he began to fear that something was wrong; and he said to his companions-- "i marvel much that we have got no news from the king, how he and his companions have fared in the palace of the quicken trees. it is clear to me that he would have fulfilled his promise to send us word, if he had not been hindered by some unforeseen difficulty. now, therefore, i wish to know who will go to the palace and bring me back tidings." ficna, the son of finn, stood forth and offered to go; and finn's foster son, innsa, the son of swena selga, said he would go with him. they both set out at once, and as they travelled with speed, they soon reached the plain on which stood the palace of the quicken trees; and now the night was darkening around them. as they came near to the palace, they marvelled to hear the loud, slow strains of the dord-fian; and innsa exclaimed joyfully-- "things go well with our friends, seeing that they are amusing themselves with the dord-fian!" but ficna, who guessed more truly how things really stood, replied-- "it is my opinion, friend, that matters are not so pleasant with them as you think; for it is only in time of trouble or danger that finn is wont to have the dord-fian sounded in a manner so slow and sad." while they talked in this wise, it chanced that the dord-fian ceased for a little space; and finn hearing the low hum of conversation outside, asked was that the voice of ficna. and when ficna answered, "yes," finn said to him-- "come not nearer, my son; for this place teems with dangerous spells. we have been decoyed hither by midac, and we are all held here by the foul sorcery of the three kings of the island of the torrent." and thereupon finn told him the whole story of the treachery that had been wrought on them, from beginning to end; and he told him also that nothing could free them but the blood of those three kings sprinkled on the clay. then he asked who the second man was whom he had heard conversing with ficna; and when he was told that it was innsa, the son of swena selga, he addressed ficna earnestly-- "fly, my son, from this fatal place! fly, and save my foster child from the treacherous swords of the foreigners; for they are already on their way hither!" but innsa quickly answered, "that i will never do. it would, indeed, be an ungrateful return to a kind foster father, to leave thee now in deadly strait, and seek my own safety." and ficna spoke in a like strain. then finn said, "be it so, my sons; but a sore trial awaits you. those who come hither from the palace of the island must needs pass the ford under the shadow of these walls. now this ford is rugged and hard to be crossed; and one good man, standing in the steep, narrow entrance at the hither side, might dispute the passage for a time against many. go now, and defend this ford; and haply some help may come in time." so both went to the ford. and when they had viewed it carefully, ficna, seeing that one man might defend it for a short time almost as well as two, said to innsa-- "stay thou here to guard the ford for a little time, while i go to the palace of the island to see how the foreigners might be attacked. haply, too, i may meet with the party coming hither, and decoy them on some other track." and innsa consented; and ficna set out straightway for the palace of the island. now as to the palace of the island. when midac returned in the morning, and told how finn and his people were held safe in the palace of the quicken trees, the foreigners were in great joy. and they feasted and drank and were merry till evening; when an irla[xci.] of the king of the world spoke in secret to his brother, and said-- "i will go now to the palace of the quicken trees, and i will bring hither the head of finn the son of cumal; and i shall gain thereby much renown, and shall be honoured by the king of the world." so he went, bringing with him a goodly number of his own knights; and nothing is told of what befell them till they arrived at the brink of the ford under the palace of the quicken trees. looking across through the darkness, the irla thought he saw a warrior standing at the other brink; and he called aloud to ask who was there, and whether he belonged to the noble or the ignoble races of the world. and when innsa answered that he belonged to the household of finn, the son of cumal, the irla said-- "lo, we are going to the palace of the quicken trees, to bring finn's head to the king of the world; and thou shalt come with us and lead us to the door." "that, indeed," replied innsa, "would be a strange way for a champion to act who has been sent hither by finn to guard this ford. i will not allow any foe to pass--of that be sure; and i warn you that you come not to my side of the ford!" at this the irla said to his knights, "force the ford: then shall we see if yonder hero can fight as well as he threatens." and at the word, they rushed through the water, as many as could find room. but only one or two at a time could attack; and the young champion struck them down right and left as fast as they came up, till the ford became encumbered with their bodies. and when the conflict had lasted for a long time, and when they found that they could not dislodge him, the few that remained retired across the ford; and innsa was fain to rest after his long combat. but the irla, seeing so many of his knights slain, was mad with wrath; and, snatching up his sword and shield, he attacked innsa; and they fought a long and bloody fight. now the irla was fresh and strong, while innsa was weary and sore wounded; and at length the young hero fell in the ford, and the irla beheaded him, and, exulting in his victory, brought the head away. finn and his companions, as they sat in miserable plight in the palace of the quicken trees, heard the clash of arms at the ford, and the shouts and groans of warriors; and after a time all was still again; and they knew not how the fight had ended. and now the irla, thinking over the matter, deemed it unsafe to go to the palace of the quicken trees without a larger body of knights; so he returned towards the palace of the island, intending to bring innsa's head to the king of the world. when he had come within a little distance of the palace, he met ficna, who was then on his way back to the ford; and seeing that he was coming from the palace of the island, he deemed that he was one of the knights of the king of the world. ficna spoke to him, and asked whither he had come. "i come," replied the irla, "from the ford of the palace of the quicken trees. there, indeed, on our way to the palace, to slay finn the son of cumal, we were met by a young champion, who defended the ford and slew my knights. but he fell at length beneath my sword; and, lo, i have brought his head for a triumph to the king of the world!" ficna took the head tenderly, and kissed the cheek thrice, and said, sorrowing-- "alas, dear youth! only this morning i saw the light of valour in those dim eyes, and the bloom of youth on that faded cheek!" then turning wrathfully to the irla, he asked-- "knowest thou to whom thou hast given the young warrior's head?" and the irla replied, "hast thou not come from the palace of the island, and dost thou not belong to the host of the king of the world?" "i am not one of his knights," answered ficna; "and neither shalt thou be, after this hour!" whereupon they drew their swords, and fought where they stood; and the foreign irla fell by the avenging sword of ficna, the son of finn. ficna beheaded him and returned to the ford, bringing the head, and also the head of innsa. and when he had come to the ford, he made a grave of green sods on the bank, in which he laid the body and the head of innsa, sometimes grieving for the youth, and sometimes rejoicing that his death had been avenged. then he went on to the palace of the quicken trees, bringing the irla's head; and when he had come nigh the door, he called aloud to finn, who, impatient and full of anxious thoughts, asked-- "tell us, ficna, who fought the battle at the ford, and how it has ended." "thine own foster son, innsa, defended the ford against many foes, whose bodies now encumber the stream." "and how is it now with my foster son?" asked finn. "he died where he fought," replied ficna; "for at the end, when he was weary and sore wounded, the foreign irla attacked him, and slew him." "and thou, my son, didst thou stand by and see my nursling slain?" "truly i did not," answered ficna. "would that i had been there, and i would have defended and saved him! and even now he is well avenged; for i met the irla soon after, and lo, i have brought thee his head. moreover, i buried thy nursling tenderly in a grave of green sods by the ford." and finn wept and said, "victory and blessings be with thee, my son! never were children better than mine. before i saw them, few were my possessions and small my consideration in erin; but since they have grown up around me, i have been great and prosperous, till i fell by treachery into this evil plight. and now, ficna, return and guard the ford, and peradventure our friends may send help in time." so ficna went and sat on the brink of the ford. footnotes: [xci.] irla, _i.e._ an earl, a chief. chapter v. ficna, the son of finn, defends the ford. now at the palace of the island, another irla, whose name was kironn, brother to him who had been slain by ficna, spoke to some of his own followers-- "it is long since my brother left for the palace of the quicken trees; i fear me that he and his people have fared ill in their quest. and now i will go to seek for them." and he went, bringing a company of knights well armed; and when they had come to the ford, they saw ficna at the far side. kironn called out and asked who he was, and asked also who had made such a slaughter in the ford. ficna answered, "i am one of the household champions of finn the son of cumal, and he has sent me here to guard this ford. as to the slaughter of yonder knights, your question stirs my mind to wrath, and i warn you, if you come to this side of the ford, you will get a reply, not in words, but in deeds." then kironn and his men rushed through the water, blind with rage, and struck wildly at ficna. but the young hero watchfully parried their strokes and thrusts; and one after another they fell beneath his blows, till only a single man was left, who ran back with all speed to the palace of the island to tell the tale. and ficna sat down on the brink, covered all over with wounds, and weary from the toil of battle. when these tidings were brought to the palace, midac was very wroth, and he said, "these men should not have gone to force the ford without my knowledge; for they were far too few in number, and neither were they bold and hardy enough to meet finn's valiant champions. i know these fena well, and it is not to me a matter of surprise that the irla and his people fell by them. "but i will now go with a choice party of my own brave men; and i will cross the ford despite their guards, and slay finn and all his companions in the palace of the quicken trees. "moreover, there is one man among them, namely, conan mail,[ ] who of all the men of erin has the largest appetite, and is fondest of choice eating and drinking. to him will i bring savoury food and delicious drink, not, indeed, to delight him with eating and drinking, but that i may torment him with the sight and smell of what he cannot taste." so, having got the food, he set out with a chosen band; and when he had arrived at the ford, he saw a warrior at the far side. he asked who he was, and finding that it was ficna, he spoke guilefully to him. "dear art thou to me, ficna, dearer even than all the rest of finn's household; for during the time i lived among the fena, you never used me ill, or lifted a hand to either man or dog belonging to me." but ficna spurned his smooth words, and replied, "while you lived among the fena, there was not a man among them that had less to do with you than i. but this i know, that you were treated kindly by all, especially by my father finn, and you have repaid him by ingratitude and treachery." when midac heard this speech he was filled with wrath, and no longer hiding his evil mind, he ordered ficna with threats to leave the ford. but ficna laughed with scorn, and replied-- "the task is easy, friend midac, to dislodge a single champion; and surely it is a small matter to you whether i stand in this narrow pass or abandon my post. come forward, then, you and your knights; but here i will remain to receive you. i only regret you did not come sooner, while my blood was hot, and before my wounds grew stiff, when you would have got a better welcome!" then midac ordered forward his knights, and they ran eagerly across the ford. but ficna overthrew them with a mighty onset, like a hawk among a flight of small birds, or like a wolf among a flock of sheep. when midac saw this, he buckled on his shield and took his sword. then, treading warily over the rough rocks, and over the dead bodies of his knights, he confronted ficna, and they attacked each other with deadly hate and fury. we shall now speak of those who remained on knockfierna. when oisin found that the two heroes did not return as soon as he expected, he thus addressed his companions-- "it seems to me a long time, my friends, since ficna and innsa went to the palace of the quicken trees; methinks if they have sped successfully they should have long since come back with tidings of finn and the others." and one of his companions answered, "it is plain that they have gone to partake of the feast, and it fares so well with them that they are in no haste to leave the palace." but dermat o'dyna of the bright face spoke and said, "it may be as you say, friend, but i should like to know the truth of the matter. and now i will go and find out why they tarry, for my mind misgives me that some evil thing has happened." and fatha conan said he would go with him. so the two heroes set out for the palace of the quicken trees; and when they were yet a good way off from the ford they heard the clash of arms. they paused for a moment, breathless, to listen, and then dermat exclaimed-- "it is the sound of single combat, the combat of mighty heroes; it is ficna fighting with the foreigners, for i know his war-shout. i hear the clash of swords and the groans of warriors; i hear the shrieks of the ravens over the fairy-mansions, and the howls of the wild men of the glens! hasten, fatha, hasten, for ficna is in sore strait, and his shout is a shout for help!" and so they ran like the wind till they reached the hill-brow over the river; and, looking across in the dim moonlight, they saw the whole ford heaped with the bodies of the slain, and the two heroes fighting to the death at the far side. and at the first glance they observed that ficna, being sore wounded, was yielding and sheltering behind his shield, and scarce able to ward off the blows of midac. then fatha cried out, "fly, dermat, fly! save our dear companion! save the king's son from death." and dermat, pausing for a moment, said, as if communing with himself-- "this is surely an evil plight: for if i run to the other side, the foreigner, being the more enraged for seeing me, will strike with greater fury, and i may not overtake the prince alive; and if i cast my spear, i may strike the wrong man!" but fatha, overhearing him, said, "fear not, dermat, for you never yet threw an erring cast of a spear!" then dermat, putting his finger in the silken loop of his spear, threw a deadly cast with unerring aim, and struck midac, so that the iron spear-head went right through his body, and the length of a warrior's hand beyond. "woe to the man," exclaimed midac--"woe to him whom that spear reaches: for it is the spear of dermat o'dyna!" and now his wrath increased, and he struck at ficna more fiercely than before. dermat shouted to him to hold his hand and not slay the king's son; and as he spoke he rushed down the slope and across the ford, to save the young hero. but midac, still pressing on with unabated strength and fury, replied-- "had you wished to save the prince's life, you should have spared mine: now that i have been wounded to death by your spear, finn shall never see his son alive!" even as he spoke, he raised his sword for a mighty blow; and just as dermat, shouting earnestly, was closing on them, he struck the prince lifeless to the earth, but fell down himself immediately after. dermat came up on the instant, and looked sadly at his friend lying dead. then, addressing midac, he said-- "if i had found thee dead, i would have passed thee untouched; but now that i have overtaken thee alive, i must needs behead thee, for thy head will be to finn a worthy eric[ ] for his son." and so saying, he struck off midac's head with one sweep of his heavy sword. dermat now repaired to the palace of the quicken trees, leaving fatha to watch the ford till his return. and when he had come near, he called aloud and struck the door with his heavy spear, for his wrath had not yet left him; but the door yielded not. finn knew the voice, and called out impatiently, "do not try to enter here, dermat, for this place is full of foul spells. but tell us first, i pray thee, who fought that long and bitter fight; for we heard the clash of arms and the shouts of warriors, but we know nothing more." "thy noble son, ficna," returned dermat, "fought single-handed against the foreigners." "and how fares it with my son after that battle?" "he is dead," answered dermat; "first sore wounded by many foes whom he slaughtered, and afterwards slain by midac, the son of colga. but thy son is avenged; for though i came to the ford indeed too late to save him, i have slain midac, and here i have brought thee his head as an eric." and for a long time dermat heard no more. at last finn spoke again and said-- "victory and blessings be with you, dermat, for often before did you relieve the fena from sore straits. but never have we been in such plight as this. for here we sit spell-bound, and only one thing can release us, the blood of the three fierce kings of the island of the torrent sprinkled on this clay. meantime, unless the ford be well defended, the foreigners will come and slay us. in you, dermat, we trust, and unless you aid us well and faithfully now, we shall of a certainty perish. guard the ford till the rising of the sun, for then i know the fena will come to aid you." "i and fatha will of a certainty keep the enemy at bay," replied dermat; and he bade them farewell for a time, and was about to return to the ford: but conan mail, with a groan, said-- "miserable was the hour when i came to this palace, and cold and comfortless is the clay on which i sit--the clay of the island of the torrent. but worst of all to be without food and drink so long. and while i sit here, tormented with hunger and thirst, there is great plenty of ale and wine and of rich, savoury food yonder in the palace of the island. i am not able to bear this any longer; and now, dermat, i beseech you to bring me from the palace as much food as i can eat and a drinking-horn of wine." "cursed be the tongue that spoke these selfish words!" said dermat. "a host of foreigners are now seeking to compass your death, with only fatha and myself to defend you. surely this is work enough for two good men! and now it seems i must abandon my post, and undertake a task of much danger, to get food for the gluttonous conan mail!" "alas, dermat-na-man!"[ ] replied conan, "if it were a lovely maiden, with bright eyes and golden hair, who made this little request, quickly and eagerly you would fly to please her, little recking of danger or trouble. but now you refuse me, and the reason is not hard to see. for you formerly crossed me four times in my courtships; and now it likes you well to see me die of hunger in this dungeon!" "well, then," said dermat, "cease your upbraiding, and i will try to bring you food; for it is better to face danger than to suffer the revilings of your foul tongue." so saying, he went back to the ford to fatha, where he stood watching; and after he had told him how matters stood, he said to him-- "i must needs go to the palace of the island, to get food for conan mail; and you shall guard the ford till i return." but fatha told him that there was food and drink enough at the other side of the ford, which midac had brought from the palace, and urged him to bring a good meal of this to conan. "not so," said dermat. "he would taunt me with bringing him food taken from the hands of dead men; and though one may recover from his blow, it is not so easy to recover from the venom of his tongue."[xcii.] so he left fatha at the ford, and repaired to the palace of the island. as he drew nigh, he heard the noise of feasting and revelry, and the loud talk and laughter of men deep in drink. walking tiptoe, he peered warily through the open door, and saw the chiefs and the knights sitting at the tables; with sinsar of the battles and his son borba high seated over all. he saw also many attendants serving them with food and drink, each holding in his hand a large ornamented drinking-horn, filled with wine. dermat entered the outer door softly, and stood in a dark part of the passage near the door, silent and stern, with sword drawn, watching his opportunity. and after a time one of the attendants, unsuspecting, passed close to him; when dermat, with a swift, sure blow, struck off his head. and he snatched the drinking-horn from the man's hand before he fell, so that not a drop of the wine was spilled. then, laying the drinking-horn aside for a moment, he walked straight into the hall, and taking up one of the dishes near where the king sat, he went out through the open door, bringing with him both dish and drinking-horn. and amidst the great crowd, and the drinking, and the noise, no one took the least notice of him, so that he got off without hindrance or harm of any kind. when he reached the ford, he found fatha lying fast asleep on the bank. he wondered very much that he could sleep in the midst of such a slaughter; but knowing that the young warrior was worn out with watching and toil, he left him lying asleep, and went to the palace of the quicken trees with the food for conan. when he had come to the door, he called aloud to conan and said-- "i have here a goodly meal of choice food: how am i to give it to thee?" conan said, "throw it towards me through yonder little opening." dermat did so; and as fast as he threw the food, conan caught it in his large hands, and ate it up ravenously. and when it was all gone, dermat said-- "i have here a large drinking-horn of good wine: how am i to give it to thee?" conan answered, "there is a place behind the palace where, from a rock, you may reach the lower parapet with a light, airy bound. come from that straight over me, and break a hole in the roof with your spear, through which you can pour the wine down to me." dermat did so; and as he poured down the wine, conan, with upturned face, opened his great mouth and caught it, and swallowed it every drop. after this dermat came down and returned to the ford, where he found fatha still asleep; and he sat beside him, but did not awaken him. footnotes: [xcii.] a satirical allusion to conan's well-known cowardice. chapter vi. dermat o'dyna slays the three kings of the island of the torrent, breaks the spell with their blood, and frees finn. tidings were brought to the palace of the island that midac and all whom he led were slain at the ford; and the three kings of the island of the torrent said-- "the young king of lochlann did wrong to make this attempt without asking our counsel; and had we known of the thing we would have hindered him. for to us belongs the right to behead finn and his companions, since it is the spell-venom of the clay which we brought from the island of the torrent that holds them bound in the palace of the quicken trees. and now, indeed, we will go and slay them all." so they set out with a strong party, and soon reached the ford. looking across in the dim light, they saw dermat, and called aloud to ask who he was. "i am dermat o'dyna," he replied, "one of finn's champions. he has sent me to guard this ford, and whoever you are, i warn you not to cross!" then they sought to beguile dermat, and to win him over by smooth words; and they replied-- "it is a pleasure to us to meet you, dermat; for we are old friends of yours. we are the three kings of the island of the torrent, your fellow-pupils in valour and all heroic feats. for you and we lived with the same tutors from the beginning; and you never learned a feat of arms that we did not learn in like manner. leave the ford, then, that we may pass on to the palace of the quicken trees." but dermat answered in few words, "finn and his companions are under my protection till morning; and i will defend the ford as long as i am alive!" and he stood up straight and tall like a pillar, and scowled across the ford. a number of the foreigners now rushed towards dermat, and raging in a confused crowd, assailed him. but the strong hero met them as a rock meets the waves, and slew them with ease as they came within the range of his sword. yet still they pressed on, others succeeding those that fell; and in the midst of the rage of battle, fatha started up from his sleep, awakened by the crashing of weapons and the riving of shields. he gazed for a moment, bewildered, at the combatants, and, seeing how matters stood, he was wroth with dermat for not awakening him; so that he ran at him fiercely with drawn sword. but dermat stepped aside, and, being angry, thus addressed him-- "slake thy vengeance on our foes for the present: for me, the swords of the foreigners are enough, methinks, without thine to aid them!" then fatha turned and attacked the foe, and his onset was even more deadly than that of dermat; so that they fell before him to the right and left on the ford. and now at last the three kings, seeing so many of their men falling, advanced slowly towards dermat; and dermat, unterrified, stood in his place to meet them. and their weapons clashed and tore through their shields, and the fight was long and furious; till at last the champion-pride and the battle-fury of dermat arose, so that the three dragon-like kings fell slain one by one before him, on that ford of red slaughter. and now, though smarting with wounds, and breathless, and weary, dermat and fatha remembered finn and the fena; and dermat called to mind what finn had told him as to how the spell was to be broken. so he struck off the heads of the three kings, and, followed by fatha, he ran with them, all gory as they were, to the palace of the quicken trees. as they drew nigh to the door, finn, knowing their voices and their footsteps, called aloud anxiously to ask how it fared with the combatants at the ford; "for," said he, "the crashing and the din of that battle exceeded all we have yet heard, and we know not how it has ended." dermat answered, "king of the fena, fatha and i have slain the three kings of the island of the torrent; and lo, here we have their heads all bloody; but how am i to bring them to thee?" "victory and blessings be with you, dermat; you and fatha have fought a valiant fight, worthy of the fena of erin! now sprinkle the door with the blood." dermat did so, and in a moment the door flew wide open with a crash. and inside they saw the heroes in sore plight, all pale and faint, seated on the cold clay round the wall. dermat and fatha, holding the gory heads by the hair, sprinkled the earth under each with the blood, beginning with finn, and freed them one by one; and the heroes, as they found the spell broken, sprang to their feet with exulting cries. and they thanked the gods for having relieved them from that perilous strait, and they and the two heroes joyfully embraced each other. but danger still threatened, and they now took counsel what they should do; and finn, addressing dermat and fatha, said-- "the venom of these foul spells has withered our strength, so that we are not able to fight; but at sunrise they will lose their power, and we shall be strong again. it is necessary, therefore, that you still guard the ford, and at the rising of the sun we shall relieve you." so the two heroes went to the ford, and fatha returned with food and drink for finn and the others. after the last battle at the ford, a few who had escaped brought back tidings to the king of the world and his people, that the three kings of the island of the torrent had fallen by the hands of dermat and fatha. but they knew not that finn and the others had been released. then arose the king's son, borba the haughty, who, next to the king himself, was mightiest in battle of all the foreign host. and he said-- "feeble warriors were they who tried to cross this ford. i will go now and avenge the death of our people on these fena, and i will bring hither the head of finn the son of cumal, and place it at my father's feet." so he marched forth without delay, with a large body of chosen warriors, till he reached the edge of the ford. and although dermat and fatha never trembled before a foe, yet when they saw the dark mass drawing nigh, and heard the heavy tread and clank of arms, they dreaded that they might be dislodged and overpowered by repeated attacks, leaving finn and the rest helpless and unprotected. and each in his heart longed for the dawn of morning. no parley was held this time, but the foreigners came straight across the ford--as many abreast as could find footing. and as they drew near, dermat spoke to fatha-- "fight warily, my friend: ward the blows of the foremost, and be not too eager to slay, but rather look to thy own safety. it behoves us to nurse our strength and prolong the fight, for the day is dawning, and sunrise is not far off!" the foreigners came on, many abreast; but their numbers availed them naught, for the pass was narrow; and the two heroes, one taking the advancing party to the right, and the other to the left, sometimes parried and sometimes slew, but never yielded an inch from where they stood. and now at last the sun rose up over the broad plain of kenri; and suddenly the withering spell went forth from the bones and sinews of the heroes who sat at the palace of the quicken trees, listening with anxious hearts to the clash of battle at the ford. joyfully they started to their feet, and, snatching up their arms, hastened down to the ford with finn at their head; but one they sent, the swiftest among them, to knockfierna, to take the news to oisin. dermat and fatha, fighting eagerly, heeded not that the sun had risen, though it was now indeed glittering before their eyes on the helmets and arms of their foes. but as they fought, there rose a great shout behind them; and finn and gaul and the rest ran down the slope to attack the foreigners. the foreigners, not in the least dismayed, answered the attack; and the fight went on, till gaul mac morna and borba the haughty met face to face in the middle of the ford, and they fought a hard and deadly combat. the battle-fury of gaul at length arose, so that nothing could stand before him, and, with one mighty blow, he cleft the head from the body of borba. and now the foreigners began to yield: but they still continued to fight, till a swift messenger sped to the palace of the island, and told the great king, sinsar of the battles, that his son was dead, slain by gaul; and that his army was sore pressed by the fena, with finn at their head. when the people heard these tidings, they raised a long and sorrowful cry of lamentation for the king's son; but the king himself, though sorrow filled his heart, showed it not. and he arose and summoned his whole host; and, having arranged them in their battalions and in their companies under their princes and chiefs, he marched towards the battle-field, desiring vengeance on the fena more than the glory of victory. chapter vii. the fight at the ford, with the foreign army. all the fena who had gone to the chase from knockfierna had returned, and were now with oisin, the son of finn. and the messenger came slowly up the hill-side, and told them, though with much difficulty, for he was weary and breathless, the whole story from beginning to end, of finn's enchantment, and of the battles at the ford, and how their companions at that moment stood much in need of aid against the foreigners. instantly the whole body marched straight towards the palace of the quicken trees, and arrived on the hill-brow over the ford, just as the king of the world and his army were approaching from the opposite direction. and now the fight at the ford ceased for a time, while the two armies were put in battle array; and on neither side was there any cowardice or any desire to avoid the combat. the fena were divided into four battalions. the active, bright-eyed clann baskin marched in front of the first battalion; the fierce, champion-like clann morna led the second; the strong, sanguinary mic-an-smoil brought up the third; and the fourth was led forward by the fearless, venomous clann o'navnan. and they marched forward, with their silken banners, each banner-staff in the hand of a tall, trusty hero; their helmets glittering with precious gems; their broad, beautiful shields on their left shoulders; with their long, straight, deadly lances in their hands; and their heavy, keen-edged swords hanging at the left side of each. onward they marched; and woe to those who crossed the path of that host of active, high-minded champions, who never turned their backs on an enemy in battle! and now at last the fight began with showers of light, venomous missiles; and many a hero fell even before the combatants met face to face. then they drew their long, broad-bladed swords, and the ranks closed and mingled in deadly strife. it would be vain to attempt a description of that battle, for it was hard to distinguish friend from foe. many a high-souled hero fell wounded and helpless, and neither sigh nor groan of pain escaped them; but they died, encouraging their friends to vengeance with voice and gesture. and the first thought of each champion was to take the life of his foe rather than to save his own. the great king finn himself moved tall and stately from battalion to battalion, now fighting in the foremost ranks, and now encouraging his friends and companions, his mighty voice rising clear over the clash of arms and the shouts of the combatants. and wherever he moved, there the courage of the fena rose high, and their valour and their daring increased, so that the ranks of their foes fell back thinned and scattered before them. oscar, resting for a moment from the toil of battle, looked round, and espied the standard of the king of the world, where he stood guarded by his best warriors, to protect him from the danger of being surrounded and outnumbered by his foes; and the young hero's wrath was kindled when he observed that the fena were falling back dismayed wherever that standard was borne. rushing through the opposing ranks like a lion maddened by dogs, he approached the king; and the king laughed a grim laugh of joy when he saw him, and ordered his guards back; for he was glad in his heart, expecting to revenge his son's death by slaying with his own hand finn's grandson, who was most loved of all the youthful champions of the fena. then these two great heroes fought a deadly battle; and many a warrior stayed his hand to witness this combat. it seemed as if both should fall; for each inflicted on the other many wounds. the king's rage knew no bounds at being so long withstood, for at first sight he despised oscar for his youth and beauty; and he made an onset that caused oscar's friends, as they looked on, to tremble; for during this attack the young hero defended himself, and no more. but now, having yielded for a time, he called to mind the actions and the fame of his forefathers, and attacked the king in turn, and, with a blow that no shield or buckler could withstand, he swept the head from the king's body. then a great shout went up from the fena, and the foreigners instantly gave way; and they were pursued and slaughtered on every side. a few threw away their arms and escaped to the shore, where, hastily unmooring their ships, they sailed swiftly away to their own country, with tidings of the death of their king and the slaughter of their army. the pursuit of the gilla dacker and his horse. chapter i. arrival of the gilla dacker and his horse. one day in the beginning of summer, finn, the son of cumal, the son of trenmore o'baskin,[ ] feasted the chief people of erin at allen[ ] of the broad hill-slopes. and when the feast was over, the fena reminded him that it was time to begin the chase through the plains and the glens and the wildernesses of erin. for this was the manner in which the fena were wont to spend their time. they divided the year into two parts. during the first half, namely, from beltane to samin,[xciii.] they hunted each day with their dogs; and during the second half, namely, from samin to beltane, they lived in the mansions and the betas[xciv.] of erin; so that there was not a chief or a great lord or a keeper of a house of hospitality in the whole country that had not nine of the fena quartered on him during the winter half of the year. finn and his chiefs now held council as to which of the provinces of erin they should begin with; and they chose munster for the first chase. next day they set out, both dogs and men; and they travelled through offaly,[xcv.] and by one side of fera-call, and to brosna of slieve bloma, and by the twelve mountains of evlinn, till they came to collkilla, which is now called knockainy. the chase was then set in order, and they scattered themselves over the broad plains of munster. they began at ardpatrick,[xcvi.] and they hunted over kenn-avrat of slieve-keen, and over coill-na-drua, which is now called the district of fermoy; over the fruitful lands of lehan, and over the confines of fermorc, which is now called hy conall gavra. then south to the patrimony of curoi mac dara, and by the shores of loch lein; afterwards along the blue-streamy suir, by caher-dun-isca, over the great plain of femin, and across the speckled summit of slieve-na-man-finn; all over east munster and west munster, as far as balla-gavran on the one side, and on the other across the shannon to cratloe, near limerick of the blue waters. in short, there was not a plain or a valley, a wood or a brake, a mountain or a wilderness, in the two provinces of munster, that they did not hunt over on that occasion. now it chanced at one time during the chase, while they were hunting over the plain of cliach,[xcvii.] that finn went to rest on the hill of collkilla, which is now called knockainy; and he had his hunting-tents pitched on a level spot near the summit. some of his chief heroes tarried with him; namely, his son oisin; the valiant oscar, the son of oisin; gaul mac morna of the mighty deeds; finn's shield-bearer, skeabrac; kylta mac ronan; dermat o'dyna of the bright face; ligan lumina the swift-footed; conan mail of the foul tongue; and finn ban mac bresal. when the king and his companions had taken their places on the hill, the fena unleashed their gracefully shaped, sweet-voiced hounds through the woods and sloping glens. and it was sweet music to finn's ear, the cry of the long-snouted dogs, as they routed the deer from their covers, and the badgers from their dens; the pleasant, emulating shouts of the youths; the whistling and signalling of the huntsmen; and the encouraging cheers of the mighty heroes, as they spread themselves through the glens and woods, and over the broad, green plain of cliach. then did finn ask who of all his companions would go to the highest point of the hill directly over them, to keep watch and ward, and to report how the chase went on. for, he said, the dedannans[ ] were ever on the watch to work the fena mischief by their druidical spells, and more so during the chase than at other times. finn ban mac bresal stood forward and offered to go: and, grasping his broad spears, he went to the top, and sat viewing the plain to the four points of the sky. and the king and his companions brought forth the chess-board and chess-men,[ ] and sat them down to a game. finn ban mac bresal had been watching only a little time, when he saw on the plain to the east, a fomor[xcviii.] of vast size coming towards the hill, leading a horse. as he came nearer, finn ban observed that he was the ugliest-looking giant his eyes ever lighted on. he had a large, thick body, bloated and swollen out to a great size; clumsy, crooked legs; and broad, flat feet, turned inwards. his hands and arms and shoulders were bony and thick and very strong-looking; his neck was long and thin; and while his head was poked forward, his face was turned up, as he stared straight at finn mac bresal. he had thick lips, and long, crooked teeth; and his face was covered all over with bushy hair. he was fully armed; but all his weapons were rusty and soiled and slovenly looking. a broad shield of a dirty, sooty colour, rough and battered, hung over his back; he had a long, heavy, straight sword at his left hip; and he held in his left hand two thick-handled, broad-headed spears, old and rusty, and seeming as if they had not been handled for years. in his right hand he held an iron club, which he dragged after him, with its end on the ground; and, as it trailed along, it tore up a track as deep as the furrow a farmer ploughs with a team of oxen. the horse he led was even larger in proportion than the giant himself, and quite as ugly. his great carcase was covered all over with tangled, scraggy hair, of a sooty black; you could count his ribs, and all the points of his big bones through his hide; his legs were crooked and knotty; his neck was twisted; and as for his jaws, they were so long and heavy that they made his head look twice too large for his body. the giant held him by a thick halter, and seemed to be dragging him forward by main force, the animal was so lazy and so hard to move. every now and then, when the beast tried to stand still, the giant would give him a blow on the ribs with his big iron club, which sounded as loud as the thundering of a great billow against the rough-headed rocks of the coast. when he gave him a pull forward by the halter, the wonder was that he did not drag the animal's head away from his body; and, on the other hand, the horse often gave the halter such a tremendous tug backwards that it was equally wonderful how the arm of the giant was not torn away from his shoulder. now it was not an easy matter to frighten finn ban mac bresal; but when he saw the giant and his horse coming straight towards him in that wise, he was seized with such fear and horror that he sprang from his seat, and, snatching up his arms, he ran down the hill-slope with his utmost speed towards the king and his companions, whom he found sitting round the chess-board, deep in their game. they started up when they saw finn ban looking so scared; and, turning their eyes towards where he pointed, they saw the big man and his horse coming up the hill. they stood gazing at him in silent wonder, waiting till he should arrive; but although he was no great way off when they first caught sight of him, it was a long time before he reached the spot where they stood, so slow was the movement of himself and his horse. when at last he had come up, he bowed his head, and bended his knee, and saluted the king with great respect. finn addressed him; and after having given him leave to speak, he asked him who he was, and what was his name; from which of the three chief divisions of the world he had come, and whether he belonged to one of the noble or ignoble races; also what was his profession or craft, and why he had no servant to attend to his horse--if, indeed, such an ugly old spectre of an animal could be called a horse at all. the big man made answer and said, "king of the fena, i will answer everything you ask me, as far as lies in my power. whether i come of a noble or of an ignoble race, that, indeed, i cannot tell, for i know not who my father and mother were. as to where i came from, i am a fomor of lochlann[ ] in the north; but i have no particular dwelling-place, for i am continually travelling about from one country to another, serving the great lords and nobles of the world, and receiving wages for my service. "in the course of my wanderings i have often heard of you, o king, and of your greatness and splendour and royal bounty; and i have come now to visit you, and to ask you to take me into your service for one year; and at the end of that time i shall fix my own wages, according to my custom. "you ask me also why i have no servant for this great horse of mine. the reason of that is this: at every meal i eat, my master must give me as much food and drink as would be enough for a hundred men; and whosoever the lord or chief may be that takes me into his service, it is quite enough for him to have to provide for me, without having also to feed my servant. "moreover, i am so very heavy and lazy that i should never be able to keep up with a company on march if i had to walk; and this is my reason for keeping a horse at all. "my name is the gilla dacker,[xcix.] and it is not without good reason that i am so called. for there never was a lazier or worse servant than i am, or one that grumbles more at doing a day's work for his master. and i am the hardest person in the whole world to deal with; for, no matter how good or noble i may think my master, or how kindly he may treat me, it is hard words and foul reproaches i am likely to give him for thanks in the end. "this, o finn, is the account i have to give of myself, and these are my answers to your questions." "well," answered finn, "according to your own account, you are not a very pleasant fellow to have anything to do with; and of a truth there is not much to praise in your appearance. but things may not be so bad as you say; and, anyhow, as i have never yet refused any man service and wages, i will not now refuse you." whereupon finn and the gilla dacker made covenants, and the gilla dacker was taken into service for a year. then the big man turned to conan mail, and asked him whether the foot-service or the horse-service had the better pay among the fena; and conan answered that the horsemen had twice as much pay as the footmen. "if that be so," replied the gilla dacker, "i will join the horse-service, as i have a fine steed of my own; and indeed, if i had known this before, i would certainly have come hither on horseback, instead of walking. "and now, as to this same horse of mine, i find i must attend to him myself, as i see no one here worthy of putting a hand near him. so i will lead him to the nearest stud, as i am wont to do, and let him graze among your horses. i value him greatly, however, and it would grieve me very much if any harm were to befall him; so," continued he, turning to the king, "i put him under your protection, o king, and under the protection of all the fena that are here present." at this speech the fena all burst out laughing, to see the gilla dacker showing such concern for his miserable, worthless old skeleton of a horse. howbeit, the big man, giving not the least heed to their merriment, took the halter off the horse's head, and turned him loose among the horses of the fena. but now, this same wretched-looking old animal, instead of beginning to graze, as every one thought he would, ran in among the horses of the fena, and began straightway to work all sorts of mischief. he cocked his long, hard, switchy tail straight out like a rod, and, throwing up his hind legs, he kicked about on this side and on that, maiming and disabling several of the horses. sometimes he went tearing through the thickest of the herd, butting at them with his hard, bony forehead; and he opened out his lips with a vicious grin, and tore all he could lay hold on, with his sharp, crooked teeth, so that none were safe that came in his way either before or behind. and the end of it was, that not an animal of the whole herd escaped, without having a leg broken, or an eye knocked out, or his ribs fractured, or his ear bitten off, or the side of his face torn open, or without being in some other way cut or maimed beyond cure. at last he left them, and was making straight across to a small field where conan mail's horses were grazing by themselves, intending to play the same tricks among them. but conan, seeing this, shouted in great alarm to the gilla dacker, to bring away his horse, and not let him work any more mischief; and threatening, if he did not do so at once, to go himself and knock the brains out of the vicious old brute on the spot. but the gilla dacker took the matter quite cool; and he told conan that he saw no way of preventing his horse from joining the others, except some one put the halter on him and held him, which would, of course, he said, prevent the poor animal from grazing, and would leave him with a hungry belly at the end of the day. he said, moreover, that as he had no horse-boy, and must needs do everything for himself, he thought it quite time enough to look after his horse when he had to make ready for a journey. "but," said he to conan, "there is the halter; and if you are in any fear for your own animals, you may go yourself and bring him away from the field." conan was in a mighty rage when he heard this; and as he saw the big horse just about to cross the fence, he snatched up the halter, and running forward, with long strides, he threw it over the animal's head and thought to lead him back. but in a moment the horse stood stock still, and his body and legs became as stiff as if they were made of wood; and though conan pulled and tugged with might and main, he was not able to stir him an inch from his place. he gave up pulling at last, when he found it was no use; but he still kept on holding the halter, while the big horse never made the least stir, but stood as if he had been turned into stone; the gilla dacker all the time looking on quite unconcernedly, and the others laughing at conan's perplexity. but no one offered to relieve him. at last fergus finnvel, the poet, spoke to conan, and said, "i never would have believed, conan mail, that you could be brought to do horse-service for any knight or noble in the whole world; but now, indeed, i see that you have made yourself a horse-boy to an ugly foreign giant, so hateful-looking and low-born that not a man of the fena would have anything to say to him. as you have, however, to mind this old horse in order to save your own, would it not be better for you to mount him, and revenge yourself for all the trouble he is giving you, by riding him across the country, over the hill-tops, and down into the deep glens and valleys, and through stones and bogs and all sorts of rough places, till you have broken the heart in his big, ugly body?" conan, stung by the cutting words of the poet, and by the jeers of his companions, jumped upon the horse's back, and began to beat him mightily with his heels, and with his two big, heavy fists, to make him go; but the horse seemed not to take the least notice and never stirred. "i know the reason he does not go," said fergus finnvel; "he has been accustomed to carry a horseman far heavier than you, that is to say, the gilla dacker; and he will not move till he has the same weight on his back." at this conan mail called out to his companions, and asked which of them would mount with him, and help to avenge the damage done to their horses. "i will go," said coil croda the battle victor, son of criffan; and up he went. but the horse never moved. dara donn mac morna next offered to go, and mounted behind the others; and after him angus mac art mac morna. and the end of it was, that fourteen men of the clann baskin and clann morna[ ] got up along with conan; and all began to thrash the horse together, with might and main. but they were none the better of it, for he remained standing stiff and immovable as before. they found, moreover, that their seat was not at all an easy one--the animal's back was so sharp and bony. footnotes: [xciii.] beltane, the first of may; samin, the first of november. [xciv.] beta, a public house of hospitality. [xcv.] offaly, now the name of two baronies in the county kildare. fera-call, or fircal, an ancient territory in the present king's county. brosna, a small river rising in the slieve bloma, or slieve bloom mountains, which flows by birr, and falls into the shannon near banagher; usually called the little brosna, to distinguish it from the great brosna, which flows through king's county into the shannon. the twelve mountains of evlinn. (see note, page .) knockainy, a small hill much celebrated in fairy lore, in the county limerick, giving name to the village of knockainy at its base. it appears from the text that it was more anciently called collkilla, or hazel-wood. [xcvi.] ardpatrick, a beautiful green hill, with a remarkable church ruin and graveyard on its summit, two miles from kilfinane, county limerick. kenn-avrat was the ancient name of seefin mountain, rising over the village of glenosheen, two miles from ardpatrick. slieve-keen, the old name of the hill of carrigeennamroanty, near seefin. fermoy, a well-known town and barony in the county cork. it appears from the text that the district was anciently known by the name of coill-na-drua, or the wood of the druids. lehan, the ancient name of the district round castlelyons, in the county cork. fermorc, now the baronies of connello, in limerick. (see note, page .) curoi mac dara, a celebrated chief who flourished in the time of the red branch knights of ulster, viz., in the first century of the christian era. curoi had his residence on a mountain near tralee, still called caherconree (the fortress of curoi), and his "patrimony" was south munster. the remains of curoi's great stone fortress are still to be seen on caherconree. loch lein, the lakes of killarney. caher-dun-isca, now the town of caher, on the suir, in tipperary. femin was the name of the great plain lying to the south and west of the mountain of slievenaman, or slieve-na-man-finn, near clonmel, in tipperary. balla-gavran, or the pass of gavran, an ancient road, which ran by gavran (now gowran), in the county kilkenny. cratloe, a well-known district on the clare side of the shannon, near limerick. [xcvii.] cliach, the old name of the plain lying round knockainy. [xcviii.] fomor, a gigantic warrior, a giant; its primitive meaning is "a sea-robber," commonly called a fomorian. (see note at the end.) [xcix.] gilla dacker means "a slothful fellow"--a fellow hard to move, hard to manage, hard to have anything to do with. chapter ii. conan and fifteen of the fena are carried off by the gilla dacker's horse. when the gilla dacker saw the fena beating his horse at such a rate, he seemed very angry, and addressed the king in these words-- "king of the fena, i now see plainly that all the fine accounts i heard about you and the fena are false, and i will not stay in your service--no, not another hour. you can see for yourself the ill usage these men are giving my horse without cause; and i leave you to judge whether any one could put up with it--any one who had the least regard for his horse. the time is, indeed, short since i entered your service, but i now think it a great deal too long; so pay me my wages, and let me go my ways." but finn said, "i do not wish you to go; stay on till the end of your year, and then i will pay you all i promised you." "i swear," answered the gilla dacker, "that if this were the very last day of my year, i would not wait till morning for my wages, after this insult. so, wages or no wages, i will now seek another master; but from this time forth i shall know what to think of finn mac cumal and his fena!" with that the gilla dacker stood up as straight as a pillar, and, turning his face towards the south-west, he walked slowly away. when the horse saw his master leaving the hill, he stirred himself at once and walked quietly after him, bringing the fifteen men away on his back. and when the fena saw this they raised a loud shout of laughter, mocking them. the gilla dacker, after he had walked some little way, looked back, and seeing that his horse was following, he stood for a moment to tuck up his skirts. then, all at once changing his pace, he set out with long, active strides; and if you know what the speed of a swallow is, flying across a mountain-side, or the dry, fairy wind of a march day sweeping over the plains, then you can understand the swiftness of the gilla dacker, as he ran down the hill-side towards the south-west. neither was the horse behindhand in the race; for, though he carried a heavy load, he galloped like the wind after his master, plunging and bounding forward with as much freedom as if he had nothing at all on his back. the men now tried to throw themselves off; but this, indeed, they were not able to do, for the good reason that they found themselves fastened firmly, hands and feet and all, to the horse's back. and now conan, looking round, raised his big voice, and shouted to finn and the fena, asking them were they content to let their friends be carried off in that manner by such a horrible, foul-looking old spectre of a horse. finn and the others, hearing this, seized their arms and started off in pursuit. now the way the gilla dacker and his horse took was first through fermorc,[c.] which is at the present day called hy conall gavra; next over the wide, heathy summit of slieve lougher; from that to corca divna; and they ran along by slieve mish, till they reached cloghan kincat, near the deep green sea. during all this time finn and his people kept them in view, but were not able to overtake them; and ligan lumina, one of the swiftest of the fena, kept ahead of the others. the horse now passed by cloghan kincat without in the least abating his speed; and when he had arrived on the beach, even at the very water's edge, ligan overtook him, and caught him by the tail with his two hands, intending to hold him till the rest of the fena came up. he gave a mighty pull back; but the horse, not in the least checked by this, made no more ado but plunged forward through the waves, dragging ligan after him hanging at his tail. and ligan now found that he could neither help his friends nor free himself, for his two hands clung fast to the tail of the horse. and so the great horse continued his course without stop or stay, bringing the sixteen fena with him through the sea. now this is how they fared in the sea, while the horse was rushing swiftly farther and farther to the west: they had always a dry, firm strand under them, for the waters retired before the horse while behind them was a wild, raging sea, which followed close after, and seemed ready every moment to topple over their heads. but, though the billows were tumbling and roaring all round, neither horse nor riders were wetted by as much as a drop of brine or a dash of spray. footnotes: [c.] fermorc, now the baronies of connello, in limerick. slieve lougher, a celebrated mountain near castle island, in kerry. corca divna, now the barony of corkaguiny, the long peninsula lying west of tralee, and containing the town of dingle, and the mountain range of slieve mish. cloghan kincat, now called cloghan, a small village on the northern coast of the peninsula. chapter iii. pursuit. now as to finn and the others. they stood on the bank over the beach, watching the horse and men till they lost sight of them in the sea afar off; and then they sat them down, weary after their long chase, and full of sadness for the loss of their companions. after a long silence, finn spoke and asked the chiefs what they thought best to be done. but they replied that he was far beyond them all in knowledge and wisdom; and they told him they would follow whatsoever counsel he and fergus finnvel, the poet, gave them. then finn told fergus to speak his mind; and fergus said-- "my counsel is that we go straightway to ben edar,[ci.] where we shall find a ship ready to sail. for our forefathers, when they wrested the land from the gifted, bright-complexioned dedannans, bound them by covenant to maintain this ship for ever, fitted with all things needful for a voyage, even to the smallest article, as one of the privileges of ben edar; so that if at any time one of the noble sons of gael glas[cii.] wished to sail to distant lands from erin, he should have a ship lying at hand in the harbour ready to begin his voyage." they agreed to this counsel, and turned their steps without delay northwards towards ben edar. they had not gone far when they met two noble-looking youths, fully armed, and wearing over their armour beautiful mantles of scarlet silk, fastened by brooches of gold. the strangers saluted the king with much respect; and the king saluted them in return. then, having given them leave to converse, he asked them who they were, whither they had come, and who the prince or chief was that they served. and the elder answered-- "my name is feradach, and my brother's name is foltlebar; and we are the two sons of the king of innia. each of us professes an art; and it has long been a point of dispute between us, which art is the better, my brother's or mine. hearing that there is not in the world a wiser or more far-seeing man than thou art, o king, we have come to ask thee to take us into thy service among thy household troops for a year, and at the end of that time to give judgment between us in this matter." finn asked them what were the two arts they professed. "my art," answered feradach, "is this: if at any time a company of warriors need a ship, give me only my joiner's axe and my crann-tavall,[ciii.] and i am able to provide a ship for them without delay. the only thing i ask them to do is this--to cover their heads close, and keep them covered, while i give the crann-tavall three blows of my axe. then i tell them to uncover their heads; and lo, there lies the ship in harbour, ready to sail!" then foltlebar spoke and said, "this, o king, is the art i profess: on land i can track the wild duck over nine ridges and nine glens, and follow her without being once thrown out, till i drop upon her in her nest. and i can follow up a track on sea quite as well as on land, if i have a good ship and crew." finn replied, "you are the very men i want; and i now take you both into my service. at this moment i need a good ship and a skilful pilot more than any two things in the whole world. and though our own track-men, namely, the clann navin, are good, yet we now need some one still more skilful, to follow the gilla dacker through unknown seas." then the two brothers asked finn what strait he was in at that moment, and why he wanted a ship and pilot so much. whereupon finn told them the whole story of the gilla dacker's doings from beginning to end. "and we are now," said he, "on our way to ben edar, to seek a ship, that we may follow this giant and his horse, and rescue our companions." then feradach said, "i will get you a ship--a ship that will sail as swiftly as a swallow can fly!" and foltlebar said, "i will guide your ship in the track of the gilla dacker till ye lay hands on him, in whatsoever quarter of the world he may have hidden himself!" and so they turned back to cloghan kincat. and when they had come to the beach, feradach told them to cover their heads; and they did so. then he struck three blows of his axe on the crann-tavall; after which he bade them look. and lo, they saw a ship, fully fitted out with oars and sails, and with all things needed for a long voyage, riding before them in the harbour! then kylta mac ronan went to the top of a high hill; and, turning his face inland, he uttered three mighty shouts, which were taken up by the people of the next valley, and after them by those of the next valley beyond. and so the signal spread, till a shout of alarm was heard in every plain and hill-side, glen and valley, wood and wilderness, in the two provinces of munster. and when the fena heard these shouts, they ceased anon from their sports and pastimes; for they knew their king was in danger or strait of some kind. and they formed themselves into ranks and troops and battalions, and began their march; and it is not told how they fared till they reached cloghan kincat. finn told them the whole story of the gilla dacker and his horse, and how he had carried away conan and fifteen others to some far-off island in the western ocean. he also showed them the ship, and told them that he himself and a chosen band of the fena were about to sail westward in quest of their friends. and oisin asked him how many of the chief men of the fena he wished to take with him. finn replied, "i foresee that this will be a perilous quest; and i think all the chiefs here present few enough to bring with me." "say not so, o king," said oisin; "too many have gone already, and some must be left behind to guard the country, and to keep order. if fifteen good men go with you, and that you find the others, the whole party will be a match for any foe you are like to meet in these western lands." and oscar and gaul mac morna spoke in like manner. to this finn agreed. then he picked out fifteen men, the bravest and best, the most dexterous at the sword, and the swiftest of foot among the fena. the question then arose, who should lead the fena in the king's absence; and what they agreed on was that oisin should remain behind and take command, as he was the eldest and bravest and wisest of the king's sons. of those who were chosen to go with finn, the chief men were dermat o'dyna; gaul mac morna; oscar, the son of oisin; aed beg, the son of finn; fergus finnvel, the poet; the three sons of encarda; and feradach and foltlebar, the two sons of the king of innia. so the king and his party took leave of oisin and the rest. and sad, indeed, were they on both sides; for no one knew how far the king might have to sail among unknown seas and islands, or how long he should be away from erin, or the spells and dangers he and his men might encounter in this pursuit. then they went on board, and launched their ship on the cold, bright sea; and foltlebar was their pilot and steersman. and they set their sail and plied their slender oars, and the ship moved swiftly westward till they lost sight of the shores of erin; and they saw nothing all round them but a wide girdle of sea. after some days' sailing, a great storm came from the west, and the black waves rose up against them, so that they had much ado to keep their vessel from sinking. but through all the roaring of the tempest, through the rain and blinding spray, foltlebar never stirred from the helm or changed his course, but still kept close on the track of the gilla dacker. at length the storm abated, and the sea grew calm. and when the darkness had cleared away, they saw to the west, a little way off, a vast rocky cliff towering over their heads to such a height, that its head seemed hidden among the clouds. it rose up sheer from the very water, and looked at that distance as smooth as glass, so that at first sight there seemed no way to reach the top. foltlebar, after examining to the four points of the sky, found the track of the gilla dacker as far as the cliff, but no farther. and he accordingly told the heroes that he thought it was on the top of that rock the giant lived; and that, anyhow, the horse must have made his way up the face of the cliff with their companions. when the heroes heard this they were greatly cast down and puzzled what to do; for they saw no way of reaching the top of the rock; and they feared they should have to give up the quest and return without their companions. and they sat down and looked up at the cliff, with sorrow and vexation in their hearts. footnotes: [ci.] ben edar, now howth hill, near dublin. [cii.] gael glas, the traditional ancestor of the gaels. [ciii.] crann-tav'all, a sort of sling for projecting stones, made of an elastic piece of wood, and strung somewhat like a cross-bow. chapter iv. dermat o'dyna, in quest of the gilla dacker, encounters the wizard-champion at the well. when now they had been silent for a time, fergus finnvel, the poet, arose and said-- "my friends, we have here amongst us one who has been fostered and taught from the child to the man, by mannanan mac lir[ ] in fairyland, and by angus,[ ] the wisest of the dedannans, at bruga of the boyne. he has been carefully trained by both in everything a warrior should learn, and in much druidical lore besides; so that he is skilled beyond us all in manly arts and champion-feats. but now it seems that all his arts and accomplishments go for nought, seeing that he is unable to make use of them just at the time that we stand most in need of them. on the top of that rock, doubtless, the gilla dacker lives, and there he holds conan and the others in bondage; and surely this hero, who now sits idly with us here in our ship, should be able to climb up the face of that cliff, and bring us back tidings of our dear friends and companions." when dermat o'dyna heard this speech, his cheek grew red with shame, and he made this reply-- "it is of me you have spoken these words, fergus. your reproaches are just; and though the task is hard, i will attempt to follow the track of the gilla dacker, and find out some tidings of our friends." so saying, dermat arose, and girded on his armour, and put on his glittering helmet. he hung his sword at his left hip; and he took his two long, deadly spears, one in each hand, namely, the crann-boi and the ga-derg;[civ.] and the battle-fury of a warrior descended on him, so that he looked a dreadful foe to meet in single combat. then, leaning on the handles of his spears, after the manner of skilful champions, he leaped with a light, airy bound on the nearest shelf of rock. and using his spears and his hands, he climbed from ledge to ledge, while his companions watched him anxiously from below; till, after much toil, he measured the soles of his two feet on the green sod at the top of the rock. and when, recovering breath, he turned round and looked at his companions in the ship far below, he started back with amazement and dread at the dizzy height. he now looked inland, and saw a beautiful country spread out before him:--a lovely, flowery plain straight in front, bordered with pleasant hills, and shaded with groves of many kinds of trees. it was enough to banish all care and sadness from one's heart to view this country, and to listen to the warbling of the birds, the humming of the bees among the flowers, the rustling of the wind through the trees, and the pleasant voices of the streams and waterfalls. making no delay, dermat set out to walk across the plain. he had not been long walking when he saw, right before him, a great tree laden with fruit, overtopping all the other trees of the plain. it was surrounded at a little distance by a circle of pillar-stones; and one stone, taller than the others, stood in the centre near the tree. beside this pillar-stone was a spring well, with a large, round pool as clear as crystal; and the water bubbled up in the centre, and flowed away towards the middle of the plain in a slender stream. dermat was glad when he saw the well; for he was hot and thirsty after climbing up the cliff. he stooped down to take a drink; but before his lips touched the water, he heard the heavy tread of a body of warriors, and the loud clank of arms, as if a whole host were coming straight down on him. he sprang to his feet and looked round; but the noise ceased in an instant, and he could see nothing. after a little while he stooped again to drink; and again, before he had wet his lips, he heard the very same sounds, nearer and louder than before. a second time he leaped to his feet; and still he saw no one. he knew not what to think of this; and as he stood wondering and perplexed, he happened to cast his eyes on the tall pillar-stone that stood on the brink of the well; and he saw on its top a large, beautiful drinking-horn, chased with gold and enamelled with precious stones. "now surely," said dermat, "i have been doing wrong; it is, no doubt, one of the virtues of this well that it will not let any one drink of its waters except from the drinking-horn." so he took down the horn, dipped it into the well, and drank without hindrance, till he had slaked his thirst. scarcely had he taken the horn from his lips, when he saw a tall wizard-champion[cv.] coming towards him from the east, clad in a complete suit of mail, and fully armed with shield and helmet, sword and spear. a beautiful scarlet mantle hung over his armour, fastened at his throat by a golden brooch; and a broad circlet of sparkling gold was bended in front across his forehead, to confine his yellow hair, and keep it from being blown about by the wind. as he came nearer, he increased his pace, moving with great strides; and dermat now observed that he looked very wrathful. he offered no greeting, and showed not the least courtesy; but addressed dermat in a rough, angry voice-- "surely, dermat o'dyna, erin of the green plains should be wide enough for you; and it contains abundance of clear, sweet water in its crystal springs and green bordered streams, from which you might have drunk your fill. but you have come into my island without my leave, and you have taken my drinking-horn, and have drunk from my well; and this spot you shall never leave till you have given me satisfaction for the insult." so spoke the wizard-champion, and instantly advanced on dermat with fury in his eyes. but dermat was not the man to be terrified by any hero or wizard-champion alive. he met the foe half-way; and now, foot to foot, and knee to knee, and face to face, they began a fight, watchful and wary at first, but soon hot and vengeful, till their shields and helmets could scarce withstand their strong thrusts and blows. like two enraged lions fighting to the death, or two strong serpents intertwined in deadly strife, or two great opposing billows thundering against each other on the ocean border; such was the strength and fury and determination of the combat of these two heroes. and so they fought through the long day, till evening came, and it began to be dusk; when suddenly the wizard-champion sprang outside the range of dermat's sword, and leaping up with a great bound, he alighted in the very centre of the well. down he went through it, and disappeared in a moment before dermat's eyes, as if the well had swallowed him up. dermat stood on the brink, leaning on his spear, amazed and perplexed, looking after him in the water; but whether the hero had meant to drown himself, or that he had played some wizard trick, dermat knew not. he sat down to rest, full of vexation that the wizard-champion should have got off so easily. and what chafed him still more was that the fena knew nought of what had happened, and that when he returned, he could tell them nothing of the strange hero; neither had he the least token or trophy to show them after his long fight. then he began to think what was best to be done; and he made up his mind to stay near the well all night, with the hope of finding out something further about the wizard-champion on the morrow. he walked towards the nearest point of a great forest that stretched from the mountain down to the plain on his left; and as he came near, a herd of speckled deer ran by among the trees. he put his finger into the silken loop of his spear, and, throwing it with an unerring cast, brought down the nearest of the herd. then, having lighted a fire under a tree, he skinned the deer and fixed it on long hazel spits to roast, having first, however, gone to the well, and brought away the drinking-horn full of water. and he sat beside the roasting deer to turn it and tend the fire, waiting impatiently for his meal; for he was hungry and tired after the toil of the day. when the deer was cooked, he ate till he was satisfied, and drank the clear water of the well from the drinking-horn; after which he lay down under the shade of the tree, beside the fire, and slept a sound sleep till morning. night passed away and the sun rose, bringing morning with its abundant light. dermat started up, refreshed after his long sleep, and, repairing to the forest, he slew another deer, and fixed it on hazel spits to roast at the fire as before. for dermat had this custom, that he would never eat of any food left from a former meal. and after he had eaten of the deer's flesh and drunk from the horn, he went towards the well. but though his visit was early, he found the wizard-champion there before him, standing beside the pillar-stone, fully armed as before, and looking now more wrathful than ever. dermat was much surprised; but before he had time to speak the wizard-champion addressed him-- "dermat o'dyna, you have now put the cap on all your evil deeds. it was not enough that you took my drinking-horn and drank from my well: you have done much worse than this, for you have hunted on my grounds, and have killed some of my speckled deer. surely there are many hunting-grounds in erin of the green plains, with plenty of deer in them; and you need not have come hither to commit these robberies on me. but now for a certainty you shall not go from this spot till i have taken revenge for all these misdeeds." and again the two champions attacked each other, and fought during the long day, from morning till evening. and when the dusk began to fall, the wizard-champion leaped into the well, and disappeared down through it, even as he had done the day before. the selfsame thing happened on the third day. and each day, morning and evening, dermat killed a deer, and ate of its flesh, and drank of the water of the well from the drinking-horn. on the fourth morning, dermat found the wizard-champion standing as usual by the pillar-stone near the well. and as each morning he looked more angry than on the morning before, so now he scowled in a way that would have terrified any one but dermat o'dyna. and they fought during the day till the dusk of evening. but now dermat watched his foe narrowly; and when he saw him about to spring into the well, he closed on him and threw his arms round him. the wizard-champion struggled to free himself, moving all the time nearer and nearer to the brink; but dermat held on, till at last both fell into the well. down they went, clinging to each other, dermat and the wizard-champion; down, down, deeper and deeper they went; and dermat tried to look round, but nothing could he see save darkness and dim shadows. at length there was a glimmer of light; then the bright day burst suddenly upon them; and presently they came to the solid ground, gently and without the least shock. footnotes: [civ.] see note, page . [cv.] the original word, which i have translated "wizard-champion," is _gruagach_. this word literally means "hairy," "a hairy fellow;" and it is often used in the sense of "giant." but in these romantic tales it is commonly used to signify a champion who has always something of the supernatural about him, yet not to such a degree as to shield him completely from the valour of a great mortal hero like dermat o'dyna. chapter v. dermat o'dyna in tir-fa-tonn.[cvi.] at the very moment they reached the ground, the wizard-champion, with a sudden effort, tore himself away from dermat's grasp and ran forward with great speed. dermat leaped to his feet; and he was so amazed at what he saw around him that he stood stock still and let the wizard-champion escape: a lovely country, with many green-sided hills and fair valleys between, woods of red yew trees, and plains laughing all over with flowers of every hue. right before him, not far off, lay a city of great tall houses with glittering roofs; and on the side nearest to him was a royal palace, larger and grander than the rest. on the level green in front of the palace were a number of knights, all armed, and amusing themselves with various warlike exercises of sword and shield and spear. straight towards this assembly the wizard-champion ran; which, when dermat saw, he set off in pursuit, hoping to overtake him. but the wizard-champion had too long a start, and when he reached the exercise green, the knights opened to the right and left, leaving a broad way through which he rushed. he never halted or looked behind till he had got inside the palace gate; and the moment he had passed in, the knights closed their ranks, and stood facing dermat with threatening looks and gestures. nothing daunted, dermat held on his pace towards them; and now those of the front rank started forward with spears and swords, intending to crush him at once, and hew his body to mincemeat. but it was not terror nor weakness nor a desire of flight that this produced in dermat, for his battle-fury was on him; and he rushed through them and under them and over them, as a hawk rushes among a flight of sparrows, or like a whale through a shoal of little fishes, or like a raging wolf among a flock of sheep, or like a vast billow among a fleet of small vessels, or like a great brown torrent rushing down the steep side of a mountain, that sweeps everything headlong before it. so did dermat cleave a wide laneway through the hosts, till, from a solid band of warriors, he turned them into a scattered crowd, flying in all directions. and those that did not fall by his hand, ran hither and thither, some to hide themselves in the thick forests and remote, wooded glens of the surrounding country; while others rushed in through the outer gate of the palace, and shut themselves up in the strongest part of the fortress, neither did they deem themselves safe till they had shot home every bolt, and securely fastened every strong iron lock. at last not a living soul remained on the green, and dermat sat down, weary after his battle-toil, and smarting all over with wounds. he was grieved and downcast also, for he knew not where he was, and he saw no chance that he should be able either to find any tidings of the friends he was in search of, or to return to his companions in the ship. at length, being quite overcome with weariness, he fell into a deep sleep. after sleeping for some time, he was awakened by a smart blow. he started up, and saw a young man standing over him, tall, and of a commanding appearance, with long, golden hair, and a manly, open countenance. now this young man had come to dermat, and finding him asleep in such a dangerous place, he struck him with the flat of his sword to awaken him. in an instant dermat sprang to his feet and seized his arms; but the youth addressed him in a friendly voice, and said-- "dermat o'dyna, put up your arms; i am no enemy, and i have come, not to harm, but to serve you. this, indeed, is a strange place for you to fall asleep, before the very door of the castle, and within sight of your enemies. come now with me, and i will give you a better place to sleep in, where you will also get a welcome and kindly entertainment." this speech pleased dermat very much; and he thanked the young man and went with him. after walking for some time, they came to a large splendid house, and passing through the outer gate they entered the banqueting hall. there they found a noble company of twelve score and ten knights, and almost as many beautiful ladies, with their long hair falling on their shoulders, shining like the golden flower of the marsh-flag, and gentle and modest in their looks and conversation. they wore mantles of scarlet satin, and each mantle was fastened in front by a brooch of burnished gold. the company sat at tables round the walls of the banquet hall, some feasting, some playing chess, and some listening to the music of harps. when the two heroes entered, all the knights and ladies rose and received them with much respect, and they welcomed dermat and invited him to join their entertainment. but the young prince--for he was in truth a prince--pointing to dermat's clothes and arms, all soiled and stained, told them that he had endured much toil that day, and that he wanted rest and refreshment. he then brought dermat away, and ordered the attendants to prepare a bath in a great caldron. he put soothing balsams and healing herbs into it with his own hands, and when dermat had bathed he was immediately healed of his wounds, and he came forth refreshed and cheerful. the prince then directed that his clothes should be put aside, and had him clad in rich garments like the others. dermat now joined the company, and ate and drank, for he had taken neither food nor drink since he had made his meal on the deer early that morning near the well; after which he talked and was cheerful with the others. then rose up the harpers, and the professors of divers arts and sciences, and one after another they played their sweet music, and recited their poems and their tales of the heroes of the olden time. and when they had ended, the knights gave them gifts of gold and silver and jewels. at last the company broke up, and dermat was shown to a bed richly ornamented, and soft with the red feathers of wild fowl, and soon he fell into a sound sleep after his long day's adventures. now dermat marvelled much at all he saw and heard; and he knew not what place he was in, or who the people were, that had treated him with such kindness. so next morning, when the company had again assembled, he stood up, and addressed the prince with gentle words and modest demeanour; and this is what he said-- "i am much surprised, o prince, at what i have seen, and at all that has befallen me in this land. though i am here a stranger, thou hast shown me much kindness, and these noble knights and ladies have permitted me to join their sports, and have treated me with much gentleness and consideration. i wish to know, then, who thou art, o prince, and what country this is, of which i have never before heard, and who is the king thereof. tell me also, i pray thee, the name of the champion who fought with me for four days at the well, till at last he escaped from me at the palace." the prince replied, "i will tell you all, dermat, as you have asked, concealing nothing. this country is tir-fa-tonn; the champion who fought with you is called the knight of the fountain, and that very champion is king of this land. i am the brother of the king, and my name is the knight of valour. good reason indeed have i to be kind to you, dermat o'dyna, for though you do not remember me, i spent a year and a day in the household of finn the son of cumal. "a part of this kingdom belongs by right to me. but the king and his son have seized on my patrimony, and have banished me from the palace, forcing me to live here in exile with a few of my faithful followers. "it is my intention, however, to make war on the king for my part of the kingdom; and right glad i am that you have come hither, for i would rather have you on my side than all the other fena put together, for your nobleness of mind and your valour in battle. "i have here in my household seven score and ten heroes, all champions of great deeds; and if you consent to aid me, these shall be placed under your command. by day you shall fight against the king of tir-fa-tonn and his son, and by night you shall feast and rest and sleep with me in this palace. if you enter into friendship with me and fight on my side, well i know that i shall win back my right without delay." dermat agreed to this. so he and the knight of valour made a covenant; and, placing hand in hand, they pledged themselves to observe faithfully the conditions of the league of friendship. footnotes: [cvi.] tir-fa-tonn, literally "the country beneath the wave." (see note at the end.) chapter vi. finn, in quest of dermat, fights many battles. as to finn mac cumal and those that remained behind with him in the ship, i will now relate what befell them. it was now many days since dermat had left them, and they marvelled much that he did not return with tidings of the gilla dacker. at length, when they began to be alarmed, the two sons of the king of innia offered to go in search of him; but finn said no, for that they should all go together. so feradach and foltlebar took all the cables and ropes they could find in the ship, and tied them end to end in hard, sure knots, till they had a rope long enough to reach from the top of the rock to the bottom. then they clambered up the steep face of the cliff, bringing with them the end of the rope; and one by one they drew up finn and the rest. and when they looked round, they were as much surprised and delighted as dermat was at the look of the country. foltlebar now made a search, and soon found the track of dermat; and the whole party set out to walk across the plain, foltlebar leading the way. having travelled some distance, they saw the great fruit tree afar off; and, turning to the left, they found a place where a fire had been lighted, and near it the remains of several meals of deer's flesh. by this they knew that it was here dermat had slept, for all were well aware of his custom not to eat of what was left from a meal. they then went towards the tree, and there they found the traces of deadly combat--the ground all trampled and ploughed up, and a broken spear handle lying at the brink of the well. while they stood pondering on these things, with anxious hearts, they saw a horseman at a distance, speeding towards them across the plain. in a little while he came up and reined in. he was a young man of majestic mien, fair and noble of countenance; and he rode a beautiful chestnut steed, with a bridle of twisted gold, and a saddle of surpassing splendour, ornamented all over with gold and jewels. he alighted and saluted finn and the fena, and told them they were welcome to his country, for that he was king; and he put his hand on finn's neck and kissed his cheek three times. then he invited them to go with him, saying that the plain of the fountain was a comfortless resting-place after a long journey. finn's heart was glad at this, for he and his companions were weary; and they set out to walk across the plain with the young king. having walked a good distance, they came in sight of a noble palace, with tall towers and carved front. as they came near, they were met by a company of knights on the level green in front, who welcomed them with gentle words. and so they passed into the palace. a bath was prepared, and they bathed and were refreshed after their toils. then they sat down to supper; and while they ate and drank, the harpers played for them, and the poets told their tales and sang their songs. they slept that night in the palace; and next day they mingled with the knights on the green, and took part in their games and pastimes. in the evening they sat down to a feast. the people of the palace were ranged at tables according to rank and inheritance, every man in his proper place. then the feast went on; and abundance of the newest food and of the oldest drink was served out; and they ate of the savoury food, and drank of the sparkling wines and of the strong ales, till they became merry and gently intoxicated. and finn could not call to mind that he ever saw an entertainment in the house of either king or chief better ordered. in this manner they were feasted and entertained for three days and three nights. at the end of that time a meeting was held by the king on the palace green. and finn stood up and said-- "tell me, i pray thee, thy name and the name of this country, which i have never seen before, or even heard of." "this country," replied the king, "is called sorca, of which i am king; and although you know us not, we know you well, for the fame of your deeds has reached even to this land. but now i wish to know why you have come hither; also the reason why you have brought so few companions, and where the rest have tarried." then finn told him the whole story from beginning to end; how the gilla dacker and his great horse had carried off sixteen of their chief men; "and," added finn, "i and these fifteen companions of mine are now in quest of them." the king replied, "this is a dangerous undertaking; and you and your fifteen men, valiant even as you are, are too few to venture into unknown lands, where you may meet with many enemies. now my knights are brave and generous, and they love battle and adventure. wherefore i will place a band of them under your command, who will follow you whithersoever you go, and who will not be behindhand even with the fena in facing hardship and danger." finn stood up to thank the king; but before he had time to speak, they saw a messenger speeding towards them across the plain from the north-west, breathless, and begrimed all over with mud and dust. when he had come in presence of the company, he bowed low to the king, and, standing up, waited impatient for leave to speak. the king asked him what news he had brought and he replied-- "bad and direful news i have for thee, o king. a foreign fleet has come to our shores, which seems to cover all the sea, even as far as the eye can reach; and until the stars of heaven are counted, and the sands of the sea, and the leaves of the woods, the hosts that are landing from their black ships shall not be numbered. even already they have let loose their plunderers over the country, who are burning and spoiling the farmsteads and the great mansions; and many noble heroes and keepers of houses of hospitality, and many people of the common sort, have been slain by them. some say that it is the king of the world and his host, who, after conquering every country he has yet visited, has come now to ravage this land with fire and sword and spear, and bring it under his power; but i know not if this be true. and this, o king, is the news i bring thee." when the messenger had ended, the king spoke nought, though his countenance, indeed, showed trouble; but he looked earnestly at finn. finn understood this to mean that the king sought his help; and, with clear voice, he spoke-- "thou hast been generous to me and my people in our day of need, o king of sorca; and now thou shalt not find the fena lacking in grateful memory of thy kindness. we will, for a time, give up the pursuit of the gilla dacker, and we will place ourselves under thy command, and help thee against these marauders. neither do i fear the outcome of this war; for many a time have we met these foreigners on the shores of erin and elsewhere, and they have always yielded to us in the battle-field." the king of sorca was glad of heart when he heard these words; and he sent his swift scouts all over the country to gather his fighting men. and when all had come together, he arranged them in fighting order, and marched towards the shore where the foreigners were spoiling the land. and they met the plundering parties, and drove them with great slaughter back to their ships, retaking all the spoils. then they formed an encampment on the shore, with ramparts and deep ditches and long rows of pointed stakes all round. and each day a party of the foreigners landed, led by one of their captains, who were met by an equal number of the men of sorca, led by one of the fena; and each time they were driven back to their ships, after losing their best men. when, now, this had continued for many days, the king of the world called a meeting of the chiefs of his army, and asked their counsel as to what should be done. and they spoke as one man, that their best chiefs had fallen, and that they were in worse case now for overcoming the men of sorca than they were at first; that their sages and prophets had declared against them; and that they had met with ill luck from the day of their arrival. and the advice they gave the king was to depart from the shores of sorca, for there seemed no chance of conquering the country as long as the fena were there to help the king. so the king ordered the sails to be set, and he left the harbour in the night with his whole fleet, without bringing the king of sorca under subjection, and without imposing tribute on the people. chapter vii. finn and dermat meet. when the people of sorca and the fena arose next morning, not a ship was in sight; and they began to rejoice greatly, finding themselves freed from this invasion. and while the king and finn, with the chiefs and people, stood eagerly conversing on all these matters, they saw a troop at a distance coming towards them, with banners and standards and arms glittering in the morning sun. now they wondered much who these might be; and finn desired that some one might go and bring back tidings. so fergus finnvel went with a few followers, and when he was yet a good way off, he knew dermat o'dyna at the head of the troop, and ran forward with joy to meet him. and they embraced, even as brothers embrace who meet after being long parted. then they came towards the assembly; and when the fena saw dermat they shouted with joy and welcome and dermat, on his part, could scarce restrain the excess of his joyfulness; for, indeed, he did not expect to meet his friends so soon; and he embraced them one by one, with glad heart, beginning with finn. then finn inquired from dermat all particulars, what places he had visited since the day he had climbed up the rock, and whether he had heard any news of their lost companions; and he asked him also who were they--those valiant-looking fighting men--he had brought with him. dermat told him of all his adventures from first to last--of his long combat at the well with the knight of the fountain, of his descent to tir-fa-tonn, and how the knight of valour had entertained him hospitably in his palace. he related also how he headed the men of the knight of valour, and made war on the king of tir-fa-tonn (who was also called the knight of the fountain, the wizard-champion who fought with dermat at the well), whom he slew, and defeated his army. "and now," continued he, bringing forth the knight of valour from among the strange host, "this is he who was formerly called the knight of valour, but who is now the king of tir-fa-tonn. moreover, this king has told me, having himself found it out by his druidical art, that it was avarta the dedannan (the son of illahan of the many-coloured raiment) who took the form of the gilla dacker, and who brought the sixteen fena away to the land of promise,[ ] where he now holds them in bondage." finn and the young king then put hand in hand and made covenants of lasting friendship with each other. and the fena were much rejoiced that they had at last got some tidings of their lost companions. chapter viii. conan and his companions found and rescued. now after they had rested some days in the palace of the king of sorca, fergus finnvel told finn that it was time to begin once more their quest after conan and the others. they held council, therefore; and the resolution they came to was to return to the rock at the spot where they had turned aside from the track of the gilla dacker, and to begin their search anew from that. and when both the king of sorca and the king of tir-fa-tonn would have sent men with them, finn thanked them, but said that the small party of fena he had with him were quite enough for that adventure. so they took leave of the two kings, and went back to the rock, and foltlebar at once found the track. he traced it from the very edge of the rock across the plain to the sea at the other side; and they brought round their ship and began their voyage. but this time foltlebar found it very hard to keep on the track; for the gilla dacker, knowing that there were not in the world men more skilled in following up a quest than the fena, took great pains to hide all traces of the flight of himself and his horse; so that foltlebar was often thrown out; but he always recovered the track after a little time. and so they sailed from island to island, and from bay to bay, over many seas and by many shores, ever following the track, till at length they arrived at the land of promise. and when they had made the land, and knew for a certainty that this was indeed the land of promise, they rejoiced greatly; for in this land dermat o'dyna had been nurtured by mannanan mac lir of the yellow hair. then they held council as to what was best to be done; and finn's advice was that they should burn and spoil the country, in revenge of the outrage that had been done to his people. dermat, however, would not hear of this. and he said-- "not so, o king. the people of this land are of all men the most skilled in druidic art; and it is not well that they should be at feud with us. let us rather send to avarta a trusty herald, to demand that he should set our companions at liberty. if he does so, then we shall be at peace; if he refuse, then shall we proclaim war against him and his people, and waste this land with fire and sword, till he be forced, even by his own people, to give us back our friends." this advice was approved by all. and then finn said-- "but how shall heralds reach the dwelling of this enchanter; for the ways are not open and straight, as in other lands, but crooked and made for concealment, and the valleys and plains are dim and shadowy, and hard to be traversed?" but foltlebar, nothing daunted by the dangers and the obscurity of the way, offered to go with a single trusty companion; and they took up the track and followed it without being once thrown out, till they reached the mansion of avarta. there they found their friends amusing themselves on the green outside the palace walls; for, though kept captive in the island, yet were they in no wise restrained, but were treated by avarta with much kindness. when they saw the heralds coming towards them, their joy knew no bounds; they crowded round to embrace them, and asked them many questions regarding their home and their friends. at last avarta himself came forth, and asked who these strangers were; and foltlebar replied-- "we are of the people of finn mac cumal, who has sent us as heralds to thee. he and his heroes have landed on this island, guided hither by me; and he bade us tell thee that he has come to wage war and to waste this land with fire and sword, as a punishment for that thou hast brought away his people by foul spells, and even now keepest them in bondage." when avarta heard this, he made no reply, but called a council of his chief men, to consider whether they should send back to finn an answer of war or of peace. and they, having much fear of the fena, were minded to restore finn's people, and to give him his own award in satisfaction for the injury done to him; and to invite finn himself and those who had come with him to a feast of joy and friendship in the house of avarta. avarta himself went with foltlebar to give this message. and after he and finn had exchanged friendly greetings, he told them what the council had resolved; and finn and dermat and the others were glad at heart. and finn and avarta put hand in hand, and made a league of friendship. so they went with avarta to his house, where they found their lost friends; and, being full of gladness, they saluted and embraced each other. then a feast was prepared; and they were feasted for three days, and they ate and drank and made merry. on the fourth day, a meeting was called on the green to hear the award. now it was resolved to make amends on the one hand to finn, as king of the fena, and on the other, to those who had been brought away by the gilla dacker. and when all were gathered together, finn was first asked to name his award; and this is what he said-- "i shall not name an award, o avarta; neither shall i accept an eric from thee. but the wages i promised thee when we made our covenant at knockainy, that i will give thee. for i am thankful for the welcome thou hast given us here; and i wish that there should be peace and friendship between us for ever." but conan, on his part, was not so easily satisfied; and he said to finn-- "little hast thou endured, o finn, in all this matter; and thou mayst well waive thy award. but hadst thou, like us, suffered from the sharp bones and the rough carcase of the gilla dacker's monstrous horse, in a long journey from erin to the land of promise, across wide seas, through tangled woods, and over rough-headed rocks, thou wouldst then, methinks, name an award." at this, avarta, and the others who had seen conan and his companions carried off on the back of the big horse, could scarce keep from laughing; and avarta said to conan-- "name thy award, and i will fulfil it every jot: for i have heard of thee, conan, and i dread to bring the gibes and taunts of thy foul tongue on myself and my people." "well then," said conan, "my award is this: that you choose fifteen of the best and noblest men in the land of promise, among whom are to be your own best beloved friends; and that you cause them to mount on the back of the big horse, and that you yourself take hold of his tail. in this manner you shall fare to erin, back again by the selfsame track the horse took when he brought us hither--through the same surging seas, through the same thick thorny woods, and over the same islands and rough rocks and dark glens. and this, o avarta, is my award," said conan. now finn and his people were rejoiced exceedingly when they heard conan's award--that he asked from avarta nothing more than like for like. for they feared much that he might claim treasure of gold and silver, and thus bring reproach on the fena. avarta promised that everything required by conan should be done, binding himself in solemn pledges. then the heroes took their leave; and having launched their ship on the broad, green sea, they sailed back by the same course to erin. and they marched to their camping-place at knockainy, where they rested in their tents. avarta then chose his men. and he placed them on the horse's back, and he himself caught hold of the tail; and it is not told how they fared till they made harbour and landing-place at cloghan kincat. they delayed not, but straightway journeyed over the selfsame track as before, till they reached knockainy. finn and his people saw them afar off coming towards the hill with great speed; the gilla dacker, quite as large and as ugly as ever, running before the horse; for he had let go the tail at cloghan kincat. and the fena could not help laughing heartily when they saw the plight of the fifteen chiefs on the great horse's back; and they said with one voice that conan had made a good award that time. when the horse reached the spot from which he had at first set out, the men began to dismount. then the gilla dacker, suddenly stepping forward, held up his arm and pointed earnestly over the heads of the fena towards the field where the horses were standing; so that the heroes were startled, and turned round every man to look. but nothing was to be seen except the horses grazing quietly inside the fence. finn and the others now turned round again, with intent to speak to the gilla dacker and bring him and his people into the tents; but much did they marvel to find them all gone. the gilla dacker and his great horse and the fifteen nobles of the land of promise had disappeared in an instant; and neither finn himself nor any of his chiefs ever saw them afterwards. so far we have related the story of the pursuit of the gilla dacker and his horse. the pursuit of dermat and grania. chapter i. finn, the son of cumal, seeks the princess grania to wife. on a certain day, finn, the son of cumal, rose at early morn in allen of the broad hill-slopes, and, going forth, sat him down on the green lawn before the palace, without companion or attendant. and two of his people followed him, namely, oisin his son, and dering the son of dobar o'baskin. oisin spoke to him and asked, "why, o king, hast thou come forth so early?" "cause enough have i indeed," replied finn; "for i am without a wife since manissa, the daughter of garad of the black knee, died; and who can enjoy sweet sleep when his life is lonely like mine, with no wife to comfort and cheer him? this, my friends, is the cause of my early rising." and oisin said, "why should you be without a wife if you desire one? for there is not, within the sea-circle of green erin, a maiden that we will not bring you, either by consent or by force, if you only turn the light of your eyes on her." then dering spoke and said, "i know where there is a maiden, who in all respects is worthy to be thy wife." and when finn asked who she was, dering replied-- "the maiden is grania, daughter of king cormac,[ ] the son of art, the son of conn the hundred-fighter; the most beautiful, the best instructed, and the most discreet in speech and manner of all the maidens of erin." "there has been strife between me and cormac for a long time," said finn, "and it may happen that he will not give me his daughter in marriage. but go ye to tara in my name, you and oisin, and ask the maiden for me: if the king should refuse, so let it be; but i can better bear a refusal to you than to myself." "we will go," said oisin; "but it is better that no man know of our journey till we return." so the two heroes took leave of finn and went their way; and nothing is told of what befell them till they reached tara. it chanced that the king was at this time holding a meeting; and the chiefs and great nobles of tara were assembled round him. and when the two warriors arrived, they were welcomed, and the meeting was put off for that day; for the king felt sure that it was on some business of weight they had come. after they had eaten and drunk, the king, sending away all others from his presence, bade the two chiefs tell their errand. so oisin told him they had come to seek his daughter grania in marriage for finn the son of cumal. then the king said, "in all erin there is scarce a young prince or noble who has not sought my daughter in marriage; and she has refused them all. and it is on me that the ill feeling and reproach caused by her refusals have fallen; for she has ever made me the bearer of her answers. wherefore now you shall come to my daughter's presence, and i will not mention the matter to her till she give you an answer from her own lips: so shall i be blameless if she refuse." so they went to the apartments of the women, at the sunny side of the palace. and when they had entered the princess's chamber, the king sat with her on the couch and said-- "here, my daughter, are two of the people of finn the son of cumal, who have come to ask thee as a wife for him." and grania, giving, indeed, not much thought to the matter, answered, "i know not whether he is worthy to be thy son-in-law; but if he be, why should he not be a fitting husband for me?" the two messengers were satisfied with this answer, and retired. and cormac made a feast for them; and they ate and drank and made merry with the chiefs and nobles of the palace; after which the king bade them tell finn to come at the end of a fortnight to claim his bride. so the two heroes returned to allen, and told how they had fared in their quest. and as all things come at last to an end, so this fortnight wore slowly away; and at the end of the time, finn, having collected round him the chief men of the seven standing battalions of the fena to be his guard, marched to tara. the king received him with great honour, and welcomed the fena, and they were feasted with the nobles of erin in the great banquet hall of micorta.[cvii.] and the king sat on his throne to enjoy the feast with his guests, having finn on his right hand, and on his left the queen, etta, the daughter of atan of corca; and grania sat next the queen, her mother, on the left. and all the others sat according to their rank and patrimony. chapter ii. dermat o'dyna secretly espouses the princess grania. now while the feast went on, it chanced that dara of the poems, one of finn's druids, sat near grania. and he recited for her many lays about the deeds of her forefathers; after which a pleasant conversation arose between them. and when they had talked for some time, she asked him-- "what means all this feasting? and why has finn come with his people on this visit to my father the king?" dara was surprised at this question, and answered, "if thou dost not know, it is hard for me to know." and grania answered, "i wish, indeed, to learn from you what has brought finn to tara." "it is strange to hear thee ask this question," said the druid. "knowest thou not that he has come to claim thee for his wife?" grania was silent for a long time after hearing this. and again she spoke-- "if, indeed, finn had sought me for his son oisin, or for the youthful oscar, there would be nothing to wonder at; but i marvel much that he seeks me for himself, seeing that he is older than my father." then grania meditated in silence; and after a time she said to the druid-- "this is a goodly company, but i know not one among them, except only oisin, the son of finn. tell me now who is that warrior on the right of oisin." "that knightly warrior," answered the druid, "is gaul mac morna the terrible in battle." "who is the youthful champion to the right of gaul?" asked grania. "that is oscar, the son of oisin," said the druid. "who is the graceful and active-looking chief sitting next oscar?" asked the princess. "that is kylta mac ronan the swift-footed," said the druid. "next to kylta mac ronan sits a champion with fair, freckled skin, raven-black curls, a gentle, handsome, manly countenance, and soft voice: pray who is he?" "that is dermat o'dyna of the bright face, the favourite of maidens, and beloved of all the fena for his high-mindedness, his bravery, and his generous disposition." "who is he sitting at dermat's shoulder?" asked grania. "that is dering, the son of dobar o'baskin," replied the druid; "a valiant champion, and also a druid and a man of science." then grania called her handmaid, and said to her, "bring me the large jewelled, gold-chased drinking-horn that lies in my chamber." the handmaid brought the drinking-horn; and grania, having filled it to the brim, said-- "take it now to finn from me, and tell him that i desire him to drink from it." the handmaiden did so, and finn took a full draught. he passed the drinking-horn to the king, and the king drank; and after him the queen. then again grania bade the handmaid bring it to carbri of the liffey, the king's son; and she ceased not till all she wished to drink had drunk from the gold-chased horn. and after a little time, those who had drunk fell into a deep sleep, like the sleep of death. then the princess rose from her seat, and, walking softly across the hall, sat down near dermat o'dyna; and with downcast eyes and low voice, she said-- "wilt thou, dermat, return my love if i give it to thee?" dermat heard her at first with amazement and alarm. then for a moment, even before he was aware, his heart leaped with joy; but when he bethought him of his duty to his chief, he hardened his mind, and answered with cold looks and words-- "the maiden who is betrothed to finn, i will not love; and even if i were so minded, i dare not." and with eyes still cast down, grania said, "i know well it is thy duty, and not thy heart, that prompts thee to speak so. thou seest how it is with me; and i am forced to speak more boldly than a maiden should. finn has come to ask me for his wife; but he is an old man, even older than my father, and i love him not. but i love thee, dermat, and i beseech thee to save me from this hateful marriage. and, lest thou think that my love for thee is only a passing fancy, hear now what befell. "of a day when a hurling match was played on the green of tara, between mac luga and the fena on the one side, and carbri of the liffey and the men of tara on the other, i sat high up at the window of my sunny chamber to see the game. thou didst remain sitting with some others that day, not meaning to take part in the play. but at last, when the game began to go against thy friends, i saw thee start up; and, snatching the hurlet from the man nearest to thee, thou didst rush into the thick of the crowd; and before sitting down thou didst win the goal three times on the men of tara. at that hour my eyes and my heart were turned to thee; and well i knew thee to-day in this banquet hall, though i knew not thy name till the druid told me. at that same hour, too, i gave thee my love--what i never gave, and never will give, to any other." then was dermat sore troubled. he strove with himself, but strove in vain; for he could not help loving the princess with his whole heart. yet none the less did he hide his thoughts; for his duty to his chief prevailed. and with looks and words cold and stern, he replied-- "i marvel greatly that thou hast not given thy love to finn, who deserves it much better than any other man alive. and still more do i marvel that thou hast lighted on me beyond all the princes and nobles of tara; for truly there is not one among them less worthy of thy love than i. but that thou shouldst be my wife, by no means can this be; for even were i to consent, there is not in erin a fastness or a wilderness, however strong or remote, that could shelter us from finn's vengeance." then grania said, "i read thy thoughts; and i know thou art striving against what thy heart prompts. and now, o dermat, i place thee under gesa,[ ] and under the bonds of heavy druidical spells--bonds that true heroes never break through, that thou take me for thy wife before finn and the others awaken from their sleep; and save me from this hateful marriage." and dermat, still unyielding, replied, "evil are those gesa thou hast put on me; and evil, i fear, will come of them. but dost thou not know, princess, that whenever finn sleeps at tara, it is one of his privileges to have in his own keeping the keys of the great gates; so that even if we so willed it, we should not be able to leave the fortress?" "there is a wicket gate leading out from my apartments," said grania, "and through that we shall pass forth." "that i cannot do," answered dermat; "for it is one of my gesa[ ] never to enter a king's mansion, or leave it, by a wicket gate." and grania answered, "i have heard it said that every true champion, who has been instructed in all the feats that a warrior should learn, can bound over the highest rampart of a fort by means of the handles of his spears; and well i know that thou art the most accomplished champion among the fena. i will now pass out through the wicket gate; and even if thou dost not follow, i will fly alone from tara." and so she went forth from the banquet hall. then dermat, much doubting how to act, spoke to his friends and asked counsel of them. and first he addressed oisin, the son of finn, and asked him how he should deal with the heavy gesa-bonds that had been laid on him by the princess; and what he should do in the case. "you are blameless in regard to these bonds," answered oisin; "and i counsel you to follow grania; but guard yourself well against the wiles of finn." "o dear friend oscar," spoke dermat again, "what think you is best for me to do, seeing that these heavy gesa-bonds have been put on me?" "i say you should follow grania," answered oscar; "for he, indeed, is but a pitiful champion who fears to keep his bonds." "what counsel do you give me, kylta?" said dermat to kylta mac ronan. "i say," answered kylta, "that i would gladly give the world's wealth that the princess had given me her love; and i counsel you to follow her." last of all, dermat spoke to dering, the son of dobar o'baskin, and said, "give me your judgment in this hard matter, friend dering." and dering answered, "if you espouse grania, i foresee that your death will come of it, which grieves me even to think of; but even so, i counsel you to follow the princess rather than break through your gesa." and dermat, doubting even still, asked for the last time, "is this, my friends, the counsel you all give?" and they all answered, "yes," as with the voice of one man. then dermat arose and put on his armour and his helmet; and he took his shield, and his two heavy spears, and his sword. and with tears he bade farewell to his dear companions; for well he knew that it would be long before they should meet again; and he foresaw trouble and danger. then he went forth to where the steep side of the inner mound overlooked the outer rampart; and, placing his two spears point downwards, and leaning on them after the manner of skilful champions, with two light, airy bounds he cleared rampart and ditch, and measured the length of his two feet on the level green outside. and there the princess met him; and he said to her, with voice and manner still distant and stern-- "evil will certainly come of this espousal, o princess, both to thee and to me. far better would it be for thee to choose finn and to pass me by; for now we shall wander without home or rest, fleeing from his wrath. return, then, princess, return even now through the wicket gate, for the sleepers have not yet awakened; and finn shall never learn what has happened." but grania, gentle and sad indeed, but quite unmoved, replied, "i will never return; and until death takes me i will not part from thee." then at last dermat yielded and strove no longer; and putting off his sternness of manner and voice, he spoke gently to the princess and said-- "i will hide my thoughts from thee no more, grania. i will be thy husband, all unworthy of thee as i am; and i will guard thee and defend thee to the death from finn and his hirelings." and they plighted their faith, and vowed solemn vows to be faithful to each other as man and wife for ever. footnotes: [cvii.] see foot-note, page . chapter iii. flight and pursuit. then grania showed dermat the fenced meadow where her father's horses grazed, and bade him yoke two horses to a chariot. and when he had done so, he and grania sat in the chariot and travelled with all speed westward, till they reached ath-luan.[cviii.] and when they had come to the ford, dermat said, "finn will doubtless pursue us, and it will be all the easier for him to follow our track, that we have the horses." and grania answered, "as we are now so far from tara, we may leave the chariot and horses here, and i will fare on foot henceforward." so they alighted from the chariot; and dermat, leading one of the horses across, left them both some distance above the ford, one at each side of the river. and he took up grania in his strong arms, and brought her tenderly across the ford, so that not even the sole of her foot, or the skirt of her mantle was wetted. then they walked against the stream for a mile, and turned south-west, till they reached the wood of the two tents.[cix.] in the midst of the wood, where it was thickest, dermat lopped off branches and wove a hut, where they rested. and he brought grania the wild animals of the wood to eat, and gave her the water of a clear spring to drink. as to finn, the son of cumal, i will now tell what befell him. when the king and his guests arose from their sleep at early dawn next morning, they found dermat and grania gone; and a burning jealousy seized on finn, and his rage was so great that for a time all his strength left him. then he sent for his tracking-men, namely, the clann navin; and he commanded them forthwith to follow the track of dermat and grania. this they did with much ease as far as ath-luan, while finn and the others followed after; but when they had come to the ford, they lost the track. whereupon finn, being now indeed easily kindled to wrath, told them that unless they took up the track again speedily, he would hang every man of the clann navin on the edge of the ford. so the trackers, being sore afraid, searched upwards against the stream, and found the two horses where they had been left, one on each side of the river. and going on a mile further, they came to the spot where dermat and grania had turned from the river; and there they lighted on the south-west track, finn and the fena still following. and when the clann navin had pointed out to finn the direction of the track, he said-- "well do i know now where we shall find dermat and grania; for of a certainty they have hidden themselves in the wood of the two tents." now it chanced that oisin, and oscar, and kylta, and dering were present when finn spoke these words; and they were troubled, for they loved dermat. and going aside, they held council among themselves, and oisin spoke-- "there is much likelihood, friends, that finn speaks truth; for he is far-seeing, and judges not hastily. it is needful, therefore, that we send dermat warning, lest he be taken unawares. my counsel is that you, oscar, find out finn's hound, bran, and tell him to go to the wood of the two tents with a warning to dermat; for bran does not love his own master finn better than he loves dermat." so oscar called bran secretly, and told him what he should do. bran listened with sagacious eye and ears erect, and understood oscar's words quite well. then, running back to the rear of the host, so that finn might not see him, he followed the track without once losing it, till he arrived at the wood of the two tents. there he found dermat and grania asleep in their hut, and he put his head into dermat's bosom. dermat started up from his sleep, and seeing bran, he awakened grania, and said-- "here is bran, finn's hound; he has come to warn me that finn himself is near." and grania trembled and said, "let us take the warning, then, and fly!" but dermat answered, "i will not leave this hut; for however long we fly, we cannot escape from finn; and it is not worse to fall into his hands now than at any other time. howbeit, they shall not come into this fastness unless i permit them." then great fear fell on grania; but, seeing dermat gloomy and downcast, she urged the point no further. again oisin spoke to his three companions and said, "i fear me that bran may not have been able to baffle finn, or that some other mischance may have hindered him from finding dermat; so we must needs send him another warning. bring hither, therefore, fergor, kylta's errand-man." and kylta brought forward fergor. now this fergor had a voice so loud that his shout was heard over the three nearest cantreds. so they caused him to give three shouts that dermat might hear. and dermat heard fergor's shouts, and, awakening grania from her sleep, said to her-- "i hear the shout of fergor, kylta's errand-man. and he is with kylta, and kylta is with finn; and i know that my friends have sent me this warning, as a sign that finn himself is coming." and again grania trembled and said, "let us take this warning and fly!" but dermat answered, "i will not fly; and we shall not leave this wood till finn and the fena overtake us. howbeit, none shall come into this fastness unless i permit them." and grania was in great fear; but this time dermat looked gloomy and stern, and she pressed the matter no further. footnotes: [cviii.] ath-luan, now athlone, on the shannon. in ancient times the river had to be crossed by a ford, where the bridge is now built. [cix.] the wood of the two tents was situated in the territory of clanrickard, in the county galway. chapter iv. the fastness of the seven narrow doors. now as to finn. he and the others went forward till they reached the wood of the two tents. and he sent forward the clann navin to make search; who went, and having made their way to the thickest part of the wood, they came to a fence which they could not cross. for dermat had cleared a space round his hut, and surrounded it with a fence that no man could pierce, with seven narrow doors of strong poles woven with saplings, to face seven different parts of the wood. then the clann navin climbed up to a high tree branch, and looked over the fence; and they saw dermat with a lady. and when they had returned, finn asked them if dermat and grania were in the wood. and they answered-- "dermat, indeed, is there, and we saw a lady with him; but whether she be grania or not we cannot tell, for we know not the princess." "may ill luck attend dermat, and all his friends for his sake!" said finn. "i know he is in this wood; and he shall never leave it till he give me quittance for the injury he has done me." and oisin said, "certain it is, that you, finn, are blinded by jealousy; else you would never think that dermat would await you on this plain, with no stronger fastness to shelter him from your wrath than the wood of the two tents." to which finn, being angry, replied, "your words will profit you nothing, oisin; neither will your friendship for dermat avail him aught. well i knew, indeed, when i heard fergor's three shouts, that it was ye who caused him to shout, as a warning signal to dermat; and i know also that ye sent my dog bran to him with another warning. but these warnings will not avail you; for he shall never leave this wood till he pay me such eric[ ] as i seek for the injury he has done me." then oscar spoke and said, "surely, finn, it is mere folly to believe that dermat would wait here for you, knowing, as he does, that you seek his head." as oscar spoke these words, they arrived at the fence; and finn answered, "who then, think you, has cleared the wood in this manner, and fenced the space with this strong, sheltering enclosure, and fitted it with these narrow doors? but indeed," added he, "i will find out the truth of the matter in another way." so, raising his voice a little, he called out, "tell us now, dermat, which of us is telling truth, oscar or i." and dermat, who would not hide when called on, answered from within, "you never erred in your judgment, o king: grania and i are here; but none shall come in unless i permit them." then finn placed his men around the enclosure, a company at each narrow door; and he said to each company, "if dermat tries to escape by this door, seize him and keep him securely for me." now when grania saw these preparations, and overheard finn's words, she was overcome with fear, and wept and trembled very much. and dermat had pity on his wife, and comforted her; and he kissed her three times, bidding her be of good cheer, for that all would be well with them yet. and when finn saw this--for he stood with some others viewing the hut from a mound at a little way off--a flame of burning jealousy went through his heart; and he said-- "now of a certainty dermat shall not escape from me; and i shall have his head for all these injuries!" now angus of bruga,[ ] the wisest and most skilled in magic arts of all the dedannan race, was dermat's foster father. for he had reared him from childhood, and had taught him all the arts and accomplishments of a champion; and he loved him even as a father loves his only son. and it was revealed to angus that dermat was in deadly strait so he arose and travelled on the wings of the cool, east wind, neither did he halt till he reached the wood of the two tents; and he passed into the hut without being perceived by finn and his men. and when dermat saw the old man his heart leaped with joy. angus greeted dermat and grania, and said, "what is this thing thou hast done, my son?" and dermat answered, "the princess grania, daughter of the king of tara, asked me to take her for my wife, putting heavy gesa-bonds on me; and i did so, and we fled from her father's house. and finn, the son of cumal, has pursued us with intent to kill me, for he sought the princess to wife for himself." and angus said, "come now, children, under my mantle, one under each border, and i will bring you both away from this place without the knowledge of finn." but dermat answered, "take grania; but for me, i will not go with you. however, i will leave this place; and if i am alive i will follow you. but if they slay me, send the princess to her father, and tell him to treat her neither better nor worse on account of taking me for her husband." then dermat kissed grania, and bade her be of good cheer, for that he feared not his foes. and angus placed her under his mantle, and, telling dermat whither to follow, went forth from the enclosure without the knowledge of finn and the fena. they turned south then, and nothing is told of what befell them till they came to the wood of the two sallows, which is now called limerick. now as to dermat. after angus and grania had left him, he girded on his armour, and took his sharp weapons in his hands; and he stood up tall and straight like a pillar, meditating in silence for a space. then he went to one of the seven narrow doors, and asked who was outside. "no enemy of thine is here, but oisin and oscar, with the men of the clann baskin. come out to us, and no one will dare to harm thee." "i must needs find the door where finn himself keeps guard," answered dermat; "so i will not go out to you." he went to the second narrow door, and asked who was there. "kylta mac ronan with the clann ronan around him. come out at this door, and we will fight to the death for thy sake." "i will not go out to you," answered dermat; "for i do not wish to bring finn's anger on you for treating me with kindness." he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "conan of the grey rushes and the clann morna. we are no friends to finn; but thee we all love. come out to us, then, and no one will dare to harm thee." "of a certainty i will not go out at this door," answered dermat; "for well i know that finn would rather see you all dead than that i should escape!" he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "a friend and a dear comrade of thine is here; cuan, the chief of the munster fena, and his munster men with him. thou and we come from the same territory; and if need be we will give our lives in fight for thy sake." "i will not go out to you," said dermat; "for it would bring finn's sure displeasure on you to act kindly towards me." he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "finn, the son of glore of the loud voice, chief of the fena of ulster, and the ulster men around him. thou and we come not from the same territory; but we all love thee, dermat; and now come forth to us, and who will dare to wound or harm thee?" "i will not go out to you," replied dermat; "you are a faithful friend of mine, and your father in like manner; and i do not wish you to earn the enmity of finn on my account." he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "no friend of thine! here stand the clann navin watching for thee; namely, aed the lesser, and aed the tall, and gonna the wounder, and gothan the loud-voiced, and cuan the tracker, with all their men. we bear thee no love; and if thou come out at this door, we shall make thee a mark for our swords and spears!" and dermat answered, "lying and mean-faced dogs! it is not fear of you that keeps me from going forth at this door; but i do not wish to defile my spear with the blood of your shoeless, tracking vagabonds!" and he went to another narrow door, and asked who was there. "finn, the son of cumal, the son of art, the son of trenmore o'baskin, and with him the leinster fena. no love awaits thee here; and if thou come forth we will cleave thee, flesh and bones!" "the door i have sought i have found at last!" cried dermat; "for the door where thou, finn, standest, that, of a certainty, is the very door by which i shall pass out!" then finn charged his men, under pain of death, not to let dermat pass. but dermat, watching an unguarded place, rose by means of his two spears with a light, airy bound over the fence, and alighted on the clear space outside; and running swiftly forward, was in a moment beyond the reach of sword and spear. and so dismayed were they by his threatening look, that not a man attempted to follow him. then, turning southward, he never halted till he came to the wood of the two sallows, where he found angus and grania in a warm hut, with a boar fixed on hazel spits roasting before a great flaming fire. dermat greeted them; and the spark of life all but leaped from grania's heart with joy when she saw him.[cx.] so he told them all that had befallen him; and they ate their meal and slept in peace that night, till the morning of next day filled the world with light. then angus arose with the dawn, and said to dermat, "i will now depart, my son; but finn will still pursue you, and i leave you this counsel to guide you when i am gone. go not into a tree having only one trunk; never enter a cave that has only one opening; never land on an island of the sea that has only one channel of approach; where you cook your food, there eat it not; where you eat, sleep not there; and where you sleep to-night, sleep not there to-morrow night!" so angus bade them farewell; and they were sad after him. footnotes: [cx.] original: "it was little but that the salmon of her life fled through her mouth with joy before dermat." chapter v. the three sea-champions and their three venomous hounds on the track of dermat and grania. after angus was gone, dermat and grania journeyed westward, keeping the shannon on their right, till they reached the rough stream of the champions, which is now called the laune.[cxi.] they rested there; and dermat killed a salmon with his spear, and fixed it on a hazel spit to broil on the near bank; and he crossed the river with grania, to eat it on the further bank, as angus had told him. and after they had eaten, they sought a sleeping-place further west. they rose early next morning, and journeyed still west, till they reached the grey moor of finnlia.[cxii.] there they met a man of great size, noble in gait and feature, but with arms and armour not befitting his appearance. dermat greeted him, and asked who he was; and he replied-- "my name is modan, and i am seeking a lord whom i may serve for pay." "if i take you into my service," asked dermat, "what can you do for us?" "i will serve you by day and watch for you by night," answered modan. whereupon they entered into bonds of agreement with one another, modan to serve by day and watch by night, and dermat to pay him wages. then the three went westward till they reached the river of carra,[cxiii.] and modan lifted dermat and grania with the greatest ease, and bore them dry across the stream. from that further west to beha,[cxiv.] and modan bore them over this stream in like manner. here they found a cave, on the side of the hill over that part of the sea called tonn toma,[cxv.] namely, the hill of curra-kenn-ammid; and modan prepared a couch of soft rushes and birch tops in the innermost part of the cave, for dermat and grania. after this he went to the nearest wood and cut him a long, straight quicken tree rod; and, having put a hair and a hook on the rod, and a holly berry on the hook, he stood on the brink of the stream, and with three casts he hooked three salmon. then he put the rod by for next day; and, putting the hook and the hair under his girdle, he returned to dermat and grania. and he broiled the fish, and they ate their meal, modan giving the largest salmon to dermat, the second in size to grania, and keeping the smallest for himself. after which dermat and grania went to sleep in the cave, and modan kept watch and ward at the mouth, till morning arose with its abundant light. dermat rose early and set out for the nearest high hill, to look round the country, telling grania to keep watch at the mouth of the cave while modan slept. having come to the top of the hill, he viewed the country all round to the four points of the sky; and after a little while, he saw a fleet of black ships approaching from the west. when they had come near enough to the shore, a company of nine nines landed at the very foot of the hill where dermat stood. he went to them, and, after greeting them, asked who they were, and from what country they had come. "we are three sea-champions from the iccian sea,[cxvi.] who are at the head of this troop," replied they, "and our names are ducoss, fincoss, and trencoss;[cxvii.] and we have come hither at the suit of finn the son of cumal. for a certain chief named dermat o'dyna has rebelled against him, and is now an outlaw, flying through the country from one fastness to another. and finn has asked us to come with our fleet to watch the coast, while he himself watches inland, so that this marauder may no longer escape punishment. we hear, moreover, that this dermat is valiant and dangerous to attack, and we have brought hither three venomous hounds to loose them on his track, and scent him to his hiding-place: fire cannot burn them, water cannot drown them, and weapons cannot wound them. and now tell us who thou art, and whether thou hast heard any tidings of this dermat o'dyna." "i saw him, indeed, yesterday," answered dermat. "i know him well too, and i counsel you to follow your quest warily; for if you meet with dermat o'dyna you will have no common man to deal with." then he asked if they had got any wine in their ships. they replied that they had; so he asked that a tun might be brought, as he wished to drink; and he told them he would show them a champion-feat after he had drunk. two men were accordingly sent on board for a tun of wine. when they had brought it, dermat raised it in his arms and drank; and the others drank in like manner till the tun was empty. then he said, "i will now show you a champion-feat that dermat o'dyna taught me; and i challenge any man among you to do it after me. and from this you may learn what manner of man you will have to deal with, should you have the ill luck to meet with dermat himself." so saying, he brought the tun to the crest of the hill, and set it down at the edge of a steep cliff. then, leaping up on it, he turned it cunningly aside from the cliff, and let it roll down the smooth slope of the hill till it reached the very bottom, while he himself remained standing on it the whole time. and three times did he do this while the strangers looked on. but they laughed, mocking him, and said, "do you call that a champion-feat indeed? truly, you have never in your life seen a good champion-feat!" thereupon one among them started up and brought the tun to the top of the hill, intending to do the same feat; and, placing it on the edge of the cliff, he leaped up on it. and while he stood on it, dermat pushed it with his foot to set it going. but the moment it moved, the man lost his balance, and while the tun went rolling down the face of the hill, he himself fell over the cliff, and was dashed to pieces on the sharp edges and points of the rocks. another man tried the same thing, and he in like manner fell down and was killed among the rocks. and the end of the matter was, that before they would acknowledge themselves beaten, fifty of their men attempted the feat, and every man of the fifty fell over the cliff and was killed. so the others went on board their ships, gloomy and heart-sore. dermat returned to the cave, and grania's heart was glad when she saw him. modan went then, and putting the hair and the hook on the rod as before, he hooked three salmon; and he went back to the cave and broiled them on hazel spits. and they ate their meal; and modan kept watch and ward, while dermat and grania slept in the cave, till the pleasant morning filled the world with light. dermat rose up with the dawn, and telling grania to keep watch while modan slept, he went to the same hill, and found the three sea-champions with their men on the shore before him. he greeted them, and asked whether they wished for any more champion-feats. but they answered that they would much rather he would give them some tidings of dermat o'dyna. whereupon he said-- "i have seen a man who saw him this very morning. and now i will show you a champion-feat he taught me, in order that you may know what is before you, should you meet with dermat o'dyna himself." when he had said this, he threw off helmet and tunic and armour, till only his shirt remained over his brawny shoulders; and, taking the ga-boi,[cxviii.] the spear of mannanan mac lir, he fixed it firmly in the earth, standing point upwards. then, walking back some little way, he ran towards the spear, and, rising from the earth with a bird-like bound, he alighted softly on the very point; and, again leaping off it, he came to the ground on his feet without wound or hurt of any kind. then arose one of the strange warriors and said, "if you call that a champion-feat, it is plain that you have never seen a good champion-feat in your life!" and so saying, he ran swiftly towards the spear and made a great bound; but he fell heavily on the sharp point, so that it pierced him through the heart, and he was taken down dead. another man attempted the feat, and was killed in like manner; and before they ceased, fifty of their men were slain by dermat's spear. then they bade him draw his spear from the earth, saying that no more should try that feat; and they went on board their ships. so dermat returned to the cave; and modan hooked three salmon; and dermat and grania ate their meal and slept till morning, modan keeping watch. next morning, dermat went to the hill, bringing two strong forked poles cut from the wood. he found the three sea-champions with their men on the shore; and he greeted them, and said-- "i have come to-day to show you a champion-feat i learned from dermat o'dyna, that you may know what to expect if you should meet with dermat himself." he then fixed the poles standing firmly in the earth; and he placed the morallta, that is, the long sword of angus of the bruga, in the forks, edge upwards, the hilt on one, and the point on the other, binding it firmly with withes. then, rising up with a bound, he alighted gently on the edge; and he walked cunningly three times from hilt to point, and from point to hilt, and then leaped lightly to the earth without wound or hurt. and he challenged the strangers to do that feat. then one arose and said, "there never yet was done a champion-feat by a man of erin, that one among us will not do likewise." and he leaped up, intending to alight on his feet; but he came down heavily on the sharp edge, so that the sword cut him clean in two. another tried the same, and was killed also; and, they ceased not till as many were killed that day by dermat's sword as were killed on each of the two days before. when they were about to return to their ships, they asked him had he got any tidings of dermat o'dyna; and he answered-- "i have seen him this day: i will now go to seek him, and methinks i shall bring him to you in the morning." then he returned to the cave; and he and grania ate their meal, and slept that night, while modan kept watch. next morning, dermat arose with the dawn, and this time he arrayed himself for battle. he put on his heavy armour--no man who wore it could be wounded through it, or above it, or beneath it. he hung the morallta at his left hip, the sword of angus of the bruga, which never left anything for a second blow; and he took his two thick-handled spears, the ga-derg and the ga-boi, whose wounds no one ever recovered. then he awakened grania, telling her to keep watch till he returned, that modan might sleep. and when she saw him so arrayed, she trembled with fear, for she well knew that this was his manner of preparing for battle. and she asked him what he meant to do to-day, and whether finn's pursuers had found them. but he, to quiet her fears, put off the matter lightly, and said, "it is better to be prepared, lest the enemy come in my way;" and this soothed her. so he went to the hill, and met the strangers on the shore as before. and they asked him had he any tidings to give them of dermat o'dyna. he answered, "he is not very far off, for i have seen him just now." "then," said they, "lead us to his hiding-place, that we may bring his head to finn the son of cumal." "that would, indeed, be an ill way of repaying friendship," answered he. "dermat o'dyna is my friend; and he is now under the protection of my valour: so of this be sure, i will do him no treachery." and they replied wrathfully, "if thou art a friend to dermat o'dyna, thou art a foe to finn; and now we will take thy head and bring it to him along with the head of dermat." "you might indeed do that with much ease," answered dermat, "if i were bound hand and foot; but being as i am, free, i shall defend myself after my usual custom." then he drew the morallta from its sheath, and, springing forward to meet them as they closed on him, he clove the body of the foremost in two with one blow. then he rushed through them and under them and over them, like a wolf among sheep, or a hawk among sparrows, cleaving and slaughtering them, till only a few were left, who hardly escaped to their ships. footnotes: [cxi.] the river laune, flowing from the lakes of killarney into dingle bay. [cxii.] the grey moor of finnlia (_bogach-fhinnléithe_ in the original) was somewhere between the river laune and the river caragh, but the name is now forgotten. [cxiii.] the river of carra, the caragh river, flowing into dingle bay from the beautiful lake caragh, twenty miles west of killarney. [cxiv.] beha, the river behy, about a mile and a half west from the caragh, flowing through glanbehy into rossbehy creek. [cxv.] tonn toma, the wave of toma (a woman). the word tonn (a wave or billow) was often applied to the sea-waves that break over certain sandbanks and rocks with an exceptionally loud roaring. tonn toma is the name of a sandbank at the head of dingle bay, just outside the extreme point of rossbehy peninsula; and in the winter storms, the sea thunders on this sandbank, and indeed on the whole length of the beach of the peninsula, so as often to be heard twenty miles inland. this roaring is popularly believed to predict rain. there is a chain of three hills, stookaniller, knockatinna, and knockboy, lying between behy bridge on the east and drung mountain on the west, and isolated from the hills to the south-east by the valley of glanbehy. these hills rise directly over tonn toma; and the old gaelic name, currach-cinn-adhmuid (the moor of the head [or hill] of timber) must have been anciently applied to one or all of them. (see, for an account of the great historical _tonns_ of ireland, the author's "origin and history of irish names of places," series ii. page .) [cxvi.] iccian sea (irish, _muir nicht_), the irish name for the sea between england and france. [cxvii.] ducoss, fincoss, and trencoss, _i.e._ blackfoot, whitefoot, and strongfoot. [cxviii.] dermat had two spears, the great one called the ga-derg or crann-derg (red javelin), and the small one called ga-boi or crann-boi (yellow javelin): he had also two swords: the morallta (great fury), and the begallta (little fury). these spears and swords he got from mannanan mac lir and from angus of the bruga. he carried the great spear and sword in affairs of life and death; and the smaller in adventures of less danger. chapter vi. what befell the three sea-champions and their three venomous hounds. after this dermat returned to the cave without wound or hurt; and he and grania ate and slept, and modan watched till morning. then he repaired to the hill, fully armed as before, and standing right over the ships, he struck his hollow-sounding shield[cxix.] with his spear for a challenge, till the whole shore and the surrounding hills re-echoed. and ducoss straightway armed himself and came ashore to fight dermat single hand. now dermat by no means wished to slay his foe immediately, being, indeed, intent on worse punishment. so he closed with ducoss; and the two champions, throwing aside their weapons, seized each other round the waists with their sinewy arms. then they twisted and tugged and wrestled in deadly silence; and their swollen sinews strained and crackled; and the earth trembled beneath their feet; like two great writhing serpents, or like two raging lions, or like two savage bulls that strive and struggle to heave each other with horns interlocked. thus did the heroes contend; till at last dermat, heaving ducoss on his shoulder, dashed him helpless and groaning to the ground; and instantly seizing him, he bound him in hard iron bonds. fincoss came next against dermat, and after him trencoss; but he overcame them both, and bound them with like bonds; and then, leaving the three writhing with pain, he said to them-- "i would strike off your heads, but that i wish to prolong your torment; for none can release you from these bonds till you die!" dermat then returned to the cave; and he and grania ate their meal and slept that night, modan watching. in the morning, dermat told grania all that had happened from beginning to end; how fifty of the foreigners had been killed each day for the first three days; how he had slain a much greater number on the fourth day; and how he had overcome and bound the three sea-champions in hard iron bonds. "i have left them bound on the hill," continued he, "instead of killing them; because i would rather their torment to be long than short. for there are only four men in erin that can loosen the bonds i tie; that is to say, oisin, and oscar, and mac luga, and conan mail; and i think no one of these will free them. finn will doubtless hear of their state, and the news will sting him to the heart. but he will know that we are here; so we must now leave this cave, to escape him, and also to escape the three venomous dogs." so they came forth from the cave, and travelled eastward till they came to the grey moor of finnlia; and whenever grania was tired, or when they had to walk over rugged places, modan lifted her tenderly and carried her, without ever being in the least tired himself. and so they journeyed, till they reached the broad, heathery slopes of slieve lougher;[cxx.] and they sat down to rest on the green bank of a stream that wound through the heart of the mountain. now as to the sea-strangers. those of them that were left alive landed from their ships, and coming to the hill, found their three chiefs bound tightly, hand and foot and neck. and they tried to loose them, but only made their bonds the tighter. while they were so engaged, they saw finn's errand-woman coming towards them, with the speed of a swallow, or of a weasel, or of the swift, cold wind blowing over a mountain-side. when she had come near, she greeted them, and, seeing the bodies of the slain, she asked who it was that had made that fearful slaughter. "tell us first," said they, "who art thou that makest this inquiry?" "i am derdri of the black mountain, the errand-woman of finn the son of cumal," she replied; "and he has sent me hither to look for you." and they said, "we know not who made this slaughter; but we can tell thee his appearance, for that we know well. he was a tall warrior, with a fair, handsome, open countenance, and jet-black, curly hair. he has been three days fighting against us; and what grieves us even more than the slaughter of our men is that our three chiefs lie here bound by him so firmly that we are not able to loose them from their bonds." "alas, friends!" said derdri; "you have sped but badly at the very beginning of your quest; for this man was dermat o'dyna himself. and now loose your three venomous dogs on his track without delay; and i will return and send finn to meet you." then they brought forth the three hounds, and loosed them on the track of dermat; and leaving one of their druids to attend to the three fettered chiefs, they followed the hounds till they came to the cave, where they found the soft, rushy bed of dermat and grania. from that they fared east, and crossing the carra, and the grey moor of finnlia, and the laune, they reached at length the broad, heathy slieve lougher. as dermat sat by the mountain stream with grania and modan, looking westward, he saw the silken banners of the foreigners at a distance as they approached the hill. in front of all marched three warriors with mantles of green, who held the three fierce hounds by three chains. and dermat, when he saw the hounds, was filled with loathing and hatred of them. then modan lifted grania, and walked a mile with dermat up the stream into the heart of the mountain. when the green-clad warriors saw them, they loosed one of the three hounds; and when grania heard his hoarse yelps down the valley, she was in great dread. but modan bade her not fear, for that he would deal with this hound; and then, turning round, he drew forth from beneath his girdle a small hound-whelp, and placed it on the palm of his hand. there it stood till the great hound came up raging, with jaws wide open; when the little whelp leaped from modan's hand down the dog's throat, and broke his heart, so that he fell dead. and after that the whelp leaped back again on modan's hand; and modan put him under his girdle. then they walked another mile up the stream through the mountain, modan bringing grania. but the second hound was loosed, and soon overtook them; and dermat said-- "i will try the ga-derg on this hound. for no spell can guard against the magic spear of angus of the bruga; and i have heard it said also that there is no charm that can shield the throat of an animal from being wounded." then, while modan and grania stood to look, dermat, putting his finger into the silken loop of the spear, threw a cast, and drove the spear-head down the hound's throat, so that the entrails of the brute were scattered about; and dermat, leaping forward, drew the spear, and followed modan and grania. after they had walked yet another mile, the third hound was loosed; and grania, seeing him coming on, said, trembling-- "this is the fiercest of the three, and i greatly fear him; guard yourself, dermat, guard yourself well against this hound!" even while she spoke, the hound overtook them at the place called duban's pillar-stone; and as they stood looking back at him, dermat stepped in front of grania to shield her. the hound rose with a great spring over dermat's head to seize grania; but dermat grasped him by the two hind legs as he passed, and, swinging him round, he struck his carcase against a rock and dashed out his brains. then, putting his tapering finger into the silken string of the ga-derg, he threw the spear at the foremost of the green-clad knights, and slew him. he made another cast of the ga-boi and brought down the second warrior; and, drawing the morallta, he sprang on the third, and swept off his head. when the foreigners saw their leaders slain, they fled hither and thither in utter rout. and dermat fell upon them with sword and spear, scattering and slaughtering them, so that there seemed no escape for them, unless, indeed, they could fly over the tops of the trees, or hide themselves under the earth, or dive beneath the water. and when derdri of the black mountain saw this havoc, she ran, panic-stricken and crazed with fright, off the field towards the hill where the three kings lay bound. now as to finn. tidings were brought to him of what happened to the three sea-kings, and how they were lying bound in hard bonds on the hill over tonn-toma. so he set out straightway from allen, and travelled by the shortest ways till he reached the hill. and when he saw the three champions, he was grieved to the heart; for he knew of old that the iron fetters bound by dermat slew by slow torment, and that none could loose them except oisin, or oscar, or mac luga, or conan mail. and finn asked oisin to loose the bonds and relieve the kings. "i cannot do so," answered oisin, "for dermat bound me under gesa[ ] never to loose any warrior that he should bind." he next asked oscar; but the young warrior answered, "none shall be released by me who seeks to harm dermat o'dyna. fain would i indeed put heavier bonds on them." and when he asked mac luga and conan, they refused in like manner. now while they were speaking in this wise, they saw the errand-woman, derdri of the black mountain, running towards them, breathless and with failing steps, and her eyes starting from the sockets with terror. and finn asked her what tidings she had brought. "tidings indeed, o king, tidings of grievous mishap and woe!" whereupon she told him all that she had seen--how dermat o'dyna had killed the three fierce hounds, and had made a slaughter of the foreigners. "and hardly, indeed," she cried, "hardly have i myself got off scathless with the news!" the three kings, hearing this, and being worn out with the straitness and torment of their bonds, died at the same moment. and finn caused them to be buried in three wide graves; and flagstones were placed over them with their names graved in ogam;[cxxi.] and their funeral rites were performed. then, with heart full of grief and gall, finn marched northwards with his men to allen of the green hill-slopes. footnotes: [cxix.] a usual form of challenge among the ancient irish warriors. it is very curious that this custom is remembered to the present day in the _patois_ of the peasantry, even where the irish language is no longer spoken. in the south, and in parts of the west, they call a distinguished fighting man a _buailim sciach_, an expression which means literally, "i strike the shield." [cxx.] slieve lougher, a mountain near castle island. (see note, page .) [cxxi.] see note, page . chapter vii. sharvan, the surly giant, and the fairy quicken tree of dooros. now touching dermat and grania. they travelled eastward from slieve lougher, through hy conall gavra, keeping the shannon on their left, till they reached the wood of the two sallow trees, which is now called limerick. here they rested; and dermat killed a wild deer, and they ate of its flesh, and drank pure spring water, and slept that night. next morning modan bade them farewell, and left them. and dermat and grania were sad after him, for he was very gentle, and had served them faithfully. on that same day they departed from the wood of the two sallows; and nothing is related of what befell them till they arrived at the forest of dooros, in the district of hy ficra[cxxii.] of the moy, which was at that time guarded by sharvan the surly, of lochlann. now this is the history of sharvan the surly, of lochlann. on a certain occasion, a game of hurley was played by the dedannans against the fena, on the plain beside the lake of lein of the crooked teeth.[cxxiii.] they played for three days and three nights, neither side being able to win a single goal from the other during the whole time. and when the dedannans found that they could not overcome the fena, they suddenly withdrew from the contest, and departed from the lake, journeying in a body northwards. the dedannans had for food during the game, and for their journey afterwards, crimson nuts and arbutus apples and scarlet quicken berries, which they had brought from the land of promise.[cxxiv.] these fruits were gifted with many secret virtues; and the dedannans were careful that neither apple nor nut nor berry should touch the soil of erin. but as they passed through the wood of dooros, in hy ficra of the moy, one of the scarlet quicken berries dropped on the earth; and the dedannans passed on, not heeding. from this berry a great quicken tree[cxxv.] sprang up, which had the virtues of the quicken trees that grow in fairyland. for its berries had the taste of honey, and those who ate of them felt a cheerful flow of spirits, as if they had drunk of wine or old mead; and if a man were even a hundred years old, he returned to the age of thirty, as soon as he had eaten three of them. now when the dedannans heard of this tree, and knew of its many virtues, they would not that any one should eat of the berries but themselves; and they sent a fomor[cxxvi.] of their own people to guard it, namely, sharvan the surly, of lochlann; so that no man dared even to approach it. for this sharvan was a giant of the race of the wicked cain, burly and strong; with heavy bones, large, thick nose, crooked teeth, and one broad, red, fiery eye in the middle of his black forehead. and he had a great club tied by a chain to an iron girdle which was round his body. he was, moreover, so skilled in magic that fire could not burn him, water could not drown him, and weapons could not wound him; and there was no way to kill him but by giving him three blows of his own club. by day he sat at the foot of the tree, watching; and at night he slept in a hut he had made for himself, high up among the branches. into this land dermat came, knowing well that he should be safe there from the pursuit of finn. for sharvan did not let any of the fena hunt in hy ficra. and neither they nor any others dared to come near the great wood of dooros, for dread of the giant; so that the land around the quicken tree for many miles was a wilderness. dermat, leaving grania behind in safe shelter, went boldly to the giant, where he sat at the foot of the tree, and told him he wished to live amidst the woods of hy ficra, and chase its wild animals for food. whereupon the giant, bending his red eye on him, told him, in words few and surly, that he might live and hunt where he pleased, as long as he did not take and eat the berries of the quicken tree. so dermat built him a hunting-booth near a spring, in the thick of the forest of dooros; and, clearing a space all round, fenced it with strong stakes interwoven with tough withes, leaving one narrow door well barred and secured. and they lived in peace for a time, eating the flesh of the wild animals of dooros, which dermat brought down each day in the chase, and drinking the water of the well. now let us speak of finn, the son of cumal. one day, soon after his return to allen, as he and his household troops were on the exercise green before the palace, a company of fifty horsemen were seen approaching from the east, led by two taller and nobler looking than the others. having come near, they bowed low and greeted the king; and when he asked them who they were, and from whence they had come, they answered-- "we are enemies of thine, who now desire to make peace; and our names are angus, the son of art mac morna, and aed, the son of andala mac morna. our fathers were present at the battle of knocka,[ ] aiding those who fought against thy father, cumal, when he was slain; for which thou didst afterwards slay them both, and didst outlaw us, their sons, though indeed we were blameless in the matter, seeing that we were not born till after the death of cumal. however, we have come now to ask this boon of thee: that thou make peace with us, and give us the places our fathers held in the ranks of the fena." "i will grant your request," answered finn, "provided you pay me eric for the death of my father." "we would indeed pay thee eric willingly if we could," answered they; "but we have neither gold, nor silver, nor cattle, nor wealth of any kind to give." and then oisin spoke and said, "ask them not for eric, o king; surely the death of their fathers should be eric enough." but finn replied, "of a truth, i think, oisin, that if any one should slay me, it would not be hard to satisfy you in the matter of an eric. but, indeed, none of those who fought at knocka against my father, and none of their sons, shall ever get peace from me, or join the fena, without such eric as i demand." then angus, one of the two, asked, "what eric dost thou require, o king?" "i ask only one or the other of two things," answered finn; "namely, the head of a warrior, or the full of my hand of the berries of a quicken tree." "i will give you counsel, ye sons of morna, that will stand you in good stead, if you follow it," said oisin, addressing the two strange chiefs; "and my counsel is, that you return to the place from whence you came, and seek this peace no longer. know that the head the king seeks from you is the head of dermat o'dyna, the most dangerous of all the fena to meddle with, who is well able to defend himself, even if you were twenty times as many as you are; and who will certainly take your heads if you attempt to take his. know also that the berries finn seeks from you are the berries of the quicken tree of dooros. and it is hard to say if this be not a more perilous quest than the other; for the quicken tree belongs to the dedannans, who have sent sharvan, the surly giant of lochlann, to guard it day and night." but the two chiefs, unmoved by what they had heard from oisin, said that they would rather perish in seeking out the eric than return to their mother's country. so, leaving their people in the care of oisin, they set out on their quest. they travelled through the wood of the two sallows, and from that to dooros of the moy, where they found the track of dermat and grania, and followed it till they came to the hunting-booth. dermat heard their voices and footsteps outside, and, snatching up his weapons, went to the door and asked who was there. "we are aed, the son of andala mac morna, and angus, the son of art mac morna," they replied. "we have come hither from allen of leinster, to get either the head of dermat o'dyna, or a handful of the berries of the quicken tree of dooros; for finn, the son of cumal, has demanded of us that we bring him either the one or the other, as an eric for the killing of his father." dermat laughed when he heard this, and said, "truly this is not pleasant news for me to hear, for i am dermat o'dyna. but however, friends, i am not willing to give you my head, and you will find it no easy matter to take it. and as for the berries, these are quite as hard to get; for you will have to fight the surly giant sharvan, who cannot be burned with fire, or drowned with water, or wounded with weapons. but woe to the man who falls under the power of finn, the son of cumal. and you have come, methinks, on a bootless quest; for even if you should be able to bring him either of the two things he asks for, he will not grant you the place or the rank ye seek after all. and now," asked dermat, "which of the two do ye wish to strive for first, my head or the quicken berries?" and they answered, "we will do battle with thee first." so dermat opened the door, and they made ready for the combat. now this is the manner in which they agreed to fight: to throw aside their weapons, and to use the strength of their hands alone. and if the sons of morna were able to overcome dermat, they should take his head to finn; but if, on the other hand, they were overpowered and bound by dermat, their heads should be in like manner forfeit to him. but the fight was, indeed, a short one; for these two chiefs were even as children in dermat's hands, and he bound them in close and bitter bonds. now when grania heard of the berries of the quicken tree, she was seized with a longing desire to taste them. at first she strove against it and was silent, knowing the danger; but now she was not able to hide it any longer, and she told dermat that she should certainly die if she did not get some of the berries to eat. this troubled dermat, for he did not wish to quarrel with the giant sharvan; but, seeing that harm might come to grania if she did not get the berries, he told her he would go and get some for her, either by good will or by force. when the sons of morna heard this, they said, "loose these bonds, and we will go with thee and help thee to fight the giant." but dermat answered, "not much help, indeed, could ye give me, as i think, for the mere sight of this giant would be enough to unman you. but even were it otherwise, i would not seek your help, for if i fight at all i shall fight unaided." and they said, "even so, let us go. our lives are now forfeit to thee, but grant us this request before we die, to let us see thee fight this giant." and he consented to this. so dermat went straightway to the quicken tree, followed by the two sons of morna; and he found the giant lying asleep at the foot of the tree. he dealt him a heavy blow to awaken him, and the giant, raising his head, glared at him with his great red eye, and said-- "there has been peace between us hitherto; do you now wish for strife?" "i seek not strife," answered dermat; "but the princess grania, my wife, the daughter of king cormac mac art, longs to taste of these quicken berries; and if she does not get them she will die. this is why i have come; and now i pray you give me a few of the berries for the princess." but the giant answered, "i swear that if the princess and her child were now dying, and that one of my berries would save them, i would not give it!" then dermat said, "i do not wish to deal unfairly with you; and i have accordingly awakened you from your sleep, and made my request openly, wishing for peace. but now understand that before i leave this spot, i will have some of these quicken berries, whether you will or no." when the giant heard this, he rose up, and, seizing his club, dealt dermat three great blows, which the hero had much ado to ward off; nor did he escape without some hurt, even though his shield was tough and his arm strong. but now, watching narrowly, and seeing that the giant expected to be attacked with sword and spear, he suddenly threw down his weapons and sprang upon him, taking him unguarded. he threw his arms round his body, and, heaving him with his shoulder, hurled him with mighty shock to the earth; and then, seizing the heavy club, he dealt him three blows, dashing out his brains with the last. dermat sat down to rest, weary and breathless. and the sons of morna, having witnessed the fight from beginning to end, came forth rejoiced when they saw the giant slain. dermat told them to drag the body into the wood and bury it out of sight, lest grania might see it and be affrighted; and when they had done so, he sent them for the princess. when she had come, dermat said to her-- "behold the quicken berries, grania: take now and eat." but she answered, "i will eat no berries except those that are plucked by the hands of my husband." so dermat stood up and plucked the berries; and grania ate till she was satisfied. and he also plucked some for the sons of morna, and said-- "take these berries now, friends, as much as you please, and pay your eric to finn; and you may, if you are so minded, tell him that it was you who slew sharvan the surly, of lochlann." they answered, "we will bring to finn as much as he demanded, one handful and no more; and we grudge even so much." then they thanked dermat very much; for he had given them the berries, what they should never have been able to get for themselves; and though their lives were forfeit to him, he had not so much as mentioned the matter, but had allowed them to return freely. and after bidding dermat and grania farewell, they went their ways. after that dermat left his hunting-booth, and he and grania lived thenceforth in sharvan's hut among the branches. and they found the berries on the top of the tree the most delicious of all; those on the lower branches being as it were bitter in comparison. when the sons of morna reached allen, finn asked them how they had fared, and whether they had brought him the eric: and they answered-- "sharvan, the surly giant of lochlann, is slain; and here we have brought thee the berries of the quicken tree of dooros as eric for the death of thy father, cumal, that we may have peace from thee, and be placed in our due rank among the fena." finn took the berries and knew them; and he smelled them three times, and said-- "these, indeed, are the berries of the quicken tree of dooros; but they have passed through the hands of dermat o'dyna, for i smell his touch. and sure i am that it was dermat, and not you, who slew sharvan, the surly giant. it shall profit you nothing, indeed, to have brought me these berries; neither will you get from me the peace you seek, nor your place among the fena, till you pay me fair eric for my father's death. for you have gotten the berries not by your own strength; and you have, besides, made peace with my enemy. and now i shall go to the wood of dooros, to learn if dermat abides near the quicken tree." after this he gathered together the choice men of the seven battalions of the fena, and marched with them to dooros of hy ficra. they followed dermat's track to the foot of the quicken tree, and found the berries without any one to guard them; and they ate of them as much as they pleased. now it was noon when they had come to the tree; and the sun shone hot, and finn said-- "we shall rest under this tree till evening come, and the heat pass away; for well i know that dermat o'dyna is on the tree among the branches." and oisin said, "truly your mind must be blinded by jealousy, if you think that dermat o'dyna has waited for you on that tree, since he knows well that you seek his head." finn answered nothing to this speech, but called for a chess-board and men.[ ] and he and oisin sat down to a game; while oscar and mac luga and dering, the son of dobar o'baskin, sat near oisin to advise him; for finn played against them all. they played on for a time warily and skilfully, till at last oisin had only one move to make; and finn said-- "one move more would win you the game, oisin, but i challenge all your helpers to show you that move." and oisin was puzzled. dermat had been viewing the game from the beginning, where he sat among the branches; and he said, speaking to himself-- "pity that you should be in a strait, oisin, and i not near to advise your move." grania, sitting near, overheard him, and said, "it is a small matter whether oisin win or lose a game; far worse is it for you to be in this hut, while the men of the seven battalions of the fena are round about you, waiting to kill you." then dermat, not giving heed to grania's words, plucked a berry, and, flinging it down with true aim, struck oisin's chess-man--the man that should be moved. and oisin moved the man, and won the game against finn. the game was begun again, and it went on till it came to the same pass as before, oisin having to make only one move to win, but that move hard to make out. and again dermat threw a berry and struck the right man; and oisin made the move, and won the game. a third time the game went on, and dermat struck the chess-man as before; and oisin won the game the third time. whereupon the fena raised a mighty shout. "i marvel not that you should win the game, oisin," said finn, "seeing that you have the best help of oscar, and the zeal of dering, and the skill of mac luga; and that, along with all, you have been prompted by dermat o'dyna." "it shows a mind clouded by great jealousy," said oscar, "that you should think that dermat o'dyna is in that tree waiting for you to kill him." "which of us tells truth, dermat," said finn, looking up, "oscar or i?" "you, finn, have never yet erred in your judgment," answered dermat from the tree; "for indeed i am here with the princess grania, in the hut of sharvan, the surly giant of lochlann." and, looking up, finn and the others saw them plainly through an opening in the branches. but now grania, seeing the danger, began to tremble with great fear, and to weep; and dermat, taking pity on her, comforted her and kissed her three times. and finn, seeing this, said, "much more than this did it grieve me the night you espoused grania, and brought her away from tara before all the men of erin; but even for these kisses you shall certainly pay quittance with your head!" whereupon finn, being now bent on killing dermat, arose, and ordered his hirelings to surround the tree, catching hand in hand, so as to leave no gap; and he warned them, on pain of death, not to let dermat pass out. having done this, he offered a suit of armour and arms, and a high place of honour among the fena, to any man who would go up into the tree, and either bring him the head of dermat o'dyna, or force him to come down. garva of slieve cua[cxxvii.] started up and said, "lo, i am the man! for it was dermat's father, donn, that slew my father; and i will now avenge the deed." and he went up the tree. now it was revealed to angus of the bruga that dermat was in deadly strait; and he came to the tree to his aid, without the knowledge of the fena; and dermat and grania were filled with joy when they saw the old man. and when garva, climbing from branch to branch, had come near the hut, dermat dealt him a blow with his foot, which dashed him to the ground among the fena. and finn's hirelings cut off his head on the spot, for angus had caused him to take the shape of dermat; but after he was slain he took his own shape, so that all knew that it was garva of slieve cua that had been killed. then garva of slieve crot[cxxviii.] said, "it was dermat's father, donn, that slew my father; and i will now avenge the deed on dermat." so saying, he went up the tree. but angus gave him a blow which hurled him to the ground under the shape of dermat, so that the hirelings fell on him and slew him. and then finn told them that it was not dermat they had killed, but garva of slieve cua. garva of slieve gora[cxxix.] next started up, and said that his father had been slain by dermat's father; and he began to climb up the tree to take dermat's head in revenge. but dermat flung him down like the others, while angus gave him for the time the shape of dermat, so that the hirelings slew him. and so matters went on till the nine garvas had fallen; namely, garva of slieve cua, garva of slieve crot, garva of slieve gora, garva of slieve mucka,[cxxx.] garva of slieve-more, garva of slieve luga, garva of ath-free, garva of slieve mish, and garva of drom-more. and full of grief and bitterness was the heart of finn, witnessing this. then angus said he would take grania away from that place of danger. and dermat was glad, and said-- "take her with thee; and if i live till evening i will follow you. but if finn slays me, send her to tara to her father, and tell him to use her well." then dermat kissed his dear wife; and angus, having thrown his mantle round her, passed out from the tree without the knowledge of the fena, and went straightway to bruga of the boyne. after angus and grania had gone, dermat, addressing finn from the tree, said-- "i will now go down from this tree; and i will slaughter many of thy hirelings before they slay me. for i see that thou art resolved to compass my death; and why should i fear to die now more than at a future time? there is, indeed, no escape for me, even should i pass from this place unharmed; since i can find no shelter in erin from thy wrath. neither have i a friend in the far-off countries of this great world to give me protection, seeing that i have from time to time dealt defeat and slaughter among them, every one, for thy sake. for never have the fena been caught in any strait or danger, that i did not venture my life for them and for thee. when we went to battle, moreover, i was always in front of you; and i was always behind you when leaving the field. and now i care no longer to seek to prolong my life; but of a certainty thou shalt purchase my death dearly, for i shall avenge myself by dealing destruction among thy hirelings." "dermat speaks truly," said oscar; "and now let him have mercy and forgiveness; for he has suffered enough already." "i swear that i will never grant him peace or forgiveness to the end of my life," answered finn, "till he has given me the eric i seek from him for the injury he has done me; that is to say, his head." "shame it is to hear thee say so, and a sure mark of jealousy," answered oscar. "and now i take the body and life of dermat under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and i pledge the word of a true champion, that sooner shall the firmament fall on me, or the earth open up and swallow me, than that i shall let any man harm dermat o'dyna!" then, looking upwards, he said, "come down now, dermat, and thou shalt certainly go in safety from this place; for as long as i am alive, no man will dare to offer thee hurt!" then dermat, choosing that side of the tree where the men stood nearest to the trunk, walked along a thick branch unseen, and, leaning on the shafts of his spears, he sprang forward and downward with a light, airy bound, and alighted outside the circle of those who stood round with joined hands; and in a moment he was beyond the reach of sword and spear. and oscar joined him, looking back threateningly, so that no man of finn's hirelings durst follow. so the two heroes fared on together, crossing the shannon; and nothing is told of what befell them till they reached bruga of the boyne, where they met angus and grania. and grania was almost beside herself with joy when she saw dermat without wound or hurt of any kind. and the two champions were welcomed by angus; and dermat related to him and grania the whole story, how he had escaped from finn and his hirelings, oscar helping. and as grania listened, her spirit almost left her, at the deadly peril dermat had passed through. footnotes: [cxxii.] hy ficra, now the barony of tireragh, in sligo. [cxxiii.] the lake of lein of the crooked teeth, _i.e._ loch lein, or the lakes of killarney. [cxxiv.] the land of promise, or fairyland. (see note at the end.) [cxxv.] quicken tree. (see note, page .) [cxxvi.] fomor, a giant. (see note, page .) [cxxvii.] slieve cua, the ancient name of the highest of the knockmeal-down mountains, in waterford. [cxxviii.] slieve crot, the ancient name of the galty mountains. [cxxix.] slieve gora, a mountainous district in the barony of clankee, county cavan. [cxxx.] slieve mucka, now slievenamuck (the mountain of the pig), a long mountain ridge in tipperary, separated from the galties by the glen of aherlow. slieve luga, a mountainous district, formerly belonging to the o'garas, in the barony of costello, county mayo. slieve mish, a mountain range west of tralee. chapter viii. the attack of the witch-hag. now as regards finn. after the departure of dermat and oscar, his heart was filled with anger and bitterness, and he vowed he would never rest till he had revenged himself on dermat. and, leaving the wood of dooros, he marched eastward till he reached allen. making no delay, he ordered his trusted servants to make ready his best ship, and to put therein food and drink for a voyage. then going on board, he put out to sea; and nothing is told of him till he reached the land of promise,[ ] where his old nurse lived. when he appeared before her, she gave him a joyful welcome. and after he had eaten and drunk, she asked him the cause of his journey, knowing that some weighty matter had brought him thither. so he told her the whole story of what dermat o'dyna had done against him; and said that he had come to seek counsel from her how he should act. "for," he said, "no strength or cunning of men can compass his death; magic alone can overmatch him." then the old woman told him that she would go with him next day and work magic against dermat. whereupon finn was much rejoiced, and they rested that night. next day, they set out, finn and his people and his nurse; and it is not told how they fared till they reached bruga of the boyne. and the men of erin knew not that they had come thither, for the witch-hag threw a druidical mist round them, so that no man might see them. it chanced that dermat hunted that day in the forest, alone; for oscar had gone from bruga the day before. when this was known to the witch-hag, she caused herself to fly into the air by magic, on a water-lily, having by her spells turned the pale flat leaf into a broad millstone with a hole in the middle. and, rising over the tops of the trees, she floated on the clear, cold wind, till she had come straight over the hero. then, standing on the flat millstone, she began to aim deadly poisoned darts at him through the hole. and no distress dermat ever suffered could compare with this; for the darts stung him even through his shield and armour, the witch having breathed venomous spells on them. seeing at last that there was no escape from death unless he could slay the witch-hag, he seized the ga-derg, and, leaning backwards, flung it with sure aim at the millstone, so that it went right through the hole, and pierced the hag; and she fell dead at dermat's feet. then he beheaded her, and brought the head to angus of the bruga; and he related to him and to grania how he had escaped that great danger. chapter ix. peace and rest at last. angus arose next morning, and, going to finn, asked him whether he would make peace with dermat. finn, seeing that he was worsted in every attempt against the hero, and that moreover he had lost his nurse and many of his men, told angus that he was weary of the quarrel, and that he was fain to make peace on whatever terms dermat should choose. he next went to tara to the king, cormac, the grandson of conn. him he asked in like manner whether he was willing to grant dermat peace and forgiveness; and cormac answered that he was quite willing. then he came to dermat and said, "peace is better for thee: art thou willing now to be at peace with finn and cormac?" and dermat answered, "gladly will i make peace, if they grant me such conditions as befit a champion and the husband of the princess grania." and when angus asked what these conditions were, he answered-- "the cantred which my father had, that is to say, the cantred of o'dyna,[cxxxi.] without rent or tribute to the king of erin; also the cantred of ben-damis,[cxxxii.] namely, ducarn of leinster. these two to be granted to me by finn; and he shall not hunt over them, nor any of his fena, without my leave. and the king of erin shall grant me the cantred of kesh-corran,[cxxxiii.] as a dowry with his daughter. on these conditions will i make peace." angus went to finn, and afterwards to the king, with these conditions. and they granted them, and forgave dermat all he had done against them during the time he was outlawed. so they made peace. and cormac gave his other daughter to finn to wife. dermat and grania went to live in the cantred of kesh-corran, far away from finn and cormac; and they built a house for themselves, namely, rath-grania, in which they abode many years in peace. and grania bore dermat four sons and one daughter. and his possessions increased year by year, insomuch that people said that no man of his time was richer than dermat, in gold and silver and jewels, in sheep, and in cattle-herds. footnotes: [cxxxi.] the cantred of o'dyna, now the barony of corkaguiny, in kerry. (see note, page .) [cxxxii.] the cantred of ben-damis, or ducarn of leinster, probably the district round douce mountain, in the county wicklow. [cxxxiii.] the district round the mountain of kesh-corran, in sligo. chapter x. the death of dermat. now when many years had passed, grania said one day to dermat-- "it is surely a thing unworthy of us, seeing the greatness of our household and our wealth, and the number of our folk, that we should live in a manner so much removed from the world. and in a special manner it is unbecoming that the two most illustrious men in erin have never been in our house, namely, my father the king, and finn the son of cumal." for indeed she had not seen her father since the night she had left tara with dermat, and her heart yearned for him. "wherefore say you this, grania?" answered dermat; "for though there is indeed peace between us, they are both none the less enemies of mine; and for this reason have i removed my dwelling far apart from them." and grania said, "their enmity has surely softened with length of time: and now i would that you give them a feast: so shall we win back their friendship and love." and in an evil hour dermat consented. for a full year were they preparing for that great feast, and when it was ready, messengers were sent to invite the king, with his house-folk, and finn, with the chief men of the seven batallions of the fena. so they came, with their attendants and followers, their horses and dogs; and they lived for a whole year in rath-grania, hunting and feasting. it chanced one night, at the end of the year, long after all had gone to rest, that dermat heard, through the silence of the night, the distant yelping of a hound; and he started up from his sleep. but grania, being scared, started up also, and, throwing her arms round him, asked him what he had seen. "i have heard the voice of a hound," answered dermat; "and i marvel much to hear it at midnight." "may all things guard thee from harm!" said grania. "this is surely a trap laid for thee by the dedannans, unknown to angus of the bruga: and now lie down on thy bed again." dermat lay down, but did not sleep, and again he heard the hound's voice. he started up, and this time was fain to go and look to the matter; but grania caught him and kept him back a second time, saying that it was not meet for him to seek a hound whose voice he heard in the night. a gentle slumber now fell on dermat, and he slept through a good part of the night. but the yelping of the hound came a third time, and awakened him, so that he started up; and it being now broad day, he told grania that he would go to seek the hound, and find out why he was abroad in the night. and though grania consented, she felt, she knew not why, ill at ease; and she said-- "bring with you the morallta, the sword of mannanan mac lir, and the ga-derg,[a] angus's spear; for there may be danger." but dermat, regarding the matter lightly, and forced by fate to the worse choice, answered-- "how can danger arise from such a small affair? i will bring the begallta and the ga-boi;[cxxxiv.] and i will also bring my good hound mac-an-coill, leading him by his chain." so dermat went forth, and he delayed not till he reached the summit of ben-gulban,[cxxxv.] where he found finn; and dermat, offering him no salute, asked him who it was that held the chase. finn answered-- "some of our men came out from rath-grania at midnight with their hounds; and one of the hounds coming across the track of a wild boar, both men and dogs have followed it up. i indeed would have held them back, but the men were eager, and left me here alone. for this is the track of the wild boar of ben-gulban, and they who follow him are bent on a vain and dangerous pursuit. often has he been chased; and he has always escaped, after killing many men and dogs. even now thou canst see in the distance that the fena are flying before him; and he has slain several this morning. he is coming towards this hillock where we stand; and the sooner we get out of his way the better." but dermat said he would not leave the hillock through fear of any wild boar. "it is not meet that thou shouldst tarry here," answered finn. "dost thou not know that thou art under gesa[ ] never to hunt a boar?" dermat answered, "i know nothing of these gesa; wherefore were they placed on me?" and finn said, "i will tell thee of this matter, for well do i remember it. when thou wert taken to bruga of the boyne, to be fostered by angus, the son of angus's steward was fostered with thee, that he might be a companion and playmate to thee. now the steward, being a man of the common sort, agreed to send each day to bruga, food and drink for nine men, as a price for having his son fostered with thee--thy father, donn, being one of the nobles of the fena. and thy father was accordingly permitted to visit the house of angus when it pleased him, with eight companions, and claim the food sent by the steward; and when he did not come, it was to be given to angus's house-folk. "it chanced on a certain day that i was at allen of the broad hill-slopes, with the chief men of the seven battalions of the fena. and bran beg o'bucan brought to my mind, what indeed i had forgotten, that it was forbidden to me to sleep at allen more than nine nights one after another, and that the next would be the tenth. "now this restriction had not been placed on any of the fena save myself, and they all went into the hall except thy father and a few others. then i asked where we should get entertainment for that night. and thy father, donn, answered that he would give me entertainment at bruga of the boyne; where food and drink awaited himself and his companions whenever he visited angus. donn said, moreover, that he had not been to see his son for a year, and that we were sure to get a welcome. "so donn and i and the few that were with us went to the house of angus, bringing our hounds; and angus welcomed us. and thou and the steward's son were there, two children. after a while we could see that angus loved thee, dermat, very much, but that the house-folk loved the son of the steward; and thy father was filled with jealousy, that the people should show fondness for him and not for thee. "after night had fallen, it chanced that our hounds quarrelled over some broken meat we had thrown to them, and began to fight in the court; and the women and lesser people fled from them hither and thither. the son of the steward happened to run between thy father's knees, who, calling now to mind how the people favoured him more than thee, gave him a sudden strong squeeze with his knees, and killed him on the spot. and, without being seen by any one, he threw him under the feet of the hounds. "when at last the dogs were put asunder, the child was found dead; and the steward uttered a long, mournful cry. then he came to me and said-- "'of all the men in angus's house to-night, i have come worst out of this uproar; for this boy was my only child. and now, o finn, i demand eric from thee for his death; for thy hounds have slain him.' "i told him to examine the body of his son, and that if he found the mark of a hound's tooth or nail, i would give him eric. so the child was examined, but no hurt--either bite or scratch--was found on him. "then the steward laid me under fearful bonds of druidical gesa,[ ] to find out for him who slew his son. so i called for a chess-board and some water, and, having washed my hands, i put my thumb under my tooth of knowledge;[ ] and then it was revealed to me that the boy had been slain by thy father. not wishing to make this known, i now offered to pay eric for the boy; but the steward refused, saying that he should know who killed his son. so i was forced to tell him: whereupon he said-- "'it is easier for donn to pay me eric than for any other man in this house. and the eric i demand is that his son be placed between my knees: if the lad gets off safe, then i shall follow up the matter no further.' "angus was very wroth at this; and thy father would have struck off the steward's head if i had not come between and saved him. "the steward said no more, but went aside and brought forth a druidical magic wand, and, striking his son with it, he turned him into a great bristly wild boar, having neither ears nor tail. and, holding the wand aloft, he chanted this incantation over the boar-- "by this magical wand, by the wizard's command, i appoint and decree, for dermat and thee, the same bitter strife, the same span of life: in the pride of his strength, thou shalt slay him at length: lo, dermat o'dyna lies stretched in his gore; behold my avengers, the tusks of the boar! and thus is decreed, for donn's cruel deed, sure vengeance to come-- his son's bloody doom; by this wand in my hand, by the wizard's command! "the moment he had ended the incantation, the boar rushed out through the open door, and we knew not whither he betook himself. "when angus heard the steward's words, he laid a command on thee never to hunt a wild boar, that so thou mightest avoid the doom foretold for thee. "that same boar is the wild boar of binbulbin; and he is now rushing furiously towards us. come, then, let us leave this hill at once, that we may avoid him in time!" "i know nothing of these incantations and prohibitions," replied dermat; "or if, as thou sayest, they were put on me in my boyhood, i forget them all now. and neither for fear of this wild boar of ben-gulban nor of any other wild beast will i leave this hillock. but thou, before thou goest, leave me thy hound, bran, to help and encourage my dog, mac-an-coill." "i will not leave him," answered finn; "for often has bran chased this boar, and has always barely escaped with his life. and now i leave; for lo, here he comes over yonder hill-shoulder." so finn went his ways, and left dermat standing alone on the hill. and after he had left dermat said-- "i fear me, indeed, that thou hast begun this chase hoping that it would lead to my death. but here will i await the event; for if i am fated to die in this spot, i cannot avoid the doom in store for me." immediately the boar came rushing up the face of the hill, with the fena following far behind. dermat loosed mac-an-coill against him, but to no profit; for the hound shied and fled before him at the first glance. then dermat said, communing with himself-- "woe to him who does not follow the advice of a good wife! for this morning grania bade me bring the morallta and the ga-derg; but i brought instead the begallta and the ga-boi, disregarding her counsel." then, putting his white taper finger into the silken loop of the ga-boi, he threw it with careful aim, and struck the boar in the middle of the forehead; but to no purpose, for the spear fell harmless to the ground, having neither wounded nor scratched the boar, nor disturbed even a single bristle. seeing this, dermat, though indeed he knew not fear, felt his courage a little damped. and thereupon drawing the begallta from its sheath, he dealt a blow on the boar's neck, with the full strength of his brawny arm. but neither did he fare better this time; for the sword flew in pieces, leaving the hilt in his hand, while not a bristle of the boar was harmed. and now the boar rushed on him as he stood defenceless, and with furious onset hurled him headlong to the earth; and, turning round, he gashed the hero's side with his tusk, inflicting a deep and ghastly wound. turning again, he was about to renew the attack, when dermat flung the hilt of the sword at him, and drove it through the skull to his brain, so that the brute fell dead on the spot. finn and the fena now came up, and found dermat lying pale and bleeding, in the pangs of death. and finn said-- "it likes me well, dermat, to see thee in this plight; only i am grieved that all the women of erin cannot see thee also. for now, indeed, the surpassing beauty of thy form, that they loved so well, is gone from thee, and thou art pale and deformed!" and dermat answered, "alas, o finn! these words surely come from thy lips only, and not from thy heart. and indeed it is in thy power to heal me even now if thou wilt." "how should i heal thee?" asked finn. "it is not hard for thee to do so," answered dermat. "for when, at the boyne, the noble gift of foreknowledge was given to thee,[ ] this gift also thou didst receive--that to whomsoever thou shouldst give a drink of water from the closed palms of thy two hands, he should be healed from sickness or wounds, even though he stood at the point of death." "why should i heal thee by giving thee drink from my hands?" replied finn. "for of a certainty thou of all men dost least deserve it from me." "thou surely speakest hastily, not remembering past services," answered dermat. "well, indeed, do i deserve that thou shouldst heal me. dost thou forget the day thou didst go with the chiefs and nobles of the fena, to the house of derca, the son of donnara, to a banquet? and even as we sat down, and before the feast began, carbri of the liffey, son of cormac, with the men of tara, and of bregia, and of meath, and of carmna, surrounded the palace, intent on slaying thee and all thy people. and they uttered three great shouts, and threw firebrands to burn the palace over our heads. then thou didst arise and prepare to issue forth, but i put thee back and bade thee enjoy thy feast; and, leaving the banquet untasted, i rushed forth with a chosen few of my own men, and quenched the flames. thrice we made a circuit of the palace, dealing slaughter amongst thy foes, so that we left fifty of them dead after each circuit. and having put carbri and his men to flight, we returned to join the feast. had i asked thee for a drink that night, gladly wouldst thou have given it to me. and yet, not more justly was it due to me then than it is now." "ill dost thou deserve a healing drink from me, or any other favour," said finn; "for it was thy part to guard grania the night we came to tara; but thou didst espouse her secretly, and didst fly with her from tara, knowing that she was betrothed to me." "lay not the blame of that on me," said dermat; "for grania put me under heavy gesa, which for all the wealth of the world i would not break through--no, not even for life itself. neither did i rest on my own judgment in the matter; for well thou knowest that oisin, and oscar, and dering, and mac luga counselled me to the course i took. "and now, o finn, i pray thee let me drink from thy hands, for i feel the weakness of death coming on me. and thou wilt not gainsay that i deserve it, if thou wilt only remember the feast that midac, the son of colga, made for thee in the fairy palace of the quicken trees.[cxxxvi.] to this feast midac invited thee and thy companions; while to the palace of the island he brought secretly the king of the world with a great host, and the three kings of the island of the torrent, with intent to slay thee and all thy fena. "now midac caused some of the clay of the island of the torrent to be placed under you, with foul spells, in the palace of the quicken trees, so that your feet and your hands clove to the ground. and it was revealed to thee that the king of the world was about to send a chief with a troop of warriors, to slay you, helpless as you were, and to bring him your heads to the palace of the island. "but at that same time, i came to thee outside the palace of the quicken trees; and thou didst make known to me your deadly strait. then did i take thee, finn, and those who were with thee, under the protection of my knighthood and valour; and i went to the ford to defend it against the foreigners. "and after a little time the three dragon-like kings of the island of the torrent came towards the palace: but i defended the ford, and, venturing my life for thee, i bore their attack and slew them all three. and i swept off their heads, and brought them, all gory as they were, in the hollow of my shield, to the palace where you lay miserably bound; and, sprinkling the clay with the blood, i broke the spell and set you free. and had i asked thee for a drink on that night, o finn, of a surety thou wouldst not have refused me. "and many another deadly strait did i free you from, since the day i was admitted among the fena, always putting myself forward to the post of danger, and perilling my life for your safety; and now why dost thou requite me with this foul treachery? "moreover, many a king's son and many a brave warrior hast thou slain; and thou hast earned the enmity of powerful foes: neither is there yet an end of it. for the day will come--i see it even now--a day of direful overthrow and slaughter,[cxxxvii.] when few, alas! of the fena will be left to tell the tale. then thou shalt sorely need my help, o finn, and sorely shalt thou rue this day. i grieve not, indeed, for thee, but for my dear, faithful companions--for oscar and mac luga and dering, and more than all for oisin, who shall long outlive the others in sad old age.[cxxxviii.] alas! how deadly shall be their strait when i am not near to aid them!" then oscar, moved with pity even to tears, addressing finn, said, "although i am nearer akin to thee, o king, than to dermat, yet i cannot suffer that he die, when a drink from thy hands would heal him. bring him, then, a drink without delay." and finn answered, "i know of no well on this mountain from which to bring drink." "therein thou speakest not truth," said dermat; "for thou knowest that not more than nine paces from thee, hidden under yonder bush, is a well of crystal water." thereupon finn went to the well, and, holding his two hands tightly together, he brought up some of the water, and came towards dermat; but after he had walked a little way, he let it spill through his fingers, saying that he was not able to bring water in his hands so far. "not so, finn," said dermat. "i saw thee that of thy own will thou didst let it spill. and now, o king, hasten, for death is on me." again he went to the well, and was bringing the water slowly, while dermat followed the dripping hands with his eyes; but when finn thought of grania he let the water spill a second time. and dermat, seeing this, uttered a piteous sigh of anguish. and now was oscar no longer able to contain his grief and rage; and he said, "i swear, o king, if thou dost not bring the water, that only one of us two--thou or i--shall leave this hill alive!" hearing oscar's words, and seeing the frowning looks of the others, finn dipped up the water a third time, and was hastening forward; but before he had got half-way, dermat's head dropped backwards, and his life departed. and all the fena present raised three long loud cries of sorrow for dermat o'dyna. then oscar, looking fiercely on finn, spoke and said, "would that thou thyself lay dead here instead of dermat! for now indeed the noblest heart of the fena is still; and our mainstay in battle and danger is gone. ah! why did i not foresee this? why was i not told that dermat's life was linked with the life of the wild boar of ben-gulban? then would i have stayed this chase, and put off the evil day!" and oscar wept; and oisin, and dering, and mac luga wept also, for dermat was much loved by all. after a time, finn said, "let us now leave this hill, lest angus of the bruga overtake us. for although we had no hand in dermat's death, nevertheless he may not believe us." so finn and the fena departed from the hill, finn leading dermat's dog, mac-an-coill. but oisin, and oscar, and dering, and mac luga turned back, and with tears, threw their mantles over dermat; after which they followed the others. grania sat that day on the highest rampart of rath-grania, watching for dermat's return; for a dark fear haunted her mind on account of this chase. and when at last the fena came in view, she saw dermat's dog led by finn; but not seeing dermat himself, she said-- "ah me! what is this i see? surely if dermat were alive, it is not by finn that mac-an-coill would be led to his home!" and as she spoke she fell forward off the rampart, and lay long in a swoon as if her spirit had fled, while her handmaid stood over her, weeping and distracted. and when at last she opened her eyes, then indeed they told her that dermat was dead; and she uttered a long and piteous cry, so that her women and all the people of the court came round her to ask the cause of her sorrow. and when they were told that dermat had perished by the wild boar of ben-gulban, they raised three loud, bitter cries of lamentation, which were heard in the glens and wildernesses around, and which pierced the clouds of heaven. when at length grania became calm, she ordered that five hundred of her people should go to ben-gulban, to bring home the body of dermat. then, turning to finn, who still held mac-an-coill in his hand, she asked him to leave her dermat's hound; but finn refused, saying that a hound was a small matter, and that he might be allowed to inherit at least so much of dermat's riches. when oisin heard this, he came forward and took the hound from the hand of finn and gave him to grania. at the time that the men left rath-grania to go for the body of dermat, it was revealed to angus that the hero was lying dead on ben-gulban. and he set out straightway, and travelling on the pure, cool wind, soon reached the mountain; so that when grania's people came up, they found him standing over the body, sorrowing, with his people behind him. and they held forward the wrong sides of their shields in token of peace. then both companies, having viewed the dead hero, raised three mighty cries of sorrow, so loud and piercing that they were heard in the wastes of the firmament, and over the five provinces of erin. and when they had ceased, angus spoke and said, "alas! why did i abandon thee, even for once, o my son? for from the day i took thee to bruga, a tender child, i have watched over thee and guarded thee from thy foes, until last night. ah! why did i abandon thee to be decoyed to thy doom by the guileful craft of finn? by my neglect hast thou suffered, o dermat; and now, indeed, i shall for ever feel the bitter pangs of sorrow!" then angus asked grania's people what they had come for. and when they told him that grania had sent them to bring the body of dermat to rath-grania, he said-- "i will bring the body of dermat with me to bruga of the boyne; and i will keep him on his bier, where he shall be preserved by my power, as if he lived. and though i cannot, indeed, restore him to life, yet i will breathe a spirit into him, so that for a little while each day he shall talk with me." then he caused the body to be placed on a golden bier, with the hero's javelins fixed one on each side, points upwards. and his people raised the bier and carried it before him; and in this manner they marched slowly to bruga of the boyne. grania's people then returned; and when they had told her the whole matter, though she was grieved at first, yet in the end she was content, knowing how angus loved dermat. footnotes: [cxxxiv.] see note, page . [cxxxv.] now benbulbin, a mountain five miles north of the town of sligo. [cxxxvi.] see this story told at length, page . [cxxxvii.] a prophetic allusion to the battle of gavra. (see note at the end.) [cxxxviii.] a prophetic allusion to the events related in the story of "oisin in tirnanoge," page . the chase of slieve cullinn. in which it is related how finn's hair was changed in one day from the colour of gold to silvery grey.[cxxxix.] culand, the smith of the dedannans,[ ] who lived at slieve cullinn,[cxl.] had two beautiful daughters, milucra and aina. they both loved finn,[ ] and each sought him for her husband. as they walked together one evening near allen,[cxli.] they fell to talking of many things; and their conversation turning at last on their future husbands, aina said she would never marry a man with grey hair. when milucra heard this, she resolved with herself that if she could not get finn, she would plan so that he should not marry her sister aina. so she departed immediately, and, turning her steps northwards, she summoned the dedannans to meet her at slieve cullinn. having brought them all together, she caused them to make her a lake[cxlii.] near the top of the mountain; and she breathed a druidical virtue on its waters, that all who bathed in it should become grey. on a morning not long after this, finn happened to be walking alone on the lawn before the palace of allen, when a doe sprang out from a thicket, and, passing quite close to him, bounded past like the wind. without a moment's delay, he signalled for his companions and dogs; but none heard except his two hounds, bran and skolan. he instantly gave chase, with no other arms than his sword, mac-an-lona, and accompanied only by his two dogs; and before the fena[ ] knew of his absence, he had left allen of the green slopes far behind. the chase turned northwards; and though the hounds kept close to the doe, the chief kept quite as close to the hounds the whole way. and so they continued without rest or pause, till they reached slieve cullinn, far in the north. here the doe made a sudden turn and disappeared; and what direction she took, whether east or west, finn knew not, for he never caught sight of her after. and he marvelled much that any doe in the world should be able to lead bran and skolan so long a chase, and escape from them in the end. meantime they kept searching, finn taking one side of the hill and the dogs another, so that he was at last left quite alone. while he was wandering about the hill and whistling for his hounds, he heard the plaintive cry of a woman at no great distance; and, turning his steps towards the place, he saw a lady sitting on the brink of a little lake, weeping as if her heart would break. never before did the chieftain see a maiden so lovely. the rose colour on her cheeks was heightened by her grief; her lips were like ruddy quicken berries; the delicate blossom of the apple tree was not more white than her neck; her hair fell in heavy golden ringlets on her shoulders; and as she looked up at the chief, her eyes beamed like stars on a frosty night. finn accosted her; and, seeing that she ceased her weeping for a moment, he asked her had she seen his two hounds pass that way. "i have not seen thy hounds," she replied, "nor have i been at all concerned in the chase; for, alas, there is something that troubles me more nearly, a misadventure that has caused me great sorrow!" and as she spoke these words, she burst out weeping and sobbing more bitterly than before. finn was greatly moved at this, so much so, that he quite forgot all about his hounds and his own troubles; and he asked her-- "what is the cause of this great grief, gentle lady? has death robbed you of your husband or your child, or what other evil has befallen you? i am much concerned to see a lady in such distress; and i wish you to tell me if anything can be done to lighten your sorrow, or to remove the cause of it?" she replied, "i had a precious gold ring on my finger, which i prized beyond anything in the world; and it has fallen from me into the water. i saw it roll down the steep slope at the bottom, till it went quite out of my sight. this is the cause of my sorrow, and thou canst remedy the mishap if thou wilt. the fena are sworn never to refuse help to a woman in distress; and i now put on thee those gesa[ ] that true heroes dare not break through, to search for the ring, and cease not till thou find it and restore it to me." though the chief had indeed at the moment no inclination to swim, he could not refuse a prayer urged in this manner. so he plunged in without a moment's hesitation, and examined the lake on all sides, diving and searching into every nook and cranny at the bottom. after swimming in this manner three times round and round the lake, he found the ring at last; and, approaching the lady, he handed it to her from the water. the moment she had got it she sprang into the lake before his eyes, and, diving down, disappeared in an instant. the chief, wondering greatly at this strange behaviour, stepped forth from the water; but as soon as his feet had touched the dry land, he lost all his strength, and fell on the brink, a withered, grey old man, shrunken up and trembling all over with weakness. he sat him down in woful plight; and soon his hounds came up. they looked at him wistfully and sniffed and whined around him; but they knew him not, and, passing on, they ran round the lake, searching in vain for their master. on that day the fena were assembled in the banquet hall of the palace of allen; some feasting and drinking, some playing chess, and others listening to the sweet music of the harpers. while all were in this wise pleasantly engaged, kylta mac ronan[ ] stood up in the midst, and said in the hearing of all-- "i have observed, friends, that our master and king, finn the son of cumal, has not been amongst us to-day, as is his wont; and i wish to know whither he has gone." this speech caused a sudden alarm amongst us; for no one knew aught of the chief, or was aware till that moment that he was absent at all; and we knew not wherefore he had disappeared or whither he had gone. in the midst of our anxious tumult, the envious and foul-mouthed conan mail[ ] stood up, and said-- "i have never heard sweeter music than your words, kylta! the fena are now about to seek for their king; and my only wish is that their quest may last for a whole year, and that it may prove a vain search in the end! be not cast down, however, o fena; if you should fail to find the son of cumal, you will not be so ill off as you think; for i will undertake to be your king from this time forth!" though we were at the time more inclined to be sad than mirthful, being weighed down with much anxiety, we could not help laughing when we heard the loud, foolish talk of conan mail; but we took no further notice of him. inquiring now from the lesser people about the palace, we found that the chief and his two dogs had followed a doe northwards. so, having mustered a strong party of the fena, we started in pursuit. kylta and i took the lead, the rest keeping close behind; and in this order we followed the track, never taking rest or slackening speed till we reached slieve cullinn. we began to search round the hill, hoping to find either the chief himself or some person who might give us tidings of him. after wandering among brakes and rough, rocky places, we at last espied a grey-headed old man sitting on the brink of a lake. i went up to him to ask a question, followed by the rest of the fena. at first i thought he might be a fisherman who had come up from the plains to fish; but when we came near him, he seemed so wretched an old creature, all shrivelled up, with the skin hanging in wrinkles over the bare points of his bones, that i felt quite sure he was not a fisherman, and that he was reduced to that state more by sickness and want than by old age. i asked the poor old man if he had seen a noble-looking hero pass that way, with two hounds, chasing a doe. he never answered a word, neither did he stir from where he sat, or even look up; but at the question, his head sank on his breast, and his limbs shook all over as with palsy. then he fell into a sudden fit of grief, wringing his hands and uttering feeble cries of woe. we soothed him and used him gently for a time, hoping he might speak at last; but to no purpose, for he still kept silent. then at last growing impatient, and thinking that this might be a mere headstrong humour, we drew our swords, and threatened him with instant death if he did not at once tell us all he knew of the chief and his hounds--for we felt sure he had seen them. but he only lamented the more, and still answered nothing. at last, after this had gone on for some time, and when we were about to leave him, he beckoned to kylta mac ronan; and when kylta had come near, the old man whispered into his ear the dreadful secret. and then we all came to know the truth. when we found that the withered old man was no other than our beloved king, finn, himself, we uttered three shouts of lamentation and anger, so loud and prolonged that the foxes and badgers rushed affrighted from their dens in the hollows of the mountain. conan now stepped forward, looking very fierce; and, unsheathing his sword with mighty bluster, he began in a loud voice to revile finn and the fena with the foulest language he could think of. and he ended by saying that he meant to slay the king that moment-- "now, o finn mac cumal, i will certainly strike off your head; for you are the man that never gave me credit for valour, or praised my noble deeds in battle. ever since your father, cumal of the hosts, was slain on the field of knocka[cxliii.] by the clann morna[ ] of the golden shields, you have been our bitter foe; and it is against your will that any of us are now alive. i am very glad to see you, finn mac cumal, brought down to what you now are; and i only wish that the rest of the clann baskin[ ] were like you. then should i very soon make short work of them all; and joyful to me would be the task of raising a great carn to their memory!" to which oscar replied with great scorn, "it is not worth while drawing a sword to punish thee, conan mail, vain and foolish boaster as thou art; and besides, we have at present something else to think of. but if it were not for the trouble that now lies heavy on us on account of our king, i would of a certainty chastise thee by breaking all the bones of thy mouth with my fist!" "cease, oscar," returned conan, in a voice still louder than before; "cease your foolish talk! it is actions and not words that prove a man; and as to the noble warlike deeds done in past times by the fena, it was by the clann morna they were performed, and not by the chicken-hearted clann baskin!" the fiery oscar could bear this no longer. he rushed towards conan mail; but conan, terrified at his vengeful look, ran in amongst the fena with great outcry, beseeching them to save him from the rage of oscar. we straightway confronted the young hero, and checked him in his headlong career; and after much ado, we soothed his anger and made peace between him and conan. when quietness was restored, kylta asked finn how this dread evil had befallen him, who was the enchanter, and whether there was any hope of restoring him to his own shape. finn told him that it was the daughter of culand the smith who had transformed him by her spells. and then he recounted how she had lured him to swim in the lake, and how, when he came forth, he was turned into a withered old man. we now made a framework litter of slender poles, and, placing our king on it, we lifted him tenderly on our shoulders. and, turning from the lake, we marched slowly up-hill till we came to the fairy palace of slieve cullinn, where we knew the daughter of culand had her dwelling deep under ground.[ ] here we set him down, and the whole troop began at once to dig, determined to find the enchantress in her cave-palace, and to take vengeance on her if she did not restore our chief. for three days and three nights we dug, without a moment's rest or pause, till at length we reached her hollow dwelling; when she, affrighted at the tumult and at the vengeful look of the heroes, suddenly started forth from the cave and stood before us. she held in her hand a drinking-horn of red gold, which was meant for the king. yet she appeared unwilling, and held it back, notwithstanding the threatening looks of the fena. but, happening to cast her eyes on the graceful and manly youth, oscar, she was moved with such admiration and love for him that she wavered no longer, but placed the fairy drinking-horn in the hands of the king. no sooner had he drunk from it, than his own shape and features returned, save only that his hair remained of a silvery grey. when we gazed on our chief in his own graceful and manly form, we were all pleased with the soft, silvery hue of the grey hairs. and, though the enchantress appeared ready to restore this also, finn himself told her that it pleased him as it pleased the others, and that he chose to remain grey for the rest of his life. when the king had drunk from the horn, he passed it to mac reth, who drank from it in like manner and gave it to dering. dering, after drinking, was about to hand it to the next, when it gave a sudden twist out of his hand, and darted into the loose earth at our feet, where it sank out of sight. we ran at once to recover it; but, though we turned up the earth deeply all round, we were not able to find the drinking-horn. this was a disappointment that vexed us exceedingly, for if we had all drunk from it, we should have been gifted with a foreknowledge of future events. a growth of slender twigs grew up afterwards over the spot where it sank into the ground; and this little thicket is still gifted with a part of the virtue of the golden drinking-horn. for any one who looks on it in the morning fasting, will know in a moment all things that are to happen that day. so ended the chase of slieve cullinn; and in this wise it came to pass that finn's hair was turned in one day from golden yellow to silvery grey. footnotes: [cxxxix.] it is necessary to remind the reader that this story and the two following are related by oisin, in his old age, to st. patrick. (see the prefatory note to the story of "oisin in tirnanoge," p. ; and see also note at the end.) [cxl.] now slieve gullion, a lofty, isolated mountain in the south of the county armagh, celebrated in legendary lore. [cxli.] the hill of allen, in kildare, where finn had his palace. (see note at the end.) [cxlii.] the little lake for which this legendary origin is assigned lies near the top of slieve gullion. there were several wells in ireland which, according to the belief of old times, had the property of turning the hair grey. giraldus cambrensis tells us of such a well in munster; and he states that he once saw a man who had washed a part of his head in this well, and that the part washed was white, while the rest was black! it is to be observed that the peasantry of the district retain to this day a lingering belief in the power of the lake of slieve gullion to turn the hair grey. [cxliii.] knocka, now castleknock, near dublin. (see note at the end.) the chase of slieve fuad. in which it is related how ailna, the wife of mergah of the sharp spears, in order to be revenged on the fena for the death of her husband, transformed herself into a deer, and decoyed them till she got them into the power of her brother, dryantore, a giant and an enchanter; how he threw them into a dungeon, with intent to kill them; and how they were in the end set free by conan mail.[cxliv.] finn and the fena[ ] went one day to hunt at slieve fuad.[cxlv.] when they had come very near to the top of the mountain, a deer suddenly bounded from a thicket right before them, very large and fierce, with a great pair of sharp, dangerous antlers. at once they loosed their dogs and gave chase; and those who were scattered here and there about the hill gave up the pursuit of smaller game to join the main body for it was very seldom they fell in with a deer that promised better sport. she led them through rugged places, over rocks and bogs, and into deep glens. the hounds several times surrounded her; but she fought her way with so much strength and fury that she always escaped, after killing many of the dogs and disabling some of the men. soon she left slieve fuad behind, nor did she slacken speed till she reached the green hill of lidas, while the hunters and dogs followed in full chase close behind. she then made her way across the open country to a rugged and bushy hill--the hill of carrigan;[cxlvi.] and here they suddenly lost her among the rocks and thickets. they searched round the hill without avail, north, south, east, and west, till all, both men and dogs, were quite scattered; and finn and dara the melodious were left alone. at length finn's dog, skolan, started the deer once more, and again the chase began. back over the selfsame course she ran, by the hill of lidas, and straight on towards slieve fuad, finn and dara close on her track; while the main body of the fena followed far behind, guided by the cries of the dogs. when the deer reached slieve fuad, she again took cover and disappeared at the very spot where they had first started her; and the two chiefs, after beating the thickets on every side, were at length forced to give up the search. a druidical mist now rose up, darkening the air, and enfolding them on every side; so that they lost their way. they tried many times to regain the path, but to no purpose; for they only lost themselves more and more among the quagmires and thickets. at last they sat down to rest, weary and baffled; and dara played a mournful strain on his timpan; after which they sounded the dord-fian,[cxlvii.] as a signal to their friends. when the fena heard the dord-fian sounding afar off, they felt sure that their leader was in trouble or strait of some kind; and they started to his relief, making northwards straight towards the point from which they thought the signal came. but they had not gone far when they heard it sounding from the east, and altered their course accordingly. again it changed to the west; and no sooner had they set forward in that direction than it seemed to come from the south. in this manner were they led hither and thither, till they became quite bewildered; and they found themselves no nearer to those they were in search of, for every time they heard the dord-fian, it seemed as far off as ever. meantime finn and dara, after resting for a time, again started off, intent on trying once more to reach their friends; for they heard their shouts, and knew they were seeking them. as they were making their way through the thick fog, they heard a voice at a little distance, as if from one in distress; and, turning their steps that way, they met a young woman, very beautiful, and very pleasing in manner, but looking weary and sore perplexed, and all over in sad plight from the bogs and brambles. finn accosted her in a gentle voice, asking how she came to be alone in a place so wild. she replied, "i and my husband were journeying along over the plain, when we heard the melodious cry of hounds; and he left me to follow the chase, telling me to continue along the same path, and promising to rejoin me without delay. but this fairy fog has risen around me, and i have lost my way, so that i know not now in what direction to go." finn then asked her name and the name of her husband. "my husband's name is lavaran, and mine is glanlua. but i perceive that you are one of the fena; and indeed i think, from your arms and from your noble mien, that you must be the great chief finn himself. if this be so, i place myself under your protection; and i know well that you will lead me safely out of this place to my husband; for the fena never yet refused their help to a woman in distress." finn replied, "you are quite right, lady, for i am finn; and this chase that has parted you and your husband belongs to me. we will certainly take you under our protection, and we will neither abandon you on this mountain, nor suffer any one to harm you. but as to leading you to your husband, it is not at present in our power to do that; for you must know, lady, that we also have been set astray by this magical fairy fog. nevertheless, we will do the best we can; and now you had better come with us." so the three set forward in the direction they thought most likely to lead to the open plain. after walking for some time, they heard a low, sweet strain of fairy music; and they stopped to listen. it seemed to be near them and around them in the fog, so that finn thought it came from the spot where the lady stood; and she thought it came from finn or dara: and the music was followed by shouts and noise, as if from a great company. when the noise ceased, the music began again more sweetly than before; so that they felt heavy, and as if inclined to sleep. still more drowsy and powerless they became as they listened; and at last they all three sank on the ground, in a trance deep and deathlike. after a time they awoke, and slowly regained their senses; though they were so weak that they could scarcely move. the fog had cleared away, leaving the air bright and warm; and when they were able to look around, they found themselves on the margin of a blue lake. the part of the lake that lay in front of them was narrow, and quite calm and smooth; but on each side, to the right and left, it opened out into two broad, green-bordered seas, with great waves tumbling wildly about, as if the waters were torn up by whirlwinds. but where they sat, not a breath was blowing. and looking across the narrow part, they saw a stately palace right before them on the opposite shore. as they were gazing at all these strange things, silent and much astonished, they saw a warrior coming forth from the palace, in size like a giant, rough and fierce-looking, with a beautiful woman by his side. the two walked quickly down to the shore, and, plunging in, they swam straight across the middle of the lake. and dara and glanlua, turning to finn, said-- "of a surety, it is not for our good yonder strangers are approaching; but to work us treachery and mischief!" this forecast turned out to be true. the large warrior and the beautiful lady had no sooner gained the land than they came up to finn and his two companions; and without speaking a word, the giant seized them roughly, and led them down to the shore of the lake. for the two heroes were still so weak from the spell of the fairy music that they were not able to raise a hand to defend either the lady or themselves. the giant and his companion, making no delay, plunged in, and swam back towards the palace, bringing the three with them; and as soon as they had reached the shore, the strange warrior, addressing finn in a fierce and surly manner, said-- "for a long time have i sought finn mac cumal, the evil-minded and crafty; and now, o finn, now that thou hast been by a well-laid plan cast under my power, i will take good care that thou shalt not escape till i take revenge, even to the full, for all the injuries thou hast done to me and to my sister!" finn listened to this speech with much surprise, for he could not call to mind that he had ever seen the hero before; and he said-- "tell me, i pray thee, who thou art; for i know thee not; neither do i know of any injury thou hast suffered at my hands. thou art, indeed, large of body, and fierce and boastful in speech; but know that to take revenge on a foe who is unable to defend himself, is a deed quite unbecoming a hero!" the large man replied, "do you not remember the treachery you practised on mergah of the sharp spears, and on my sons, two fair youths, whom you slew by unfair means, at the battle of knockanare?[cxlviii.] well indeed do i know thee, finn, for i am dryantore, and this is ailna my sister, the wife of mergah. she is left without her husband, and i without my sons, by your cruel wiles; for it was by fraud and foul play, and not by fair fighting, that you gained the battle of knockanare, and slew mergah and his host!" "i remember well," said finn, "that they all fell on the battle-field; but it was not by craft or treachery. mergah of the sharp spears came with a mighty host to conquer erin, and lay it under tribute. but they were met at knockanare, and every man of them slain in fair, open fight, though not without sore loss to the fena." "you may say what you please on the matter," said dryantore; "but it is quite enough for me that you have slain ailna's husband and my two sons. and now, indeed, i shall take revenge--of that be sure--both on you and on all the fena that come within my reach." and having so spoken, he began without more ado to bind finn, dara, and glanlua in strong fetters; and having done so, he threw them into a dungeon, where he left them without food or drink or comfort of any kind. meantime the fena ceased not to search for their king. they knew, by the sad strain they had heard in the distance, and by the strange manner in which the music had shifted from place to place, that he was caught under some druidic spell; and they vowed they would never rest till they had found him and punished the enchanter, whoever he might be. next day, ailna visited the dungeon; and finn addressed her-- "hast thou forgotten, ailna, that when thou didst come to erin after the death of thy husband, mergah of the sharp spears, the fena received thee hospitably, and, pitying thy distress, treated thee with much kindness? but for this thou hast indeed given us an ungrateful and unbecoming return; for thou hast shut us up in this dungeon, without food or drink, having, by guileful druidical spells, taken away our strength." "i remember very well," said ailna, "that you treated me kindly. but you killed my husband; and i am well pleased that it has now come to my turn to avenge his death. i do not feel the least pity for you; and i only wish that the whole of the fena were with you in that dungeon, to be dealt with by my brother." then, casting her eyes on glanlua, she began to upbraid her in bitter words for having been in the company of finn and dara. but glanlua explained the matter, saying that she had never seen either of the chiefs before, and that it was only by chance she had fallen on them when she had lost her way in the fog. "if that be so," said ailna, "it is not just that you should be punished for the evil deeds of the others." and she went and told dryantore, who came forthwith to release the lady. glanlua took leave of finn and dara, and left the prison, grieving much for their evil plight; for she was grateful for their kindness on the mountain. ailna led her to the palace; and, having placed food before her, bade her eat. but glanlua, being overcome by weakness, suddenly fell into a swoon, and remained for a long time without sense or motion, like one dead. when at last she opened her eyes, she saw ailna standing near, holding in her hand a golden drinking-horn. and ailna gave her to drink, and immediately the spells lost their power; and she regained her strength; and the bloom and beauty of her countenance returned. but now she bethought her of the two heroes; and, remembering their dismal plight in the dungeon, she became sorrowful, and began to sigh and weep. and when ailna and dryantore came to know the cause of her tears, they told her with much severity that finn and dara deserved their punishment; and that both should stay in prison till the time had come to put them to death. "i seek not to release them from prison or to save them from death," said glanlua; "but that they are left without food and drink--this it is that moves me to pity." and dryantore said, "if only that has caused your tears, you may, if you so please, bring them food. besides, i do not mean to put them to death immediately. i shall let them live yet awhile, that i may decoy by them the other fena, who are now wandering hither and thither in quest of their chief. and it is my firm belief that in a little time i shall have them all in that dungeon." so glanlua went to the prison, bringing food and drink, and ailna went with her. they found the heroes sitting on the floor, sorrowing, their strength and activity all gone; for the music-spell still held them, and they suffered also from want of food. and when they saw the two ladies, they shed bitter tears. glanlua, on her part, wept with pity when she looked on the wasted face of the chief. but not so ailna; she was pleased at their distress, for her heart was hardened with vengeance, and she longed for the time when they should suffer death. howbeit, glanlua placed food and drink before them, and they ate and drank and were strengthened for the time. when the two ladies returned, dryantore asked glanlua if it were true what he had heard, that dara was a favourite among the fena; and why it was that they loved him so. glanlua replied, "i only know that he is a very skilful musician; for i never heard melody sweeter than the strains he played yesterday, when i met himself and finn in the fog." "i should like very much to hear this music," said dryantore, "if it be so melodious as you say;" and as he spoke these words he went towards the dungeon. and when he had come to the door, he said to dara, in a loud, harsh, surly voice-- "i have heard that you are a skilful musician, and can play very sweet strains. i wish you to play for me now that i may know if this be true." to which dara replied, "if i had the fena around me, i could delight them with the melody of my timpan; but as for you, guileful and cruel as you are, i do not believe that you can take any pleasure in music. moreover, how can you expect that i should play sweet music for you, seeing that i am shut up here in this dismal dungeon, and that all manly strength and cheerfulness of mind have left me through your foul spells?" "i will take off the spells if only you play for me," said dryantore; "and if your strains be as delightful as i have heard reported, i will bring you forth from your prison, and i will keep you for ever in my castle, and you shall play for me whensoever i wish for music." "i shall never consent to be released, neither will i play any music for you, so long as my chief lies in bondage and under enchantment," said dara; "for i grieve not indeed for myself, but for him." dryantore replied, "i will lift the spells from both of you for a time; but as to releasing finn, that is a matter i do not wish to talk of now." whereupon dryantore removed the spells, and the heroes regained their strength and courage. dara then played a low, sweet tune; and dryantore, who had never before heard such music, listened with delight and wonder. he was so charmed that he called ailna and glanlua, that they also might hear; and they were as much delighted as the giant. but what pleased glanlua most was to see the heroes restored to their wonted cheerfulness. now all this time the fena were seeking among the glens and hollows of the mountain for finn and dara. after walking for some time over a stony and rugged way, a faint strain of music struck on their ears. they stopped to listen, breathless; and every man knew the sound of dara's timpan; and they raised a shout of gladness, which reached finn and dara in their dungeon. at the same moment they came in view of the palace, and they drew their swords and put their shields and spears in readiness, as men do going to battle. and they went forward warily, for they feared foul play, and their hearts had a forecast that a foe was near. but, indeed, they little deemed what manner of foe they should meet. when dryantore heard the shouts, he hid himself from the view of the fena, and forthwith betook him to his magic arts. and again the spell fell on the two heroes, and their strength departed; and dara's hand, losing its cunning, trembled on the strings, so that his music became dull and broken. and when dara's music ceased, the fena heard a low, hoarse murmur, which, growing each moment louder, sounded at last like the hollow roar of waves. and anon their strength and their swiftness left them, and they fell to the ground every man, in a deep trance as if they slept the sleep of death. then dryantore and ailna came forth, and having bound them one by one in strong, hard fetters, they roused them up and led them helpless and faltering to the dungeon, where they shut them in with finn and dara. the fena looked sadly on their king; and he, on his part, shed bitters tears to think that he had decoyed them--though, indeed, he had done so unwittingly--into the hands of their foe. in the midst of their sighs and tears they heard the loud voice of the giant, who, looking in on them from the open door, addressed them-- "now at last, ye fena, you are in my safe keeping. truly you have done great deeds in your time, but yet, methinks, you will not be able to escape from this prison till i have taken just vengeance on you for slaying mergah of the sharp spears, and my two sons, at the battle of knockanare!" and having so spoken, he shut the door and went his way. when he came to the palace, he found that glanlua's husband, lavaran, had been there. upon which he fell into a mighty rage; for he feared to let any man know the secrets of the palace; and he feared also that lavaran might try to aid finn and the others. he inquired of the two ladies whither he had gone; but they replied they did not know. he then began to search through the rooms, and, raising his voice, he called aloud for lavaran; and the fena, even in their dungeon, heard the roar quite plainly. lavaran, hearing him, was sore afraid, and answered from a remote part of the palace. and as he came forward, the giant placed him under his spells, and, having bound him, flung him into the dungeon with the others. dryantore's fury had not in the least abated; and, entering the dungeon, he struck off the heads of several of the fena with his great sword, saying he would visit them each day, and do in like manner till he had killed them all. during this time the fena were unable to defend themselves; for, besides that their strength had gone out from their limbs on account of the spells, they found that from the time the enchanter entered the prison, they were all fixed firmly in their places, every man cleaving to the ground, in whatsoever position he chanced to be, sitting, lying, or standing. and finn shed tears--even tears of blood in sight of all--seeing his men fall one by one, while he had to look on without power to help them. after dryantore had in this manner slain several, he approached conan mail,[ ] with intent to end that day's work by cutting off his head; and as it chanced, conan was lying full length on the floor. now conan, though he was large-boned and strong, and very boastful in his speech, was a coward at heart, and more afraid of wounds and death than any man that ever lived. so when he saw dryantore coming towards him with his sword in his hand all dripping, he shouted aloud-- "hold thy hand, dryantore! hold thy hand for a little while, and be not guilty of such treachery!" but the giant, not heeding in the least conan's words, raised his sword with his two hands and rose on tiptoe for a mighty blow. then conan, terrified beyond measure, put forth all his strength to free himself, and bounded from the floor clear outside the range of the sword; but left behind him, clinging to the floor, all the skin of his back, even from the points of his shoulders to the calves of his legs. when he saw the giant still making towards him in a greater rage than ever for missing his blow, he again cried aloud-- "hold your hand this time, dryantore! is it not enough that you see me in this woful plight? for it is plain that i cannot escape death. leave me, then, to die of my wounds, and slay me not thus suddenly!" dryantore held his hand; but he told conan that he would for a certainty kill him next time he came, if he did not find him already dead of his wounds. then he stalked out of the dungeon, and, shutting close the door, left the fena in gloom and sadness. though lavaran had been only a little while in the palace, he made good use of his time, and now approaching finn, he whispered in his ear-- "there is that in yonder palace which would free us from those accursed spells if we only could get at it." and when finn asked what it was, he replied, "a magical golden drinking-horn of wondrous virtue. i saw it in the palace among many other precious jewels." and when finn again questioned him how he knew of its secret power, he said-- "glanlua, my wife, told me. for she said that, being herself at the point of death, ailna fetched this drinking-horn and bade her drink. and when she had drunk, she was immediately freed from spells and sickness. she told me, moreover, that it would remove the spell from the fena, and bring back their strength and heal their wounds, if they could get to drink from it." conan, being near, overheard this conversation; and he inwardly resolved that he would try to secure the drinking-horn, if perchance he might be able to heal his wounds by means of it. not long after, the giant again came to the prison, sword in hand, and addressed conan in these words-- "come forward now, o big, bald man, for i am about to fulfil my promise to you! come forward, that i may strike off your large head; for i see that your wounds have not killed you!" but conan, instead of coming forward, fell back even to the farthest part of the dungeon, and replied-- "you must know, dryantore, that i, of all men alive, am the most unwilling to die any death unworthy of a brave hero. you see my evil plight, all wounded and faint from loss of blood; and, being as i am a valiant warrior, it would surely be a shameful thing and a foul blot on my fame, to be slain while in this state. i ask only one favour--that you cure me of my wounds first. after this, you may put me to death in any manner that is most agreeable to you." to this dryantore consented, seeing that conan was secure; and he called to ailna and bade her fetch him the magical golden drinking-horn. "for i wish," said he, "to heal the wounds of yonder big, bald man." but ailna replied, "of what concern are his wounds to us? is it not better that he should die at once, and all the other fena with him?" conan spoke out from where he stood, "lovely ailna, i seek not to escape death. i ask only to be healed first and slain afterwards!" ailna went to the palace and soon returned, bringing, not the drinking-horn, but a large sheepskin, covered all over with a long growth of wool. dryantore took it from her, and doing as she told him, he fitted it on conan's back, where it cleaved firmly, so that his wounds were all healed up in an instant. as long as conan lived afterwards, this sheepskin remained on his back; and the wool grew upon it every year, even as wool grows on the back of a living sheep. and from that time forth, the other fena were always mocking him and laughing at him and calling him nicknames. as soon as conan felt his wounds healed, he again spoke to the giant-- "it is my opinion, dryantore, that it would be a very unwise thing for you to put me to death. i see plainly you want a servant. now, although i am large of bone and strong of body, and very brave withal, still i am very harmless. and if you let me live, i shall be your servant for ever, and you will find me very useful to you." the giant saw the force and wisdom of conan's words; and he felt that he wanted a servant very much, though he never perceived it till that moment, when conan reminded him of it. so he said, "i believe, indeed, conan, that your words are truth. wherefore, i will not put you to death. you are now my servant, and so shall you be for the rest of your life." he then led conan forth from the dungeon towards the palace; and he was in such good humour at having got a servant, that he forgot to kill any of the fena on that occasion. he called to him ailna and glanlua, to tell them of what he had done. and he said to them-- "i find that i need a servant very much. wherefore, i have made conan my servant. and i am now about to free him from the spell and give him back his strength by a drink from the golden drinking-horn, so that he may be able to wait on me and do my work." for conan, though his wounds were healed, was still so weak from the spell that he was scarce able to walk. "i do not at all approve what you have done," said ailna. "it would be, methinks, much better to put him straightway to death along with all the others. as long as he is with us as our servant, i shall never think myself free from danger; for the fena are treacherous all alike." "as for the other fena," replied dryantore, "you need not be in any trouble on their account, for their time is short. as soon as i have got conan free from the spell, i will go straight to the dungeon and kill them, every man. and when they are fairly put out of the way, it seems to me that we need not fear danger from this big, bald man with the sheepskin on his back." when ailna heard that the death of the fena was near at hand, she no longer gainsaid her brother. so dryantore led conan to the palace; and placing the magical drinking-horn in his hand, bade him drink. and conan drank; and immediately his strength and his spirits returned. now it so happened, while these things went on, that finn asked dara to play one of his sweet, sad tunes, that they might hear the music of his timpan before they died. and dara took his timpan, and began to play; and historians say that no one either before or since ever played sweeter strains. at the very moment that conan had finished drinking, he and dryantore heard the music sounding faintly in the distance; and the giant opened the door and stood on the threshold to listen. he was so charmed that he quite forgot all about conan and the drinking-horn; and finding that he could not hear the music plainly enough where he stood, he walked hastily towards the dungeon, leaving conan behind with the drinking-horn in his hand. no sooner had he gone out than conan hid the drinking-horn under his cloak, and went to the dungeon after him. and when the giant saw him he said, "why have you followed me; and what business have you here? are you not my servant; and why have you come without being bidden by me?" "i thought," replied conan, "that you were about to put the fena to death; and i came to look at them once more before they died." then suddenly dryantore bethought him of the drinking-horn, and he said, "where is the golden drinking-horn i gave you?" "i left it," said conan, "just where i found it in the palace." the giant ran hastily towards the palace to secure the drinking-horn; and no sooner was he out of sight than conan, drawing forth the horn, put it to the lips of each to drink, beginning with finn. only finn and oscar had drunk, when they heard the heavy steps of the giant running towards the dungeon; and now they saw that he was indeed inflamed with fury. oscar seized his great, polished spear, and sprang to the door; and the others raised a mighty shout of joy; while conan went on releasing the heroes one by one. when dryantore saw oscar, he uttered a roar of rage and disappointment; and then called aloud to ailna to come to him. and she came forth; and when she saw how matters stood, she was seized with such grief and terror that she dropped down and died immediately. glanlua was standing near at hand, rejoicing at the release of her husband and friends; but when she saw ailna fall to the ground dead, she became sad, and, stooping down, wept over her. all this oscar saw from where he stood; and it was with much ado he checked his tears. for though my son was the bravest of the heroes, and the most terrible in battle, he had a gentle heart, and never saw a woman or a child in distress without being moved to pity. but conan felt not the least pity. on the contrary, he was very glad to see ailna dead; and he told oscar that it was very well she was out of the way, for that she was a vicious woman, and had wrought the fena much trouble and woe. and now oscar, casting his eyes again on dryantore, hardened his heart for battle, and addressed the giant in these words-- "it has at last come to pass, o dryantore, that you are in the power of the fena; and there is no escape for you, though you are a large and strong giant, and a druid with powerful magical spells. but the fena never yet treated an enemy ungenerously. you indeed dealt unfairly and treacherously with us; and meant to kill us all, after having taken away our strength and valour by your black, guileful magic. but even so, we give you your choice; and we challenge you now to single combat with any of our champions you may wish to choose." to which dryantore replied, "it is very true that the fena have prevailed over me; and it is a just punishment for my folly in releasing conan the bald from my spells. i desire single combat. i will fight the fena one after another, till i either fall myself or slay them all; and i will begin with you!" oscar then took his shield and made ready for battle. meantime the giant, harbouring great wrath against conan, approached him unawares; and when he had come near enough, he sprang suddenly on him, and aimed a blow with all his might at his head. but conan, springing aside, barely escaped the edge of the sword; and, running in great fear, called to oscar with great outcry to save him from the giant. then oscar ran between; and he and the giant fought a long and fierce fight, while we looked on with anxious hearts. the giant was furious and strong; but my son was active and watchful and fearless of heart; and dryantore at length fell at the door of his own palace, pierced through and through by the long, smooth spear of oscar. when the fena saw the giant fall, they raised three mighty shouts of joy. and glanlua brought the magic drinking-horn to oscar, from which he drank, so that his wounds were healed, and his strength straightway returned to him. the fena then went into the palace, where they found food in great plenty, with wine and mead in golden bowls and drinking-horns. and they ate and drank and made merry; after which they rested that night on soft beds and couches. when they awoke in the morning, all was changed. the palace and the lake were gone; and the heroes found themselves lying on the heathy side of slieve fuad, at the selfsame spot where they had first started the deer; with the morning sun shining brightly over their heads. footnotes: [cxliv.] this story is told by oisin to st. patrick. (see the prefatory note to the next story, "oisin in tirnanoge," page .) [cxlv.] slieve fuad was the ancient name of the highest of the fews mountains, near newtown hamilton, in armagh; but the name is now lost. [cxlvi.] now probably the village of carrigans, on the river foyle, five miles south-west of londonderry. [cxlvii.] dord-fian, a sort of musical war-cry. (see note, page .) [cxlviii.] knockanare (the hill of slaughter), where a great battle was fought between the fena under finn, and the foreigners under mergah of the sharp spears, in which mergah was defeated and slain. this battle forms the subject of a poetical romance. it may be as well to observe that this hill is _not_ knockanare in kerry, near the mouth of the shannon, as some say. oisin in tirnanoge;[cxlix.] or, the last of the fena. [according to an ancient legend, finn's son, oisin, the hero-poet, survived to the time of st. patrick, two hundred years (the legend makes it three hundred) after the other fena. on a certain occasion, when the saint asked him how he had lived to such a great age, the old hero related the following story.] a short time after the fatal battle of gavra,[cl.] where so many of our heroes fell, we were hunting on a dewy morning near the brink of lough lein,[cli.] where the trees and hedges around us were all fragrant with blossoms, and the little birds sang melodious music on the branches. we soon roused the deer from the thickets, and as they bounded over the plain, our hounds followed after them in full cry. we were not long so engaged, when we saw a rider coming swiftly towards us from the west; and we soon perceived that it was a maiden on a white steed. we all ceased from the chase on seeing the lady, who reined in as she approached. and finn and the fena were greatly surprised, for they had never before seen so lovely a maiden. a slender golden diadem encircled her head; and she wore a brown robe of silk, spangled with stars of red gold, which was fastened in front by a golden brooch, and fell from her shoulders till it swept the ground. her yellow hair flowed far down over her robe in bright, golden ringlets. her blue eyes were as clear as the drops of dew on the grass; and while her small, white hand held the bridle and curbed her steed with a golden bit, she sat more gracefully than the swan on lough lein. the white steed was covered with a smooth, flowing mantle. he was shod with four shoes of pure yellow gold, and in all erin a better or more beautiful steed could not be found. as she came slowly to the presence of finn, he addressed her courteously in these words-- "who art thou, o lovely youthful princess? tell us thy name and the name of thy country, and relate to us the cause of thy coming." she answered in a sweet and gentle voice, "noble king of the fena, i have had a long journey this day, for my country lies far off in the western sea. i am the daughter of the king of tirnanoge, and my name is niam of the golden hair." "and what is it that has caused thee to come so far across the sea? has thy husband forsaken thee; or what other evil has befallen thee?" "my husband has not forsaken me, for i have never been married or betrothed to any man. but i love thy noble son, oisin; and this is what has brought me to erin. it is not without reason that i have given him my love, and that i have undertaken this long journey: for i have often heard of his bravery, his gentleness, and the nobleness of his person. many princes and high chiefs have sought me in marriage; but i was quite indifferent to all men, and never consented to wed, till my heart was moved with love for thy gentle son, oisin." when i heard these words, and when i looked on the lovely maiden with her glossy, golden hair, i was all over in love with her. i came near, and, taking her small hand in mine, i told her she was a mild star of brightness and beauty, and that i preferred her to all the princesses in the world for my wife. "then," said she, "i place you under gesa,[ ] which true heroes never break through, to come with me on my white steed to tirnanoge, the land of never-ending youth. it is the most delightful and the most renowned country under the sun. there is abundance of gold and silver and jewels, of honey and wine; and the trees bear fruit and blossoms and green leaves together all the year round. you will get a hundred swords and a hundred robes of silk and satin, a hundred swift steeds, and a hundred slender, keen-scenting hounds. you will get herds of cows without number, and flocks of sheep with fleeces of gold; a coat of mail that cannot be pierced, and a sword that never missed a stroke and from which no one ever escaped alive. there are feasting and harmless pastimes each day. a hundred warriors fully armed shall always await you at call, and harpers shall delight you with their sweet music. you will wear the diadem of the king of tirnanoge, which he never yet gave to any one under the sun, and which will guard you day and night, in tumult and battle and danger of every kind. lapse of time shall bring neither decay nor death, and you shall be for ever young, and gifted with unfading beauty and strength. all these delights you shall enjoy, and many others that i do not mention; and i myself will be your wife if you come with me to tirnanoge." i replied that she was my choice above all the maidens in the world, and that i would willingly go with her to the land of youth. when my father, finn, and the fena heard me say this, and knew that i was going from them, they raised three shouts of grief and lamentation. and finn came up to me and took my hand in his, saying sadly-- "woe is me, my son, that you are going away from me, for i do not expect that you will ever return to me!" the manly beauty of his countenance became quite dimmed with sorrow; and though i promised to return after a little time, and fully believed that i should see him again, i could not check my tears, as i gently kissed my father's cheek. i then bade farewell to my dear companions, and mounted the white steed, while the lady kept her seat before me. she gave the signal, and the steed galloped swiftly and smoothly towards the west, till he reached the strand; and when his gold-shod hoofs touched the waves, he shook himself and neighed three times. he made no delay, but plunged forward at once, moving over the face of the sea with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a march day. the wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway lost sight of land; and we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. other shores came into view, and we saw many wonderful things on our journey--islands and cities, lime-white mansions, bright greenans[clii.] and lofty palaces. a hornless fawn once crossed our course, bounding nimbly along from the crest of one wave to the crest of another; and close after, in full chase, a white hound with red ears. we saw also a lovely young maiden on a brown steed, with a golden apple in her hand; and as she passed swiftly by, a young warrior on a white steed plunged after her, wearing a long, flowing mantle of yellow silk, and holding a gold-hilted sword in his hand. i knew naught of these things, and, marvelling much, i asked the princess what they meant; but she answered-- "heed not what you see here, oisin; for all these wonders are as nothing compared with what you shall see in tirnanoge." at last we saw at a great distance, rising over the waves on the very verge of the sea, a palace more splendid than all the others; and, as we drew near, its front glittered like the morning sun. i asked the lady what royal house this was, and who was the prince that ruled over it. "this country is the land of virtues," she replied. "its king is the giant, fomor of the blows, and its queen the daughter of the king of the land of life.[ ] this fomor brought the lady away by force from her own country, and keeps her in his palace; but she has put him under gesa[ ] that he cannot break through, never to ask her to marry him till she can find a champion to fight him in single combat. but she still remains in bondage; for no hero has yet come hither who has the courage to meet the giant." "a blessing on you, golden-haired niam," i replied; "i have never heard music sweeter than your voice; and although i feel pity for this princess, yet your story is pleasant to me to hear; for of a certainty i will go to the palace, and try whether i cannot kill this fomor, and free the lady." so we came to land; and as we drew nigh to the palace, the lovely young queen met us and bade us welcome. she led us in and placed us on chairs of gold; after which choice food was placed before us, and drinking-horns filled with mead, and golden goblets of sweet wine. when we had eaten and drunk, the mild young princess told us her story, while tears streamed from her soft, blue eyes; and she ended by saying-- "i shall never return to my own country and to my father's house, so long as this great and cruel giant is alive!" when i heard her sad words, and saw her tears falling, i was moved with pity; and telling her to cease from her grief, i gave her my hand as a pledge that i would meet the giant, and either slay him or fall myself in her defence. while we were yet speaking, we saw the giant coming towards the palace, large of body, and ugly and hateful in appearance, carrying a load of deerskins on his back, and holding a great iron club in his hand. he threw down his load when he saw us, turned a surly look on the princess, and, without greeting us or showing the least mark of courtesy, he forthwith challenged me to battle in a loud, rough voice. it was not my wont to be dismayed by a call to battle, or to be terrified at the sight of an enemy; and i went forth at once without the least fear in my heart. but though i had fought many battles in erin against wild boars and enchanters and foreign invaders, never before did i find it so hard to preserve my life. we fought for three days and three nights without food or drink or sleep; for the giant did not give me a moment for rest, and neither did i give him. at length, when i looked at the two princesses weeping in great fear, and when i called to mind my father's deeds in battle, the fury of my valour arose; and with a sudden onset i felled the giant to the earth; and instantly, before he could recover himself, i cut off his head. when the maidens saw the monster lying on the ground dead, they uttered three cries of joy; and they came to me, and led me into the palace. for i was indeed bruised all over, and covered with gory wounds; and a sudden dizziness of brain and feebleness of body seized me. but the daughter of the king of the land of life applied precious balsam and healing herbs to my wounds; and in a short time i was healed, and my cheerfulness of mind returned. then i buried the giant in a deep and wide grave; and i raised a great carn over him, and placed on it a stone with his name graved in ogam. we rested that night, and at the dawn of next morning niam said to me that it was time for us to resume our journey to tirnanoge. so we took leave of the daughter of the king of the land of life; and though her heart was joyful after her release, she wept at our departure, and we were not less sorry at parting from her. when we had mounted the white steed, he galloped towards the strand; and as soon as his hoofs touched the wave, he shook himself and neighed three times. we plunged forward over the clear, green sea with the speed of a march wind on a hill-side; and soon we saw nothing but billows tumbling before us and billows tumbling behind us. we saw again the fawn chased by the white hound with red ears; and the maiden with the golden apple passed swiftly by, followed by the young warrior in yellow silk on his white steed. and again we passed many strange islands and cities and white palaces. the sky now darkened, so that the sun was hidden from our view. a storm arose, and the sea was lighted up with constant flashes. but though the wind blew from every point of the heavens, and the waves rose up and roared around us, the white steed kept his course straight on, moving as calmly and swiftly as before, through the foam and blinding spray, without being delayed or disturbed in the least, and without turning either to the right or to the left. at length the storm abated, and after a time the sun again shone brightly; and when i looked up, i saw a country near at hand, all green and full of flowers, with beautiful smooth plains, blue hills, and bright lakes and waterfalls. not far from the shore stood a palace of surpassing beauty and splendour. it was covered all over with gold and with gems of every colour--blue, green, crimson, and yellow; and on each side were greenans shining with precious stones, built by artists the most skilful that could be found. i asked niam the name of that delightful country, and she replied-- "this is my native country, tirnanoge; and there is nothing i have promised you that you will not find in it." as soon as we reached the shore, we dismounted; and now we saw advancing from the palace a troop of noble-looking warriors, all clad in bright garments, who came forward to meet and welcome us. following these we saw a stately glittering host, with the king at their head wearing a robe of bright yellow satin covered with gems, and a crown that sparkled with gold and diamonds. the queen came after, attended by a hundred lovely young maidens; and as they advanced towards us, it seemed to me that this king and queen exceeded all the kings and queens of the world in beauty and gracefulness and majesty. after they had kissed their daughter, the king took my hand, and said aloud in the hearing of the host-- "this is oisin, the son of finn, for whom my daughter, niam, travelled over the sea to erin. this is oisin, who is to be the husband of niam of the golden hair. we give you a hundred thousand welcomes, brave oisin. you will be for ever young in this land. all kinds of delights and innocent pleasures are awaiting you, and my daughter, the gentle, golden-haired niam, shall be your wife; for i am the king of tirnanoge." i gave thanks to the king, and i bowed low to the queen; after which we went into the palace, where we found a banquet prepared. the feasting and rejoicing lasted for ten days, and on the last day, i was wedded to the gentle niam of the golden hair. i lived in the land of youth more than three hundred years; but it appeared to me that only three years had passed since the day i parted from my friends. at the end of that time, i began to have a longing desire to see my father, finn, and all my old companions, and i asked leave of niam and of the king to visit erin. the king gave permission, and niam said-- "i will give consent, though i feel sorrow in my heart, for i fear much you will never return to me." i replied that i would surely return, and that she need not feel any doubt or dread, for that the white steed knew the way, and would bring me back in safety. then she addressed me in these words, which seemed very strange to me-- "i will not refuse this request, though your journey afflicts me with great grief and fear. erin is not now as it was when you left it. the great king finn and his fena are all gone; and you will find, instead of them, a holy father and hosts of priests and saints. now, think well on what i say to you, and keep my words in your mind. if once you alight from the white steed, you will never come back to me. again i warn you, if you place your feet on the green sod in erin, you will never return to this lovely land. a third time, o oisin, my beloved husband, a third time i say to you, if you alight from the white steed, you will never see me again." i promised that i would faithfully attend to her words, and that i would not alight from the white steed. then, as i looked into her gentle face and marked her grief, my heart was weighed down with sadness, and my tears flowed plentifully; but even so, my mind was bent on coming back to erin. when i had mounted the white steed, he galloped straight towards the shore. we moved as swiftly as before over the clear sea. the wind overtook the waves and we overtook the wind, so that we straightway left the land of youth behind; and we passed by many islands and cities, till at length we landed on the green shores of erin. as i travelled on through the country, i looked closely around me; but i scarcely knew the old places, for everything seemed strangely altered. i saw no sign of finn and his host, and i began to dread that niam's saying was coming true. at length, i espied at a distance a company of little men and women,[cliii.] all mounted on horses as small as themselves; and when i came near, they greeted me kindly and courteously. they looked at me with wonder and curiosity, and they marvelled much at my great size, and at the beauty and majesty of my person. i asked them about finn and the fena; whether they were still living, or if any sudden disaster had swept them away. and one replied-- "we have heard of the hero finn, who ruled the fena of erin in times of old, and who never had an equal for bravery and wisdom. the poets of the gaels have written many books concerning his deeds and the deeds of the fena, which we cannot now relate; but they are all gone long since, for they lived many ages ago. we have heard also, and we have seen it written in very old books, that finn had a son named oisin. now this oisin went with a young fairy maiden to tirnanoge, and his father and his friends sorrowed greatly after him, and sought him long; but he was never seen again." when i heard all this, i was filled with amazement, and my heart grew heavy with great sorrow. i silently turned my steed away from the wondering people, and set forward straightway for allen of the mighty deeds, on the broad, green plains of leinster. it was a miserable journey to me; and though my mind, being full of sadness at all i saw and heard, forecasted further sorrows, i was grieved more than ever when i reached allen. for there, indeed, i found the hill deserted and lonely, and my father's palace all in ruins and overgrown with grass and weeds. i turned slowly away, and afterwards fared through the land in every direction in search of my friends. but i met only crowds of little people, all strangers, who gazed on me with wonder; and none knew me. i visited every place throughout the country where i knew the fena had lived; but i found their houses all like allen, solitary and in ruins. at length i came to glenasmole,[cliv.] where many a time i had hunted in days of old with the fena, and there i saw a crowd of people in the glen. as soon as they saw me, one of them came forward and said-- "come to us, thou mighty hero, and help us out of our strait; for thou art a man of vast strength." i went to them, and found a number of men trying in vain to raise a large, flat stone. it was half lifted from the ground; but those who were under it were not strong enough either to raise it further or to free themselves from its weight. and they were in great distress, and on the point of being crushed to death. i thought it a shameful thing that so many men should be unable to lift this stone, which oscar, if he were alive, would take in his right hand and fling over the heads of the feeble crowd. after i had looked a little while, i stooped forward and seized the flag with one hand; and, putting forth my strength, i flung it seven perches from its place, and relieved the little men. but with the great strain the golden saddle-girth broke, and, bounding forward to keep myself from falling, i suddenly came to the ground on my two feet. the moment the white steed felt himself free, he shook himself and neighed. then, starting off with the speed of a cloud-shadow on a march day, he left me standing helpless and sorrowful. instantly a woeful change came over me: the sight of my eyes began to fade, the ruddy beauty of my face fled, i lost all my strength, and i fell to the earth, a poor, withered old man, blind and wrinkled and feeble. the white steed was never seen again. i never recovered my sight, my youth, or my strength; and i have lived in this manner, sorrowing without ceasing for my gentle, golden-haired wife, niam, and thinking ever of my father, finn, and of the lost companions of my youth. footnotes: [cxlix.] tirnanoge, the land of youth. (see note at the end.) [cl.] gavra, now garristown, in the north-west of the county dublin. (for an account of this battle, see note at the end.) [cli.] lough lein, the lakes of killarney. [clii.] greenan, a summer-house; a house in a bright, sunny spot. [cliii.] the gigantic race of the fena had all passed away, and erin was now inhabited by people who looked very small in oisin's eyes. [cliv.] glenasmole, a fine valley about seven miles south of dublin, through which the river dodder flows. the voyage of the sons of o'corra.[clv.] a princely upright hundred-herd brugaid[clvi.] was born one time in the lovely province of connaught, namely, conall derg o'corra the fair-haired. and thus was this brugaid (circumstanced):--he was a fortunate, rich, prosperous man; and his house was never found without three shouts in it--the shout of the brewers brewing ale, and the shout of the servants over the caldrons distributing (meat) to the hosts, and the shout of the youths over the chessboards[clvii.] winning games from one another. the same house was never without three measures:--a measure of malt for making yeast, a measure of wheat for providing bread for the guests, and a measure of salt for savouring each kind of food. his wife was cairderga[clviii.] the daughter of the erenach[clix.] of clogher.[clx.] they felt no want of any kind except being without children; and it was not that they were without children (being born to them), but that the infants always died the moment after birth. then this brugaid said (one day) to his wife as she reclined near him on the couch:--"it is a sad thing for us," said he, "that we have no children who would take our place and fill it worthily when we are gone." "what desire is in your mind in regard to that?" says the wife. "it is my desire," says the brugaid, "to make a bond with the demon to try if he would give us a son or a daughter who would take our place after us (since god has not done so)." "let us do that," said the woman. they accordingly fasted (and prayed) to the demon; (and the demon hearkened unto them. and in due time) the pains and struggles, of childbirth came upon the lady; and she bore three sons at that great birth, namely, a son at the beginning of the night, and a son at the middle of the night, and a son at the end of the night. and they were baptised according to the baptism of the pagans (by which they were dedicated not to god but to the demon); and their names were lochan, enna, and silvester. and after that, they were reared and carefully trained up till they were swift and active on sea and land; so that they were an overmatch for all the young people of their own age in every game and in every accomplishment. and they were in the mouths and on the tongues of all who saw or heard of them in their day. one day when they were resting at the railings of the house of their father and mother, wearied after their hurling and their martial games, the housefolk said that they saw no fault or defect in these handsome much-renowned youths, except only their being baptised in the service of the devil. (and the youths hearing this said):--"if it be so," said they, "that the devil is our lord and master, it is very wrong of us not to bring ruin and wrath and woe on his enemies, that is to say, (we ought) to slaughter the clergy, and burn and spoil their churches." then did these three youths arise, (and collecting a band), and taking unto them their arms, they came to tuam-da-gualann,[clxi.] and spoiled and burned the town. and (after that) they plundered and made dreadful havoc on the churches and clergy throughout the province of connaught, until their wicked and bloodthirsty ravages were noised over the four quarters of erin. thus did they run their evil course without ceasing for a whole year, during which time they destroyed more than half the churches of connaught. at the end of the year lochan said to his brothers: "we have made one great mistake through forgetfulness," says he, "and our lord the devil will not be thankful to us on account of it." "what is that?" said the other two youths. "our grandfather," says he, "that is our mother's father--not to have killed him and burned his church." so they set out straightway, journeying without sparing or respite (to clogher), and this was how they found the erenach, namely, on the green of the church with a great company of his folk around him, (waiting for the o'corras), in order to attend on them and to deal out to them the choice of every food and the best of every ale. and the intention that the elder had towards them, that indeed was not the intention they had towards him, but to murder him and to burn and spoil his church. then the o'corras came to the spot where the elder was standing, and they made up their minds not to kill him or burn the houses till night, when the cows and the (other) cattle of the homestead would be housed, all in their own proper places. the elder welcomed them and led them to the homestead; and he now became aware of their intention. nevertheless he put them in a goodly pleasant _greenan_,[clxii.] and they were served with food and ale till they became exhilarated and cheerful: after which couches were made ready for them on lofty bedsteads. and now deep slumber and heavy sleep fell on them, and a wonderful vision was revealed in a dream to lochan, the eldest of the sons of o'corra, in which he was carried to see heaven and hell. and after this he awoke. the other two awoke at the same time, and they said:--"let us now arise, for it is time to plunder and destroy the homestead." "seems to me," said lochan, "that this is not the right thing for us to do: for evil is the lord we have served until now, and good is the lord we have plundered and outraged. "and last night i had," said he, "a fearful dream, in which i saw a vision of heaven and hell. and first i was taken to see hell, where were countless souls of men and vast crowds of demons suffering divers tortures, and plagues unexampled. and i saw the four rivers of hell, that is to say, a river of toads, a river of serpents, a river of fire, and a river of snow. i saw also a monstrous serpent with many heads and legs, at sight whereof, even though it were only a single glance, all the men in the world would drop dead with loathing and horror. "after this methought i was taken to see heaven; where i beheld the lord himself seated on his kingly throne, and angels in the shapes of white birds singing for him. and among them was one great snow-white bird of dazzling brightness that excelled all the others in size and beauty and voice, chanting strains of surpassing sweetness. women in travail and men sore wounded and sick people racked with pain would fall asleep if they heard the delightful harmony of his voice. and it was made known to me that this great bird who chanted such heavenly music to his mild lord was michael the archangel. "and now my brothers," said lochan, "it is my counsel to you that you follow god henceforward." "but," said the others, "will the lord accept repentance from us for the dreadful evils we have already done?" they go to the father of their mother, namely, the erenach, and they ask this thing of him. "he will accept your repentance without doubt," says the erenach. "well then," said lochan, "let mass be celebrated for us, and put us under instruction, and let us offer our confession to god. after that we will make staffs of the handles of our spears; and we will go to finnen of clonard,[clxiii.] the tutor of the saints and of the just men of all erin. he is a very holy man, and he will advise us in regard to what we ought to do." to this counsel they agreed; and on the morrow they set out for the place where finnen was; whom they found on the green of clonard with a number of his clerics. "who are these coming towards us?" said the clerics. and one said, "they are the o'corras the robbers." hearing this they fled, like lightning, in a body from their master, for they felt quite sure that the o'corras were coming to slay them; so that finnen was left quite alone before the three brothers. "it is from us the clerics are fleeing:" says lochan. "of a certainty it is," said his brothers. "let us," said lochan, "cast from us our staffs, the only little remnant of our arms left with us; and let us throw ourselves on our knees before the cleric." and this they did. "what is your desire?" says the cleric (finnen). "our desire," said they, "is faith and piety, and to serve god, and to abandon the lord whom we have hitherto served, namely, the devil." "that is a good resolution," says the cleric; "and let us go now to the homestead yonder, the place where live our brotherhood." they go accordingly with him to the brotherhood; and after the matter had been considered, it was arranged to set apart a young cleric to teach them; and it was decreed that they should not speak to any one except their own master till the end of a year. so they continued for a whole year till they had read the canons through, and by the time they had come to be able to read them, the whole brotherhood felt grateful (to god) for their piety and their gentleness. at the end of the year they came to finnen; and they knelt before him, and said to him:--"it is time now that we should be judged and sentence passed on us for the great crimes we have committed. "what," said finnen, "do ye not think it enough--the penance you have done already for a whole year among the brotherhood?" "it is not enough," said they. "what then are the greatest crimes ye have committed?" says finnen. "we have burned more than half the churches of connaught; and neither priest nor bishop got quarter or protection from us." "you cannot" replied finnen, "give back life to the people you have killed; but do ye that which will be in your power, namely, to build up the churches ye have burned, and to repair every other damage ye have committed in them. and i will give to each man of you," says he, "the swiftness and strength of a hundred; and i will take from you all weariness of feet, of hands, and of body; and i will give you light and understanding which will have neither decay nor end." so the o'corras departed, and went first to tuam-da-gualann; and after that, they fared through the province, obedient to rule and working hard each day, until it came to pass that they had restored everything they had previously destroyed. after that they came at the end of the year to speak with finnen. "have you been able," asks finnen, "to repair everything ye destroyed belonging to the church?" "we have," said they, "except one place alone, namely kenn-mara."[clxiv.] "alas for that," says finnen; "that is the very first place you should have repaired; for it is the homestead of the oldest of all the saints of ireland, namely, the aged camann of kenn-mara. and now go and carefully restore everything ye have destroyed in that homestead. and the sentence that holy man passes on you, fulfil it patiently." so they went gladly to kenn-mara; and they repaired everything they had ruined there. one day when they had come forth from the homestead, they sat on the margin of the little bay, watching the sun as it went westward. and as they gazed and reflected on the course of the sun, they began to marvel greatly, pondering whither it went after it had gone down beneath the verge of the sea. "what more wonderful thing is there in the whole world," said they, "than that the sea does not freeze into ice, while ice is formed in every other water!" thereupon they formed the resolution on the spot to bring unto them a certain artificer who was a fast friend of theirs, and to (get him) to make a three-hide curragh[clxv.] for them. accordingly the curragh was made, and a strong-sided one it was. and the reward the artificer asked for building it was to be let go with them. when the time had come, and they were about to embark, they saw a large crowd passing close by; and this crowd was a company of _crossans_.[clxvi.] when the _crossans_ saw the curragh putting forth on the sea, they inquired:--"who are yonder people that are launching this curragh on the sea?" said they. the _furshore_ (juggler) of the crossans said:--"i know them well; they are the sons of conall derg o'corra the fair-haired of connaught, the destroyers and robbers, going on their pilgrimage on the sea and on the great ocean, to make search for their lord." "and indeed," added the _furshore_, "my word for it, they do not stand more in need of seeking for heaven than we do." "it is a long day i fancy till you go on your pilgrimage," said the leader of the band. "say not so," answered the _furshore_: "for i will certainly go with these people on my pilgrimage now without delay." "upon our word," said the _crossans_, "you will not take away our clothes with you; for not a single article of the garments you wear belongs to you." "it is not so small a matter that would keep me with you," says he. so they stripped off all his clothes, and sent him away mother naked to the curragh. "who and what in the world are you, good man?" asked the crew. "a poor wretch who wishes to go with you on pilgrimage," said he. "indeed," said they, "you shall not by any means come with us, seeing that you are stark naked." "say not so, young men," said he, "for the sake of god do not refuse me; for i will amuse you and keep your hearts cheerful (with my music and singing); and your piety will not be a whit the worse for it." and (inasmuch as he had asked) for the sake of god they consented to let him go. now this is how it was with the crew:--each man of them had built a church and raised an altar to the lord in his own district. their number was nine; among whom was a bishop, and a priest, and a deacon; and they had one _gilla_ (attendant) who was the ninth man. "let us go aboard our curragh now," says lochan, "as we have finished our task of restoring the churches, and as we have, besides, each of us built a church to the lord in our own district." it was then they put up their prayers fervently to god in the hope that they might have fine weather; and that the lord would quell the fury of the billows, and the might of the ocean, and the rage of the terrible sea monsters. so they embarked in their curragh, bringing their oars; and they began to question among themselves what direction they should take. "the direction in which this wind will bring us," says the bishop. and having commended themselves to god, one and all, they betook them to their oars. a great wind now arose, which drove them out on the waste of waters straight to the west; and they were forty days and forty nights on the ocean. and god revealed to them great and unheard of wonders. they had not been long rowing when the _crossan_ died; and sad and sorrowful were they for his loss, and wept much. while they were still mourning, they saw a little bird alight on the deck of the curragh. and the little bird spoke and said to them:--"good people, tell me now in god's name what is the cause of your sorrow." "a _crossan_ that we had playing music for us; and he died a little while ago in this curragh; and that is the cause of our sorrow." and the bird said:--"lo, i am your little _crossan_: and now be not sorrowful any longer, for i am going straightway to heaven." so saying he bade them farewell and flew away. i. they row forward for a long time till there was shown to them a wonderful island, and in it a great grove of marvellous beauty, laden with apples, golden coloured and sweet scented. a sparkling rivulet of wine flowed through the midst of the grove; and when the wind blew through the trees, sweeter than any music was the rustling it made. the o'corras ate some of the apples and drank from the rivulet of wine, and were immediately satisfied. and from that time forth they were never troubled by either wounds or sickness. ii. then they took to their oars; and after a time they came in view of another island, and four companies of people in it, such as had never been seen before. now these people had divided the island into four parts: old greyheaded people were in the first division; princes in the second; warriors in the third; and servants in the fourth. they were all beautiful and glorious to behold; and they diverted themselves continually with games and pastimes. one of the crew went to them to ask news: (he was a comely, well-favoured youth, but) he seemed ugly and dark-visaged in presence of these glorious people. when he had got among them, he became in a moment beautiful like the others; and he joined in their games, and laughed, and made merry. moreover he remembered nothing more of his companions; and he sojourned in the island after that for evermore. and the o'corras were at length forced to depart, though much grieved for the loss of their companion. iii. then they set out and rowed for some time till they sighted another marvellous island. it stood up in the air high over the great sea; and it was propped up by a pillar like a single foot standing under it in the middle. and the crew heard great shouting and the loud conversation of people on the top of the island overhead; but though the o'corras sailed round and round, they could not get a sight of them. iv. they row forward after that till they come to an island in which lived one lone cleric. very lovely was that island, and glorious its history. beautiful purple flowers covered all the plains, dropping honey in abundance; and on the trees were perched flocks of bright-coloured birds singing slow sweet fairy-music. the o'corras went to ask the cleric about himself and about the island. and he spoke as follows:-- "i am a disciple of st. andrew the apostle, and dega is my name. on a certain night i neglected to read my matins; and it is for this that i was sent on a pilgrimage on the ocean; and here i am awaiting the judgment day. and yonder birds that are singing those incomparable strains on the trees, these are the souls of holy men." v. they took leave of the old man and plied their oars, till they reached another island, with dead people on one side of it, and living people on the other side: and many of the living people had feet of iron. all round was a burning sea, which broke over the island continually in mighty waves. and the living people uttered fearful cries when the fiery waves flowed over them, for their torments thereby were great and terrible. vi. after leaving this they rowed on till they saw an island formed of great flat stones for ever burning red hot. and thereon they saw whole hosts of people burning in great torment; and many had red fiery spits thrust through their bodies. and they uttered great cries of pain without ceasing. the crew called out from a distance to ask who they were: whereupon one answered:-- "this is one of the flagstones of hell. we are souls who in life did not fulfil the penance imposed on us; and warn all men to avoid this place; for whosoever cometh hither shall never go hence till the day of judgment." vii. the next island they saw was very beautiful and glorious to look upon. it had a wall of copper all round it, with a network of copper hanging out from each corner; and in the centre stood a palace. the crew left their curragh on the strand and went towards the palace. and when they had come nigh unto the wall, the wind, as it rustled and murmured through the copper network, made music so soft and sweet that they fell into a gentle slumber, and slept for three days and three nights. when they awoke they saw a beautiful maiden coming towards them from the palace. she had sandals of _findrina_ (a sort of white metal) on her feet, and an inner garment of fine silk next her snow-white skin. she wore a beautiful gold-coloured vest, and over all a bright-tinted mantle, plaited fivefold on its upper border, and fastened at the neck with a brooch of burnished gold. in one hand she held a pitcher of copper, and in the other a silver goblet. when she had come near she greeted them and bade them welcome. and she gave them food from the copper pitcher which seemed to them like cheese; and she brought them water in the silver goblet from a well on the strand. and there was no delicious flavour that was ever tasted by man that they did not find in this food and drink. then the maiden said to them:--"although we are all--you and i--of one race, yet shall ye go hence without delay, for your resurrection is not to be here." so they bade her farewell and took to their oars once more. viii. after rowing for some time they saw flocks of large birds of divers colours flying over the sea; and their number was great beyond counting. one of them alighted on the deck of the curragh. "it would be a delightful thing," said one of the clerics, "if this bird were a messenger from the lord, sent to give us news." "that would be quite possible with god," said the eldest; and as he spoke he raised his eyes and looked at the bird. whereupon the bird spoke and said:-- "it is indeed to converse with you that i have come; for i am of the land of erin." now this bird was crimson red all over, except three beautiful streaks on her breast, which shone as bright as the sun. and after a time she said to the same cleric:-- "i am the soul of a woman; and i am your friend. and come ye now," says she, "to hear yonder birds; for these are the souls that are permitted to come out of hell every sunday." "it is better that we leave this place at once," said the same old cleric. and his companions said to him:-- "we will go with thee whithersoever thou goest." so they departed from that place; (and the crimson red bird went with them). ix. and as they went, they saw three wonderful streams, namely, a stream of otters, a stream of eels, and a stream of black swans. great flocks of birds arose from these three streams and flew past the voyagers; and the black swans followed close after, tearing and tormenting the birds. and the crimson red bird said:-- "marvel not, neither be ye sad of heart; for these bird-shapes that ye see are the souls of people suffering the punishment of their crimes. and the black swans that follow them, these are devils who are for ever tormenting them; and the birds scream fearfully, and are for ever trying to fly from the demons and to free themselves from their torment. "and now as to me," continued the bird, "i am about to depart from you. it is not permitted me to make known to you what is to befall you; but in a little time another will tell you all that you need to know." and the cleric said:--"tell us, i beseech thee, what are those three beautiful streaks on thy breast." "i will tell you that," answered the bird. "when i was in the world i was married; but i did not yield obedience to my husband, neither did i fulfil my lawful homely duties as a wife. and when a grievous sickness came upon him i left him to die. but thrice i went in pity to him:--once to see him and ask after his illness; once to bring him such food as befitted his state; and the third time when he was dead, to watch by the body and see it buried. these three good deeds are the three beautiful streaks that you see on my breast; and i should have been bright all over like these streaks if i had not violated my lawful marriage duties." and having so spoken, the bird bade them farewell and flew away. x. they next discovered a very beautiful island. the grass was bright green, and it was all over intermingled with pretty purple-coloured flowers. flocks of lovely little birds of many bright colours, and myriads of bees, flew among the trees and flowers, humming and singing harmonious music. the voyagers saw a venerable grey-headed old man with a harp in his hand. he played this harp on the island continually; and the music thereof was sweeter than any music they had ever heard. they saluted the old man, who saluted them in return, with a blessing. but immediately he bade them to depart. xi. so they rowed away till they came to another island, on which they saw a man digging in a field; and his spade was all fiery, and the handle thereof, which he held in his hand, was red hot. from the sea at one side arose at times a mighty wave all flaming red with fire, which flowed quite over the island and over the man. and ever when he saw the wave coming he cried out with fear; and when the burning torrent covered him, he strove to raise his head above the flames, and roared with his great torment. now when one of the waves had retired they spoke to him and asked:-- "who art thou, o wretched man?" and he answered:--"lo, this is my punishment for my misdeeds. for when i lived on earth i always worked on sundays, digging in my garden; for which i am condemned to dig with this fiery spade, and to suffer the torments of these fiery waves. and now, for the sake of god, offer up your prayers for me, that my pains may be lightened." and they prayed fervently; after which they departed from the island. xii. soon after leaving this they saw a horseman of vast size riding on the sea; and the horse he rode was made of fire flaming red. and as he rode, great waves of fire came after him along the sea; and when a wave began to roll over him, he yelled aloud with fear and pain. then they asked him why he was thus tormented; and he answered:-- "i am he who stole my brother's horse; and after i had gotten him i rode him every sunday. for this i am now undergoing my punishment, riding on this horse of fire, and tormented with these great waves of fire." xiii. after leaving this they came in sight of another island, full of people, all weeping and lamenting grievously. great numbers of jet-black birds with beaks of fire and red-hot fiery talons followed and fluttered round about them, tearing and burning them with their talons, and rending away pieces of flesh, the full of their fiery beaks. then the crew said aloud:-- "who are ye, o miserable people?" "we are dishonest smiths and artisans; and because we cheated while we lived, we are punished by these hateful fiery birds. moreover, our tongues are burning, being all afire in our heads; for that we reviled people with bitter words and foul taunts." xiv. coming now to another place, they saw a giant huge in size, and of a sooty black colour all over. his mouth was all on fire; and from his throat he belched forth great flakes of fire, each flake as it came from his mouth larger than the skin of a three-year-old wether. he held in his hand an iron club larger than the shaft of a mill wheel; and on his back he bore an immense faggot of firewood, a good load for a team of horses. now this faggot often blazed up and burned him; and he tried to free himself from his torment by lying down so that the sea might flow over him. but ever as he did so, the sea around him turned to fire, and rose up in mighty burning billows, covering him all over, so that he made the place resound with his bellowings. "miserable wretch, who art thou?" asked the crew. and he answered:--"i will tell you truly. when i lived i used to cut faggots and bring them home on my back every sunday: and lo, here is my punishment." xv. they came after that to a sea of fire full of men's heads, all black, and continually fighting with each other. and many great serpents rose up among the heads and came with fury to attack the curragh, so that at one time they pierced through the outer hide. and one of the crew who looked on cried out in great horror, and said:-- "it is enough to strike one dead to behold the fearful things i see!" and the whole crew when they saw the heads and the serpents fell flat with fear. but the elder (the bishop) comforted them, saying:-- "be ye not afraid or troubled on account of these things; for god is able to protect us, even though we were in a curragh of only one hide; and if he wishes to save us, these monsters cannot hurt us, however furious they may be to slay us." and they took courage after this, and rowed out into the open sea. xvi. there was shown to them next another beautiful island, having in one place an open wood. the trees were laden with fruit, and the leaves dropped honey to the ground. the sides of the hills were clothed with purple blossomed heather, mixed with soft, green grass to its very centre. in the midst of the island was a pretty lake, whose waters tasted like sweet wine. they rested for a week on the shore of this lake, and cast off their weariness. and now, being about to leave the island, as they turned to go to the curragh, a monstrous reptile[clxvii.] rose up from the lake and looked at them. and they trembled with fear at the sight of this terrible beast; for each man thought that he himself would be the first to be attacked. but after a little time the reptile dived again into the water, and they saw no more of him. xvii. from this they rowed away; and after a long time they came at midnight to an island wherein was a community of ailbe of emly.[clxviii.] on the beach they found two spring wells; one foul, the other bright and clear. the gilla wished to drink of the clear well; but the elder (the bishop) told him it was better to ask leave, if there was anyone living on the island. then they saw a great light; and coming closer, they found the twelve men of the community at their prayers; and now they perceived that the bright light they saw came from the radiant faces of the twelve; so that these holy men needed no other light. one of them, an old man, comes towards the voyagers; and he bids them welcome and asks news of them. they tell him all their adventures, and ask his leave to drink from the well; whereupon he said to them:--"ye may fill your pitchers from the clear well, if your elder (_i.e._ the bishop) gives you leave." "who are ye?" asks the gilla. "a community of ailbe of emly," says he: "and we are the crew of one of ailbe's curraghs. god has permitted that we live here till the day of judgment, praying for everyone who is drowned at sea. and now leave this land before morning," he added, "for your resurrection is not to be here. and if ye have not left by the dawn, so much the worse for yourselves; for if once ye get a view of this island in the light of day, bitter will be your anguish of mind for leaving it (on account of its surpassing loveliness). so it is better for you to go away during the night." and they did exactly all he told them to do. "shall we take away some of the pebbles of the strand?" said they (talking among themselves). "it is better to ask leave," answered the cleric. so the gilla asked leave of the same old man. "yes, if you have the permission (of your bishop)," answered he. "nevertheless," he added, "those who take them will be sorry; and those who do not take them will be sorry also." they pick up pebbles, some bringing away one, some two, some three. (after which they row away in the dark night from the island.) in the morning they drank some of the spring water of the island from their pitchers; which threw them into a deep sleep from that time till next day. on wakening up, they examined their pebbles in the light; and some were found to be crystal, some silver, and some gold. then those who brought some away were in sorrow that they had not brought more; and much greater was the sorrow of those who had brought away none. so the words of the old man came true. xviii. after leaving this they came to a lovely island on which was a church standing all alone: and when they drew nigh they heard the voice of a cleric singing the psalms with a sweet voice. they came to the door and struck it with the hand-wood; and straightway a beautiful bright-coloured bird came to speak with them. when they had told him who they were and what they wanted, he flew back to the cleric, who bade him have the door opened for the pilgrims. and when they had come in, they found the cleric--a very old man with white hair--who sang his hymns continually. and they saluted each other; and the pilgrims stayed there that night. and an angel came and brought them supper, and ministered unto them. on the morrow the old priest bade them depart, since that was not to be the place of their resurrection on the judgment day. but before they went he foretold all that should happen to them during the rest of their voyage. xix. from that they came to an island in which was a disciple of christ. glorious and beautiful was that island; and on it stood a church and a kingly shrine. as they came near they heard some one singing the pater to god in the door of the church: whereupon one of the clerics said:-- "welcome the prayer of our father and teacher, jesus." and the priest who stood praying at the door said:-- "why say you so? who are ye; and where have ye seen him?" and when they had told him that they were servants of jesus, he spoke again:-- "i too am one of his disciples. and when i first took him for my lord i was faithful and steady; but after a time i left him and came to sea in my curragh, and rowed till i came to this island. for a long time i lived on fruit and herbs; till at length an angel came from heaven to visit me. and he said to me:-- "'thou hast not done well: nevertheless thou shalt abide on this island, eating the same food without either decay or death till the judgment day.' and so i have lived here to this hour: and no daily meal is sent to me, but i eat of the herbs and fruit that grow on the island." then they all went together into one house; and being very hungry, they prayed fervently for food. and presently an angel came down from heaven; and while they looked on he placed a supper for them on a flagstone hard by the strand, namely, a cake with a slice of fish for each. and while they ate, whatsoever taste each man separately wished for, that taste he found on the food. in the morning, when they were about to bid the cleric farewell, he foretold all that should happen to them, saying:-- "ye shall go from me now on sea till ye reach the western point of spain. and as ye near the land, ye shall meet a boat with a crew of men fishing, who will bring you with them to land." then turning to the bishop, he said:--"immediately after leaving the curragh, as soon as thou hast reached the land, prostrate thyself three times to god. and the place on which thou shalt first set thy foot, there a great crowd shall gather round thee from every quarter. and they will treat thee kindly, and will give thee land on which they will build a church for thee; and after this thy fame shall spread over the whole world. and the successor of peter (the pope) shall bring thee eastwards to rome. yonder priest thou shalt leave as thy successor in the church, and the deacon thou shalt leave to be his sacristan. that place and that church shall be revered, and shall be preserved for ever. and thou shalt leave the gilla in britain, where he will live for the rest of his life." after this they bade the old man farewell and left the island. and all fell out just as he had foretold. and the bishop went to rome; and he afterwards related these adventures to saerbrethach bishop of west munster, and to mocolmoc, one of the holy men of aran, as we have set them down here. thus far the voyage of the sons of o'corra. footnotes: [clv.] i translated this tale fifteen years ago (as mentioned in preface, page xiii) from two royal irish academy mss., . n. and . m. ; and i subsequently made some modifications after i had an opportunity of consulting the more correct text of the book of fermoy. this last text has since been published, with literal translation, by dr. whitley stokes, in the _revue celtique_ (jan. ). after comparing my somewhat free version with dr. stokes's close translation, i have not thought it necessary to make any changes. a few of the adventures in this tale are identical with those described in the voyage of maildun: the description of these i have omitted here. lochan, enna, and silvester, the chief characters in this extraordinary fiction, are historical: they were saints of the primitive irish church, and lived in the sixth century. [clvi.] _brugaid_, a sort of local officer who maintained a large establishment as keeper of a house of public hospitality. see my "short history of ireland," p. . [clvii.] chess-playing was a favourite amusement among the ancient irish. [clviii.] cairderga: original _caer-derg_, red berry. [clix.] _erenach_, the holder or _impropriator_ of a church and its lands: usually a layman. [clx.] clogher in tyrone where there was a monastery. [clxi.] tuam-da-gualann, where was formerly a celebrated ecclesiastical establishment: now tuam in galway. [clxii.] greenan: original _grianan_, literally a sunny place: a summer-house: the most lightsome, airy, and pleasant apartment of a house. see this word discussed in my "irish names of places," vol. i. p. . [clxiii.] for st. finnen of clonard in the county meath, see my "short history of ireland," p. [clxiv.] _kenn-mara_, now kinvarra on galway bay. [clxv.] _curragh_, see note at end. some curraghs were made with two--some with three--hides, one outside another, for the better security. [clxvi.] _crossans_: travelling gleemen: the clothes, musical instruments, &c., were the property of the company. this word is the origin of the scotch and irish family name maccrossan, now often changed to crosbie. a company of crossans had always among them a _fuirseoir_, i.e. a juggler or buffoon. [clxvii.] according to very ancient legends, which are still vividly remembered and recounted all over the country, almost every lake in ireland has a tremendous hairy reptile in its waters. some say they are demons, sent by st. patrick to reside at the bottom of the lakes to the day of judgment. [clxviii.] st. ailbe, the patron of munster, was a contemporary of st. patrick. he founded his great monastery and school at emly in the county limerick. the fate of the sons of usna.[clxix.] avenging and bright fall the swift sword of erin on him who the brave sons of usna betrayed. moore. footnotes: [clxix.] the translation that follows is my own, and is of course copyright, like all the other translations in this book. on this fine story is founded the epic poem of "deirdre," by robert dwyer joyce, m.d. chapter i. the flight to alban. concobar mac nessa, king of ulaid,[clxx.] ruled in emain. and his chief story-teller, felimid, made a feast for the king and for the knights of the red branch,[clxxi.] who all came to partake of it in his house. while they were feasting right joyously, listening to the sweet music of the harps and the mellow voices of the bards, a messenger brought word that felimid's wife had given birth to a little daughter, an infant of wondrous beauty. and when caffa, the king's druid and seer, who was of the company, was ware of the birth of the child, he went forth to view the stars and the clouds, if he might thereby glean knowledge of what was in store for that little babe.[clxxii.] and when he had returned to his place, he sat deep pondering for a time: and then standing up and obtaining silence, he said:-- "this child shall be called deir-dr[)e][clxxiii.]; and fittingly is she so named: for much of woe will befall ulaid and erin in general on her account. there shall be jealousies, and strifes, and wars: evil deeds will be done: many heroes will be exiled: many will fall." when the heroes heard this, they were sorely troubled, and some said that the child should be killed. but the king said:--"not so, ye knights of the red branch; it is not meet to commit a base deed in order to escape evils that may never come to pass. this little maid shall be reared out of the reach of mischief, and when she is old enough she shall be my wife: thus shall i be the better able to guard against those evils that caffa forecasts for us." and the ultonians did not dare to gainsay the word of the king. then king concobar caused the child to be placed in a strong fortress on a lonely spot nigh the palace, with no opening in front, but with door and windows looking out at the back on a lovely garden watered by a clear rippling stream: and house and garden were surrounded by a wall that no man could surmount. and those who were put in charge of her were, her tutor, and her nurse, and concobar's poetess, whose name was lavarcam: and save these three, none were permitted to see her. and so she grew up in this solitude, year by year, till she was of marriageable age, when she excelled all the maidens of her time for beauty. one snowy day as she and lavarcam looked forth from the window, they saw some blood on the snow, where her tutor had killed a calf for dinner; and a raven alighted and began to drink of it. "i should like," said deirdre, "that he who is to be my husband should have these three colours: his hair as black as the raven: his cheeks red as the blood: his skin like the snow. and i saw such a youth in a dream last night; but i know not where he is, or whether he is living on the ridge of the world." "truly," said lavarcam, "the young hero that answers to thy words is not far from thee; for he is among concobar's knights: namely, naisi the son of usna." now naisi and his brothers, ainnli and ardan, the three sons of usna, were the best beloved of all the red branch knights, so gracious and gentle were they in time of peace, so skilful and swift-footed in the chase, so strong and valiant in battle. and when deirdre heard lavarcam's words, she said:--"if it be as thou sayest, that this young knight is near us, i shall not be happy till i see him: and i beseech thee to bring him to speak to me." "alas, child," replied lavarcam, "thou knowest not the peril of what thou askest me to do: for if thy tutor come to know of it, he will surely tell the king; and the king's anger none can bear." deirdre answered not: but she remained for many days sad and silent: and her eyes often filled with tears through memory of her dream: so that lavarcam was grieved: and she pondered on the thing if it could be done, for she loved deirdre very much, and had compassion on her. at last she contrived that these two should meet without the tutor's knowledge: and the end of the matter was that they loved each other: and deirdre said she would never wed the king, but she would wed naisi. knowing well the doom that awaited them when concobar came to hear of this, naisi and his young wife and his two brothers, with thrice fifty fighting men, thrice fifty women, thrice fifty attendants, and thrice fifty hounds, fled over sea to alban. and the king of the western part of alban received them kindly, and took them into military service. here they remained for a space, gaining daily in favour: but they kept deirdre apart, fearing evil if the king should see her. and so matters went on, till it chanced that the king's steward, coming one day by naisi's house, saw the couple as they sat on their couch: and going directly to his master, he said:-- "o king, we have long sought in vain for a woman worthy to be thy wife, and now at last we have found her: for the woman, deirdre, who is with naisi, is worthy to be the wife of the king of the western world. and now i give thee this counsel:--let naisi be killed, and then take thou deirdre for thy wife." the king basely agreed to do so; and forthwith he laid a plot to slay the sons of usna; which matter coming betimes to the ears of the brothers, they fled by night with all their people. and when they had got to a safe distance, they took up their abode in a wild place, where with much ado they obtained food by hunting and fishing. and the brothers built them three hunting booths in the forest, a little distance from that part of the seashore looking towards erin: and the booth in which their food was prepared, in that they did not eat; and the one in which they ate, in that they did not sleep. and their people in like manner built themselves booths and huts, which gave them but scant shelter from wind and weather. now when it came to the ears of the ultonians, that the sons of usna and their people were in discomfort and danger, they were sorely grieved: but they kept their thoughts to themselves, for they dared not speak their mind to the king. footnotes: [clxx.] ulaid (pronounced _ulla_), ulster. [clxxi.] for concobar and the red branch knights, see note farther on: and for much fuller information, see my "social history of ancient ireland," vol. i, page ; or the smaller soc. hist., page . [clxxii.] the druids professed to be able to foretell by observing the stars and clouds. see smaller social history, p. . [clxxiii.] "deirdre" is said to mean "alarm." chapter ii. concobar's guileful message. at this same time a right joyous and very splendid feast was given by concobar in emain macha to the nobles and the knights of his household. and the number of the king's household that sat them down in the great hall of emain on that occasion was five and three score above six hundred and one thousand.[clxxiv.] then arose, in turn, their musicians to sound their melodious harpstrings, and their poets and their story-tellers to sing their sweet poetic strains, and to recount the deeds of the mighty heroes of the olden time. and the feasting and the enjoyment went on, and the entire assembly were gay and cheerful. at length concobar arose from where he sat high up on his royal seat; whereupon the noise of mirth was instantly hushed. and he raised his kingly voice and said:-- "i desire to know from you, ye nobles and knights of the red branch, have you ever seen in any quarter of erin a house better than this house of emain, which is my mansion: and whether you see any want in it." and they answered that they saw no better house, and that they knew of no want in it. and the king said: "i know of a great want: namely, that we have not present among us the three noble sons of usna. and why now should they be in banishment on account of any woman in the world?" and the nobles replied:--"truly it is a sad thing that the sons of usna, our dear comrades, should be in exile and distress. they were a shield of defence to ulaid: and now, o king, it will please us well that thou send for them and bring them back, lest they and their people perish by famine or fall by their enemies." "let them come," replied concobar, "and make submission to me: and their homes, and their lands and their places among the knights of the red branch shall be restored to them." now concobar was mightily enraged at the marriage and flight of naisi and deirdre, though he hid his mind from all men; and he spoke these words pretending forgiveness and friendship. but there was guile in his heart, and he planned to allure them back to ulaid that he might kill them. when the feast was ended, and the company had departed, the king called unto him fergus mac roy, and said:--"go thou, fergus, and bring back the sons of usna and their people. i promise thee that i will receive them as friends should be received, and that what awaits them here is not enmity or injury, but welcome and friendship. take my message of peace and good will, and give thyself as pledge and surety for their safety. but these two things i charge thee to do:--that the moment you land in ulaid on your way back, you proceed straight to barach's house which stands on the sea cliff high over the landing place fronting alban: and that whether the time of your arrival be by day or by night, thou see that the sons of usna tarry not, but let them come hither direct to emain, that they may not eat food in erin till they eat of mine." and fergus, suspecting no evil design, promised to do as the king directed: for he was glad to be sent on this errand, being a fast friend to the sons of usna. fergus set out straightway, bringing with him only his two sons, illan the fair and buinni the red, and his shield-bearer to carry his shield. and as soon as he had departed, concobar sent for barach and said to him:-- "prepare a feast in thy house for fergus: and when he visits thee returning with the sons of usna, invite him to partake of it." and barach thereupon departed for his home to do the bidding of the king and prepare the feast. now those heroes of old, on the day they received knighthood, were wont to make certain pledges which were to bind them for life, some binding themselves to one thing, some to another. and as they made the promises on the faith of their knighthood, with great vows, in presence of kings and nobles, they dared not violate them; no, not even if it was to save the lives of themselves and all their friends: for whosoever broke through his knighthood pledge was foully dishonoured for evermore. and one of fergus's obligations was never to refuse an invitation to a banquet: a thing which was well known to king concobar and to barach. as to fergus mac roy and his sons: they went on board their galley and put to sea, and made no delay till they reached the harbour nigh the campment of the sons of usna. and coming ashore, fergus gave the loud shout of a mighty man of chase. the sons of usna were at that same hour in their booth; and naisi and deirdre were sitting with a polished chessboard between them playing a game. and when they heard the shout, naisi said:--"that is the call of a man from erin." "not so," replied deirdre, "it is the call of a man of alban." and after a little time when a second shout came, naisi said:--"that of a certainty is the call of a man of erin!" but deirdre again replied:--"no, indeed: it concerns us not: let us play our game." but when a third shout came sounding louder than those before, naisi arose and said:--"now i know the voice: that is the shout of fergus!" and straightway he sent ardan to the shore to meet him. now deirdre knew the voice of fergus from the first: but she kept her thoughts to herself: for her heart misgave her that the visit boded evil. and when she told naisi that she knew the first shout, he said:--"why, my queen, didst thou conceal it then?" and she replied:--"lo, i saw a vision in my sleep last night: three birds came to us from emain macha, with three drops of honey in their beaks, and they left us the honey and took away three drops of our blood." "what dost thou read from that vision, o princess?" said naisi. "it denotes the message from concobar to us," said deirdre; "for sweet as honey is the message of peace from a false man, while he has thoughts of blood hidden deep in his heart." when ardan arrived at the shore, the sight of fergus and his two sons was to him like rain on the parched grass; for it was long since he had seen any of his dear comrades from erin. and he cried out as he came near, "an affectionate welcome to you, my dear companions": and he fell on fergus's neck and kissed his cheeks, and did the like to his sons. then he brought them to the hunting-booth; and naisi, ainnli, and deirdre gave them a like kind welcome; after which they asked the news from erin. "the best news i have," said fergus, "is that concobar has sent me to you with kindly greetings, to bring you back to emain and restore you to your lands and homes, and to your places in the red branch; and i am myself a pledge for your safety." "it is not meet for them to go," said deirdre: "for here they are under no man's rule; and their sway in alban is even as great as the sway of concobar in erin." but fergus said: "one's mother country is better than all else, and gloomy is life when a man sees not his home each morning." "far dearer to me is erin than alban," said naisi, "even though my sway should be greater here." it was not with deirdre's consent he spoke these words: and she still earnestly opposed their return to erin. but fergus tried to re-assure her:--"if all the men of erin were against you," said he, "it would avail nought once i have passed my word for your safety." "we trust in thee," said naisi, "and we will go with thee to erin." footnotes: [clxxiv.] that is . this inverted method of enumeration was often used in ireland. but they also used direct enumeration like ours. chapter iii. the return to emain. going next morning on board their galleys, fergus and his companions put out on the wide sea: and oar and wind bore them on swiftly till they landed on the shore of erin near the house of barach. and deirdre, seating herself on a cliff, looked sadly over the waters at the blue headlands of alban: and she uttered this farewell:-- i. "dear to me is yon eastern land: alban with its wonders. beloved is alban with its bright harbours and its pleasant hills of the green slopes. from that land i would never depart except to be with naisi. ii. "kil-cuan, o kil-cuan,[clxxv.] whither ainnli was wont to resort: short seemed the time to me while i sojourned there with naisi on the margins of its streams and waterfalls. iii. "glen-lee, o glen-lee, where i slept happy under soft coverlets: fish and fowl, and the flesh of red deer and badgers; these were our fare in glen-lee. iv. "glen-masan, o glen-masan: tall its cresses of white stalks: often were we rocked to sleep in our curragh in the grassy harbour of glen-masan. v. "glen-orchy, o glen-orchy: over thy straight glen rises the smooth ridge that oft echoed to the voices of our hounds. no man of the clan was more light-hearted than my naisi when following the chase in glen-orchy. vi. "glen-ettive, o glen-ettive: there it was that my first house was raised for me: lovely its woods in the smile of the early morn: the sun loves to shine on glen-ettive. vii. "glen-da-roy, o glen-da-roy: the memory of its people is dear to me: sweet is the cuckoo's note from the bending bough on the peak over glen-da-roy. viii. "dear to me is dreenagh over the resounding shore: dear to me its crystal waters over the speckled sand. from those sweet places i would never depart, but only to be with my beloved naisi." after this they entered the house of barach; and when barach had welcomed them, he said to fergus: "here i have a three-days banquet ready for thee, and i invite thee to come and partake of it." when fergus heard this, his heart sank and his face waxed all over a crimson red: and he said fiercely to barach:--"thou hast done an evil thing to ask me to this banquet: for well thou knowest i cannot refuse thee. thou knowest, too, that i am under solemn pledge to send the sons of usna this very hour to emain: and if i remain feasting in thy house, how shall i see that my promise of safety is respected?" but none the less did barach persist; for he was one of the partners in concobar's treacherous design. then fergus turned to naisi and said:--"i dare not violate my knighthood promise: what am i to do in this strait?" but deirdre answered for her husband:--"the choice is before thee, fergus; and it is more meet for thee to abandon thy feast than to abandon the sons of usna, who have come over on thy pledge." then fergus was in sore perplexity; and pondering a little he said:--"i will not forsake the sons of usna: for i will send with them to emain macha my two sons, illan the fair and buinni the red, who will be their pledge instead of me." but naisi said: "we need not thy sons for guard or pledge: we have ever been accustomed to defend ourselves!" and he moved from the place in great wrath: and his two brothers, and deirdre, and the two sons of fergus followed him, with the rest of the clan; while fergus remained behind silent and gloomy: for his heart misgave him that mischief was brewing for the sons of usna. then deirdre tried to persuade the sons of usna to go to rathlin, between erin and alban, and tarry there till barach's feast was ended: but they did not consent to do so, for they deemed it would be a mark of cowardice: and they sped on by the shortest ways towards emain macha. when now they had come to fincarn of the watch-tower on slieve fuad, deirdre and her attendants stayed behind the others a little: and she fell asleep. and when naisi missed her, he turned back and found her just awakening; and he said to her:--"why didst thou tarry, my princess?" and she answered:--"i fell asleep and had a dream. and this is what i saw in my dream:--illan the fair took your part: buinni the red did not: and i saw illan without his head: but buinni had neither wound nor hurt." "alas, o beauteous princess," said naisi, "thou utterest nought but evil forebodings: but the king is true and will not break his plighted word." so they fared on till they had come to the ridge of the willows,[clxxvi.] an hour's journey from the palace: and deirdre, looking upwards in great fear, said to naisi:--"o naisi, see yonder cloud in the sky over emain, a fearful chilling cloud of a blood-red tinge: a baleful red cloud that bodes disaster! come ye now to dundalgan and abide there with the mighty hero cuculainn till fergus returns from barach's feast; for i fear concobar's treachery." but naisi answered:--"we cannot follow thy advice, beloved deirdre, for it would be a mark of fear: and we have no fear." and as they came nigh the palace deirdre said to them:--"i will now give you a sign if concobar meditates good or evil. if you are brought into his own mansion where he sits surrounded by his nobles, to eat and drink with him, this is a token that he means no ill; for no man will injure a guest that has partaken of food at his table: but if you are sent to the house of the red branch, be sure he is bent on treachery." when at last they arrived at the palace, they knocked loudly with the handwood: and the door-keeper swang the great door wide open. and when he had spoken with them, he went and told concobar that the sons of usna and fergus's two sons had come, with their people. and concobar called to him his stewards and attendants and asked them:--"how is it in the house of the red branch as to food and drink?" and they replied that if the seven battalions of ulaid were to come to it, they would find enough of all good things. "if that is so," said concobar, "take the sons of usna and their people to the red branch." even then deirdre besought them not to enter the red branch: for she deemed now that of a certainty there was mischief afoot. but illan the fair said:--"never did we show cowardice or unmanliness, and we shall not do so now." then she was silent and went with them into the house. and the company, when they had come in, sat them down so that they filled the great hall: and alluring viands and delicious drinks were set before them: and they ate and drank till they became satisfied and cheerful: all except deirdre and the sons of usna, who did not partake much of food or drink. and naisi asked for the king's chessboard and chessmen; which were brought: and he and deirdre began to play. footnotes: [clxxv.] this and the other places named in deirdre's farewell are all in the west of scotland. [clxxvi.] irish name, _drum-sailech_; the ridge on which armagh was afterwards built. chapter iv. trouble looming. let us now speak of concobar. as he sat among his nobles, the thought of deirdre came into his mind, and he said:--"who among you will go to the red branch and bring me tidings of deirdre, whether her youthful shape and looks still live upon her: for if so there is not on the ridge of the world a woman more beautiful." and lavarcam said she would go. now the sons of usna were very dear to lavarcam: and naisi was dearer than the others. and rising up she went to the red branch, where she found naisi and deirdre with the chessboard between them, playing. and she saluted them affectionately: and she embraced deirdre, and wept over her, and kissed her many times with the eagerness of her love: and she kissed the cheeks of naisi and of his brothers. and when her loving greeting was ended, she said:--"beloved children, evil is the deed that is to be done this night in emain: for the three torches of valour of the gaels will be treacherously assailed, and concobar is certainly resolved to put them to death. and now set your people on guard, and bolt and bar all doors, and close all windows; and be steadfast and valorous, and defend your dear charge manfully, if you may hold the assailants at bay till fergus comes." and she departed weeping piteously. and when lavarcam had returned to concobar he asked what tidings she brought. "good tidings have i," said she: "for the three sons of usna have come, the three valiant champions of ulaid: and now that they are with thee, o king, thou wilt hold sway in erin without dispute. and bad tidings i bring also: deirdre indeed is not as she was, for her youthful form and the splendour of her countenance have fled from her." and when concobar heard this, his jealousy abated, and he joined in the feasting. but again the thought of deirdre came to him, and he asked:--"who now will go for me to the red branch, and bring me further tidings of deirdre and of the sons of usna?" for he distrusted lavarcam. but the knights of the red branch had misgivings of some evil design, and all remained silent. then he called to him trendorn, one of the lesser chiefs: and he said:--"knowest thou, trendorn, who slew thy father and thy three brothers in battle?" and trendorn answered:--"verily, it was naisi, the son of usna, that slew them." then the king said:--"go now to the red branch and bring me back tidings of deirdre and of the sons of usna." trendorn went right willingly. but when he found the doors and windows of the red branch shut up, he was seized with fear, and he said:--"it is not safe to approach the sons of usna, for they are surely in wrathful mood: nevertheless i must needs bring back tidings to the king." whereupon, not daring to knock at the door, he climbed nimbly to a small window high up that had been unwittingly left open, through which he viewed the spacious banquet hall, and saw naisi and deirdre playing chess. deirdre chanced to look up at that moment, and seeing the face of the spy with eyes intently gazing on her, she started with affright and grasped naisi's arm, as he was making a move with the chessman. naisi, following her gaze, and seeing the evil-looking face, flung the chessman with unerring aim, and broke the eye in trendorn's head. trendorn dropped down in pain and rage; and going straight to concobar, he said:--"i have tidings for thee, o king: the three sons of usna are sitting in the banquet hall, stately and proud like kings: and deirdre is seated beside naisi; and verily for beauty and queenly grace her peer cannot be found." when concobar heard this, a flame of jealousy and fury blazed up in his heart, and he resolved that by no means should the sons of usna escape the doom he planned for them. chapter v. the attack on the sons of usna. coming forth on the lawn of emain, king concobar now ordered a large body of hireling troops to beset the red branch: and he bade them force the doors and bring forth the sons of usna. and they uttered three dreadful shouts of defiance, and assailed the house on every side; but the strong oak stood bravely, and they were not able to break through doors or walls. so they heaped up great piles of wood and brambles, and kindled them till the red flames blazed round the house. buinni the red now stood up and said to the sons of usna:--"to me be entrusted the task to repel this first assault: for i am your pledge in place of my father." and marshalling his men, and causing the great door to be thrown wide open, he sallied forth and scattered the assailants, and put out the fires: slaying thrice fifty hirelings in that onslaught. but buinni returned not to the red branch: for the king sent to him with a secret offer of great favours and bribes: namely, his own royal friendship, and a fruitful tract of land; which buinni took and basely abandoned the sons of usna. but none the better luck came to him of it: for at that same hour a blight fell on the land, so that it became a moor, waste and profitless, which is at this day called slieve fuad. when illan the fair became aware of his brother's treason, he was grieved to the heart, and he said:--"i am the second pledge in place of my father for the sons of usna, and of a certainty i will not betray them: while this straight sword lives in my hand i will be faithful: and i will now repel this second attack." for at this time the king's hirelings were again thundering at the doors. forth he issued with his band: and he made three quick furious circuits round the red branch, scattering the troops as he went: after which he returned to the mansion and found naisi and deirdre still playing.[clxxvii.] but as the hireling hordes returned to the attack, he went forth a second time and fell on them, dealing death and havoc whithersoever he went. then, while the fight was still raging, concobar called to him his son ficra, and said to him:--"thou and illan the fair were born on the same night: and as he has his father's arms, so thou take mine, namely, my shield which is called the ocean, and my two spears which are called dart and slaughter, and my great sword, the blue-green blade. and bear thyself manfully against him, and vanquish him, else none of my troops will survive." ficra did so and went against illan the fair; and they made a stout, warlike, red-wounding attack on each other, while the others looked on anxious: but none dared to interfere. and it came to pass that illan prevailed, so that ficra was fain to shelter himself behind his father's shield the ocean, and he was like to be slain. whereupon, the shield moaned, and the three waves of erin uttered their hollow melancholy roar.[clxxviii.] the hero conall carnagh, sitting in his dun afar off, heard the moan of the shield and the roar of the wave of tuath: and springing up from where he sat, he said: "verily, the king is in danger: i will go to his rescue." he ran with the swiftness of the wind, and arrived on the green of emain, where the two young heroes were fighting. thinking it was concobar that crouched beneath the shield, he attacked illan, not knowing him, and wounded him even unto death. and illan looking up said, "is it thou, conall? alas, dreadful is the deed thou hast done, not knowing me, and not knowing that i am fighting in defence of the sons of usna, who are now in deadly peril from the treachery of concobar." and conall, finding he had unwittingly wounded his dear young friend illan, turned in his grief and rage on the other, and swept off his head. and he stalked fierce and silent out of the battlefield. illan, still faithful to his charge, called aloud to naisi to defend himself bravely: then putting forth his remaining strength, he flung his arms, namely, his sword and his spears and his shield, into the red branch; and falling prone on the green sward, the shades of death dimmed his eyes, and his life departed. and now when it was the dusk of evening, another great battalion of the hirelings assailed the red branch, and kindled fagots around it: whereupon ardan sallied out with his valorous band and scattered them, and put out the fires, and held guard for the first third of the night. and during the second third ainnli kept them at bay. then naisi took his turn, issuing forth, and fought with them till the morning's dawn: and until the sands of the seashore, or the leaves of the forest, or the dew-drops on the grass, or the stars of heaven are counted, it will not be possible to number the hirelings that were slain in that fight by naisi and his band of heroes. and as he was returning breathless from the rout, all grimy and terrible with blood and sweat, he spied lavarcam, as she stood watching the battle anxiously; and he said:--"go, lavarcam, go and stand on the outer rampart, and cast thine eyes eastwards, if perchance thou shouldst see fergus and his men coming." for many of naisi's brave followers had fallen in these encounters: and he doubted that he and the others could sustain much longer the continual assaults of superior numbers. and lavarcam went, but returned downcast, saying she saw nought eastwards, but the open plain with the peaceful herds browsing over it. footnotes: [clxxvii.] these champions, as well as their wives, took care never to show any signs of fear or alarm even in the time of greatest danger: so naisi and deirdre kept playing quietly as if nothing was going on outside, though they heard the din of battle resounding. [clxxviii.] the "three _tonns_ or waves of erin" were the wave of tuath outside the mouth of the river bann, off the coast of derry; the wave of rury in dundrum bay, off the county down; and the wave of cleena in glandore harbour in the south of cork. in stormy weather, when the wind blows from certain directions, the sea at those places, as it tumbles over the sandbanks, or among the caves and fissures of the rocks, utters a loud and solemn roar, which in old times was believed to forebode the death of some king. the legends also tell that the shield belonging to a king moaned when the person who wore it in battle--whether the king himself or a member of his family--was in danger of death: the moan was heard all over ireland; and the "three waves of erin" roared in response. see "irish names of places," vol. ii., chap. xvi. chapter vi. death of the sons of usna. believing now that they could no longer defend the red branch, naisi took council with his brothers; and what they resolved on was this:--to sally forth with all their men and fight their way to a place of safety. then making a close, firm fence of shields and spears round deirdre, they marched out in solid ranks and attacked the hireling battalions and slew three hundred in that onslaught. concobar, seeing the rout of his men, and being now sure that it was not possible to subdue the sons of usna in open fight, cast about if he might take them by falsehood and craft. and sending for caffa, the druid, who loved them, he said:-- "these sons of usna are brave men, and it is our pleasure to receive them back into our service. go now unto them, for thou art their loved friend; and say to them that if they lay down their arms and submit to me, i will restore them to favour and give them their places among the red branch knights. and i pledge thee my kingly word and my troth as a true knight, that no harm shall befall them." caffa, by no means distrusting him, went to the sons of usna, and told them all the king had said. and they, suspecting neither guile nor treachery, joyfully threw their swords and spears aside, and went towards the king to make submission. but now, while they stood defenceless, the king caused them to be seized and bound. then, turning aside, he sought for some one to put them to death; but he found no man of the ultonians willing to do so. among his followers was a foreigner named maini of the rough hand, whose father and two brothers had fallen in battle by naisi: and this man undertook to kill the sons of usna. when they were brought forth to their doom, ardan said:--"i am the youngest: let me be slain first, that i may not see the death of my brothers." and ainnli earnestly pleaded for the same thing for himself, saying that he was born before ardan, and should die before him. but naisi said:--"lo, i have a sword, the gift of mannanan mac lir, which leaves no remnant unfinished after a blow: let us be struck with it, all three together, and we shall die at the same moment." this was agreed to: and the sword was brought forth, and they laid their heads close together, and maini swept off all three with one blow of the mighty sword. and when it became known that the sons of usna were dead, the men of ulaid sent forth three great cries of grief and lamentation. as for deirdre, she cried aloud, and tore her golden hair, and became like one distracted. and after a time, when her calmness had a little returned, she uttered a lament:-- i. "three lions of the hill are dead, and i am left alone to weep for them. the generous princes who made the stranger welcome have been guilefully lured to their doom. ii. "the three strong hawks of slieve cullinn,[clxxix.] a king's three sons, strong and gentle: willing obedience was yielded to them by heroes who had conquered many lands. iii. "three generous heroes of the red branch, who loved to praise the valour of others: three props of the battalions of quelna: their fall is the cause of bitter grief. iv. "ainnli and ardan, haughty and fierce in battle, to me were ever loving and gentle: naisi, naisi, beloved spouse of my choice, thou canst not hear thy deirdre lamenting thee. v. "when they brought down the fleet red deer in the chase, when they speared the salmon skilfully in the clear water, joyful and proud were they if i looked on. vi. "often when my feeble feet grew weary wandering along the valleys, and climbing the hills to view the chase, often would they bear me home lightly on their linked shields and spears. vii. "it was gladness of heart to be with the sons of usna: long and weary is the day without their company: short will be my span of life since they have left me. viii. "sorrow and tears have dimmed my eyes, looking at the grave of naisi: a dark deadly sickness has seized my heart: i cannot, i cannot live after naisi. ix. "o thou who diggest the new grave, make it deep and wide: let it be a grave for four; for i will sleep for ever beside my beloved." when she had spoken these words, she fell beside the body of naisi and died immediately. and a great cairn of stones was piled over their grave, and their names were inscribed in ogham, and their funeral rites were performed. this is the sorrowful tale of the fate of the sons of usna. footnotes: [clxxix.] slieve cullinn, now slieve gullion mountain in armagh. notes. note .--_the dedannans._ according to the old bardic legends, the first man who led a colony to ireland after the flood was parthalon. next came nemed and his people; and after these the firbolgs, who were conquered and succeeded by the dedannans. the legend relates that the dedannans, in the course of their wanderings, spent some time in greece, where they learned magic and other curious arts. from this they migrated to lochlann, in the north of europe (see note ), from which they came through scotland to their final resting-place, ireland. from the three queens of their three last kings, ireland got the three names, erin, f[=o]la, and banba. after the dedannans had held sway in ireland for about two hundred years, they were in their turn conquered by the last and greatest colony of all, the people of milèd or milesius, who are commonly known by the name of milesians, and who are the ancestors of the leading gaelic families of ireland. the milesians defeated the dedannans in two great battles: one fought at _tailltenn_, now teltown, on the river blackwater, between navan and kells, in meath; and the other at _druim-lighean_, now drumleene, about three miles from lifford, in donegal. in the legendary and romantic literature of ireland, the dedannans are celebrated as magicians. by the milesians and their descendants they were regarded as gods, and ultimately, in the imagination of the people, they became what are now in ireland called "fairies." after their defeat by the milesians, they seem to have retired to remote and lonely places; and their reputation as magicians, as well as the obscure and mysterious manner in which they lived, gradually impressed the vulgar with the belief that they were supernatural beings. the notion was that they lived in splendid palaces in the interior of pleasant green hills. these hills were called _sidh_ (pronounced _shee_); and hence the dedannans were called _daoine-sidhe_ (_deena-shee_), or people of the fairy hills; _marcra-sidhe_ (_markra-shee_), fairy cavalcade; and _sluagh-sidhe_ (_sloo-shee_), fairy host. of this mysterious race, the following are the principal characters mentioned in these tales. mannanan mac lir, the gaelic sea-god. in "cormac's glossary" (written a.d. ), we are told that he was a famous merchant who resided in, and gave name to, _inis-manann_, or the isle of man; that he was the best merchant in western europe; and that he used to know, by examining the heavens, the length of time the fair and the foul weather would last. the dagda, whose name some interpret to mean "the great good fire," so called from his military ardour, who reigned as king of ireland from a.m. to . angus or angus oge, the son of the dagda, who lived at _brugh_ or bruga, on the north shore of the boyne, a little below the village of slane. angus is spoken of as the wisest and the most skilled in magic of all the dedannan race. nuada of the silver hand. (see note .) lir of shee finnaha, the father of the four "children of lir," and bove derg of shee bove, of whom we know little more than what is told of them in the "fate of the children of lir." shee finnaha is supposed to have been situated near newtown hamilton, in armagh; and shee bove was on the shore of lough derg, on the shannon. luga of the long arms, who imposed the eric-fine on the three sons of turenn for slaying his father kian. (see note for a further account of this luga.) dianket, the great physician, of whose powers of cure extraordinary stories are told. he had a son midac, and a daughter armedda, more skilful than himself. the old legend relates that midac took off the silver arm which his father dianket had put on nuada (see note ), and, having procured the bones of the real arm, he clothed them with flesh and skin, and fixed the arm in its place as well as ever "in three moments." dianket was so enraged at being outdone by his son that he slew him. after midac had been buried for some time, three hundred and sixty-five healing herbs grew up from his grave, one from every joint and sinew of his body--each herb to cure disease in that part of the human body from which it grew--all which were gathered by his sister armedda, and placed carefully in her cloak in their proper order. but before she had time to study their several virtues fully, her father dianket mixed them all up in utter confusion. (o'curry, _atlantis_, vii. and viii. .) were it not for this churlish proceeding, armedda would have found out, and we should now know, the exact herb to cure each particular disease of the human frame. note .--_the feast of age._ this was also called the feast of gobnenn the dedannan smith. it was instituted by mannanan mac lir, and whoever was present at it, and partook of the food and drink, was free ever after from sickness, decay, and old age. note .--_the druids._ the ancient irish druids do not appear to have been _priests_ in any sense of the word. they were, in popular estimation, men of knowledge and power--"men of science," as they were often designated; they knew the arts of healing and divination; and they were skilled above all in magic. in fact, the irish druids were magicians, neither more nor less; and hence the gaelic word for "druidical" is almost always applied where we should use the term "magical"--to spells, incantations, metamorphoses, etc. (see o'curry, "lectures on the manners and customs of the ancient irish," lecture ix.) note .--_nuada of the silver hand._ nuada of the silver hand was king of ireland, according to the chronology of the four masters, from a.m. to . he commanded the dedannans in the first battle of moytura (see note ), where his arm was cut off with a sword-blow by sreng, the great firbolg champion. afterwards credne the artificer made him a silver arm with a hand, which was fixed on by dianket, the physician (see note ). nuada was slain in the second battle of moytura, by balor of the mighty blows (see note ). note .--_the fomorians._ "fomor," the simple form of this word, means, according to the old etymologists, a sea-robber, from _fo_, on or along, and _muir_, the sea. the word is also used to denote a giant, or a gigantic champion. the fomorians of irish history were sea-robbers, who infested the coasts, and indeed the interior, of ireland, for a long series of years, and at one time fortified themselves in tory island. they are stated to have come to ireland from lochlann, in the north of europe (for which see next note); but they were originally from africa, being, according to the legend, the descendants of ham the son of noah. note .--_lochlann: the lochlanns._ lochlann was the gaelic designation of the country from which came the people who are known in european history as danes, _i.e._ the country round the southern shores of the baltic, including the south part of sweden. the lochlanns, or lochlannachs, or danes, it need hardly be said, make a very conspicuous figure in our early history, and in our mediæval romantic literature. in the gaelic tales, the chief city of lochlann is always berva; but whether this represents a real name, or is merely an invention of the old story-tellers, i cannot tell. note .--_luga of the long arms: the ildana._ luga of the long arms was the son of ethlenn, daughter of the fomorian king, balor of the mighty blows (see note ). his father, kian (who was slain by the three sons of turenn), was a dedannan; so that luga was half fomorian and half dedannan. but he always took the side of the dedannans against the fomorians. luga is often called the ildana, the man of many sciences, to signify his accomplishments as a warrior and a man of general knowledge. it had been foretold that balor would be slain by his own grandson. accordingly, when luga was born, balor sent him off to be drowned. but luga escaped, and lived to revenge the unnatural conduct of his grandfather, whom he slew in the second battle of moytura (see note ), after balor had slain the dedannan king, nuada of the silver hand. luga succeeded nuada as king of ireland, and reigned, according to the chronology of the four masters, from a.m. to . it was by luga that the celebrated yearly assembly of tailltenn was instituted, in honour of his foster mother _taillte_, after whom the place was called. (see note page , _supra._) note .--_the land of promise: fairyland._ in ancient gaelic romantic tales, mention is often made of _tir tairrngire_, the land of promise, fairyland, as being one of the chief dwelling-places of the dedannans or fairy host. in many passages this land of promise is identified with _inis-manann_, or the isle of man, which was ruled over by mannanan mac lir, the sea-god, and named from him. note .--_balor of the mighty blows._ balor was king of the fomorians from lochlann in the north; his wife was kethlenda; and his son, bres. balor is often called balor of the mighty blows; and also balor of the evil eye, for he had one eye which would strike people dead or turn them into stone, so that he kept it covered, except when he wished to use it against his enemies. balor is remembered very vividly in tradition by the peasantry of ireland, especially in donegal and in tory island, where a very high, tower-like rock is called to this day balor's castle. note .--_eric._ the eric was a fine paid as compensation for murder or homicide. the friends of the murdered person might accept an eric, or they might refuse it and seek instead the death of the murderer. an eric was often paid for other crimes or injuries against the individual, as well as for homicide. note .--_battle of moytura._ there were two great battles, each called the battle of moytura. _first battle of moytura._ when the dedannans came to invade erin, they found the country occupied by the firbolgs, who were by no means inclined to give up quiet possession to the newcomers. after some parleying and manoeuvring, a great battle was fought between them, a.m. , at moytura, near cong, in mayo, lasting for four days, in which the firbolgs were defeated with great slaughter, and their king slain; after which the dedannans took possession of the country, leaving connaught, however, to a powerful remnant of the firbolgs who survived the battle. this is called the first battle of moytura, or the battle of the southern moytura. on the plain where it was fought, there are still great numbers of mounds, cromlechs, and other sepulchral monuments. (see sir william wilde's "lough corrib," page .) _second battle of moytura._ king nuada, who led the dedannans in the first battle of moytura, had his arm cut off by sreng, one of the firbolg champions. he was under cure for seven years; during which time bres, the son of elatha, who was a fomorian by his father and a dedannan by his mother, ruled ireland as regent. but at the end of the seven years, bres had to retire in favour of nuada. whereupon he repaired in anger to his father in lochlann; and at his instigation an army of fomorians was raised, after some years, for the invasion of ireland, and placed under the command of balor of the mighty blows. luga of the long arms seems to have foreseen this invasion. he knew that bres would have to abdicate whenever nuada's arm came to be healed, and he conjectured truly that he would not resign the sovereignty without a struggle. but the old tales would lead to the inference that luga had some preternatural foreknowledge of the battle. anyhow, the legend says that for many years he made preparations for the coming struggle; and it was with this intention that he imposed the celebrated eric-fine on the sons of turenn. the fomorians landed, and were met by the dedannan army at the northern moytura, or, as it is often called, moytura of the fomorians, situated in the parish of kilmactranny, barony of tirerrill, county sligo. the battle was fought on the eve of samin, _i.e._ on the last day of october, a.m. ; and the fomorians were defeated with the slaughter of their principal men and the best part of their army. in the course of the battle, nuada of the silver hand, the dedannan king, was slain by balor; but soon after, balor himself was killed by his grandson, luga. luga, we are told, flung a stone at him from a crann-tavall or sling (see note, page ), and struck him in the evil eye with so much force that the stone went clean through his head and out at the back. the site of this battle, like that of the southern moytura, abounds to this day in sepulchral monuments. these two battles of moytura form the subjects of two historic tales, which are still in existence, though they have never been published. note .--_gesa._ "gesa" (pronounced _gessa_, the _g_ hard, as in _get_) is plural: singular _geis_, plural _geasa_ or _gesa_. gesa means solemn vows, conjurations, injunctions, prohibitions. "i put you under gesa" means, i adjure you solemnly, so solemnly that you dare not disobey. it would appear that individuals were often under gesa or solemn vows to observe, or to refrain from, certain lines of conduct--the vows being either taken on themselves voluntarily, or imposed on them, with their consent, by others. thus dermat o'dyna was under gesa never to pass through a wicket gate when entering or leaving a palace (page ); finn was under gesa not to sleep at allen more than nine nights in succession (page ); dermat put oisin under gesa not to loose any one whom he bound (page ). it would appear, also, that if one person went through the form of putting another under gesa to grant any reasonable request, the abjured person could not refuse without loss of honour and reputation. thus midac places finn under gesa to come to the banquet in the fairy palace of the quicken trees (page ); and the witch-lady places gesa on finn to search for the ring in the lake (page ). and sometimes, on very solemn or urgent occasions, the gesa seem to have been imposed with spells, so as to draw down ill luck as well as loss of honour on the person who disregarded the injunction (page ). geis or gesa also means a charm or spell. note .--_tir-fa-tonn._ the gaelic tales abound in allusions to a beautiful country situated under the sea--an enchanted land sunk at some remote time, and still held under spell. in some romantic writings it is called _tir-fa-tonn_, the land beneath the wave; and occasionally one or more of the heroes find their way to it, and meet with many strange adventures (page ). sometimes it is _o'brasil_, that dim land which appears over the water once every seven years--"on the verge of the azure sea"--and which would be freed from the spell, and would remain permanently over water, if any one could succeed in throwing fire on it. (see gerald griffin's beautiful ballad, "o'brasil, the isle of the blest.") the island of fincara (page ), and the beautiful country seen beneath the waves by maildun (page ), are remnants of the same superstition. this very old celtic tradition is obviously the same as the legend of the continent of atlantis, mentioned by plato, which at some remote time was overwhelmed and sunk under the atlantic ocean. and it would seem that they have the same shadowy tradition in the east; for in "lalla rookh" moore makes the peri say, in her soliloquy: "i know where the isles of perfume are, many a fathom down in the sea, to the south of sun-bright araby." note .--_the enchanted well._ res autem sic revera evenit. cum angus magus equum giganteum eochaidio et popularibus traderet, monebat homines nec stabulandi neque omnino requiescendi copiam equo faciendam; ne forte quiescendo urinam demitteret, quod si fieret exitio omnibus fore. postea vero quam at planitiem silvulæ cinereæ pervenissent, intenti adeo sarcinis ingentis equi dorso detrahendis incumbebant, ut monitorum angi obliviscerentur; restitit autem equus, et subinde urinam demisit. extemplo hinc fons ortus; qui cum scaturiisset, submersit omnes, sicuti in historiâ narratur. note .--_conal carna of the red branch._ the red branch knights of ulster, a sort of militia in the service of the monarch, much like the fena of later date (see note ), flourished in the first century of the christian era. their home was the palace of emania, near the city of armagh; and they received their name from one of the houses of the palace in which they resided, which was called _craebh-ruadh_, or red branch. they attained their greatest glory in the reign of conor mac nessa, king of ulster in the first century; and conal carna, mentioned in the story of "liban the mermaid," was one of their most illustrious champions. note .--_ecca the son of marid: comgall of bangor._ this marid was king of munster about the beginning of the second century of the christian era. st. comgall, one of the greatest saints of the early irish church, flourished in the sixth century, and was the founder of the celebrated monastery of bangor in the county of down. note .--_curragh._ it would appear that in ireland, and indeed in england and scotland as well, navigation was carried on in ancient times chiefly by means of curraghs. the curragh was a boat or canoe, consisting of a light framework of wood, covered over with the skins of animals. curraghs are still used on many parts of the western coast of ireland; but they are now covered with tarred canvas instead of skins. note .--_conn the hundred-fighter._ conn ced-cathach or conn the fighter of a hundred (not conn of the hundred battles, as the name is generally translated), was king of ireland from a.d. to . note .--_land of the living: land of life, etc._ the ancient irish had a sort of dim, vague belief that there was a land where people were always youthful, and free from care and trouble, suffered no disease, and lived for ever. this country they called by various names:--_tir-na-mbeo_, the land of the [ever-]living; _tir-na-nóg_, the land of the [ever-]youthful; _moy-mell_, the plain of pleasure, etc. it had its own inhabitants--fairies; but mortals were sometimes brought there; and while they lived in it, were gifted with the everlasting youth and beauty of the fairy people themselves, and partook of their pleasures. as to the exact place where tirnanoge was situated, the references are shadowy and variable, but they often place it far out in the atlantic ocean, as far as the eye can reach from the high cliffs of the western coast. and here it is identical with o'brasil, of which mention has been made in note . i have already remarked (see note ) that the fairies were also supposed to live in palaces in the interior of pleasant green hills, and that they were hence called aes-shee or deena-shee, i.e. people of the _shee_ or fairy hills; and hence also the word "banshee" _i.e._ a woman (_bean_) of the fairy hills. tirnanoge was often regarded as identical with these bright, subterranean palaces. in my boyhood days, the peasantry believed that the great limestone cavern near mitchelstown, in the county cork, was one of the entrances to tirnanoge. note .--_st. brendan of birra._ i have already, in the preface (page xiii.), spoken of the celebrated voyage of st. brendan of birra (birr, in king's county), undertaken in the sixth century. he set out from near brandon mountain, in kerry, sailing westwards into the atlantic ocean, and, according to the belief of some, landed on the shore of america. he had many imitators, who ventured out on the great ocean in their curraghs as pilgrims; but none were so enterprising as himself, or met with such a variety of strange lands, if we except maildun and the three sons of o'corra, whose adventures are quite as surprising as those of brendan. note .--_brendan's satchel._ the ancient irish saints, when on their missionary journeys through the country, kept their precious books, as well as the portable sacred utensils, in leather satchels, which they brought with them from place to place. these satchels were often highly ornamented, and, like other relics, were held in extraordinary veneration after the death of the owners. the gaelic term for this kind of satchel is _polaire_. (see petrie, "round towers," page .) note .--_cormac mac art._ cormac mac art, the most illustrious of the irish kings, who began his reign a.d. , was the son of art the lonely, who was son of conn the hundred-fighter. during his reign flourished the fena or militia, spoken of in the next note; and the old chroniclers never tire of dwelling on the magnificence of his court at tara, and the prosperity of the country during his reign. he was renowned for learning and wisdom, and he wrote a book called _tegusc-righ_, or instruction for kings, copies of which are extant in the books of leinster and ballymote. he also caused the records of the kingdom to be collected and written down in one great book called the psalter of tara, but no portion of this book is now known to exist; and he established three schools at tara--one for military science, one for law, and one for history and chronology. he spent the last years of his life in retirement and study at cletty on the boyne, and died a.d. , forty years after he had ascended the throne. note .--_finn and the fena._ the fena or "fena of erin" were a sort of militia or standing army, permanently maintained by the monarch for the support of the throne, and regularly trained to military service. they attained their greatest glory in the reign of cormac mac art (see previous note). each province had its own militia under its own captain, but all were under the command of one general-in-chief. their most renowned commander was finn the son of cumal, who of all the heroes of ancient ireland is most vividly remembered in popular tradition. finn had his palace on the top of the hill of allen, a remarkable flat-topped hill, lying about four miles to the right of the railway as you pass newbridge and approach kildare, rendered more conspicuous of late years by a tall pillar erected on the top, on the very site of finn's palace. before the erection of the pillar, there were considerable remains of the old fort on the hill, but at present nearly every vestige is obliterated, cleared away partly to make room for the foundation of the pillar, and partly by cultivation; for the land has been tilled and cropped to the very summit. the whole neighbourhood, however, teems with living traditions of finn and the fena. the fena were divided into distinct tribes or clanns, belonging to the several provinces, each under its own commander. of these, the clann baskin of leinster, under the immediate command of finn; and the clann morna of connaught, commanded by gaul mac morna, were rival tribes, and, for reasons stated in note , regarded each other with hatred and distrust. the following are some of the principal characters celebrated in the romantic literature of the fena. finn the son of cumal, commander-in-chief of the fena under king cormac mac art (see note ); brave, wise, and far-seeing, a man of supreme military ability. his foresight seemed so extraordinary, that the people believed it was a preternatural gift of divination, and the shanachies invented a legend to account for it (see note ). like many great commanders, he had a little of the tyrant in his character, and was unforgiving to those who injured him. but in the story of dermat and grania, he is drawn in too unfavourable a light. in his old age he was killed by a fisherman at a place called athbrea on the boyne, a.d. , as recorded in the annals of tighernach, of the four masters, and of innisfallen. oisin or ossian, finn's son, the renowned hero-poet, to whom the bards attribute many poems still extant. oscar, the son of oisin, youthful and handsome, kind-hearted, and one of the most valiant of the fena. dermat o'dyna, noble-minded, generous, of untarnished honour, and the bravest of the brave. he was as handsome as he was valiant, whence he is often styled dermat of the bright face, dermat of the white teeth, etc. he was the idol of the ladies of ireland, and hence he is often called dermat-na-man, or dermat of the women (page ). the munster traditions represent him as a native of kerry; but he was in reality a leinsterman, though his descendants migrated to munster at a very early period. mr. o'grady, in his edition of the story of dermat and grania (page ), has given an ancient poetical genealogy of dermat. this hero is equally celebrated in popular story in the highlands of scotland. according to highland tradition, the great and illustrious clann campbell, represented by the duke of argyll, descend from him; and their crest is a boar's head, in memory of the manner of dermat's death.[clxxx.] dermat o'dyna is, on the whole, the finest type of hero among the fena--as fine indeed as can be found in any literature; and his noble character is very well maintained throughout the ossianic tales. kylta mac ronan, finn's nephew, renowned for his fleetness of foot. dering, the son of dobar o'baskin, who was not only a brave warrior, but also "a man of knowledge," gifted with some insight into futurity. ligan lumina, also celebrated for swiftness of foot. fergus finnvel, poet, warrior, and frequent adviser of the fena. gaul mac morna, the leader of the clann morna or connaught fena, one of the mightiest of all the heroes. he served under finn, but the two chiefs bore no love to each other, for gaul had slain finn's father, cumal, in the battle of knocka (see note ). conan mail or conan the bald, the best-marked and best-sustained character in the ossianic romances; large-bodied, a great boaster, a great coward, and a great glutton. he had a venomous tongue, and hardly ever spoke a good word of any one. he belonged to the clann morna, and was always reviling the clann baskin. he was the butt for the gibes and mockery of the fena, but they dreaded his foul tongue. the story-tellers never lose an opportunity of having a fling at conan, and of turning him into ridicule for his cowardice, his big talk, and his gluttony. note .--_cooking-places._ the fena, as related in the beginning of the story of the gilla dacker, were quartered on the principal householders during the winter half-year; and maintained themselves chiefly by the chase during the summer months. when they were on their hunting expeditions, we are told that they ate only one meal a day; and for this meal they cooked the flesh of the animals brought down in the chase, in the following manner. they first dug a deep pit in the earth near their camping-place, and, having lighted a great fire beside it, they heated a number of round stones. they next covered the bottom of the pit with the hot stones, on which they placed the meat, bound up with sedge and grass ropes, and on this again they put another layer of heated stones; and, having closely covered up the whole with branches, they let it stand till the meat was sufficiently cooked. the remains of these old earth-ovens are still to be seen, and are called by the peasantry _fulachta-na-bhfiann_, the cooking-places of the fena. note .--_finn's tooth of knowledge._ it had been prophesied of old that a man named finn would be the first to eat of the salmon of knowledge, which swam in the pool of linn-fec, in the boyne (near the present village of slane); and that he would thereby obtain the gifts of knowledge and of divination. a certain old poet named finn, knowing this, hoped that he might be the lucky man; so he took up his abode on the shore of linn-fec; and he fished in the pool every day from morn till night, in the hope of catching the salmon of knowledge. at this time, finn the son of cumal was a boy, fleeing from place to place from his hereditary enemies, the clann morna, disguised, and bearing the assumed name of demna; and, happening to come to linn-fec, the old poet took him as his servant. after long watching and waiting, finn the poet hooked the salmon at last, and gave it to demna to broil, warning him very strictly not to eat or even taste of it. demna proceeded to broil the fish; and soon the heat of the fire raised a great blister from its side, which the boy pressed with his thumb to keep it down, thereby scalding himself so severely that he unthinkingly thrust his thumb into his mouth. when the salmon was cooked, the poet asked demna had he eaten of it. "no," replied the boy; "but i scalded my thumb on the fish, and put it into my mouth." "thy name is not demna, but finn," exclaimed the poet: "in thee has the prophecy been fulfilled; and thou art now a diviner and a man of knowledge!" in this manner finn obtained the gift of divination, so that ever after, when he wished to look into futurity, he put his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, as he did when cooking the salmon of linn-fec, and the whole future was revealed to him. there appears to have been some sort of ceremony used, however (see page , _supra_); and it would seem that the process was attended with pain (page ), so that it was only on very solemn and trying occasions he put his thumb under his tooth of knowledge.[clxxxi.] note .--_the game of chess._ chess-playing was one of the favourite amusements of the ancient irish chiefs. the game is constantly mentioned in the very oldest gaelic tales; as, for instance, in the "cattle-spoil of cooley," in "the book of the dun cow" (a.d. ). (see o'donovan's "introduction to the book of rights," page lxi.) note .--_battle of knocka._ the battle of knocka or _cnucha_ (now castleknock, near dublin) was fought in the reign of conn the hundred-fighter (see note ). the contending parties were, on the one side, conn with his royal forces, and the renowned hero, gaul mac morna, with his connaught fena, the clann morna; and on the other side, cumal, the father of finn, with the clann baskin and the leinster forces in general, aided by owen more, heir to the throne of munster, with a large army of munstermen. the leinster and munster armies were defeated, chiefly through the valour of gaul, who slew cumal with his own hand. this was the cause of the irreconcilable enmity that existed ever after between the clann baskin and the clann morna. when finn the son of cumal grew up to man's estate, he succeeded to the position held by his father as leader of the fena. but though he made peace with gaul mac morna, and though gaul submitted to his command, there was always a feeling of ill-concealed hatred and distrust between them. note .--_battle of gavra._ when carbri of the liffey, son of cormac mac art, ascended the throne of ireland, one of his first acts was to disband and outlaw the clann baskin; and he took into his service in their place their rivals and deadly enemies, the clann morna from connaught. whereupon the clann baskin marched southwards, and entered the service of fercorb, king of munster, finn's grandson, in direct disobedience to king carbri's commands. this led to the bloody battle of gavra, celebrated in ossianic literature, which was fought a.d. , at garristown, in the north-west of the county dublin, where the rival clanns slaughtered each other almost to annihilation. in the heat of the battle, carbri and oscar met in single combat; and, after a long and terrible fight, the heroic oscar fell pierced by carbri's spear, and died on the evening of the same day. but carbri himself was dreadfully wounded; and, while retiring from the field, his own kinsman, semeon, whom he had previously banished from tara, fell on him, and despatched him with a single blow. this battle is the subject of a poem which the bards ascribe to oisin, and which has been published, with translation, in the first volume of the ossianic transactions. in this poem there is an affecting description of the death of oscar, surrounded by his few surviving companions, and in presence of his father oisin. footnotes: [clxxx.] for a full account of the highland traditions regarding dermat, and of the highland monuments that commemorate his name, see "loch etive and the sons of uisnach" (p. ), a very valuable and interesting book, recently published, which came into my hands after i had written the above. [clxxxi.] the above legend is taken from "the boyish exploits of finn mac cumal," published, with translation, by john o'donovan, ll.d., in the fourth volume of the ossianic society's transactions, from a ms. _transcribed_ in , now lying in the bodleian library at oxford. but the internal evidence of the language shows that the piece is far more ancient than the fifteenth century. the legend of finn and the salmon of knowledge is still current among the peasantry; and a modern popular version of it may be seen in the _dublin penny journal_, vol. i. page . as to the process of putting his thumb under his tooth of knowledge, even the english-speaking peasantry of the south still retain a tradition that it was painful; for they say that finn "chewed his thumb from the skin to the flesh, from the flesh to the bone, from the bone to the marrow, and from the marrow to the _smoosagh_." list of proper names. alphabetical list of the principal proper names occurring in this volume, with their original gaelic forms, and, in many cases, their meanings. every writer who attempts to popularise the gaelic literature of ireland and scotland, finds the proper names a serious difficulty. if they are given in their original gaelic forms, they are not unfrequently unpronounceable and repulsive to the english reader; if they are written phonetically, they are often strange and barbarous looking. in this book, i have not followed any general principle in reducing the names to forms suitable to readers of english. i have dealt with each, as it were, on its own merits. sometimes--very often, indeed--i have given the original spelling; sometimes i have given the names phonetically; and frequently i have mixed the two modes. but all through i have avoided any great departure from the original forms, as will be seen by a glance at the following list. in all cases the names occurring through the book may be pronounced just as the letters would indicate to the english reader. aed, _aedh_, a flame of fire. ahaclee, _ath-cliath_, hurdle-ford. ailna, _ailne_, beauty, joy. aina, _aine_. allil, _ailioll_, _ailell_, or _oilioll_. allil ocar aga, _ailell ochair aga_. alva, _ailbhe_. balor, _balar_. baskin, _baoiscne_. begallta, _beagalltach_, little fury. ben-damis, _beann-damhuis_. beoc, _beóc_, _dabheóc_, and _beoán_. berva, _berbhe_. borba, _borb_, proud. bran, _bran_, a raven. bres, _breas_. brian, _brian_. brickna, _briccne_. bruga of the _brugh-na-boinne_. boyne, canta, _cainte_. carn-arenn, _carnn-airenn_. carricknarone, _carraic-na-rón_, the rock of the seals. clann navin, _clann-neamhuinn_. cloghan kincat, _clochan-chinn-chait_, the stepping-stones of the cat's head. coil croda, _cael-crodha_, the slender valiant [man]. colga, _colga_. colman, _colman_, little dove. comgall, _comhghall_. conal carna, _conall cernach_. conan mail, _conan mael_, conan the bald. conang, _conaing_. conn, the hundred-fighter (not conn of the hundred battles, as it is usually translated), _conn-cédcathach_. connla, _connla_. coran, _coran_. cormac mac art, _cormac mac airt_. corr the _coir cos-luath_. swift-footed, cuan, _cuan_ or _cuadhan_. culand, _culand_. curnan the _curnan onmit_. simpleton, curoi mac dara, _curoi mac dáire_. dagda, _dagda_. dara donn, _dáire donn_. darvra, lake, _loch dairbhreach_, the lake of oaks. dathkeen, _dathchaoin_, bright-complexioned. decca, _deoch_. dedannans, _tuatha de danann_. derdri of the _deirdre duibhshleibhe_. black mountain, dering, _diorraing_. dermat o'dyna, _diarmait o'duibhne_. dianket, _diancecht_. diuran lekerd, _diuran lecerd_. dobar o'baskin, _dobhar o'baoiscne_. dooclone, _dubhchluain_, dark-coloured meadow. dord-fian, _dord-fiann_. dryantore, _draoigheantóir_. ducoss, _dubhchosach_, black-foot. eas-dara, _eas-dara_. ebb, _eab_. ebliu, _ebliu_. ebric, _aibhric_. ecca, _eochaidh_, a horseman. enbarr, _aenbharr_, splendid mane. encoss, _aenchos_, one foot. ethnea, _eithne_, sweet nut-kernel. etta, _eitche_. eva, _aeife_. eve, _aebh_. failinis, _failinis_. fatha conan, _fatha chonain_. femin, _feimeann_. fena, _fianna_. ferdana, _feardána_. fergor, _fearghoir_, manly or strong voice. fergus, _fearghus_, manly strength. fiaca findamnas, _fiacha findamnais_. ficna, _fiachna_, little raven. ficra, _fiachra_. fincara, _fianchaire_. fincoss, _finnchosach_, white-foot. finn, _finn_ or _fionn_, fair-haired. finnin, _finghín_, fair offspring. finola, _fionnghuala_, white shoulder. flidas, _flidas_. foltlebar, _folt-leabhar_, long hair. frevan, _freamhainn_. ga-boi, _ga-buidhe_, yellow javelin. ga-derg, _ga-dearg_, red javelin. gael glas, _gaodhal-glas_. garva, _garbh_, rough. gaul mac morna, _goll mac morna_. germane, _germane_. gilla dacker, _giolla deacair_, lazy fellow. glanlua, _glanluadh_, pure-spoken. glas mac encarda, _glas mac aeinchearda_. glore, _glór_, a voice. ilbrec, _ilbhreach_. ildana, _ioldhanach_. inis glora, _inis gluaire_. innia, _innia_. innsa, _inse_. inver-tre-kenand, _inbher-tre-cenand_. iraun, _irann_. iroda, _ioruaidhe_. irros domnann, _iorrus domnann_. island of the _inis tuile_. torrent, kemoc, _caemhoc_ or _mochoemhoc_. kenn-avrat, _ceann-abhrat_. kenri, _caenraighe_. kethen, _cethen_. kethlenda, _ceithleann_ or _ceithleand_. kian, _cian_. kylta mac ronan, _caeilte mac ronain_. largnen, _lairgnen_. lavaran, _lobharan_. liban, _liban_. lidas, _liadhas_. ligan lumina, _liagan luaimneach_, ligan the bounding. lir, _lir_. lobas, _lobais_. lochlann, _lochlann_. loskenn of the _loiscinn lomghlúineach_. bare knees, luath, _luaith_, swift. luga of the long _lugh lamh-fada_. arms, mac-an-lona, _mac-an-luin_. mac luga, _mac luigheach_. mac-na-corra, _mac-na-corra_. maildun, _mail duin_, chief of the fort. manissa, _maighneis_. mannanan mac lir, _manannan mac lir_. marid mac carido, _mairid mac cairedo_. mergah, _meargach_. micorta, _miodhchuarta_. midac, _miodhach_ or _mioch_. midir, _midhir_. midkena, _miodhchaoin_. milucra, _miluchradh_. modan, _muadhan_. morallta, _moralltach_, great fury. moyle, _mael_, a bare hill. moy-mell, _magh-mell_, plain of pleasures. moytura, _magh-tuireadh_, plain of towers. muman, _mumha_, gen. _mumhan_. muridach, _muridach_. murthemna, _muirthemhne_. niam, _niamh_, beauty. nuada of the _nuadha airgeatlaimh_. silver hand, nuca, _nuca_. oisin, _oisin_ (pronounced _isheen_ in munster, and _osh'in_ in ulster and in scotland). oscar, _oscar_. owenaght, _eoghanacht_, descendants of owen. pezar, _pisear_. racad, _rachadh_. rib, _rib_. sencab, _seanchab_, old mouth. sharvan, _searbhan_, a surly person. shee finnaha, _sidh-fionnachaidh_. skeabrac, _sciath-bhreac_, speckled shield. skolan, _sceolaing_. slana, _slánach_, healthy. sorca, _sorcha_. sotal of the large _sotal sálmhór_. heels, taillkenn, _tailcenn_. tinna the mighty, _tinne mór_. tir-fa-tonn, _tir-fa-thuinn_, country beneath the wave. tirnanoge, _tir na n-óg_, land of youths. trencoss, _treunchosach_, strongfoot. trenmore o'baskin, _treunmór o'baoiscne_. triscadal, _triscadal_. tuis, _tuis_. turenn, _tuireann_. ur, _uar_. urcar, _urchar_. the end transcriber's notes: footnotes formatted in roman. endnotes formatted in arabic. italics shown as _italics_. ligatures: [=o] o macron, [)e] e breve. inconsistent and archaic spelling retained.