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 OF C 
 ANGELHS 
 
 THE FORAY 
 
 OF 
 
 QUEEN M E AV E 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 LEGENDS OF IRELAND'S HEROIC AGE 
 
 BY 
 
 AUBREY DE VERE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., i PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 1882
 
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 PREFACE. 
 
 THE ( Foray of Queen Meave,' the longest of the following 
 poems, is founded on and in substance represents the far- 
 famed ' Tain bo Cuailgne",' a tale regarded by many Irish 
 scholars as the great Irish epic of ancient times, by others 
 as a part only of some larger epic of which numerous 
 portions remain, but which unhappily found no Pisistratus 
 to combine them into a whole. The lamented Professor 
 Eugene O'Curry has expressed his opinion that ' in the 
 time of Senchan and St. Columba ' (that is in the sixth 
 century) ' it was generally believed that Fergus was the 
 original writer of the tale.' 1 'On this supposition it 
 must have existed in a rudimental form a little before 
 the Christian Era. It was lost for several centuries, but 
 recovered in the sixth, when, according to the legend 
 recorded by Professor O'Curry, St. Kiaran wrote down 
 the tale " in a book which he had made from the hide of 
 1 Lectures on the MS. Materials of Ancient Irish History, p. 41. 
 
 2057809
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 his pet cow a book called the Leabhar na h-Uidre." ' ' 
 Elsewhere that great authority states that a large portion 
 of this work is preserved in a copy ' written at the same 
 Clonmacnoise by a famous scribe named Maelmire, who 
 was killed there in no6. 2 That copy of St. Kiaran's 
 version is still extant in the Royal Irish Academy, as 
 well as a copy of a later version included in the ' Book 
 of Leinster,' a collection compiled about 1150. Trans- 
 lations of both these versions have been made by Pro- 
 fessor O'Looney, and to both I have had access through 
 his kindness. These two versions differ much from each 
 other, the earlier being the simpler and stronger, while 
 the later is the richer in detail. To the sixth century 
 belong not a few Irish works of unquestioned authen- 
 ticity, such as the elegy written by Dalian Forgaill on 
 the death of St. Columba, A.D. 592, found also in the 
 Leabhar na h-Uidre. To an earlier period, the fifth 
 century, belongs the tract entitled the ' Battle of Magh 
 Tuireadh,' or Moytura. Several poems are confidently 
 referred to Dubthach, chief Bard of King Laeghaire, 
 St. Patrick's earliest convert at the Royal Court; and 
 to the same century belongs the Senchas Mor, or Com- 
 pilation of Laws. The ' Tripartite Life of St. Patrick ' 
 
 1 Lectures on the MS. Materials of Ancient Irish History, p. 30. 
 8 Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, vol. iii. p. 403.
 
 Preface. vii 
 
 is attributed by Colgan and others to the sixth century, 
 because it mentions as still living many persons known 
 to have died before the close of that age. Books are 
 recorded as having been in the hands of the Druids 
 before St. Patrick's time, or soon after, such as the 
 ' Cuilmenn,' the 'Sailtair of Tara,' attributed to the third 
 century, the 'Book of St. Mochta,' one of St. Patrick's 
 early disciples, the ' Book of Cuana,' &c. There is 
 consequently nothing to surprise us in the circumstance 
 that the ' Tain bo Cuailgne ' belongs to a period so early. 
 The following poem, written of course in the character 
 of an old Irish bard, is not a translation except as regards 
 some passages which occur chiefly in Fragment III. It 
 is not in the form of translation that an ancient Irish 
 tale of any considerable length admits of being rendered 
 in poetry. What is needed is to select from the original 
 such portions as are at once the most essential to the 
 story, and the most characteristic, reproducing them in a 
 condensed form, and taking care that the necessary 
 additions bring out the idea, and contain nothing that is 
 not in the spirit, of the original. 
 
 An attempt to introduce to modern readers a work 
 so ancient, and connected with allusions so unfamiliar, 
 seems to call for some remarks on the character of that 
 work, and on the age which produced it. The ' Tain bo
 
 viii Preface. 
 
 Cuailgne ' is especially valued, not only for its poetic 
 merits, but for the light which it throws upon early Irish 
 customs, such as the use of the war-chariot, abandoned, 
 apparently, as early as the second century. It marks 
 strikingly the mutual relations of Ireland's different king- 
 doms, classes, and races. It is the amplest voice from 
 Ireland's ' Heroic Age,' thus belonging to the first, as 
 the so-called ' Ossianic ' poems belong to the second 
 cycle of ancient Irish song. The latter cycle derives 
 its name from the circumstance that, though little of it 
 can be traced back to Ossian, it records the warriors of 
 the Fianna Eireann who were his contemporaries, and 
 flourished in the second century. Yet even they, scarcely 
 excepting Diarmid, Oscar, and Fionn himself, though 
 the terror of Ireland's provincial kings till their power, 
 rendered too exacting by long success, was extinguished 
 by a single fatal reverse, were never counted equal to the 
 mighty ones of her earlier time. 
 
 The Heroic Age had reached its highest greatness 
 shortly before the Christian Era. It was then that 
 Fergus Mac Roy reigned over Uladh, now Ulster ; but 
 he renounced his throne, incensed at seeing his wily 
 stepson preferred to him, and was exiled because he 
 had revenged the murder of Usnach's sons. Among 
 the ancient Irish heroes he was the popular favourite,
 
 Preface. ix 
 
 princely in all his ways, magnanimous, truthful, just, and 
 not the less majestic because a man of mirth. His 
 supplanter, Conor Conchobar, was his opposite in all 
 things, a man more sagacious, but perfidious and implac- 
 able. At that time lived also Conal Carnach, and his 
 foster-son Cuchullain immeasurably the greatest of all 
 Ireland's legendary warriors. His character is one so con- 
 sistent and so original that it suffices by itself to stamp the 
 age which conceived it as high among the most poetic 
 of the world. Cuchullain has been called the Achilles 
 of early Erin ; yet with the swiftness, the fierce impulse, 
 and indomitable might that belonged to the Greek, 
 he blends in perfect harmony qualities that remind us 
 more of Hector. Like him, he is the defender of the 
 city, more inspired by patriotic zeal than even by his 
 love of glory : like him, he is generous, modest, for- 
 bearing to the weak. It is to the strong only among his 
 country's foes that he is unpitying ; and even in his 
 dealings with them there is no ferocity. They have to 
 die, and he slays them. He is reverent to both his 
 parents fiercely as they were at variance with each other 
 to age, to woman ; and about him, even in his sterner 
 moods, there plays often the joyous spirit of the child. 
 His devotion to Ferdia is tenderer than that of Achilles 
 to Patroclus ; but on him there has fallen a sterner duty.
 
 x Preface. 
 
 He has not to avenge that friend, but to encounter 
 and lay him low when the invader of Uladh. The one 
 blemish in Cuchullain's life, his desertion of Aifne, his 
 boyhood's love in Scatha's Island, for a rival whose chief 
 attraction was perhaps that she could only be won by 
 force of arms, is an episode not included within the 
 scope of the Tain. His lifelong aspiration was fulfilled. 
 A few years after the repulse of Meave, while the other 
 warriors of Ulster were engaged on an invasion of Alba 
 (Scotland), Cuchullain alone remained behind for the 
 protection of his country. Suddenly the forces of all 
 the other kingdoms fell again upon the northern land, 
 stirred up by ancient hatred, and led on by a remnant of 
 Cailitin's ' Magic Clan.' Cuchullain again held them at 
 bay till the return of the Ulster army : but it returned 
 only in time to avenge his death, still in the prime of 
 youth, and to complete his work. 
 
 It has been remarked that in the characters of 
 Homer so absolutely true are they to nature the 
 qualities which bear the same name are yet essentially 
 different qualities ; as, for example, courage as illustrated 
 in Achilles and Ajax, in Diomed and in Hector. This 
 mark of truthfulness strikes us at once in the Tain. 
 The kingly valour of Fergus, thoughtful and serene, has 
 nothing in common with the animal fearlessness of Lok
 
 Preface, xi 
 
 Mac Favesh, or the blind patriotic fury of Ketherne, and 
 but little with that of Ferdia. In Cuchullain, courage is 
 an inspiration descending from above upon a being 
 essentially emotional, and though always brave, yet 
 sensitive and capable of awe. We smile at the bound- 
 less admiration lavished on strength by all early races ; 
 nor shall we understand it aright while we suppose that 
 it was, indeed, directed to mere physical qualities. This 
 was not so. Body and soul were not then thus carefully 
 discriminated ; the heroic deed was attributed, not to 
 the hand alone, but to the warrior himself, his heart 
 and his brain ; and not to the man only, but to some 
 divine aid, his because deserved by him. Cuchullain 
 is the chief example of heroism thus conceived. He is 
 slender as a maid ; but in the crisis of battle, when his 
 spirit kindles, his stature becomes gigantic. This 
 close connection between the material and the spiritual 
 explains the rapidity with which the wounds of these 
 legendary heroes heal. Should there ever come a time 
 when the spiritual is the chief object of man's reverence, 
 the present adulation of mere intellect will be looked on 
 as we regard the enthusiasm bestowed on martial might 
 in days gone by. 
 
 The imaginative literature of early races wears a 
 rough exterior ; but as we are told of a ' latent heat,' so
 
 xii Preface. 
 
 there exists a latent thoughtfulness ; and it is often 
 found unexpectedly in the depths of a tale which on its 
 surface reveals no disposition to deal with hard problems. 
 The reader of the Tain will be reminded of this truth 
 in proportion as he understands the relative position 
 of the Irish kingdoms at the time it describes. Con- 
 naught was the most barbaric as well as the poorest 
 of them all ; while Ulster had even then reached that 
 superiority in strength and wealth, and in civilisation 
 both civil and military, which for so many centuries she 
 retained. Her king was the subtlest and most powerful 
 of the Irish kings ; and her celebrated ' Red Branch 
 Knights ' were the most gallant order of Irish chivalry. 
 The more astonishing, consequently, was the utter pros- 
 tration, a defeat without a battle, into which she so 
 suddenly fell. Without any apparent cause her strength 
 changed to weakness, and her wisdom to folly. It 
 was the rebuke of her pride. At the critical moment of 
 her fortunes her great ones began to babble and talk 
 nonsense. All that their country had been they forgot ; 
 and the near future they looked on through what the 
 Tain calls ' a mist of imbecility,' and attributes to witch- 
 craft. Equally striking is the change which takes place 
 when the spell is reversed. The inferior nation can 
 neither use nor retain the advantages accidentally and
 
 Preface. xiii 
 
 dishonestly gained, and defeat succeeds to triumph. I 
 know of nothing else in poetry which resembles this. 
 Possibly it might be easier to find a parallel in history. 
 The Tain, a work which, while abounding in passion, 
 distinctly includes an element of humour and irony, 
 suffers nothing from a revulsion so strange. It ends 
 with a great event, a battle and an overthrow ; and if 
 that catastrophe is but a ' conclusion inconclusive,' and no 
 results remain behind, in this very circumstance lies a 
 special significance of the work. To this issue the whole 
 leads up, and the reader is not taken by surprise. 
 Throughout the tale he finds the same strange mixture 
 of ardent affections with causeless hatreds ; of quick 
 sympathies with injustice and ferocity ; of high daring 
 with a blundering the consequence not of incapacity, but 
 of tortuous acuteness. Everywhere he finds the contrast 
 between the emotional in excess and an all but complete 
 absence of discipline, whether moral or mental. Such 
 characteristics may last for centuries, but the end is ever 
 the same exertions that amaze, and abortive results. 
 The only cause for surprise is that a moral so grave should 
 have been unconsciously bequeathed by an ancient work, 
 written to amuse, not instruct. The explanation is that 
 a poem true to the time and to the characters it com- 
 memorates, teaches by necessity what they teach.
 
 xiv Preface. 
 
 The relation in which St. Kiaran stood to the Tain 
 illustrates that of the Christian priesthood to the imagina- 
 tive traditions of Ireland. The living bards and the 
 clergy could not but be rivals, but it was often a friendly 
 rivalship ; and as regards the bards of past centuries, there 
 was no room for jealousy. By degrees the clergy took 
 an interest in the ancient tales, and became attached 
 to what they befriended. Amid many extravagances they 
 detected doubtless a significance which escapes the half- 
 closed eye of a cynic shrewdness. Occasionally they 
 added to old legends an interpolation which might 
 have surprised those who had first sung them. Thus 
 we read that Cuchullain, when going forth to his last 
 battle, heard a choir of angels singing above that hill on 
 which the cathedral of Armagh was destined one day 
 to stand ; that he was pleased by the anthem, and that 
 his pleasure in it was accepted as a homage of good-will. 
 Elsewhere he is represented as fleeting in his war-car, 
 after death, above his beloved Emania. He sings, 
 
 I played on breaths 
 
 Above the horses' steam : 
 There used to be broken before me 
 
 Great battles on every side : 
 
 yet he ends with a warning to the race of man, and 
 announces the day of judgment.
 
 Preface. xv 
 
 The teachers of those days doubtless believed that 
 religion could afford to be indulgent towards minstrels 
 who had been true to such lesser lights as they possessed. 
 Paganism in those days was too little insidious to be 
 dangerous. There is a paganism in literature much 
 more formidable than theirs ; but it had not then 
 manifested itself. It belongs to that corrupted civilisation 
 which uses against Christianity those intellectual and 
 imaginative gifts, as well as that social and scientific 
 progress, which it owes to Christianity alone. It belongs 
 also to that merely conventional civilisation which has 
 scanty dealings either with nature or with the super- 
 natural. Nature, even in periods branded as ' barbaric,' 
 has qualities that indicate a sympathy with the divine ; 
 for it has ardent affections, a simple refinement, singleness 
 of aim, a marvellous self-sacrifice, and those unblunted 
 sensibilities, both of love and reverence, without which 
 the loftiest revealed truths cease to have a meaning. 
 The heroic at its highest stretches forth its hands to the 
 spiritual ; and its very deficiencies are a confession that 
 it needs to be supplemented by a something higher than 
 itself. We must not confound the ' savage ' state which 
 has fallen beneath the dominion of blind sense, with the 
 ' barbaric ' which has not yet ascended into the clearer 
 day, but which in its twilight has a gleam of coming
 
 xvi Preface. 
 
 morn. If Ireland, once converted to the faith, filled the 
 world with her missions, there must have existed in her 
 previously a thoughtfulness as well as a fearlessness each 
 of which found its way at last into the nobler fields of 
 enterprise. It is not unlikely that the apostle from 
 Clonmacnoise and lona often cheered his way over the 
 Northumbrian moors or through the Teuton forest with 
 a ballad about Cuchullain as well as with a Latin hymn 
 of Sedulius. 
 
 The mode in which the pagan legend sometimes put 
 on a Christian interpretation is especially illustrated in 
 the 'Children of Lir.' Even in its later form that tale is 
 said to be anterior to the year 1000 ; but as an 
 oral tradition it probably existed, like the social and 
 political conditions it records, centuries before the 
 Christian Era. A narrative, at first but the record of 
 some dreadful crime in a heathen household, changed 
 by degrees into a mystic hymn on the sanctity of child- 
 hood, its capacity for the heavenly hope, its obedience, 
 endurance, and fidelity, its power through entire simplicity 
 to find, in the strangest affliction, purification only and a 
 whiter innocence. Under the trials of nine centuries 
 those sufferers alone retain a perpetual childhood ; their 
 father's house, and the still lake before it, stand ever 
 before their imagination ; and the burden of the years
 
 Preface. xvii 
 
 but falls on them for a moment, to be flung aside for 
 ever. Their ' songs in the night season,' the swan-song 
 of a long dying, wafted over unstable waters for the solace 
 of the strong ones dwelling on the land, imply that the 
 martial bards of old knew in part the higher and serener 
 function of poetry. It is significant that while the 
 sentenced belong to the earlier Tuatha de Dannan race, 
 the witch, while imprecating upon them the curse, 
 addresses them thus : ' Ye of the white faces, of the 
 stammering Gael.' 1 Apparently some bard of a later day 
 resolved that these children of an unblessed stock should 
 be a prophetic anticipation of the Gael whose boast was 
 his faith. There was to be again a Ruth out of Moab, 
 one not gleaning amid the fields of promise, but scattering 
 their earliest seed ; a Gentile with a faith not found in 
 Israel, yet an Israelite indeed. A prose translation of 
 this tale, among the earliest at once and the most signally 
 modified of the Irish legends, was made by my early 
 friend, Gerald Griffin, 1 a man who, when certain to attain 
 the first place among Irish popular writers, passed it by 
 for a humble one among the ' Christian Brothers.' 
 
 The ' Children of Lir ' is perhaps the chief memorial 
 of that Tuatha de Dannan race, which had held sway for 
 two centuries before the invasion of the Gael, and yet were 
 1 Author of The Collegians. 
 
 a
 
 xviii Preface. 
 
 themselves regarded as intruders by the Firbolgs. Lir 
 and Bove, Tuathan kings, were separated by seven 
 centuries from 'Conn of the Hundred Fights.' The 
 great names of Tyr-Owen and Tyr-Conel had not risen ; 
 and i, 800 years had to pass before the foundations were 
 laid of those abbeys and castles now in ruins. Yet then, 
 too, there were monuments. The Tuathan might have 
 pointed out to his Gaelic conqueror a cairn which still 
 remains on the coast of Sligo, that of Eochy, King of the 
 Firbolgs. On the banks of the Boyne he might have 
 made boast of a huge sepulchral mound still shown to 
 the traveller, the tomb of Lewy, in whose veins the blood 
 of the Tuatha was blended with that of the earlier 
 Fomorian pirates. We know not whether the Dun- 
 Aengus had yet lifted its ponderous masses on Aran 
 Island ; but two centuries were to go by before Queen 
 Macha traced the foundations of Emania, and five before 
 Queen Meave built the palace of Cruachan. It is re- 
 markable that while numerous Firbolg monuments, and 
 in some places the race itself, survive, the mediaeval 
 genealogies include no descent from the Tuatha de 
 Dannan. They are described as an unwarlike race that 
 worked in mines, and practised magical arts arts 
 through which, when dispossessed by a stronger foe,
 
 Preface. xix 
 
 they had ' retired into invisibility,' living an immortal life 
 among hills and under lakes. 
 
 The ' Children of Lir,' and the ' Sons of Usnach ' l are 
 two of those tales which in Ireland were always known 
 as 'the Three Sorrows of Song.' Critics who regard 
 the 'Tain bo Cuailgne' but as a single fragment of a 
 great Irish epic, include the second among the remaining 
 fragments. To me it seems that each work is structurally 
 complete in itself ; but that, in spirit, the two are strik- 
 ingly unlike, the ' Tain ' being essentially epic, while the 
 ' Sons of Usnach ' is a tragedy cast in a narrative form. 
 The idea of fate enters into it as strongly as into any 
 Greek play, its heroine, the ' Babe of Destiny,' being, 
 of all those who have a part in the tale, the one least 
 subdued by that destiny which she strives in vain to 
 avert. Those who charge the Irish race with a fatalism 
 supposed to be a mark of its Eastern origin, may point 
 to this tale as a proof that the characteristic is at least an 
 ancient one. 
 
 It is natural to compare the Irish legends with those 
 of other races. An eminent Irish scholar asserts that 
 the ' Tain bo Cuailgne* is to Irish history what the 
 Argonautic expedition, and the Seven against Thebes, 
 
 1 More correctly written Uisnach. See Loch Etive and the Sons 
 of Uisnach, Macmillan & Co. 
 
 a 2
 
 xx Preface. 
 
 are to the Grecian.' Lander's 'Hellenics' represent 
 many of the least known Greek legends, and his 
 ' Gebir ' might be taken for a recovered Greek ' lesser 
 epic ; ' but with such poems the Irish legends can boast 
 little affinity. The best of the Roman have perished, 
 except those which Livy preserved by appropriating, 
 and which, notwithstanding their large element of 
 fiction, constitute perhaps the most true, because the 
 most characteristic portion of the earlier Roman history. 
 Between the Irish and such Scandinavian legends as the 
 celebrated ' Story of the Volsungs and Niblings ' there is 
 one striking resemblance. In each case the earliest 
 existing prose version obviously represents a metrical 
 work earlier still, large fragments of which survive, 
 cropping up in it like sea rocks that indicate the hills 
 submerged. In the ' Tain ' many passages, besides 
 those which can be called poetical, thus hold their own, 
 apparently but because the trouble of altering them was 
 thus evaded. That Scandinavian tale has a keen-edged, 
 concentrated might about it, together with, at least in 
 Mr. Morris's translation, a corresponding force and an 
 exquisite beauty of style ; and in these respects I think 
 it superior to the ' Tain : ' but the latter will probably be 
 deemed by impartial readers to have the advantage in 
 imagination, varied conception of character, and pathos.
 
 Preface. xxi 
 
 As regards comparative antiquity the ' Tain ' must have 
 preceded the Northern work by at least six centuries. 
 The latter includes a chapter, the fourteenth, entitled 
 'The Welding together of the Shards of the Sword 
 Grana,' taken, as might seem, from 'The Knighting of 
 Cuchullain,' so close is the resemblance as close as that 
 between the Spanish story of the ' Monk and the Bird,' 
 known to the English reader through Archbishop Trench's 
 charming poem, and the Irish tale regarded as its 
 original. The best characteristics of Irish legends, a 
 certain swiftness and daring, a wildness of invention, a 
 power that in its fiercest moods is often subtly com- 
 bined with grace, and a tenderness as often alternated 
 with humour, are found chiefly in the earlier. The 
 highest inspiration of the Bards seems to have passed 
 away not long after Ireland became Christian. ' Great 
 Pan was dead,' slain by the shaft of a mightier light. 
 The further back we go the higher is the imagination, 
 the energy, and even the art ; the legends of the Heroic 
 Age surpassing the mediaeval in refinement as much as in 
 force, and the mediaeval escaping the extravagancies and 
 vulgarities sometimes found in those of later days. In 
 ancient Ireland history and poetry had but a single Muse, 
 and the bard who professed to be ' a maker ' would have 
 found no listener. Through all its changes the traditional
 
 xx H Preface. 
 
 legend claimed a foundation of truth, and pointed ever 
 to some unmeasured antiquity. In that early springtide 
 the hard and rugged March buds of Song were scarcely 
 distinguishable from the rough rind of fact out of which 
 they had pushed 
 
 The present work concludes a series of poems 
 intended to illustrate Irish history at its chief periods. 
 The ' Legends of St. Patrick ' deal with Ireland's ' saintly 
 time,' and * Inisfail ' with those six centuries between 
 the Norman invasion and the repeal of the penal laws in 
 the latter half of the eighteenth century a period cala- 
 mitously misrepresented by partisan historians ; one in 
 which the wild passions and wilder political theories 
 which, since the first French Revolution, have in so 
 many countries directed high aspirations to mean or fatal 
 ends, had no existence ; a period of which ' all the 
 struggles were characterised by the spirit of liberty, nor 
 less by that of loyalty, whether directed to Gaelic princes, 
 to Norman chiefs who had become Irish, to Charles, or 
 James.' l Another period remained, that of Ireland's 
 ' Heroic Age.' This volume is a contribution to its illus- 
 tration. I trust that the poets of a later day will illustrate 
 it more worthily, and do for Irish history what the lofty 
 and stainless poetry of Scott did for that of his country. 
 1 Advertisement to c Inisfail,' p. 52.
 
 Preface. xxiii 
 
 The theme is large ; and the quarry, so rich in materials, 
 is as yet scarcely opened. Notwithstanding the destruc- 
 tion of numberless Irish books which certainly existed as 
 late as 1631, and the yet larger number known to have 
 been extant in the eleventh century, besides the vast 
 collections which perished during the Danish invasions, 
 we are informed that the Irish books still preserved 
 in Trinity College, Dublin, and the Royal Irish Academy 
 would alone fill 30,000 quarto pages. These volumes 
 exist, almost all of them, in MS. only ; while a few, 
 which, without State aid or any public encouragement, 
 have been translated, remain unprinted a circumstance 
 not honourable either to Ireland's patriotism, or to that 
 love of learning once her boast. A mere fragment of the 
 remaining surplus from the Irish Church property would 
 restore to light all the best specimens of ancient Irish 
 genius for the benefit not of Ireland's sons only, but of 
 learning in all lands ; and she has still scholars com- 
 petent to the task. Those who cannot study the 
 originals may wish to know where they may find 
 some valuable translations. Several have appeared in 
 the 'Atlantis,' a periodical established in connection 
 with the Catholic University of Ireland when Cardinal 
 Newman was its rector, in the publications of the 
 ' Ossianic Society,' of the ' Irish Archaeological and Celtic
 
 xxiv Preface. 
 
 Society,' and of the ' Kilkenny Archaeological Society.' 
 The English reader is more likely to be already acquainted 
 with Dr. O'Donovan's great translation of the ' Annals of 
 the Four Masters ;' with the works of Dr. Petrie, of Dr. 
 Todd, and Dr. Reeves ; with the 'Tripartite Life of St. 
 Patrick,' translated, as well as many ancient tales, by 
 Mr. W. M. Hessessy; with Dr. Joyce's 'Old Celtic 
 Romances ; ' and with Mr. Standish O'Grady's brilliant 
 bardic 'History of Ireland.' How entirely early Irish 
 legends are susceptible of a high poetic rendering in our 
 own day can be doubted by no one who has read the 
 poems founded on them which we owe to the genius of 
 Sir Samuel Ferguson. 1 
 
 1 I. Lays of the Western Gael. 2. Congal. 3. Poems. By 
 Sir Samuel Ferguson. Bell and Sons.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE SONS OF USNACH i 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF LIR 71 
 
 THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE: 
 
 Prologue 117 
 
 1. The Cause of the Great War 119 
 
 2. The Deeds of Cuchullain . . . " . . . 143 
 
 3. The Combat at the Ford . . . . .160 
 
 4. The Invasion of Uladh . . . . . . 183 
 
 5. Queen Meave's Retreat 201 
 
 NOTES 
 
 231
 
 THE SONS OF USNACH
 
 TO THE MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 
 EUGENE O'CURRY, 
 
 FIRST PROFESSOR OF IRISH HISTORY IN TH-E 
 CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF IRELAND, 
 
 THIS POEM 
 IS DEDICATED.
 
 THE SONS OF USNACH. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 IN Felim's house they kept the royal feast, 
 And all the echoing hall with tumult rang. 
 
 Tumult that still from morn to eve increased ; 
 And now the tale they told, and now they sang. 
 
 Chief minstrel he to Conor, Uladh's l lord, 
 
 Who graced that day, as oft, his favourite's board. 
 
 Sudden to Felim's seat a woman rushed, 
 
 An ancient nurse with wrinkled face and worn 
 
 Clamouring, her hands upheld and forehead flushed, 
 ' Felim, rejoice ! for lo, thy babe is born ! 
 
 And proud be thou, for goodlier is this child 
 
 Than e'er till now on proudest parent smiled ! 
 
 1 Ulster.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 These tidings heard, yet higher swelled the acclaim ; 
 
 The Red Branch Knights oft pledged that infant' 
 
 health, 
 And prayed that all high gifts of wealth and fame, 
 
 Great lordship, and great valour, and great wealth 
 Might grace its life, and in the far-off days 
 Compass its head with everlasting praise. 
 
 But when an hour had passed, and somewhat more, 
 The feasters heard far off a dulcet strain, 
 
 And soon to them there entered damsels four ; 
 With measured step advanced they twain by twain, 
 
 Bearing a cradle. On a low-raised throne 
 
 They reared it, bowered in silk, and blossom-strewn. 
 
 Therein a little maiden-wonder lay 
 
 Unlike all babes besides in mien and hue, 
 
 Bright as a lily-bud at break of day 
 
 That flashes through the night's unlifted dew : 
 
 Beaming her eyes ; like planets glad and fair : 
 
 And o'er her forehead curved a fringe of hair. 
 
 The tender fairy hand, whose substance fine 
 Glimmered as of compacted moonbeams made 
 
 With such a stealthy smoothness did it shine, 
 Above the coverlet unquiet strayed ; 
 
 And some one said, ' It knows the things to be, 
 
 And seeks its wand of destined empery ! '
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 3 
 
 From bannered stalls the Red Branch Knights drew nigh 
 Circling that cradle. 'Neath the raftered roof 
 
 A far-sunk window opened to the sky, 
 
 While purple twilight wove with warp and woof 
 
 O'er deepening heavens its dewy mantle dark, 
 
 And dusking woods, that hour unseen ; when, hark 
 
 Outside that casement rang a piercing wail ; 
 
 Then, past it slow, a dread and shrouded Form 
 On demon wings was seen of all to sail : 
 
 Shriek after shriek out-swelled into a storm : 
 And o'er that flower new-born of infancy 
 All heard the Banshee's death-denouncing cry. 
 
 Then, from his seat in that high hall remote 
 Whereon all day in silence he had sate 
 
 Advanced, unguided, to that Infant's cot 
 Cathbad, the Druid old, and man of Fate, 
 
 And o'er that infant held his arms out-spread, 
 
 And raised to heaven his grey and sightless head 
 
 At last he spake, ' This day a woe to man, 
 And yet the crown of woman's kind, is born : 
 
 This day is sent a blessing and a ban ; 
 
 She shall be black as night, and white as mon ; 
 
 And lo, upon her cheek I see such red 
 
 As stains great warriors on the war-field dead.
 
 4 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 1 A death to mighty hosts that face shall be : 
 Through her a king shall pass to banishment : 
 
 Through her shall perish Usnach's peerless Three ; 
 Through her from sacred Eman's l roofs fire-rent 
 
 Even now I see the reddening smoke-cloud leap : 
 
 Deirdre* her name. Through her shall widows weep. ' 
 
 King Conor heard, and in his angry mood 
 
 Had risen to speak her doom ; ' That child shall die ! ' 
 
 Save that the Uladh nobles where they stood 
 The king forestalling, hurled abroad their cry ; 
 
 ' She must not live ! ' Of all those knights but two 
 
 Will'd not that deed the bravest Erin knew. 
 
 For at that hour upon the cradle's right 
 
 Stood Conal Carnach ; at its left, though young, 
 
 Swifter in chase, and stronger yet in fight, 
 
 Cuchullain. Neither swelled that shout of wrong. 
 
 Once more it rose : but Conor ne'er was known 
 
 To walk in any counsel save his own. 
 
 He spake : ' She shall not die : this babe I take, 
 My ward, until her destinies be known : 
 
 An isle tower-girt is mine in yonder lake : 
 
 There shall she live ; and there shall live alone : 
 
 1 Eman, also called Emania, stood nearly on the present site of 
 Armagh.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 5 
 
 By none that fatal beauty shall be seen : 
 Full-grown the maid perchance may be my queen.' 
 
 Wondering they heard, but no man made reply, 
 For Conor's will was lord to all and each, 
 
 A man of counsel deep, and purpose high, 
 In action sudden, sparing of his speech : 
 
 Early he won the people to his will : 
 
 Ere long they feared him : but they loved him still. 
 
 While yet a child, the stepson of that king 
 Who reigned in Uladh, Fergus son of Roy, 
 
 Conor had shared his home. That prince would bring 
 Oft to his judgment court Queen Nessa's boy 
 
 Whose forward wit unravelled every suit, 
 
 Delighting in the wrangling clan's dispute. 
 
 Fergus was loftier-minded : ever more 
 
 He loathed the sordid plea, the varnished wrong, 
 
 And inly scorned the Ollamb's learned lore : 
 
 More dear to him the chase, the feast, the song : 
 
 Wearied one day, he cried with laughing face, 
 
 ' Conor ! speak thou the judgment in my place ! ' 
 
 The boy made answer none ; but instant bowed, 
 And judgment gave so full, so just, so clear, 
 
 A shout rang upward from the astonished crowd, 
 ' Worthy of kingship thou ! ' His crowned compeer.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Fergus arose ; incensed he made reply ; 
 
 ' Throne him your king, if worthier he than I ! ' 
 
 Conor since then had ruled the Ulidian race, 
 And ever waxed in subtlety and power, 
 
 Though better loved was Fergus' honest face, 
 And princely port, forth issuing from his tower 
 
 At times with horse and hound to chase the boar, 
 
 Crowning at times the topmost ridge of war. 
 
 Conor was loved and feared : one clan alone 
 
 Nor feared, nor loved him, Usnach 's : and the king 
 
 In Usnach's house a rival to his throne 
 Or noting, or belike imagining, 
 
 Still watched that house to crush it, had he dared ; 
 
 But Uladh loved it, and her monarch spared. 
 
 Meantime to that green island in the lake 
 The years came softly : softly went they by 
 
 As like as snowy flake to snowy flake, 
 As like as smile to smile, as sigh to sigh ; 
 
 And as some flower that feeds on beams and dew 
 
 Its inmate rose in beauty ever new, 
 
 Deirdre. With her abode an ancient dame, 
 
 The tale-recounter of the royal court 
 In years departed ; Levarcam her name : 
 
 None other to that island made resort
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 7 
 
 Save now and then treading the downward rocks 
 Some shepherd with the firstling of his flocks. 
 
 Beauteous as heaven that gladsome captive was ; 
 
 With every month more fair, more gladsome grew ; 
 Her pastime, counting jewels in the grass, 
 
 Emerald and amethyst, and sapphire blue, 
 Or chasing never part had she in sloth 
 From bloom to bloom the evening-gilded moth. 
 
 Impassioned friendships hers with every kind : 
 To her the Robin came ; to her the Hare ; 
 
 And still with insight flashed from heart to mind, 
 She guessed their lives in tree or bosky lair, 
 
 Sharing their vernal joys, and, when the snows 
 
 Besieged their haunts, condoling with their woes. 
 
 Inquisitive the creature was, and brave : 
 
 From rock to rock alone she roamed ; untaught 
 
 She knew to climb the tree and swim the wave ; 
 Soaring and swift, for knowledge still she sought, 
 
 Nor sought in vain, far wiser than she wist ; 
 
 Infantine minstrel, and mythologist. 
 
 For when she heard the wintry tempests raving, 
 
 Fables she told of immemorial feuds, 
 And warring Gods that still, for vengeance craving, 
 
 Devastated some rival's peaceful woods ;
 
 ! The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 And when the morning shone, serene and mild, 
 
 She laughed and said, ' These Gods are reconciled ! ' 
 
 Betwixt that island and the forest green 
 
 A causeway stretched. Scorning King Conor's law, 
 O'er it in summer maidens tripped unseen, 
 
 And told her tales of all they heard and saw, 
 And flowers in May, and fruits in summer brought her, 
 Or with her danced beside the moonlit water. 
 
 Two men alone she saw ; at times the king : 
 His grizzled beard and searching eye she fled, 
 
 And wept to think that in some far-off spring 
 
 She must be his. That thought alone with dread 
 
 Touched her keen instinct. In that face august 
 
 Something unblesi she saw, and ill to trust. 
 
 Yet oft he came, watching that flower of beauty 
 That still from crude, reluctant bud emerged ; 
 
 And citing still past vow, and future duty 
 
 Impledged thereby ; and still with presents urged ; 
 
 And ever reaped for such more scoffs than gain 
 
 Officious is his zeal whose hope is vain ! 
 
 The other visitor she better loved, 
 
 A Druid, silver-headed : to her isle 
 Daily he came, a teacher well-approved ; 
 
 And much he taught her, with his grave calm smile
 
 The Sons of Usnach. c 
 
 Advancing still into his pupil's heart : 
 To elicit thence, he knew, was to impart 
 
 He taught her all a monarch's bride had need 
 In those old days to learn. Devout and grave, 
 
 He taught her all the Ogham signs to read, 
 Inscribed on mossy stone or mystic stave ; 
 
 And how to trace green Erin's Kings, each one 
 
 To Heber or Heremon, Ir, or Donn. 
 
 One morn as on their glories he descanted, 
 
 ' Where are they now ? ' his wondering listener said 
 
 Then silent stood, like shape to stone enchanted : 
 But when he answered sadly, ' They are dead,' 
 
 She bounded t'ward the on -wavering butterfly, 
 
 And cried, ' At least he lives ; and so do I ! ' 
 
 Once too she caught that Druid by the sleeve, 
 And spake ; ' Great Master, this I ask of thee ! 
 
 Who was it made the sun, the morn and eve, 
 The stars, the flying clouds, the boundless sea ? ' 
 
 Her great wide eyes, clasped hands, and lips corn- 
 
 Better than words enforced the unending quest. 
 
 The Druid answered, dubious, still refining 
 
 With stress and strain of profluent words that left 
 
 The problem's jet-black surface smooth and shining 
 But ne'er the mystery's heart of marble cleft,
 
 io The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 And ended ; c God is God : but ah, the woe ! 
 That which God is, not even the Druids know ! ' 
 
 ' Then God must be a God who hides Himself 
 In sport, or else for cause we know not of ! 
 
 And doubtless,' thus ran on the careless elf, 
 
 1 Who hides in sport will show His face in love ; 
 
 Much seeking will not find Him. He will come 
 
 Then when He wills ; and take His children home. 
 
 ' For I remember once in yonder wood 
 My nurse, to mock me, hid her in an oak, 
 
 Whilst idly I a dragon-fly pursued : 
 
 I missed her soon : I wept : then forth she broke ! 
 
 Thus likewise God, hearing His creatures moan, 
 
 Will flash on them, and cry, " Mine own, mine own ! " 
 
 ' That day the wise will serve Him ; but the fool 
 Will sport with Ogham stave, or dragon-fly 
 
 That lights his spark lo there on dusky pool ! 
 Of those that sport at once, and serve am I ! 
 
 Therefore, come quickly, God ! And thou, good stave, 
 
 Fly hence ! ' And forth she flung it on the wave ! 
 
 But when she found within the Master's face, 
 
 Not wrath for that she looked but awe-struck woe, 
 
 A change there passed, too swift for eye to trace, 
 Athwart her rain-dark eyes, and front of snow ;
 
 The Sons of Usnach. n 
 
 And straight the child, by love's remorse possessed, 
 Kissed with her whole bright face that Druid's breast. 
 
 The years passed by ; and, onward as they sped, 
 That child from beauty still to beauty grew ; 
 
 In her, full many a fair one came and fled 
 Like sunny gleams that each the last pursue ; 
 
 And yet that glad succession brought no change ; 
 
 Each child in turn was wilful, sweet, and strange. 
 
 Older, beyond her island bounds she strayed 
 Despite the king ; for, ever since her birth, 
 
 Of nought that tender heart had been afraid : 
 Banshee, or ghost, she heard of, now with mirth, 
 
 And now with awe, but never with affright ; 
 
 And gladly would have faced them if she might. 
 
 Not so old Levarcam ! a spasm of dread 
 
 Oft blanched her cheek remembering Conor's word, 
 
 ' Keep safe the child, or forfeit is thy head ! ' 
 In Deirdr^'s absence, if a leaf but stirred 
 
 She shook ; and endless tales, and legends told 
 
 To keep her young lamb safe within the fold. 
 
 She told how first, from regions of the morn 
 
 With black-sailed ships stemming the ocean tide 
 
 To Erin's forest, yet of men forlorn, 
 
 Came Partholan, the Grecian Parricide :
 
 12 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 And how the ill race had perished. Deirdr^ cried 
 With reddening cheek ; ' Glad am I that they died ! ' 
 
 Then, with a brightening in her old, pale face, 
 Her nurse resumed : ' But we the Gael but we, 
 
 The offspring are we of a lordlier race, 
 The heirs of some diviner destiny ! 
 
 King Miledh was our sire ! From far Espan 
 
 His dauntless sons led forth the Gaedil clan.' 
 
 Of Scota next she told, the widowed Queen ; 
 
 And how that sad one left her lonely throne 
 Girt by eight sons ; and how, with eye serene, 
 
 She marked above the wine-black ocean prone 
 The monsters rise ; nor feared to watch the wave 
 Heaven-high, anon descending to its grave. 
 
 Time on her brow had graved no characters ; 
 
 Sorrow no splendour stol'n from that wide eye 
 That ever, as the legend old avers, 
 
 Reposed on some far seat of sovereignty 
 By others hoped ; to her alone revealed 
 Beyond sea-cloud, and ocean's heaving field. 
 
 She saw the waves engulf the drowning decks ; 
 
 Yet nought could scare that eye, or blanch that cheek 
 Four sons she saw upon their mastless wrecks 
 
 High driven on Erin's rocks and headlands bleak
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 13 
 
 From Inver Scena to the house of Donn : 
 
 She said ; ' The price is paid ; the Isle is won ! ' 
 
 She saw the victory's prelude and no more ; 
 
 Half-way 'twixt ocean marge and mountain crest 
 Where sleep the Great Ones of the days of yore 
 
 Early she made her venerable rest, 
 And holds, well-pleased, an ever-spreading fame, 
 Sealing a mighty people with her name. 1 
 
 Not all the themes were war : the fabler told 
 Of Feale, the dusk-eyed beauty of the South, 
 
 By Lewy won mid olive forests old : 
 
 Such minstrelsies went freshening from his mouth 
 
 That in his hand her own the princess placed, 
 
 Nor feared, his wife, to dare the wan sea-waste. 
 
 She told how, later, by that northern tide 
 
 A blush of causeless shame her cheek had stained ; 
 
 And how, heart-grieved at fancied wrong, she died, 
 Where wrong was none ; and how her husband 
 plained 
 
 Year after year, while she, at Scota's feet, 
 
 Rested revered where earth and ocean meet. 
 
 1 The Irish, originally ' Scoti,' were so called from Scota.
 
 14 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 Next told she how for Tara's King they found 
 
 No consort worthy of the royal bed 
 From east to west through Erin's utmost bound ; 
 
 And how, dream-warned, the youth had northward 
 
 sped : 
 
 And how, from fountain-bower by Fairy Brugh, 
 A white maid looked on him with eyes of blue. 
 
 And how that beauteous phantom, Eadane, 
 Had laid a hand like light upon his hair ; 
 
 And next, lest he should die of yearnings vain, 
 Assumed a woman's form, though woven of air ; 
 
 And borne him pretty babes within their bower ; 
 
 Yet ofttimes bade him 'ware the destined hour. 
 
 And how at Tara, while the nobles sate 
 
 Gracing his feast, that queen sent forth a cry : 
 
 And how the Fairy-King through guards and gate 
 Passed swiftly, mailed in dew-like jewelry, 
 
 And like a whirlwind bore in sight of all, 
 
 The Fairy Princess to her father's hall ! 
 
 While thus the tales ran on, the years ran by, 
 Tales, some of sadness, some of mirth and jest, 
 
 Till now the child to maiden prime was nigh : 
 The tales of war and wonder pleased her best :
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 15 
 
 The love-tales well began, no doubt : yet all 
 Ended, she thought, in something slight and small. 
 
 And still whate'er she heard of good and pure 
 Within the virgin's memory held its place 
 
 Like names on tree-stems graved that aye endure : 
 Of questionable things survived no trace : 
 
 They passed, like letters written in a rill 
 
 That upward laughs to heaven, re-virgined still. 
 
 One day it chanced that, while the March wind's breath 
 Was softening round the daffodil's first bud, 
 
 Their shepherd old had saved a lamb from death, 
 And slain the wolf, and in their gateway stood ; 
 
 And, as the wounded creature bled, below 
 
 A crimson blood-pool stained the last night's snow. 
 
 Sudden there swooped to earth a raven black, 
 And feasted on that blood. As in a dream 
 
 The maiden watched it long : at last she spake, 
 Whilst o'er her grave face ran a laughing gleam, 
 
 ' These be Love's colours, black and red, and white ; 
 
 Yet love we know, is nought, when judged aright ! 
 
 ' These be Love's colours, white and black, and red : 
 Some little foolish maid, to love inclined,
 
 1 6 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Might say : " Though all should love me none shall 
 
 wed 
 
 Until in one dear face those three I find ; 
 Not raven locks alone, or front of snow, 
 But on the heroic cheek the battle's glow ! " ' 
 
 Beside the girl stood Levarcam ; she smiled, 
 
 And spake ; ' Good sooth, your shaft hath hit its mark ; 
 
 Yea doubtless, you were born a prophet's child ! 
 For Naisi's front is white, his tresses dark ; 
 
 And still of him men say ; " On Naisi's cheek 
 
 Not roses, but red dawns of battles break ! " ' 
 
 Then to the flash from Deirdre"'s peerless eyes 
 Her nurse made answer ; ' Naisi ! who is he ? 
 
 Warrior there treads not under Erin's skies 
 
 But knows the man ! the swiftest of those Three ! 
 
 No hounds they need ! alone they chase, each morn, 
 
 The stag, and downward drag him head and horn ! 
 
 Ever at Uladh's feasts the clansmen say 
 ' Set ye the sons of Usnach side by side, 
 
 A rock behind them, or some cromlech grey, 
 Then blow a trump o'er Erin, far and wide ; 
 
 And range her hosts against them, face to face, 
 
 Those Three shall hew them down, and homeward 
 chase !
 
 The Sons of U snack. 1 7 
 
 Their singing is the best all Uladh boasts ; 
 
 Of all her sons most courteous they and kind ; 
 To heaven devoutest of her countless hosts : 
 
 Softly along his path they lead the blind ; 
 Submission made, no more remember ill ; 
 Nor ever kissed a maid against her will. 
 
 To these the clans send embassies from far 
 
 Laden with gifts, and suing, " Grant us aid ! 
 Rule us in battle's hour, and head our war ! " 
 
 But women say, " How well their mother prayed 
 For sons both mild and valiant ! " lx>, a ray 
 Of her sweet countenance lives in theirs this day ! ' 
 Here Levarcam a moment stopped for breath ; 
 
 Then Deirdre rose and sought the neighbouring 
 
 strand : 
 Ice-bound it was, and cold that hour as death : 
 
 To her 'twas warm as mead by May breeze fanned : 
 She paced along its pebbly beach for hours ; 
 And to her feet its shingles felt like flowers. 
 
 Returned, more lofty looked she than at morn ; 
 
 With more of inward gladness, yet less gay ; 
 More confident, though lost her girlish scorn 
 
 In some half womanhood's benigner ray : 
 Smiling, she met her nurse's smile, and then 
 ' Naisi,' she said, * will love me ! Who cares when ? ' 
 c
 
 1 8 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 The maiden paused ; she mused ; again she spake, 
 Fixing on Levarcam those marvellous eyes ; 
 
 ' Three be Love's colours white, and red, and black : 
 White, for the sake of Love's white sanctities ; 
 
 And red, for Love must war on many a foe ; 
 
 And black, since Love, though crowned, must end in woe. ' 
 
 Again she mused : ' Yes, Love must war ! Who fears ? 
 
 Though Love must fight, he fights in love, not hate ! 
 Some glorious conflict rages through the years ; 
 
 Great Love must take therein his part, elate. 
 And woe comes last. On raven pinions borne 
 Night comes not less : but after night comes morn ! ' 
 
 From that time Naisi's name she named no more ; 
 
 Nothing she seemed to lack ; nothing to crave : 
 Her heart through spiritual realms was strong to soar, 
 
 Self-lifted as from windless seas the wave ; 
 A spirit of strength from earthly bonds escaped 
 She trod ; her body's self but spirit draped ; 
 
 A Spirit of strength and swiftness onward borne 
 Through luminous realms, all resonant and free, 
 
 Happier because unwinged, like endless morn 
 With silver feet circling the sphered sea : 
 
 And still her lonely thought with song was blent ; 
 
 And bird-like still she warbled as she went.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 1 9 
 
 For music then, like warfare, not from art 
 Grew up laborious : born of frank good-will, 
 
 'Twas Joy's loud clarion in the generous heart ; 
 
 Through pains more perfect grew the harper's skill ; 
 
 Yet still from purest soul, and noblest breast 
 
 The minstrelsy perforce became the best. 
 
 Deirdre besides, on Naisi's music musing 
 
 That strain far- famed she once had heard in dream 
 
 Through some strange craft of Nature's sweet infusing 
 Unconscious copied it A lily's gleam 
 
 Shines thus, reflected in the lake below, 
 
 More softly, green for green, and snow for snow. 
 
 Once too she marked two mated eagles flying 
 Far from their cliff, her little lake above, 
 
 Sunward in strength, and clapped her hands loud crying, 
 ' On, wedded Spirits, on ! for this is Love ! 
 
 No woodland murmurs yours, and thraldom none ! 
 
 Sail on till buried in the ascending sun 1 ' 
 
 That vision shaped her life. Through wild and wood 
 Long hours that morn had Naisi chased the stag : 
 
 It took the wave and vanished. Silent stood 
 At noon the hunter on a jutting crag : 
 
 His eye upon a tower-crowned island fell ; 
 
 Thereon it fastened, bound as by a spell.
 
 2O The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 "There lies,' he mused, 'that wondrous-countenanced 
 child, 
 
 Like some poor bird a captive from its birth, 
 In that lone island year by year exiled : 
 
 How little she suspects her grace and worth ! 
 Our household foe ere long will clutch that hand 
 Is yon a causeway leading to the land ? ' 
 
 An hour had fled, and lo ! that bridge he paced ; 
 
 Ere long, no child, but, sparkling like a flower, 
 The imprisoned maid, nor startled nor shame-faced, 
 
 Passed by the youth, advancing from her bower 
 With breeze-like step, yet down-dropp'd lids of snow : 
 ' Ah foot,' he cried, ' more light than foot of doe ! ' 
 
 An instant back she flashed her magic eyes 
 And from her laughing lip the answer leaped, 
 
 ' Where stags are none, the doe must monarchise ! ' 
 Some ballad old it was, but never steeped 
 
 Till then with such strange sweetness to his ear : 
 
 Was it reproof or challenge, vague yet dear ? 
 
 Naisi rejoined ; 'A monarch rules this land ; 
 
 For you he destines Erin's proudest throne ! 
 Ah, but for that how many a warrior's brand ' 
 
 ' His realm,' she said, ' is his : my heart mine own : 
 A maiden I have lived : maiden would die : ' 
 The warrior fixed on hers his strong grey eye.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 2 1 
 
 That eye, though young and sweet with such clear light, 
 Had marshalled many a death-strewn battle-field ; 
 
 Had watched the meeting tides of many a fight ; 
 Taught many a proud, inviolate fort to yield. 
 
 With gaze as frank and clear thus answered she, 
 
 ' I know you well ! the eldest of those Three ! 
 
 ' Where are your brothers ? She whom nurse I call 
 Has told me all the Three are kind and brave : 
 
 Fain would I sister be to each and all : 
 Fain too my life from love tyrannic save ! ' 
 
 ' Their sister you shall be,' the youth replied ; 
 
 ' Mine if you will ; but none the less my bride ! ' 
 
 He spake ; then, for the maiden's safety fearing, 
 With passion changed continued ; ' Spurn my suit \ 
 
 The king will slay thee ! ' She, the warrior nearing, 
 Held forth both hands, and gazed upon him mute ; 
 
 And last, in love's high truth and truth is best 
 
 Made answer ; Thine ! ' He snatched her to his 
 breast. 
 
 Thence lifting soon a countenance glad yet tearful, 
 She spake ; ' Your knighthood stands consummate 
 now ! 
 
 Since a true maid, of Conor's wrath not fearful, 
 
 Has heard, and with her own has crowned your vow.
 
 2 2 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Forth, on your task decreed ! Fly hence, and prove 
 Ten years in battle-fields what might hath Love ! 
 
 ' In ten years bring me back your trophied spoils 
 From every land and clime ; for mine they are ! 
 
 I that inspired, can well requite your toils : 
 Ever till then, my spirit like a star, 
 
 Shall o'er you hang ! Farewell ! yet, ere you go, 
 
 Sing ! for how great your songs long since I know.' 
 
 So, hand in hand, upon that causeway standing, 
 Those youthful lovers measure after measure 
 
 Poured forth, their bosoms more and more expanding 
 At once with music's zeal, and love's pure pleasure ; 
 
 For Deirdre still her voice with Naisi's twined, 
 
 All-perfect harmony though undesigned. 
 
 And though till then no war-song she had sung 
 That hour her song grew warlike as his own ! 
 And, o'er her heaven-like beauty as he hung, 
 . His war-songs tender grew, and sweet of tone : 
 And still they sang, till now through woods loud ringing 
 The men of Erin, east and west, came winging, 
 
 And found those lovers in that lonely haunt, 
 That sunset round them glowing and above ; 
 
 And saw the forests flash, the blue waves pant ; 
 And heard that mingled praise of war and love :
 
 The Sons of U snack. 23 
 
 Then ceased that pair, and softly smiled, and said, 
 ' What makes us glad is this ; we two are wed ! ' 
 
 But when, to many a questioner replying, 
 
 They found that they had only met that noon, 
 
 The lovers laughed a sweet-voiced laughter, crying, 
 ' We thought we had been wedded many a moon ! 
 
 Great love, it seems, lives long in little time ; 
 
 Yet shall great love be ever in his prime ! 
 
 ' Perchance of us some future bard shall say, 
 Their bright, swift life went o'er them like a breath 
 
 Of stormy southwind in the merry May ; 
 And brief their unfeared, undivided death : 
 
 For unto those who love, and love aright, 
 
 Life is Love's day ; and Death his long, sweet night.' 
 
 But straight the men of Erin cried aloud, 
 
 ' The king, the king ! ' and Naisi's brothers twain, 
 
 Ainli and Ardan, though to help him vowed 
 
 At need, not less to break that troth were fain : , 
 
 ' Beware,' they cried ; 'since Cathbad long ago 
 
 Foretold that Babe was born for Uladh's woe ! ' 
 
 Yet, when within those lovers' eyes they saw 
 Wild mirth alone, and blank astonishment, 
 
 They deemed the thing divine ; and, though with awe, 
 Their spirits on the high adventure bent,
 
 24 T/ie Sons of Usnac/i. 
 
 And council took, and with one mind decreed 
 That self-same night o'er Uladh's bound to speed. 
 
 This therefore was the order of their going : 
 A hundred warriors marching in the van ; 
 
 A hundred maidens next with veils loose flowing ; 
 A hundred clansmen next of Usnach's clan, 
 
 And each a greyhound leading in a cord ; 
 
 Swiftly with these they trod the moonlit sward. 
 
 So well were Usnach's sons both loved and feared 
 King Conor could but rail against the wrong : 
 
 All round the isle they marched with banner reared, 
 And trumpet blown, and many a tale and song, 
 
 Welcomed in court and camp both near and far, 
 
 From Esro's 1 Falls to sea-beat Binedar. 2 
 
 Nathless through Conor's craft such toils were woven 
 Twixt them and Erin's Kings, to spare that wrong 
 
 Felt at low hearths when royal pacts are cloven, 
 They built by northern Moyle a fleet ere long, 
 
 And spread their sails from Kermnah Dun, and o'er 
 
 The grey-green billows sailed to Alba's shore. 
 
 1 Ballyshannon. z Howth.
 
 The Sons of U snack. 25 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 O NOBLE Alba, Scotia later named, 
 
 Then when the race of Scota and her Lord 
 
 O'er all thy holy isles and highlands famed 
 Had raised the Gaelic harp, the Gaelic sword, 
 
 And Kenneth, Pictish rule extinguished, reared 
 
 That throne of kings for centuries revered ! 
 
 Great land of Alba ! in that hour supreme 
 
 Conqueror, not conquered, wert thou ! Thy great 
 heart, 
 
 Flinging from off it, like a nightmare dream, 
 A sway ignobler, chose the better part, 
 
 Throning the lofty spirit in lofty place : 
 
 It brought thee bliss and bale, but nothing base ! 
 
 When, centuries earlier, stood on Alba's coast 
 
 Usnach's brave sons, her king received them well : 
 
 Treaty they made : they joined to his their host, 
 And taught him soon the insurgent tribes to quell,
 
 26 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 Yet still they loved him not : ' His soul is mean,' 
 They said ; 'by him shall Deirdrd ne'er be seen.' 
 
 Yet near his court they dwelt ; and once it chanced 
 A palace churl while o'er the forest boughs 
 
 New leaved, the earliest beam of morning glanced, 
 Made way, with missives sent, to Naisi's house, 
 
 And on by dusky doors, though timorous, crept, 
 
 And found at last that room where Naisi slept. 
 
 Before its stony threshold slumbering lay 
 Ainli and Ardan, clasping, each, a sword, 
 
 For ever wont were these by night and day 
 Their brother and their sister thus to ward : 
 
 The intruder o'er them stepp'd and entrance made 
 
 To where in sleep that princely pair were laid. 
 
 Between them stretched from pillow on to pillow 
 The massive trail of Deirdre's luminous hair, 
 
 Like gold-touched tendrils of a budded willow 
 Breeze-blown against the dawn. Already there 
 
 The greedy, youngling sunrise made his feast, 
 
 Though still in cloud half muffled was the enst. 
 
 Longer that churl had stood save that in sleep 
 Growled the great wolf-hound couched beside the bed : 
 
 The traitor turned ; and, skilled to crawl and creep, 
 Reached the half open gates, and homeward fled,
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 2 7 
 
 And found the king new-risen, and nodding spake, 
 ' Rejoice, great monarch, for thy kingdom's sake ! 
 
 ' Till now thou hast not found a woman meet 
 In all thy land the royal throne to share ; 
 
 Behold, the loveliest lady and most sweet 
 Of all the earth is near, and thou not 'ware ! 
 
 Compared with her the rest are sheep and kine 
 
 Bid Naisi die ! his consort crown as thine ! ' 
 
 Then told the man his tale from first to last 
 With added circumstance. The Pict replied 
 
 Well pleased, albeit at Naisi's name aghast, 
 
 ' To slay that chief were hard ; to snare his bride 
 
 Were sweet. In secret traffic with her ! Say, 
 
 She .must be first my love ; my queen one day ! ' 
 
 Forth sped the accursed one on his mission foul, 
 And came on Deirdrd singing all alone, 
 
 And took his stand, ill visaged as a Ghoul, 
 
 And named the terms, base love and future throne : 
 
 And she with darkening eyes no word replied 
 
 Save this alone ; ' Till I return, abide ! ' 
 
 Swiftly she walked : she came where stood the Three ; 
 
 Then from her white lips rushed her wrong like flame ; 
 ' Dishonoured wife ! ' she cried, ' with me, with me, 
 
 Though not the treason, lives for aye the shame !
 
 28 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Ah, surely never wife such scorn has known 
 Unless the fault was first in part her own ! ' 
 
 But Naisi smiled, forth issuing with his brand, 
 
 And said but this ; ' Abide till I return ; ' 
 And soon, that head ill-omened in his hand, 
 
 Came back with countenance bright, at once and 
 
 stern : 
 Then Deirdre" spake, ' My hand had borne that 
 
 freight 
 If thine had spared it ! At the bad king's gate 
 
 Lay first that head, and march we hence this night ! ' 
 The Brothers answered ; ' No ! nor yet three days ! ' 
 
 Three days in pride they paced a neighbouring height: 
 Three days the Pict, thus challenged, stood at gaze, 
 
 And ofttimes grimly turned from lord to lord : 
 
 They answered nought ; nor any raised his sword. 
 
 But when the fourth dawn o'er the forest soaring 
 Sent through the heavens divergent beams of 
 splendour, 
 
 Upon the earth glory and gladness pouring, 
 
 That host arose ; nor took they farewell tender : 
 
 Three stones the clansman, each, above his head 
 
 Flung backward far in scorn : then forth they sped.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 29 
 
 And, lest the sun should dazzle Deirdre"'s eyes, 
 Westward that morn their pilgrimage began : 
 
 First, under standards bright with myriad dyes, 
 A hundred Usnach warriors led the van : 
 
 Maids next : then clansmen, holding, each, a hound 
 
 That strained against the leash with bark and bound 
 
 Ere long their march was through the misty highlands : 
 They tracked Glenorchy's immemorial woods ; 
 
 Loch Lomond's bosky mountain-skirts and islands ; 
 Birch-braided Katrine's sylvan solitudes ; 
 
 And where on shores of Fyne, now low now higher, 
 
 With punctual tide the salt sea floods respire. 
 
 Meantime the natives of those lonely regions 
 Came fiercely forth from many a distant shore 
 
 Though worsted oft, in ever thickening legions, 
 Till now the foray swelled into the war ; 
 
 And still there flocked from Uladh's coast in swarms 
 
 Her noblest youth, their great one's mates in arms. 
 
 For still, beside the spring her pitcher watching, 
 The maid would sing of Naisi's strength and fleetness, 
 
 Ofttimes in turn on breeze of evening catching 
 
 Some shepherd's song of Deirdre"'s truth and sweetness : 
 
 And still they ended, each ; ' 111 deed, King Conor, 
 
 That banished such ! Alas, the land's dishonour ! '
 
 30 The Sons of UsnacJi. 
 
 With varying fortune long time raged the feud : 
 Clan Usnach triumphed now : anon the foe : 
 
 And oft, a swordless warrior mild of mood, 
 Amid those Three was Deirdre seen : and lo ! 
 
 Still, as the radiance bickers round the gem, 
 
 So flashed the battle's flame round her and them. 
 
 Thus lived they prosperous mid that storm of war, 
 In victory glad, not downcast in defeat : 
 
 Three winter months when fortune pressed them sore 
 Within a western isle they made retreat, 
 
 The nearest of those rock-bound Hebrides 
 
 Set mid the crystal splendour of the seas. 
 
 With Spring-tide back returned they. Victory's sun 
 Full-orbed that April on their banners played : 
 
 A third part of the realm their valour won ; 
 Last, with the Picts alliance firm they made, 
 
 And making kept. All things thenceforth went well ; 
 
 And gladsome were their sports on field and fell. 
 
 It was that season when the spirit of joy 
 
 Runs million-footed forth through earth and air ; 
 
 When the hale shepherd grows once more the boy ; 
 The girl-like youth is prompt to do and dare ; 
 
 When womanhood looks softer than its wont ; 
 
 The star shines whiter on the infant's front.
 
 Tfie Sons of Usnach. 3 1 
 
 It was that season when the maiden's heart, 
 Though guarded, faster beats against its bound ; 
 
 When Love's long hidden fount, by happier art 
 Divined, is nearer to the surface found : 
 
 When to the faded cheek returns its bloom ; 
 
 And tears less bitter stain the flower-decked tomb. 
 
 It was that season when on fields late dreary 
 
 Thickest at dawn the awakened daisy throngeth ; 
 
 When in the dim sweet gloaming, never weary ( 
 Latest her song the darkling thrush prolongeth ; 
 
 And pillow-spurning children fret for morn, 
 
 Fresh flowers, new leaves, and ecstacies re-born. 
 
 Ah then to Naisi, and to Deirdre then 
 
 Like fire the gladness of the spring-tide came : 
 
 That causeway old they seemed to tread again, 
 Sang the same song ! Love's wild, yet vestal flame 
 
 Caught them once more as on that first of May ; 
 
 And three glad wedded years became a day. 
 
 Then, dawn by dawn, ere yet the low-tongued wind 
 From unreluctant buds their sweets was wooing, 
 
 While earliest shafts through ragged, fissures blind 
 Of cloud forth flashed, the flying night pursuing, 
 
 Those brothers and that sister clomb the crag 
 
 And blew the horn, and roused the antlered stag.
 
 32 Tke Sons of U snack. 
 
 O joy his course through woodland gulfs to follow, 
 Deirdre and they, to Etive's salt sea lake ! 
 
 To hear from shadowy cliff and cavern hollow 
 Through glistening air the clarion's echo break, 
 
 And mark, o'er wide green plain, and purple mere, 
 
 The mountain-wall its glooming bastion rear 
 
 More high when seen through mist : to watch it 
 quivering ; 
 
 From rock to cloud to track the eagle's flight ; 
 And then, close by, on spray shining and shivering, 
 
 To mark the tender-footed bird alight, 
 Or flower down-bending 'neath the silenced bee, 
 Or gleam from rill remote on-winding noiselessly ! 
 
 And O, to hear in woods the loud hounds baying, 
 Or plunge of floods adown some hoarse ravine ! 
 
 Or watch, from far, the waves o'er sea-ledge swaying ; 
 Thence refluent dragged in trails of grassy green ; 
 
 Or, farther yet, that surge forever hoary 
 
 Seething round lone tormented promontory ! 
 
 Three tents they planted where the forest's skirt 
 Sheltered the lowland from the increasing heat ; 
 
 In one, with hand assiduous and expert, 
 
 Deirdre prepared that food by toil made sweet ; 
 
 In one they held their banquet ; and in one 
 
 Sang their glad songs till half the night was done.
 
 The Sons of U snack. 33 
 
 And many a night on Etive's flowery margin 
 
 She moved, while moonbeams glazed the purple wave, 
 
 Happiest of wives ; light-footed as a virgin ; 
 Or at the entrance of some ivied cave 
 
 Sang note prolonged that ended oft in laughter 
 
 Sweet were the days, pledging some sweet hereafter ! 
 
 One night, when Naisi to his rest had passed, 
 Deirdre", long lingering at the bridal door, 
 
 Her eyes on Ainli and on Ardan cast, 
 Great eyes with tears unused all misted o'er, 
 
 And took their hands, and spake, in low, soft tone, 
 
 ' To you my Naisi's weal is as your own ! 
 
 ' But you, like Naisi, must have, each, your bride, 
 Unhumbled maids not willing to be wed, 
 
 To walk in glorying gladness at your side : 
 Find such, and I round each a silver thread 
 
 Will twine ; and bring the creatures to you bound : 
 
 Discrowned the proud must be ; and Love be crowned !' 
 
 The heroic song hath sorrows, but not sighs j 
 The heroic legend tender is, yet hard ; 
 
 With grief alike, and joy, can sympathise, 
 
 Yet keeps the heroic heart from weakness barred. 
 
 Love's 'stormy southwind ' three glad years had blown: 
 
 Then Fate, that rules the nations, claimed her own, 
 D
 
 34 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 Thus it befell ; once more at Conor's call 
 
 The Red-Branch Knights partook their monarch's 
 feast, 
 
 Ranged 'neath their standards round Emania's hall ; 
 And when at last the hunger rage had ceased, 
 
 And many an echo of loud songs had died, 
 
 King Conor rose, thus speaking in his pride ; 
 
 ' What say ye, Lords ? Deem ye that kinglier cheer, 
 
 Or palace more majestic under sun, 
 Gladdens mankind than those that greet us here ? ' 
 
 They answered, ' Feast or house like thine is none ! ' 
 Through the great hall the acclaim unmeasured brake : 
 It sank ; and once again King Conor spake ; 
 
 ' How say ye, Lords, for leave ye have to speak ; 
 
 That which ye think, reveal : all doubts repel ; 
 Find ye in Uladh aught decayed or weak, 
 
 Amiss, or lacking ? Or are all things well ? ' 
 And they made answer ; ' All things right we find, 
 Nor aught deficient. King, we speak our mind ! ' 
 
 Yet once again, King Conor rose and said, 
 
 ' My mind is other-minded, Lords, than yours ; 
 
 For I, though ne'er by random counsel swayed, 
 Far less by murmurs low of kernes and boors, 
 
 Find this amiss that Usnach's sons this day 
 
 For one bad woman's sake are far away ;
 
 The Sons of U snack. 35 
 
 ' A loss to Uladh, and to me the most, 
 Lacking our bravest.' Then the vast acclaim 
 
 Burst louder thrice from that exulting host ; 
 
 And thus they cried ; ' We feared the royal blame, 
 
 And therefore hid our counsel ; but that morn 
 
 Those Three return, old Uladh stands re-born.' 
 
 Again the plot-deviser rose and spake : 
 
 ' Men of great stomachs, Lords, we count those 
 
 Three : 
 " Exiles," they sware, "we go : but ne'er come back 
 
 Till sureties strong are ours, and guarantee 
 By Conor sent, firm pledge of endless troth : " 
 Thus Naisi sware : and sacred is an oath. 
 
 1 Likewise thus vowed he, ne'er to tread again 
 Green Erin's soil, his glory and his joy, 
 
 Till Conal Carnach fetched him o'er the main, 
 Or else Cuchullain, or the son of Roy, 
 
 Fergus, my dearest. I these three will test, 
 
 And learn by proof which loves King Conor best.' 
 
 Then Conor unto Conal signed ; and these . 
 
 Stood speaking in a casement far apart : 
 ' Conal, if I should send thee o'er the seas, 
 
 And lo ! on Uladh's soil, through Naisi's heart 
 The Fates sent darkness, what would happen then ? ' 
 And Conal answered ; ' Deaths of many men !
 
 36 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 c King ! if he fell, of Uladh's sons one half 
 For Naisi's sake should lie ere three days dead, 
 
 And for my surety broken.' With a laugh 
 King Conor fillip'd Conal's cheek, and said, 
 
 ' Fool ! that canst never understand a jest ! 
 
 Go hence ! It is not thou that lov'st me best ! ' 
 
 Next, to Cuchullain Conor signed ; then spake ; 
 
 ' Cuchullain ! if I sent thee o'er the sea, 
 With Usnach 's exiled sons a pact to make, 
 
 And then, despite thy surety given, those Three 
 Vanished, late-landed ; what would happen then? ' 
 Cuchullain answered ; ' Deaths of many men ! 
 
 ' For, not alone who wrought that deed accursed, 
 Slaying those Three, should perish by this hand,. 
 
 But they the impious deed who counselled, first ; 
 And, next the man who issued that command ! ' 
 
 Then Conor frowned : 'What night-mare loads thy 
 breast ? 
 
 Hence, for thou know'st me not ; nor lov'st me best ! ' 
 
 To Fergus last the royal plotter sigrued, 
 
 And made, yet softlier tuned, the self-same quest ; 
 
 But he the questioner's meaning nought divined, 
 A Prince whose heart, uncovered as his crest, 
 
 Contemned disguise ; suspecting treachery none 
 
 Thus answered Fergus, Roy's once sceptred son :
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 37 
 
 1 King, thou, and I, and Usnach 's sons must die 
 What matters when, if spotless our good name ? 
 
 The hand that strikes in daylight I defy ; 
 
 If traitor's knife attempts them, for that shame 
 
 All Uladh's race shall perish, save alone 
 
 The stained, yet guiltless king on Uladh's throne ! ' 
 
 Then Conor caught his hand : ' Thou, sole of all 
 Lov'st me ! The rest but fear : they never loved ! 
 
 Cautious are they : thou swift at honour's call! 
 Now therefore be thy love and fealty proved : 
 
 To Alba speed : bring home that exiled Three, 
 
 Thyself their surety, pledge, and guarantee. 
 
 ' But with them plight this covenant beside, 
 That instant when they tread my kingdom's strand 
 
 To me they speed ; with no man else abide ; 
 Favour or feast accept at no man's hand : 
 
 My bread must be the first those exiles break ; 
 
 All griefs thenceforth forgotten for its sake. 
 
 ' I charge thee too from Alba's coast returned 
 To land at Barach's castle in the north ; 
 
 There shall thy monarch's further will be learned : ' 
 Then Fergus pledged his word, and issued forth : 
 
 But Conor beckoned Barach from the feast ; 
 
 Then long time stood a-gazing north and east.
 
 38 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 Low-toned he spake ; ' Barach ! a keep thou hast 
 There where the grey cliffs break the northern brine : 
 
 When Fergus comes from Alba, hold him fast : 
 
 Heap high thy banquet ; make that proud one thine ! 
 
 If from thy board he turns he stands forsworn, 
 
 By Geisa bound no good man's feast to scorn. 
 
 ' But thou, the sons of Usnach send to me : 
 What cause I have to trust that race thou knowest : 
 
 Be sure thy feast hold out two days or three : 
 My love thenceforth thou hast where'er thou goest.' 
 
 The courtier smiled, and bowed, ' I hear, and heed : ' 
 
 And Conor thus ; ' True friend is friend at need ! ' 
 
 Next morning Fergus o'er the waters sped 
 At earliest dawn ; with him his sons alone, 
 
 Ulan the Fair ; Buini the Ruthless Red, 
 
 His shield-bearer, the third. By swift winds blown 
 
 They rushed above the waves a day and night ; 
 
 At dawn Loch Etive's mountains loomed in sight. 
 
 Ere noon he landed on the Alban coast : 
 
 Wild from the woods a stag there issued bounding ; 
 
 The prince his mission grave forgat, and tossed 
 
 Through the green-caverned forest loud-resounding, 
 
 As he was ever wont, his hunting cry ; 
 
 And lo ! the tents where Naisi dwelt were nigh.
 
 The Sons of U snack. 39 
 
 Deirdre and he were playing chess together : 
 Their bent heads well nigh met above the board ; 
 
 While sunny gleams of that unclouded weather 
 
 Glancing through boughs the chequered ivory scored. 
 
 Her brow was bright with thought ; her hand, raised high, 
 
 Above its destined prize hung hoveringly. 
 
 The cry of Fergus reached them. Naisi spake ; 
 
 ' Erin ! A son of Erin breathed that shout ! ' 
 Deirdre replied ; ' Not so ! On Etive's lake 
 
 Some fisher boasts a spoil, or chieftain's scout 
 Welcomes his fellows far away. Play on ! ' 
 She laughed ; but from her cheek the rose was gone. 
 
 Once more abroad the cry of Fergus pealed ; 
 
 And Naisi cried : ' Our Erin nursed that voice ! ' 
 Then Deirdre" : ' Nay, but from some rock-girt field 
 
 Loud-voiced the shepherd bids his mates rejoice : 
 Some boar is slain, or wolf that vexed the land ; 
 Play on ! ' And on her heart she pressed her hand. 
 
 But when a third time rang that shout, now nearer, 
 The three brave brothers recognised the sound, 
 
 And, listening, larger grew their eyes, and clearer, 
 And from their seats they leaped, and gazed around, 
 
 And smote their palms, and clamoured, ' O the joy ! 
 
 Fergus is come ! Our Fergus ! Fergus Roy ! '
 
 4O The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Then Naisi sent the twain abroad to meet him ; 
 
 But Deirdre* said, ' I knew that earliest cry ! 
 Woe to the man, and them this hour who greet him ! 
 
 This day the bolt is launched from yonder sky : 
 This day the Destiny foretold beginneth : 
 Woe to the Three ! Worst woe to him who sinneth ! 
 
 1 All night I saw three birds from Erin's peaks 
 To Alba strain through tempest and eclipse : 
 
 Three honey- drops they wafted on their beaks : 
 O Love ! they dropped that sweetness on thy lips ; 
 
 Ere long each death-black beak, and crowned head 
 
 With life-blood from thy heart, O Love, was red ! ' 
 
 She rose : on visions dread she seemed to stare ! 
 
 She stood : she pressed her hands upon her eyes : 
 From the wan brows the horror-stricken hair 
 
 Bickering like meteors rose, or seemed to rise ; 
 She towered aloft a prophetess ; till, near, 
 The step well known of Fergus smote their ear. 
 
 She whispered low : ' Trample the honeyed lure ! 
 
 Make not with Conor ! He would have thy blood ! ' 
 A moment more, and, entering from the moor, 
 
 Fergus, that royal presence, by them stood : 
 The cloud fell from her ! Basking like blue sky 
 She met her husband's guest full lovingly.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 4 1 
 
 There stood they, Fergus loftiest by the head, 
 His sons beside him, stalwart men, and tall, 
 
 Ulan the Fair, Buini the Ruthless Red : 
 
 Reverent and sweet she kissed them, each and all, 
 
 She and the Brothers : next they made demand 
 
 Of news the latest from their native land. 
 
 Swift came the answer ; ' Friends, the news is this ; 
 
 The king repents him of the ignoble deed 
 That cost his realm her bravest ; zealous is 
 
 To quench that deed, and cancel ; hath decreed 
 That you and yours, henceforth and evermore 
 Shall live secure on Erin's sacred shore : 
 
 ' Likewise of this, a kingdom's oath and pledge, 
 
 I stand myself, surety and guarantee : 
 Conor in turn, to dull past injury's edge 
 
 Demands, implores a single vow from thee, 
 That till beside his board thou breakest bread 
 No meaner house than his shall roof thy head.' 
 
 Then Naisi and the brethren rose in joy ; 
 
 But Deirdre" came before them speaking thus, 
 1 King for, except the race and stock of Roy, 
 
 O'er Uladh kings may reign, but not o'er us 
 The eagle lives 'not save in large domain : 
 My husband won this land, and here must reign !
 
 42 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 ' King Conor caught and caged me, yet a child ; 
 
 King Conor into exile drave these Three ; 
 The growing greatness of that race exiled 
 
 This day he fears ; and calls them back : but we 
 Desire a healthier breeze than makes resort 
 Within the perfumed precinct of a court.' 
 
 ' Lady, you doubt the safety of your Lord ! 
 
 " Must reign ! " I reign no more ; not less my name 
 
 Would move in might before him like a sword 
 Though all the hosts of Erin 'gainst him came ! ' 
 
 A red spot stood on Fergus' crownless brow ; 
 
 The Three looked up ; and spake : ' We go, and now ! ' 
 
 Then Deirdr inly said ; ' We go to die : ' 
 
 Death-pale she stood, yet spake no further word ; 
 
 Their promise pledged, albeit unwittingly, 
 
 The worst that might befall them she preferred 
 
 To treason's semblance and a vow forsworn : 
 
 She spread the feast ; westward they sailed ere morn. 
 
 And ever as the wine-dark seas they clave 
 The sons of Usnach stood upon the prow 
 
 And spread their arms to Erin o'er the wave ; 
 
 And each to each exclaimed ; ' To guide the plough 
 
 Or break the clod, still breathing Erin's air, 
 
 Were better than to rule and reign elsewhere ! '
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 43 
 
 But Deirdre stood upon the vessel's stern, 
 Alone, with eyes on Alba's headlands bent, 
 
 Dreaming the hills she could no more discern, 
 And as they faded thus she made lament, 
 
 ' O Land, our home no more, to me and mine 
 
 Gentle thou wert ; therefore my heart is thine ! 
 
 ' O beauteous Land, oft on thy heathery bed, 
 Wearied with chase, upon my sleepless heart 
 
 My Naisi laid at noon his sleeping head ; 
 
 And therefore thine I am ; and dear thou art. 
 
 I came to thee with Naisi hand in hand, 
 
 But now no more I see thee, beauteous Land ! 
 
 ' O Coona ! mid thy maiden buds the thrush 
 Sang well in spring ! In thee the autumnal berry 
 
 Sent forth its flash from reddening brake and bush 
 Like scoff from hard old lip of beldam merry ! 
 
 We laughed to mark it, while far off we heard 
 
 Ainli with Ardan sing as bird with bird. 
 
 c Glenorchy, O Glenorchy ! sweet in thee 
 To hear the cuckoo's note, that glad new-comer ; 
 
 And sweet o'er Masan's sands to watch the sea 
 Sleep on unwakened half the long, blue summer ! 
 
 Thou gav'st us, O thou Erin of the East ! 
 
 The song, the chase, the battle, and the feast !
 
 44 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 '.Loch Etive, O Loch Etive ! near thy shore, 
 
 Lulled by thy waters pure, and airs heart-healing, 
 
 Latest we lived, who live there now no more ; 
 Earliest in thee we raised our little shieling : 
 
 Good things the sons of Usnach gat from thee, 
 
 And I, the ill-omened sister of the Three ! ' 
 
 Thus in her song honouring the land she loved 
 Sad Deirdr stood while back the waters hoar 
 
 Streamed from the ship ; and singing never moved : 
 From her chilled lip the wind its music bore, 
 
 Till plainly Erin's cliffs at last shone forth, 
 
 And Barach's castle facing to the North. 
 
 Then Barach, as that fated bark drew near, 
 With courteous seeming but a purpose fell 
 
 Sailed forth to meet it, making goodly cheer 
 With bannered boat and tossing coracle 
 
 So densely clustered that the billow green 
 
 Betwixt them scarcely showed its sparkling sheen. 
 
 Ere long the exiles leaped on Erin's strand : 
 
 The courtier followed fast : with loud-voiced glee 
 
 He bade them welcome to their native land, 
 And kissed the hands of each full reverently, 
 
 Deirdrd's the last ; and said ; ' Your home is here ! 
 
 Abide a week, and after that a year ! '
 
 The Sons oj U snack. 45 
 
 But when the Brothers told him of their oath 
 In no man's house to eat, or rest their head, 
 
 Howe'er to slight a friendly welcome loth, 
 Until with Conor they had broken bread, 
 
 He turned to Fergus ; ' Oath thou too hast sworn 
 
 Long since, to pass no friendly feast in scorn. 
 
 ' Behold, for thee this day my board is decked ; 
 
 My dish is garnished ; and my fallings slain : 
 Likewise to greet thee many a chief elect 
 
 Hath sped this day from distant vale and plain : 
 If vain their zeal, and all that loyal haste 
 To greet my guest, I stand henceforth disgraced.' 
 
 Him Fergus heard, and stood in anguish mute, 
 His giant bulk bowed by his spirit's pain 
 
 That ever downward worked from scalp to foot : 
 Like stag whom serpent folds begin to strain 
 
 He stood that strives in vain that coil to break 
 
 And flame was on his face while thus he spake ; 
 
 ' 111 done, ill done, O Barach, is thy deed ! 
 
 Ill-timed, ill-omened, and unblest thy feast ' 
 Then Barach ; ' Let those Three to Conor speed ; 
 
 The king is greatest here, and I the least : 
 But thou thine oath that later pledge foreran : 
 If broke, it lays thine honour under ban.'
 
 46 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 Still Fergus mused ; ' Tis true : that oath I made ; 
 
 Made ere an upstart's craft had filched my crown : 
 To break it were my greatness to degrade, 
 
 To blot a princely birth, a life's renown : 
 Uladh would cry ; " He shames the blood of Roy 
 To 'scape the frown of Nessa's ill-crowned boy ! " ' 
 
 Doubt bred new doubt : away the False One strode 
 But Fergus still mused on, and never stirred, 
 
 His royal head depressed and neck embowed ; 
 At last he turned to Naisi with this word, 
 
 ' What must I do ? ' But ere her lord replied, 
 
 Deirdre* spake first, with queenly port and pride : 
 
 ' The choice is thine, not his ; and this that choice ; 
 
 For a feast's sake to cast from thee thy charge, 
 Subject and servile to a courtier's voice ; 
 
 Or spurn that feast, and walk, a soul at large.' 
 And Fergus said ; ' My sons with thine and thee 
 Might ride. I bind on them my guarantee.' 
 
 Low-toned he spake ; but Naisi heard, and thus 
 Made answer, reddening like a rising moon, 
 
 ' We scorn their aid ! Our swords suffice for us ! 
 All help beside we count a worthless boon ! ' 
 
 Then Fergus frowned : At once from doubt released 
 
 With them he sent his sons, and joined the feast.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 47 
 
 CANTO THE THIRD. 
 
 So forth the Brothers rode, while high o'erhead 
 Through that primeval forest's woven screen 
 
 Now in long lanes the sky its radiance shed, 
 And now in purple stars of splendour keen ; 
 
 Nor far behind them marched the Usnach clan, 
 
 Loud singing and on trampling like one man. 
 
 But Deirdrd slowly lifting eyes divine, 
 
 Dewed with dark tears, upon the Brothers, spake ; 
 ' True counsel, lo ! I give you, brothers mine ; 
 
 And yet that counsel true ye will not take ; 
 There shine the rocks of Rathlin ! On its shore 
 Abide till this disastrous feast is o'er ! ' 
 
 Then spake to Ulan, Fergus' kindlier son, 
 
 The Ruthless Red ; ' Small faith in us they place ! ' 
 
 Whom Naisi hearing, made reply, ' Ride on : ' 
 
 And Deirdr raised to heaven her heaven-sweet face, 
 
 And made this song ; for, as in girlhood, all 
 
 Her musings, dark or bright, grew musical.
 
 48 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 ' O would my Love were safe in some far isle, 
 And I were like some shadow passed away ; 
 
 Yea, though some other liegeful wife, the while, 
 Partook his board at eve, his chase by day : 
 
 For I am that doomed Babe of long ago ; 
 
 And I on those fair Three have brought this woe ! 
 
 ' One time by far Loch Etive 'twas in jest 
 My Naisi kissed a sweet-eyed Alban maid : 
 
 I sought my death ! my bark from crest to crest 
 I dashed, too deeply wounded to upbraid ! 
 
 The Brothers saw, and followed fast and I 
 
 Ah, that for me those peerless Three should die ! ' 
 
 Meanwhile all day in light discourse or deep 
 The sons of Usnach and of Fergus rode, 
 
 And came at eve to Fuad's mountain-steep ; 
 But Deirdre", bent for once by sorrow's load 
 
 Though strong, behind them dropped, and on a bank 
 
 Moon-lit sat down ; and slumber on her sank. 
 
 There Naisi found her 'neath a yew-tree old, 
 Shivering ; and she his steps approaching knew 
 
 Though sleeping still ; and through the moonlight cold 
 T'wards him stretched forth her hand so kind and true ; 
 
 And, 'What, O what is this,' he said, ' My Queen ? ' 
 
 Wak'ning she answered, anguished yet serene :
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 49 
 
 ' A dream it was that kept me from thy side : 
 Wakeful all day that dream I saw, and see : 
 
 I saw great Fergus' sons beside us ride, 
 Brothers in blood ; disjoined in destiny : 
 
 Ulan a bleeding bulk without a head, 
 
 I saw : yet true he proved when traitors fled. 
 
 ' Buini I saw, the Ruthless Red ; full strong 
 He towered, and stately as a summer tree : 
 
 But, when that strife dishonest did us wrong, 
 No help he proved, O Love, to thine and thee ! 
 
 So one was faithful, yet of greatness shorn : 
 
 And one was greatness perjured and forsworn. 
 
 ' Now ride we on ! ' they rode for many an hour, 
 Till, through an oak-glade in that glimmering wood, 
 
 They saw Emania, veiled in cloud and shower : 
 Above the edge of that black cloud there stood 
 
 A moon nigh setting in a sanguine shroud ; 
 
 And many thunders heard they, far, not loud. 
 
 Upon that sanguine shroud as on a sign 
 
 Deirdre gazed long ; then turned her eyes, and spake ; 
 ' True counsel, lo 1 I give you, brothers mine, 
 
 And yet that counsel true ye will not take ; 
 No further t'wards Emania ride this hour ; 
 Seek we, not far it stands, Cuchu'.lain's tower I 
 E
 
 5O The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 f Or house with Conal Carnach, leal and true : 
 He to the court ere noon with us will ride 
 
 Naisi ! when on that causeway I and you 
 
 That evening sang, what prayer hadst thou denied ? : 
 
 Yet, though she chid him, nearer him she crept : 
 
 The one sole time that in his arms she wept ! 
 
 Buini drew near ! At once the Three replied, 
 ' Because we never feared and cannot fear 
 
 To Eman on we will whate'er betide ! ' 
 Unseen by him she wiped away her tear ; 
 
 While from the black boughs fell a poison-dew ; 
 
 And Fate her net more closely round them drew. 
 
 Thenceforth was Deirdre changed. To Eman's gate 
 They rode, and thrice beneath it blew their horn : 
 
 Indifferent, yea, as one with either fate 
 Alike content, she spake in careless scorn ; 
 
 ' Omens the Druids find in bird and beast : 
 
 A Druid I ; a laughing one at least ! 
 
 ' I doubted Conor's faith : if mine the fault 
 
 Harbouring distrust, King Conor thus will speak : 
 
 "Abide with me three months : partake my salt ; 
 Drink of my cup ; my bread securely break ! " 
 
 If under alien roof he bids us lie 
 
 Then know his pit is dug ; and we shall die.'
 
 The Sons of U snack. 5 1 
 
 She spake ! around her lip a smile there curled ; 
 
 Her kindling eye was fixed as eye of one 
 Who sees, beyond the limits of the world, 
 
 Beyond the thresholds of our moon and sun, 
 Beyond the abysmal night, a gleam of day, 
 And can abide the issue come what may. 
 
 As thus they stood the gates were opened wide ; 
 
 Anon forth stepped a herald with this word, 
 4 Great Sirs, the King, himself by sickness tried, 
 
 Within the Red-Branch House hath decked your 
 
 board 
 
 With Uladh's best, from mead and river brought : ' 
 They on each other gazed, yet answered nought. 
 
 ' He bids you there with blessing.' At that speech 
 Silent they sought that House. In stately throng 
 
 The knights received them : yet on brows of each 
 Devoid of guile, a dubious sadness clung : 
 
 Not less the seats were set ; the tables spread : 
 
 Nor ceased that revel till the day was sped. 
 
 Not all partook it. Silent and apart 
 
 In a huge window caverned from the wall 
 
 By some high builder's long-forgotten art, 
 
 Sat Deirdre, and the Brothers three. No thrall
 
 5 2 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 To royal craft the warriors now. What meant 
 The king, they knew, and waited the event. 
 
 Scorning to make complaint, they scorned not less 
 To share a traitor's feast, and ate of nought, 
 
 Waving each dish away in haughtiness, 
 
 Save little loaves that with them they had brought. 
 
 Their chess-board next they ranged with pawn and queen : 
 
 And Deirdr laughed or frowned the moves between. 
 
 Meantime with Levarcam King Conor spake ; 
 
 ' Forth, since I spared thy life when Deirdre fled, 
 And tidings bring me whether, for love's sake, 
 
 Yet lives her beauty on that False One's head : 
 The girl hath known rough skies and scanty board : ' 
 Then Levarcam went forth, with wiles well stored. 
 
 Drawing a thousand thoughts into one noose 
 Of woman-craft she sped, in silks arrayed ; 
 
 And came with speed, such speed as age may use, 
 To where at chess the sentenced princes played 
 
 In that high window ; next one finger raised 
 
 High as her brow ; then round her peering gazed. 
 
 Naisi she loved from childhood ; loved scarce less 
 His brothers ; felt for Deirdre love and spleen : 
 
 ' Through grace of yours, all-bashful Forwardness, 
 Save for my craft this trunk had headless been !
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 53 
 
 I wiled the sword from Conor's hand ! Well, well ! 
 My Wanton's face retains its childish spell ! 
 
 ' I come to you at peril of my life 
 
 Hush, hush ! place hand on lip ! They must not 
 
 hear! 
 With rumours dark Emania's streets are rife : 
 
 The king has vowed your death : draws any near ? 
 Then when the Babe was born, the seer foretold 
 What ? Must men die because a maid was bold ? ' 
 
 In tears awhile the faded fine one stood ; 
 
 And next, mechanic-wise oracular, 
 Kept nodding of her head Then changed her mood 
 
 To fires of youth. ' Close gate, and casement bar ! 
 Fight well, ye sons of Fergus ! If your sire 
 Makes speed, he'll trample down this flame in mire ! ' 
 
 Last, like that bird which fan-like spreads her plumes 
 For pride, to Conor's palace she returned, 
 
 And found him seated in presageful glooms ; 
 
 And cried as though some reptile shape she spurned, 
 
 ' Woe, woe ; for Deirdre's brightness is gone by ; 
 
 Brown moth is she that once was butterfly ! ' 
 
 King Conor heard, ill-pleased, and yet well-pleased, 
 And stood, before him dangling still this thought 
 
 At least then Naisi of his love is eased ; 
 
 And that proud minx has lost my realm for nought :
 
 54 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Perhaps 'twere best to let old rancours pass : 
 Kingdoms live on ; but beauty fades like grass. 
 
 Thus mused the king : but while he sat at meat 
 And, later, when the wine had fired his blood, 
 
 The thought of Deirdre*'s face, tender and sweet, 
 Too bright to fade, star-like before him stood : 
 
 And loud he cried : ' Sits any brave man here 
 
 Who dreads not death, and holds King Conor dear ? 
 
 ' Forth to the Red-Branch Mansion let him speed, 
 And there with Deirdre secret converse hold, 
 
 And learn if yet upon her lives indeed 
 The glory of that beauty hers of old.' 
 
 Then Trendorn went, a sordid churl, ill-starred, 
 
 And found that mansion's gateways closed and barred : 
 
 Yet clomb he darkling, to that casement high ; 
 
 And Deirdre" turned her face : in awe and fear 
 Of that great splendour o'er it shed, the spy 
 
 Slid from his place, and, racing like a deer, 
 To Conor cried ; ' As shines in heaven the sun, 
 So she on earth : and like her there is none ! ' 
 
 That instant Conor saw the maid again ! 
 
 That instant rage of love his heart possessed 
 Venomed by past repulse, and jealous pain : 
 
 And thus he cried, hoarse-voiced with stifling breast,
 
 The Sons of U snack. 55 
 
 ' Storm ye the Red-Branch House ! Die, he that will ! 
 Mine was that maid : and mine I deem her still.' 
 
 In silence sat the chiefs, mindful at once 
 Of duty sworn to Uladh's king, their Lord, 
 
 And of his counter-pledge to Usnach's sons ; 
 But all the Bonachts ranged adown the board 
 
 Rushed forth to boast their zeal, and clutch their prey, 
 
 Aliens base-born that fought not save for pay. 
 
 To these were joined the vile ones of the street ; 
 
 For in their breasts Conor this seed had sown, 
 Imposture sordid, and obscene conceit, 
 
 ' Traitors, in Alba late to princes grown, 
 Would make their Pictish tyrant Uladh's king ! ' 
 They girt the Red-Branch House, thus clamouring. 
 
 Long time in silence stood, and sore amazed, 
 Those brave but simple knights o'er Erin feared : 
 
 For Usnach's sons as kings they prized and praised ; 
 But like a God King Conor they revered : 
 
 At last they spake, and after that changed not, 
 
 ' We in this war will bear nor part, nor lot.' 
 
 And when the stony storm blackened the heaven, 
 And gate rolled in, and casement burst and brake, 
 
 And all that House was as a ship rock-riven, 
 In midnight storm, they sat, and never spake ;
 
 56 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 For two contrarient thoughts their minds had cleft 
 Astonied men of manhood's might bereft. 
 
 Naisi, meantime, and Deirdre, fixed, attent, 
 Their eyes in stillness on the ivory board, 
 
 And silent o'er their game the brothers bent ; 
 But Fergus' sons stood up with hand on sword, 
 
 Forth from the casement gazing ; and the red 
 
 Burned on their brows : then Deirdre, careless, said, 
 
 ' Long time, methinks, at feast doth Fergus tarry 
 Good speed for that crowned hawk which hangs on 
 high 
 
 With beak turned downward t'ward his skiey quarry ! ' 
 Buini broke in ; ' My sire is false ; not I ! ' 
 
 And gat him down ; and shouted Fergus' name : 
 
 And straight a host around him flocking came. 
 
 But Conor sent for Buini, and at door 
 
 Whispered him low ; 'I yield thee Fo-ad-Fell ! ' 
 
 Yet Buini spurned the bribe, and said ; ' What more ? ' 
 And Conor thus ; ' Henceforth mine oracle 
 
 At council board be thou, and only thou ! ' 
 
 Then Buini pledged with Conor hand and vow. 
 
 Thenceforth around the Red-Branch Mansion higher 
 The madness of the people surged, and roar 
 
 As though of tempest when great woods catch fire, 
 Or winter waves raking some northern shore ;
 
 The Sons of U snack. 5 7 
 
 And on the portals seven they dashed ; and lo ! 
 Their mighty hinges groaned 'neath blow on blow. 
 
 Meantime the Red-Branch Knights, like men in sleep 
 Trod the vast courts ; or like some shepherd boor 
 
 Who feels his way on cliffs that crest the deep 
 When mist invests the mountain and the moor ; 
 
 Or stood and gazed from far on Deirdre"'s brow 
 
 Strong knights of old ; men ineffectual now. 
 
 Then Deirdre, as the battle raged below, 
 
 Spake lightly thus, while on she pushed a pawn, 
 
 ' Buini has gone like Fergus let him go ! ' 
 
 But Illan, grieved at heart, with sword half drawn, 
 
 Replied, ' While lives this sword, whoe'er may fly, 
 
 Faithful and true to Usnach's Sons am I ! ' 
 
 And gat him down, and drew a host, and drave 
 Southward that seething mass a mile and more, 
 
 As when the wind before it drives the wave ; 
 
 And shouted, ' traitors ' still ; and slew six score. 
 
 Then sped from heaven above the heads of all 
 
 Ran Fear ; and reached King Conor's council-hall. 
 
 There, girt by chiefs sat Conor on his throne 
 
 With cloudy brows, and pale lips ridged in scorn, 
 
 Who thus addressed Fiacre, his first-born son ; 
 ' Son, thou and he the self-same hour were born,
 
 58 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Ulan the man that from this head even now 
 Sweeps Uladh's crown ! Go forth and meet him, thou 
 
 ' And, since the arms he weareth of his sire, 
 
 Fergus, once king, wear thou mine arms this day. 
 
 " Ocean," my shield, that sea-like roars in ire 
 Echoed on Erin's farthest coasts, men say ; 
 
 And " Victory's wing," and " Flying Fate," my spear;. 
 
 And " Death," my sword, annealed in widows' tears.' 
 
 Then strode Fiacre to battle, iron-mailed : 
 But straight the king to Conal Carnach sent, 
 
 ' My kingdom reels by rebel hosts assailed : 
 My son goes forth to meet them. Sickness-bent 
 
 I wait the close. My bravest knight, my best ! 
 
 Strike for thy king ! What care I for the rest ? ' 
 
 Next to Cuchullain sent he : but that knight 
 Frowned on the herald in his perilous mood, 
 
 And said ; ' What part have I in civil fight ? ' 
 Soon, face to face Fiacre and Ulan stood : 
 
 At last the royal youth, 'neath Illan's sword 
 
 Sank to one knee : at once in fury roared 
 
 Thus much and more the legends old avouch 
 ' Ocean,' King Conor's shield ; for wroth was he 
 
 A prince's head beneath his shade should crouch, 
 And wroth Emania's coming doom to see :
 
 The Sons of U snack. 59 
 
 Three times the shield sent foith that sea-like roar ; 
 And thrice the three chief waves on Erin's shore 
 
 Responded, from the blue deeps landward rolling ; 
 
 The wave of Toth on Erin's northern coast ; 
 Green Clidna's wave like funeral bells far tolling ; 
 
 And Rory's wave, the loudest. Through the host 
 Rushed Conal Carnach at the third wave's cry, 
 And, shouting thus, ' King Conor's son will die ! ' 
 
 In dashed while Ulan o'er Fiacre was bending 
 Ulan his friend and drave through Illan's side, 
 
 Knowing him not, the sword, his heart-strings rending : 
 But Ulan rose, and spake before he died : 
 
 ' Thy deeds were great, O friend ! This last this one 
 
 Was not like Conal ! I am Fergus' son ! 
 
 ' I die to guard his name and Conor's pledge.' 
 Then Conal cried in storm of rage and woe, 
 
 ' Since Conor lied to me this faulchion's edge 
 Shall pay the debt he owes, and that I owe, 
 
 A death to honour and to vengeance due ; ' 
 
 And down he dragged Fiacre, and, trampling, slew. 
 
 That hour the royal host pierced through by grief, 
 Clamoured, yet quailed at glance of Conal's eye ; 
 
 While shouted Illan's band, ' Be thou our chief ! 
 Ulan is dead.' Vouchsafing no reply
 
 60 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Silent from both he turned ; and, like a God 
 Spurning some death-doomed city, homeward strode. 
 
 But when the tidings came, ' Fiacre is dead,' 
 
 King Conor dropped in swoon ; and if that hour 
 
 Ulan had lived, and not the Ruthless Red, 
 
 All Eman's chiefs had joined to his their power ; 
 
 For Ulan, like his sire, had Eman's love : 
 
 Thus Fate round Usnach's Sons her net enwove. 
 
 Around the Red-Branch House that Bonacht host 
 Gathered once more : but on the left the might 
 
 Of Ardan backward hurled them and their boast ; 
 And Ainli's strength rebuked them on the right : 
 
 Till came to Conor's heart a winged thought ; 
 
 And ' Fire ! ' he cried ; and branch and beam were 
 brought, 
 
 Circling the walls : up rushed the red flames roaring ; 
 
 And one by one, the seven great gates fell down ; 
 Then rushed from court to court, still onward pouring, 
 
 Native with alien, man-at-arms with clown : 
 Yet still the assailed fought on from stair to stair, 
 Long time in rage, and later in despair. 
 
 Meanwhile along the loftier cloister floors 
 
 As though with fettered feet moved knight with knight, 
 
 Or, idiot-like, stood peering by the doors, 
 Divided purpose making null their might ;
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 61 
 
 Or stood in groups, and watched where, undismayed, 
 That haughty pair at chess in silence played. 
 
 But Naisi, glancing up, on Deirdre's hair 
 Saw the fierce reflex from a roof far off, 
 
 And on her marble cheek the fiery glare, 
 
 And heard from her fine lip the careless scoff, 
 
 ' At Conor's fireside welcome sits the guest ! ' 
 
 He rose, and sudden clasped her to his breast ; 
 
 Then held her from him, on her countenance bright 
 Gazing. In neither face that hour was fear : 
 
 She saw in his a sadness infinite : 
 
 He saw, in hers, content, and princely cheer. 
 
 At last she spake ; ' Self- questioning thoughts repel, 
 
 Nor grieve at trust misplaced ; for all is well ! 
 
 ' O Love, not thus upon that causeway old 
 
 We stood that day, chaunting our nuptials high ! 
 
 Yet nothing is that was not then foretold 
 Hast thou not happy been ? More happy I, 
 
 That hour thy love ; for three glad years thy bride ; 
 
 That ran, and slept, and wakened at thy side ! 
 
 ' The good must still the auspice be of good ; 
 
 They never loved who dream that Love can 
 
 die! 
 In lordlier strength, in happier sanctitude 
 
 Be sure he waits us in some realm more high.
 
 62 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 All thanks, thou Power Unknown ! ' She spake and 
 
 kissed 
 With all her young bright face her husband's breast. 
 
 Then rushed to them the Brothers shouting, ' Forth ! ' 
 And forth they sped through courts foot deep in 
 blood, 
 
 And reached the gate that issued to the north 
 
 Where fierceliest raged the fight : and Deirdre trod 
 
 Midmost between the twain, and Naisi first ; 
 
 And on the battle lion-like they burst. 
 
 And still the Three above their, sister raised 
 
 Their mighty shields that, like three glittering spheres 
 
 Glared through the gloom, and friend and foeman 
 
 dazed ; 
 And fierce as living creatures worked their spears 
 
 Dealing the death around, till all the plain 
 
 Lay like a death-vault, strewn by warriors slain. 
 
 And, foot by foot, the hostile hosts fell back ; 
 
 And, more and more, true friends, till then dismayed, 
 Fought by their side, or followed in their track : 
 
 Due northward t'ward the sea their march they made : 
 And, marching, eyed full oft that fortress fired 
 Therein full many a Red-Branch Knight expired.
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 63 
 
 Then, as a poplar near a river whitens 
 
 By gusts o'er-blown, and as some snowy vale 
 
 Grows grimly dark when sudden o'er it brightens 
 The mountain's moonlit flank, thus dark, thus pale, 
 
 Grew Conor with far eyes their course pursuing ; 
 
 ' They 'scape,' he cried, 'and that is my undoing ! 
 
 ' Cathbad ! give ear ! ' for by him stood that hour 
 The blind old Druid with the silver hair 
 
 'To Alba make they; thence ere long with power 
 Return in vengeance ! Think you they will spare ? 
 
 And Conal and Cuchullain by their side 
 
 Will march j and Fergus ! Would that I had died ! 
 
 ' Help, Cathbad ! last of friends ! If e'er from thee 
 Or child or stripling, help or love I gat ; 
 
 My craft has futile proved : my legions flee ; 
 Yet magic power, we know, can level flat 
 
 All power of man in one brief moment's space : 
 
 Slay me, or spare my kingdom this disgrace ! ' 
 
 To whom replied the old man tremulously, 
 
 ' Would God that ne'er had come that night of old 
 
 When shriek on shriek confused the revelry, 
 And I that new-born Infant's fate foretold ; 
 
 For ne'er in ninety years deceived was I 
 
 Or by man's art, or wiles of Destiny !
 
 64 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 1 Not less, great king, this deed I dare not do, 
 For Justice keeps an axe, and keen its edge, 
 
 In worlds unseen ; and they their sin shall rue 
 Who spill the righteous blood, or break the pledge. 
 
 Here Wrong holds court ; but Justice reigneth there : 
 
 King ! In those unseen regions I have share ! ' 
 
 Him Conor answered : ' Cathbad ! oath I make 
 By all those regions sacred and unseen, 
 
 By all the Powers that in them sleep or wake, 
 The Gods that are, or shall be, or have been, 
 
 This hand on Usnach's sons shall work no wrong ; 
 
 Captive, not dead, I wish them nor for long.' 
 
 He spake, and softly to the Druid slept 
 
 And pressed that Druid's hand to lips and eyes ; 
 
 Then o'er the old man's heart compassion crept, 
 With flatter'd pride, which oft to good and wise 
 
 Makes way, thus veiled, in weak, unwary hour ; 
 
 And o'er the North he waved his wand of power. 
 
 Three times with muttered spell he waved that wand, 
 
 Filling the air with visions of dismay : 
 That hour through Conor's host, and far beyond, 
 
 Usnach's brave clan had carved its desperate way ; 
 Yet, galled and broken, hung upon their rear 
 That Bonacht swarm. It raged, but came not near.
 
 T/ie Sons of U snack. 65 
 
 On Usnach's clan the Druid's spells took hold, 
 Feigning what was not : and the wide green plain 
 
 Seemed to their eyes a great flood slowly rolled 
 
 From phantom hills. Through it they pushed with 
 pain : 
 
 And on their eyes a phantom mist was driven : 
 
 And o'er them leaned, low-hung, a phantom heaven. 
 
 But, forward as they toiled, that flood ere long 
 Deepened, so seemed it, to a billowy sea ; 
 
 And they, with arms in swimmer's act forth flung, 
 Clave that imagined deep. Alone the Three 
 
 And Deirdre, spite of spells, illusion-proof, 
 
 Saw still green field, and heaven's unclouded roof. 
 
 Ah God ! How oft in agony that hour 
 Caught they this man and that, and cried, ' Arise ! 
 
 But now triumphant, will ye crouch and cower 
 In death the coward's jest, the traitor's prize ? ' 
 
 Twas vain ! Those dreamers still swam on till brand 
 
 And shield down dropt from every helpless hand. 
 
 The Bonachts stood in marvel ; then dashed on, 
 Their terror past ; and Conor sent decree, 
 
 ' Except the woman, see ye spare not one ! 
 Smite first the sons of Usnach, smite the Three ! ' 
 
 F
 
 66 The Sons of U snack. 
 
 And lo ! like sheep that old and far-famed clan 
 Lay on the war-field, slaughtered to a man. 
 
 Alone, girt round by hostile rank on rank, 
 
 Usnach's great sons, unvanquished, still fought on : 
 
 And ever when their arms exhausted sank, 
 And for a moment strength was all but gone, 
 
 Deirdre, amidst them, like a prophet poured 
 
 Her war-songs forth, and still their strength restored. 
 
 'Twas vain ! At noon the direful battle ceased : 
 That glorious Three who late the world o'er-strode 
 
 Lay facing to the South, and West, and East ; 
 A frozen spectre Deirdre o'er them stood : 
 
 The Bonachts gat their hire : kneeling drew near 
 
 Uladh's sad sons, with many a moan and tear. 
 
 Remembering days gone by, the victors there 
 Wept for the dead : and when the king sent word 
 
 To leave those Three unburied, stark and bare 
 For beasts to rend, his mandate they abhorrjd, 
 
 And dug the grave where those brave Brothers died ; 
 
 And, reverent, therein laid them, side by side. 
 
 Upon the right of that dim burial pit 
 Was Conal Carnach standing ; on its left 
 
 Cuchullain ; each with brows in sorrow knit, 
 Each with a heart by one sharp memory cleft :
 
 The Sons of U snack. 67 
 
 For true to Usnach's sons in word and deed 
 
 These twain had lived ; yet failed them at their need. 
 
 But Deirdre at the grave-head stood alone, 
 The surging crowd held back by holy dread ; 
 
 Her face was white as monumental stone ; 
 
 Her hands, her garb, from throat to foot were red 
 
 With blood their blood. Standing on life's dark verge 
 
 She scorned to die till she had sung their dirge. 
 
 ' Dead are the eagles three of Culan's peaks ; 
 
 The lions three of Uladh's forest glades ; 
 The wonders three of Alba's lakes and creeks ; 
 
 The loved ones three of Etive's fair young maids : 
 The crownless sons of Erin's Throne are sped : 
 The glories of the Red Branch Order dead. 
 
 ' Is there who dreams that, now my Naisi's breath 
 Is stilled, his wife will tarry from his side ? 
 
 Thou man that mak'st far down yon cave of death, 
 Be sure thou dig it deep, and dig it wide ! 
 
 There lie the Brothers Three ! 'Tis just, 'tis meet 
 
 Their Sister take her place before their feet. 
 
 ' Ofttimes for me they piled their shields and spears 
 In Alba's woods, roofing my winter bed : 
 
 Thou man that build'st, this day, far down their biers, 
 
 Be sure the spear and shield are nigh the head ! 
 
 F 2
 
 68 The Sons of Usnach. 
 
 They had great joy in these of old : below 
 
 Lack them they shall not, though they meet no foe. 
 
 ' Ofttimes I heard in Etive's hunting grounds 
 Their deep-toned voices rolling like the sea 
 
 My Naisi led me from our native bounds : 
 Ainli and Ardan followed. Woe is me ! 
 
 That hour when I was born I should have died : 
 
 The ill-omened Infant was the ill-omened Bride ! ' 
 
 Thus Deirdre sang, and silent stood a space ; 
 
 Then spake once more : ' I come, my Love, my Lord ! 
 And forward fell into that loved embrace, 
 
 In happy death to him she loved restored : 
 When Conal and Cuchullain raised her head : 
 There lay she smiling, dead among the dead. 
 
 The men of Erin reared the funeral stone, 
 And piled the cairn, in Ogham characters 
 
 Cyphering the sorrows of the Four thereon : 
 And, age by age, that legend grey avers, 
 
 Sad voices issuing from that grave foretold 
 
 The fates of lovers young and kingdoms old. 
 
 But Cathbad laid a curse upon the king, 
 
 Likewise his race : and Eman, and the land, 
 
 Because they hated not that evil thing, 
 
 And hindered not, with dreadful rites he banned :
 
 The Sons of Usnach. 69 
 
 And lastly, ' Woe to me not less,' he cried, 
 Three times ; and gat him to his place ; and died. 
 
 With speed came up at earliest gleam of morn 
 Fergus to Eman. Dreadful his array ; 
 
 For many a chief, though Conor's liegeman sworn, 
 In wrath had joined the old king on his way : 
 
 And Fergus cursed the Ruthless Red, and said. 
 
 1 A woman's hand one day shall strike him dead ! 
 
 The battle ceased not till that day was done : 
 With his own hand, at noontide, Fergus slew 
 
 Maini, King Conor's last surviving son : 
 
 Old Eman's walls and towers to earth he threw ; 
 
 And burned the city. Half the men therein 
 
 Perished, and many an infant, for its sin.
 
 THE CHILDREN OF LIR 
 
 AN ANCIENT IRISH ROMANCE 
 
 1 Deus dedit carmina in nocte ' JOB, cap. xxxv. v. 10
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 DENIS FLORENCE MAC-CARTHY, 
 
 TO WHOM ENGLISH AND IRISH READERS OWE, 
 
 BESIDE MANY A GAELIC LEGEND, 
 THE BEST WORKS OF CALDERON, 
 
 THIS POEM 
 IS DEDICATED.
 
 THE CHILDREN Of LIR. 
 
 CANTO THE FIRST. 
 
 ERE yet great Miledh's sons to Erin came, 
 Lords of the Gael, Milesian styled more late, 
 
 An earlier tribe, Tuatha was their name, 
 Likewise Dedannan, ruled the Isle of Fate, 
 
 A tribe that knew nor clan, nor priest, nor bard, 
 
 Wild as the waves, and as the sea-cliffs hard. 
 
 Some say that race of old from Greece exiled 
 Long time had sojourned in the frozen North 
 
 Roaming Norwegian wood and Danish wild : 
 To Erin thence more late they issued forth, 
 
 And thither brought two gifts both loved and feared, 
 
 The ' Lia Fail,' and Ogham lore revered. 
 
 Fiercer they were, not manlier, than the Gael, 
 
 Large-handed, swift of foot, dark-haired, dark-eyed, 
 
 With sudden gleams athwart their faces pale, 
 Transits of fancies swift, or angry pride :
 
 74 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Strange lore they boasted, imped by insight keen ; 
 Blackened at times by gusts of causeless spleen. 
 
 These, when the white fleet of the Gael drew nigh 
 Green Erin's shore, their heritage decreed, 
 
 O'er-meshed, through rites unholy, earth and sky 
 With sudden gloom. The invaders took no heed, 
 
 But dashed through dark their galleys on the strand ; 
 
 Then clapped their hands, and laughing leaped to land. 
 
 Around them flocked Tuatha's race in guile, 
 
 Unarmed, with mocking voice and furtive mien, 
 
 And scoffed : ' Not thus your fathers fought erewhile ! 
 Say, call ye warriors knaves that creep unseen, 
 
 While true men sleep, up inlet dim, and fiord, 
 
 Filching the land they proved not with their sword ? ' 
 
 Then to the Gael their bard, Amergin, spake : 
 ' Sail forth, my sons, nine waves across the deep, 
 
 And when this island-race are armed, come back ; 
 Take then their realm by force ; and, taking, keep ! ' 
 
 The Gael sailed forth, nine waves ; then turned, and gazed- 
 
 Night wrapt the isle, and storm by magic raised ! 
 
 Round Erin's shores like leaves their ships were blown 
 Strewn on her reefs lay bard and warrior drowned : 
 
 Not less the Gael upreared ere long that throne 
 
 Two thousand years through all the West renowned.
 
 The Children of Lir. 75 
 
 O'er Taillten's field God held the scales of Fate : 
 That last dread battle closed the dire debate. 
 
 There fell those three Tuatha queens who gave 
 
 The land their names they fell by death discrowned : { 
 
 There many a Gaelic chieftain found his grave : 
 Thenceforth the races twain adjusted bound 
 
 And right, at times by league, at times by war ; 
 
 Nor any reigned as yet from shore to shore. 
 
 Still here and there Tuatha princes ruled 
 
 Now in green vale, and now on pale blue coast, 
 
 A warrior one, and one in magic schooled ; 
 The graver made Druidic lore their boast, 
 
 And knew the secret might of star and leaf : 
 
 Grey-haired King Bove stood up of these the chief. 
 
 Southward by broad Lough Derg his palace stood : 
 Northward, beside Emania's lonely mere, 
 
 In Finnaha, embowered mid lawn and wood, 
 King Lir abode, a warrior, not a seer ; 
 
 Well loved was he, plain man with great, true heart, 
 
 Who loathed, despite his race, the sorcerer's art. 
 
 Five centuries lived he ere that better light 
 
 Gladdened the earth from Bethlehem : ne'ertheless 
 
 He judged his land with justice and with might, 
 Tempering the same at times with gentleness ; 
 1 Bamba, Fodhla, and Eire.
 
 76 The Children of Lir. 
 
 And gave the poor their due ; and made proclaim, 
 ' Let no man smite the old ; the virgin shame.' 
 
 His prime was spent in wars : in middle life 
 He bade a youthful princess share his throne : 
 
 Nor e'er had monarch yet a truer wife 
 
 With tenderer palm or voice of sweeter tone : 
 
 The one sole lady of that race was she 
 
 Sun- haired, with large eyes azure as the sea. 
 
 She moved amid the crafty as a child ; 
 
 Amid the lawless, chaste as unsunned maid ; 
 Amid the unsparing, as a turtle mild ; 
 
 Wondering at wrong ; too gentle to upbraid : 
 Yet many a fell resolve, as she rode by, 
 Died at its birth the ill-thinker knew not why ! 
 
 Sadness before her fled : in years long past 
 As on a cliff the warriors sang their songs 
 
 A harper maid, with eyes that stared aghast, 
 Had chaunted, ' Not to us this isle belongs ! 
 
 The Fates reserve it for a race more true, 
 
 Ye children of Dedannan's stock, than you ! ' 
 
 And since she scorned her music to abate, 
 
 Nor ceased to freeze their triumph with her dirge, 
 
 The princes and the people rose in hate 
 
 And hurled her harp and her into the surge :
 
 The Children of Lir. 77 
 
 Yet still, halfway 'twixt midnight and the morn, 
 That dirge swelled up, by tempest onward borne ! 
 
 Remembering oft this spectre of his youth 
 King Lir would sit, a frown upon his brow : 
 
 Then came the queen with words of peace and truth ; 
 ' Mourn they that sinned ! A child that hour wert thou ! 
 
 Thou rul'st this land to-day : in years to be 
 
 Who best deserves shall wield her sovereignty.' 
 
 Then would the monarch doff his sullen mood 
 With kingly joy, and, bright as May-day's morn, 
 
 Ride forth amid his hounds through wild and wood, 
 Thrilling far glens with echoes of his horn ; 
 
 Or meet the land's invaders face to face 
 
 Well pleased, and homeward hew them with disgrace. 
 
 Thus happy lived the pair, and happier far 
 
 When four fair children graced the royal house, 
 
 Fairer than flowers, more bright than moon or star 
 Shining through vista long of forest boughs. 
 
 Finola was the eldest, eight years old : 
 
 The yearling, Conn, best loved of all that fold. 
 
 These beauteous creatures with their mother shared 
 Alike her blissful nature and sweet looks, 
 
 Like her swan-soft, swan-white, blue-eyed, bright-haired, 
 With voices musical as birds or brooks :
 
 78 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Beings they seemed reserved for some great fate, 
 Mysterious, high, elect, and separate. 
 
 At times they gambolled in the sunny sheen ; 
 
 At times, Fiacre and Aodh at her side, 
 Finola paced the high-arched alleys green, 
 
 At once their youthful playmate and their guide : 
 A mother-hearted child she walked, and pressed 
 That infant, daily heavier, to her breast. 
 
 Great power of Love that, wide as heaven, dost brood 
 O'er all the earth, and doest all things well ! 
 
 Light of the wise, and safeguard of the good ! 
 Nowhere, methinks, thou better lov'st to dwell 
 
 Than in the hearts of innocents that still, 
 
 By dangerous love untempted, work Love's will ! 
 
 Thou shalt be with them when the sleet-wind blows 
 Not less than in the violet-braided bower : 
 
 Through thee the desert sands shall bud the rose, 
 The wild wave anthems sing ! In grief's worst hour 
 
 A germ of thine shall breed that quenchless Faith 
 
 Amaranth of life, and asphodel of death. 
 
 Ah lot of man ! Ah world whose life is change ! 
 
 Ah sheer descent from topmost height of good 
 To deepest gulf of anguish sudden and strange ! 
 
 A nation round their monarch's gateway stood :
 
 The Children of Lir. 79 
 
 All day there stood they, whispering in great dread : 
 The herald came at last ' The Queen is dead ! ' 
 
 In silence still they stood an hour and more, 
 
 Till through the West had sunk the great red sun, 
 
 And from the castle wall and turrets hoar 
 The latest crimson utterly had gone : 
 
 At last the truth had reached them ! then on high 
 
 An orphaned People hurled its funeral cry. 
 
 They hurled it forth again and yet again, 
 The dreadful wont of that barbaric time ; 
 
 Cry after cry that reached the far off main, 
 
 And, echoing, seemed from cloud to cloud to climb ; 
 
 Then lifted hands like creatures broken-hearted, 
 
 Or sentenced men ; and homeward, mute, departed. 
 
 Fast-speeding Time, albeit the wounded wing 
 
 He may not bind, brings us at least the crutch ; 
 
 Winter was over, and the on-flying Spring 
 
 Grazed the sad monarch's brow with heavenly touch, 
 
 And raised the head, now whitening, from the ground, 
 
 And stanched, not healed, the heart's eternal wound. 
 
 King Bove, chief sovereign of the dark-haired race, 
 Sent to him saying, ' Quit thee like a man ! 
 
 The Gaels, our scourge, and Erin's sore disgrace, 
 Advance, each day, their armies, clan on clan ;
 
 80 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Against them march thy host with mine, and take 
 To wife my daughter, for thy children's sake.' 
 
 Lir sadly mused ; but answered : ' Let it be ! ' 
 
 And drave with fifty chariots in array 
 To where the land's chief river like a sea, 
 
 There named Lough Derg, spreads out in gulf and bay 
 And many a woody mountain sees its face 
 Imaged in that clear flood with softened grace. 
 
 There with King Bove the widowed man abode 
 Two days amid great feastings. On the third 
 
 The king led forth his daughter o'er her glowed 
 A dim veil jewel-tissued with this word : 
 
 4 Behold thy wife ! The world proclaims her fair : 
 
 I know her strong to love, and strong to dare.' 
 
 And Lir made answer : ' Fair she is as when 
 A mist-veiled yew, red-berried, stands in state : 
 
 Can love, you say ! Love she my babes ! and then 
 With her my love shall bide ; if not my hate 
 
 And she, a crimson on her dusky brow, 
 
 Replied, ' If so it be, then be it so ! ' 
 
 King Lir, a fortnight more in revels spent, 
 
 Made journey to his castle in the North 
 With her, his youthful consort, well content. 
 
 Arrived, in rapture of their loving mirth
 
 The Children of Lir. 8 1 
 
 Forth rushed into his arms his children four 
 
 Bright as those wavelets on their blue lake's shore ; 
 
 On whom the new queen cast a glance oblique 
 
 One moment's space ; then, flinging wide her arms, 
 
 With instinct changed, and impulse lightning-like, 
 Clasped them in turn and wondered at their charms, 
 
 And cried, ' If e'er a stepmother could love 
 
 I of that tribe renowned will tenderest prove.' 
 
 And so by her great loving of those four 
 
 Still from her husband won she praises sweet 
 
 And plaudits from his people more and more ; 
 Her own she called them : nor was this deceit : 
 
 She loved them with a fitful love a will 
 
 To make them or to mar, for good or ill. 
 
 She wooed them still with shows, with flowers, with 
 
 fruit ; 
 
 Daily for them new sports she sought and found : 
 Yet, if their father praised them, she was mute, 
 
 And, when he placed them on his knee, she frowned, 
 Murmuring, ' How blue their eyes ! their cheek how 
 
 pale! 
 
 Their voices too are voices of the Gael ! 
 c
 
 8 2 The Children of L ir. 
 
 Meantime, as month by month in grace they grew, 
 Their father loved them better than before ; 
 
 And so, one eve, their slender cots he drew 
 Each from its place remote, and lightly bore, 
 
 And laid them ranged before his royal bed ; 
 
 And o'er the four a veil gold-woven spread ; 
 
 Their mother's bridal-veil : and still as dawn 
 Was in its glittering tissue caged and caught 
 
 He left his couch, and, that light veil withdrawn, 
 Before his children stood in silent thought ; 
 
 And, if they slept, he kissed them in their sleep, 
 
 Then watched them with clasped hands in musings 
 deep. 
 
 And, if they slept not, from their balmy nest 
 With under-sliding arms he raised them high, 
 
 And clasped them each, successive, to his breast, 
 Or on them flashed the first light from the sky : 
 
 Then laid him by his mute, sleep-feigning bride, 
 
 And slept once more : and oft in sleep he sighed. 
 
 Which things abhorring, she her face averse 
 
 Turned all day steadfast from the astonished throng : 
 
 And next, as one that broods upon a curse, 
 She sat in her sick-chamber three weeks long, 
 
 And never raised her eyes, nor made complaint, 
 
 Dark as a fiend and silent as a saint.
 
 The Children of Lir. 83 
 
 Lastly to Lir she spake : ' Daily I sink 
 
 Downward to death. I wither in my prime : 
 
 Home to my father I would speed, and drink 
 Once more the breezes of my native clime. 
 
 All night in sleep along Lough Derg I strayed, ' 
 
 And wings of strength about my shoulders played. 
 
 ' These four thy children with me I will take 
 To please my father's eye ; he loves them well : 
 
 Thou too, whene'er thy leisure serves, shalt make 
 Thither thy journey.' All the powers of Hell 
 
 Thrilled at that speech in penal vaults below : 
 
 But Lir, no fraud suspecting, answered, ' Go ! ' 
 
 Therefore next morn when earliest sunrise smote 
 Green mead to golden near the full-fed stream, 
 
 They caught four steeds that grazed thereby remote, 
 And yoked abreast beside the chariot beam ; 
 
 And when the sun was sinking toward the West 
 
 By Darvra's lake drew rein, and made their rest. 
 
 Then the bad queen, descending, round her cast 
 A baleful look of mingled hate and woe, 
 
 And with those babes into a thicket passed, 
 And drew a dagger from her breast ; and lo ! 
 
 She struck them not, but only wailed and wailed 
 
 In her so strongly womanhood prevailed.
 
 4 The Children of Lir. 
 
 The mood was changed. She smiled that smile which 
 
 none 
 
 How wise soe'er, beholding, could resist, 
 And drew those children to her, one by one ; 
 
 Then wailed once more, and last their foreheads 
 
 kissed, 
 
 And cried with ringer pointing to the lake, 
 ' Hence ! and in that clear bath your pastime take ! ' 
 
 She spoke, and from their silken garb forth-sliding, 
 Ere long those babes were sporting in the bay : 
 
 And, as it chanced, the eddy past them gliding 
 Wafted a swan's plume : 'twas less white than they : 
 
 Frowning, the queen beheld them, and on high 
 
 Waved thrice her Druid wand athwart the sky : 
 
 Then, standing on the marge wan-cheeked, wide-eyed, 
 As near they drew, awe-struck and wondering, 
 
 Therewith she smote their golden heads, and cried, 
 ' Fly hence, ye pale-faced children of the king ! 
 
 Cleave the blue mere, or on through ether sail ; 
 
 No more his loved ones, but a dolorous tale ! ' 
 
 Straightway to snow-white swans those children turned : 
 And, sideway as they swerved the creatures four 
 
 Fixed on her looks with human grief that yearned ; 
 Then slowly drifted backward from the shore ; 
 
 While loud with voice unchanged, Finola cried, 
 
 ' Bad deed is thine, false queen and bitter bride !
 
 The Children of Lir. 8 5 
 
 ' Bad deed afflicting babes that harmed thee not ; 
 
 Bad deed, and to thyself an evil dower : 
 Disastrous more than ours shall be thy lot ! 
 
 Thou too shall feel the weight of Druid power : 
 From age lo age Ihy penance ne'er shall cease : 
 Our doom, though long it lasls, shall end in peace.' 
 
 Then rang a wild shriek from that dreadful shape : 
 ' Long, long, aye long shall last those years of woe ! 
 
 Here on this lake from misty cape to cape 
 Three centuries ye shall wander to and fro ; 
 
 Three centuries more shall stem with heavier toil 
 
 Far Alba's waves, the black sea-strait l of Moyle. 
 
 ' Lastly three centuries where the Eagle-Crest 2 
 O'er-looks the western deep, and Inisglaire, 
 
 Upon the mountain waves that know not rest 
 Shall be your rolling palace, foul or fair, 
 
 Till comes the Tailkenn, 3 sent to sound the knell 
 
 Of darkness, and ye hear his Christian bell' 
 
 Lo, as a band of lilies, white and tall 
 Beneath a breeze of morning bend their head 
 
 High held in virgin state majestical, 
 So meekly cowered those swans in holy dread 
 
 1 The current running between Cantire, in Scotland, and the 
 northern coast of Ireland. 
 
 " Achill Island, on the coast of Connaught. 
 3 The ' Tonsured One,' i.e. St. Patrick.
 
 86 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Hearing that promised Tailkenn's blissful name : 
 For they long since had heard in dream the same. 
 
 Then fell a dew of meekness on the proud 
 
 Noting their humble heart ; and drooped her front 
 
 And sorrow closed around her like a cloud ; 
 And thus with other voice than was her wont 
 
 To those soft victims of her wrath she cried : 
 
 ' Woe, woe ! Yet Fate must rule, whate'er betide ! 
 
 ' The deed is done ; yet thus much I concede : 
 In you the human heart shall never fail, 
 
 Changed though ye be, and masked in feathery weed : 
 Your voice shall sweet remain as voice of Gael ; 
 
 And all who hear your songs shall sink in trance 
 
 And, sleeping, dream some great deliverance.' 
 
 She spake, and smote her hands ; and at her word 
 Once more the attendants caught the royal steeds 
 
 Grazing in peace beside the horned herd 
 
 Amid the meadow flowers, and yellow weeds : 
 
 And fiercely through the night that dark one drave, 
 
 And reached Lough Derg what time above its wave 
 
 The sun was rising ; and at set of sun 
 
 Entered once more her father's palace gate : 
 
 Seated thereby, his nobles, every one, 
 Arose and welcomed her with loving state :
 
 The Children of Lir. 8 7 
 
 She answered naught, but sternly past them strode 
 And found her girlhood's bower, and there abode. 
 
 But when of Lir King Bove had made demand, 
 She answered thus : ' Enough ! My Lord is naught ; 
 
 Nor will he trust his children to thy hand, 
 
 Lest thou should'st slay them.' Long in silent 
 thought 
 
 The old man stood, then murmured in low tone, 
 
 ' I loved those children better than mine own ! ' 
 
 That night in dream King Lir had anguish sore, 
 And southward, ere the dawn, rode far away 
 
 With many a chief to see his babes once more 
 Beside Lough Derg ; and lo, at close of day 
 
 Nighing to Darvra's lake, the westering sun 
 
 In splendour on the advancing horsemen shone. 
 
 Straightway from that broad water's central stream 
 Was heard a clang of pinions and swift feet 
 
 Unchanged at heart those babes had caught that gleam ; 
 Instant from far had rushed, their sire to greet 
 
 Spangling the flood with silver spray ; and ere 
 
 That sire had reached the margin they were there. 
 
 Then, each and all, clamorous they made lament 
 Recounting all their wrong, and all the woe ; 
 
 And Lir, their tale complete, his garment rent, 
 Till then transfixed like marble shape ; and lo !
 
 88 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Three times, heart-grieved, that concourse raised their 
 
 cry 
 Piercing the centre of the low-hung sky. 
 
 But Lir knelt down upon the shining sand, 
 And cried, ' Though great the might of Druid charms, 
 
 Return and feel once more your native land, 
 And find once more and fill your father's arms ! ' 
 
 And they made answer : ' Till the Tailkenn come 
 
 We tread not land ! The waters are our home.' 
 
 But when Finola saw her father's grief 
 
 She added thus : ' Albeit our days are sad, 
 
 The twilight brings our pain in part relief: 
 
 And songs are ours by night that make us glad : 
 
 Yea, each that hears our music, though he grieve, 
 
 Rejoices more. Abide, for it is eve.' 
 
 So Lir, and his, couched on the wave -lipped sod 
 All night ; and ever as those songs up swelled 
 
 A mist of sleep upon them fell from God, 
 And healing Spirits converse with them held. 
 
 And Lir was glad all night : but with the morn 
 
 Anguish returned ; and thus he cried, forlorn : 
 
 ' Farewell ! The morn is come ; and I depart : 
 Farewell ! Not wholly evil are things ill ! 
 
 Farewell, Finola ! Yea, but in my heart 
 With thee I bide : there liv'st thou changeless still :
 
 The Children of Lir. 89 
 
 O Aodh ! O Fiacre ! the night is gone : 
 Farewell to both ! Farewell, my little Conn 
 
 Southward the childless father rode once more, 
 
 And saw at last beyond the forests tall 
 The great lake and the palace on its shore ; 
 
 And, entering, onward passed from hall to hall 
 To where King Bove majestic sat and crowned, 
 High on a terrace, with his magnates round ; 
 
 A stately terrace clustered round with towers, 
 
 And jubilant with music's merry din, 
 Beaten by resonant waves, and bright with flowers : 
 
 There but apart she stood that wrought the sin, 
 Like one that broods on one black thought alone 
 Seen o'er a world of happy hopes o'erthrown. 
 
 The throng made way : onward the wronged one strode 
 To Bove, sole-throned, and lifting in his hand 
 
 For royal sceptre that Druidic rod 
 Which gave him o'er the Spirit-world command ; 
 
 Then, pointing to that traitress, false as fair, 
 
 That wronged one spake: ' There stands the murderess ! 
 there ! ' 
 
 Straight on the King Druidic insight fell ; 
 
 And mirrored in his mind as cloud in lake 
 His daughter's crime, distinct and visible, 
 
 Before him stood. He turned to her and spake :
 
 90 The Children of Lir. 
 
 ' Thou hear'st the charge : how makest thou reply ? 
 And she : ' The deed is mine ! I wrought it ! I ! ' 
 
 Then spake King Bove with countenance like night : 
 ' Of all dread shapes that traverse earth or sea, 
 
 Or pierce the soil, or urge through heaven their flight, 
 Say, which abhorrest thou most ? ' And answered she : 
 
 ' The shape of Spirits Accursed that ride the storm : ' 
 
 And he : 'Be thine henceforth that demon form ! ' 
 
 He spake, and lifted high his Druid Wand : 
 T'ward him perforce she drew : she bowed her head : 
 
 Down on that head he dropp'd it ; and beyond 
 The glooming lake, with bat-like wings outspread 
 
 O'er earth's black verge the shrieking Fury passed ; 
 
 Thenceforth to circle earth while earth shall last. 
 
 As when, on autumn eve from hill or cape 
 That slants into gray wastes of western sea, 
 
 The sun long set, some shepherd stares agape 
 At cloud that seems through endless space to flee 
 
 On raven pinions down the moaning wind, 
 
 Thus on that Fury stared they, well-nigh blind. 
 
 Then spake the king with hoary head that shook, 
 ' I loved thy babes : now therefore let us go 
 
 Northward, and on their blameless beauty look, 
 Though changed, and hear their songs : for this I know
 
 The Children of Lir. 91 
 
 By Druid art, they sing the whole night long, 
 And heaven and earth are solaced by their song. 
 
 Northward ere dawn they rode with a great host ; 
 
 And loosed their steeds by Darvra's mirror clear 
 What time purpureal evening like a ghost 
 
 Stepped from the blue glen on the glimmering mere : 
 And camped where stood the ruminating herds 
 With heads forth leaning t'ward those human birds. 
 
 And, ever o'er the wave those swans would come 
 To hear man's voice, and tell their tale to each, 
 
 Swift as the wind, and whiter than the foam ; 
 Yet never mounted they the bowery beach, 
 
 And still swerved backward from the beckoning hand, 
 
 Revering thus their stepmother's command. 
 
 And ever, when the sacred night descended, 
 While with those ripples on the sandy bars 
 
 The sighing woods and winds low murmurs blended, 
 Their music fell upon them from the stars, 
 
 And they gave utterance to that gift divine 
 
 In silver song or anthem crystalline. 
 
 Who heard that strain no more his woes lamented : 
 The exiled chief forgat his place of pride : 
 
 The prince ill-crowned his ruthless deed repented : 
 The childless mother and the widowed bride
 
 92 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Amid their locks tear-wet and loosely straying 
 Felt once again remembered touches playing. 
 
 The words of that high music no one knew ; 
 
 Yet all men felt there lived a meaning there 
 Immortal, marvellous, searching, strengthening, true, 
 
 The pledge of some great future, strange and fair, 
 When sin shall lose her might, and cleansing woe 
 Shall on the Just some starry crown bestow. 
 
 Lulled by that strain the prophet king let drop 
 In death his Druid-Staff by Darvra's side ; 
 
 And there in later years with happy hope 
 
 King Lir, that mystic requiem listening, died : 
 
 And there those blissful sufferers bore their wrong 
 
 All day in weeping, and all night in song. 
 
 Not once 'tis whispered in that ancient story 
 They raised their voice God's justice to arraign : 
 
 All patient suffering is expiatory : 
 
 Their doom was linked with hope of Erin's gain ; 
 
 And, like the Holy Elders famed of old, 
 
 Those babes on that high promise kept their hold. 
 
 And they saw great towers built, and saw them fall ; 
 
 And saw the little seedling tempest-sown ; 
 And generations under torch and pall 
 
 Borne forth to narrow graves ere long grass-grown ;
 
 The Children of Lir. 93 
 
 And all these things to them were as a dream, 
 Or shade that sleeps on some fast hurrying stream. 
 
 More numerous daily flocked to that still shore 
 Peace-loving spirits : yea, the Gaelic clans 
 
 And tribes Dedannan, foemen there no more, 
 
 From the same fountains brimmed their flowing cans, 
 
 And washed their kirtles in the same pure rills, 
 
 And brought their corn-sheaves to the self-same mills. 
 
 Thus, though elsewhere the sons of Erin strove 
 From Aileach's coast, and Uladh's marble cliffs, 
 
 To where by banks of Lee, and Beara's cove, 
 
 The fishers spread their nets and launched their skiffs, 
 
 Round Darvra's shores remained inviolate peace ; 
 
 There too the flocks and fields had best increase. 
 
 In that long strife the Gael the victory won : 
 
 Tuatha's race, Dedannan, disappeared ; 
 Yet still the conqueror whispered, sire to son, 
 
 ' Their progeny survives, half scorned, half feared, 
 The Fairy Host ; and mansions bright they hold 
 On moonlight hills, and under waters cold. 
 
 ' To snare the Gael, perpetual spells they weave : 
 O'er the wet waste they bid the meteor glide : 
 
 They raise illusive cliffs at morn and eve 
 
 On wintry coasts : sea-mantled rocks they hide :
 
 94 The Children of Lir. 
 
 And shipwrecked sailors eye them o'er the waves, 
 Dark shapes pygmean couchant in sea-caves. 
 
 ' Some say that, mid the mountains' sunless walls, 
 
 They throng beneath their stony firmament, 
 An iron-handed race. At intervals 
 
 Through chasm stream-cloven, and through rocky rent, 
 The shepherd hears their multitudinous hum 
 As of far hosts approaching swift yet dumb. 
 
 ' In those dread vaults, Magian and Alchemist, 
 Supreme in every craft of brain and hand, 
 
 The mountains' mineral veins they beat and twist ; 
 And on red anvils forge them spear and brand 
 
 For some predestined battle. Yea, men say 
 
 The island shall be theirs that last great day ! '
 
 The Children of Lir. 95 
 
 CANTO THE SECOND. 
 
 WHAT time, forth sliding from the Eternal Gates, 
 The centuries three on earth had lived and died, 
 
 Thus spake Finola to her snowy mates, 
 ' No more in this soft haven may we bide : 
 
 The second Woe succeeds ; that heavier toil 
 
 On Alba's waves, the black sea-strait of Moyle.' 
 
 Then wept to her in turn the younger three ; 
 
 ' Alas the sharp rocks and the salt sea-foam ! 
 Thou therefore make the lay, ere yet we flee 
 
 From this our exile's cradle, sweet as home ! ' 
 And thus Finola sang, while, far arid near, 
 The men of Erin wept that strain to hear : 
 
 ' Farewell, Lough Darvra, with thine isles of bloom ! 
 
 Farewell, familiar tribes that grace her shore ! 
 The penance deepens on us, and the doom : 
 
 Farewell ! The voice of man we list no more 
 Till he, the Tailkenn, comes to sound the knell 
 Of darkness, and rings out his gladsome bell.'
 
 96 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Thus singing, mid their dirge the sentenced soared 
 Heaven-high ; then hanging mute on plumes outspread, 
 
 With downcast eye long time that lake explored ; 
 And lastly with a great cry northward sped : 
 
 Then was it Erin's sons, listening that cry, 
 
 Decreed : 'The man who slays a swan shall die.' 
 
 Three days against the northern blast on-flying 
 
 To Fate obedient and the Will Divine, 
 They reached, what time the crimson eve was lying 
 
 On Alba's isles, and ocean's utmost line, 
 That huge sea-strait whose racing eddies boil 
 'Twixt Erin and the cloud-girt headland Movie. ' 
 
 There anguish fell on them : they heard the booming 
 Of league-long breakers white, and gazed on waves 
 
 Wreck-strewn, themselves entombed, and all-entombing, 
 Rolling to labyrinths dim of red-roofed caves ; 
 
 And streaming waters broad, as with one will 
 
 In cataracts from gray shelves descending still. 
 
 There, day by day, the sun more early set ; 
 
 And through the hollows of the high-ridged sea 
 Which foamed around their rocky cabinet 
 
 The whirlwinds beat them more remorselessly : 
 
 1 ' The term Mae/, Mull (or Moyle, as Moore calls it), does not 
 properly apply to the current itself, but to the Mad, or bald head- 
 land by which it runs.' Professor Eugene CP Curry,
 
 The Children of Lir. 97 
 
 And winter followed soon : and ofttimes storms 
 Shrouded for weeks the mountains' frowning forms. 
 
 In time all ocean omens they had learned ; 
 
 And once, as o'er the darkening deep they roved, 
 Finola, who the advancing woe discerned, 
 
 Addressed them : ' Little brothers, well beloved, 
 Though many a storm hath tried us, yet the worst 
 Comes up this night : now therefore, ere it burst 
 
 ' Devise we swiftly if, through God's high Will, 
 Billow or blast divides us each from each, 
 
 Some refuge-house wherein, when winds are still, 
 To meet once more low rock or sandy beach : ' 
 
 And answer thus they made : ' One spot alone 
 
 This night can yield us refuge, Carickrone.' 
 
 They spake, and sudden thunder shook the world, 
 And blackness wrapped the seas, and lightnings rent ; 
 
 And each from each abroad those swans were hurled 
 By solid water-scud. Outworn and spent 
 
 At last, that direful tempest over-blown, 
 
 Finola scaled their trysting-rock alone. 
 
 But when she found no gentle brother near, 
 And heard the great storm roaring far away, 
 
 Anguish of anguish pierced her heart, and fear, 
 And thus she made her moan and sang her lay : 
 H
 
 98 The Children of Lir. 
 
 ' Death-cold they lie along the far sea-tide : 
 Would that as cold I drifted at their side ! ' 
 
 Thus as she sang, behold, the sun uprose, 
 
 And smote a swan that on a wave's smooth 
 crest 
 
 Exhausted lay, like one by pitiless foes 
 
 Trampled, and looking but to death for rest : 
 
 He also clomb that rock, though weak and worn, 
 
 With bleeding feet and pinions tempest-torn. 
 
 Aodh was he ! He couched him by her side ; 
 
 Straight, her right wing, Finola o'er him spread : 
 Ere long beneath the rock Fiacre she spied, 
 
 Wounded yet more ; yet soon he hid his head 
 'Neath her left wing, her nestling's wonted place, 
 And slept content in that beloved embrace. 
 
 But still Finola mused with many a tear, 
 
 'Alas for us, of little Conn bereft ! ' 
 Then Conn came floating by, full blithe of cheer, 
 
 For he, secure within a craggy cleft, 
 Had slept all night ; and now once more his nest 
 He made beneath his snowy sister's breast. 
 
 And as they slept she sang : ' Among the flowers 
 Of old we played where princes quaffed their wine ; 
 
 But now for flowery fields sea-floods are ours ; 
 And now our wine-cup is the bitter brine :
 
 The Children of Lir. 99 
 
 Yet, brothers, fear no ill ; for God will send 
 At last his Tailkenn, and our woes find end.' 
 
 And God, Who of least things has tenderest thought, 
 Looked down on them benignly from on high, 
 
 And bade that bitter brine to enter not 
 
 Their scars, unhealed as yet, lest they should die ; 
 
 And nearer sent their choicest food full oft, 
 
 And clothed their wings with plumage fine and soft. 
 
 And ever as the spring advanced, the sea 
 
 Put on a kindlier aspect Cliffs deep-scarred 
 
 To milder airs gave welcome festively 
 
 Upon their iron breasts and foreheads hard, 
 
 And, while about their feet the ripples played, 
 
 Cast o'er the glaring deep a friendlier shade. 
 
 And when at last the full midsummer panted 
 Upon the austere main, and high-peaked isles, 
 
 And hills that, like some elfin land enchanted, 
 
 Now charmed, now mocked the eye with phantom 
 smiles, 
 
 More far round Alba's shores the swans made way 
 
 To Islay's beach, and cloud-loved Colonsay. 
 
 The growths beside their native lake oft noted 
 In that sublimer clime no more they missed ; 
 
 Jewels, not flowers they found where'er they floated, 
 Emerald and sapphire, opal, amethyst,
 
 ioo The Children of Lir. 
 
 Far -kenned through watery depths or magic air, 
 Or trails of broken rainbows, here and there. 
 
 Round Erin's northern coasts they drifted on 
 From Rathlin isle to Fanad's beetling crest, 
 
 And where, in frowning sunset steeped, forth shone 
 The ' Bloody Foreland,' gazing t'ward the west ; 
 
 Yet still with duteous hearts to Moyle returned 
 
 To love their place of penance they had learned. 
 
 One time it chanced that, onward as they drifted 
 Where Banna's current joins that stormy sea, 
 
 A princely company with banners lifted 
 
 Rode past on snow-white steeds and sang for glee : 
 
 At once they knew those horsemen, form and face, 
 
 Their native stock Tuatha's ancient race ! 
 
 T'ward them they sped : their sorrows they recounted : 
 .The warriors could not aid them, and rode by : 
 
 Then higher than of old their anguish mounted ; 
 And farther rang through heaven their piteous cry ; 
 
 And when it ceased, this lay Finola sang 
 
 While all the echoing rocks and caverns rang : 
 
 ' Whilome in purple clad we sat elate : 
 
 The warriors watched us at their nut-brown mead : 
 But now we roam the waters desolate, 
 
 Or breast the languid beds of waving weed :
 
 The Children of Lir. 101 
 
 Our food was then fine bread ; our drink was wine : 
 This day on sea-plants sour we peak and pine. 
 
 ' Whilome our four small cots of pearl and gold 
 Lay, side by side, before our father's bed, 
 
 And silken foldings kept us from the cold : 
 
 But now on restless waves our couch is spread ; 
 
 And now our bed-clothes are the white sea-foam : 
 
 And now by night the sea-rock is our home.' 
 
 Not less from them such sorrows swiftly passed 
 Since evermore one thought their bosoms filled 
 
 That father's home. That haunt, in memory glassed, 
 Childhood perpetual o'er their lives distilled : 
 
 And, coast what shore they might, green vale and plain 
 
 Bred whiter flocks, men said, more golden grain. 
 
 The years ran on : the centuries three went by : 
 Finola sang : ' The second Woe is ended ! ' 
 
 Obedient then, once more they soared on high ; 
 Next morn on Erin's western coast descended, 
 
 While sunrise flashed from misty isles far seen, 
 
 Now gold, now flecked with streaks of luminous green. 
 
 And there for many a winter they abode, 
 Harbouring in precincts of the setting sun ; 
 
 And mourned by day, yet sang at night their ode 
 As though in praise of some great victory won :
 
 IO2 The Children of Lir. 
 
 Some conqueror more than man ; some heavenly crown 
 Slowly o'er all creation settling down. 
 
 There once what time a great sun in decline 
 Had changed to gold the green back of a wave 
 
 That showered a pasture fair with diamond brine, 
 Then sank, anon uprising from its grave 
 
 Went shouldering onward, higher and more high, 
 
 And hid far lands, and half eclipsed the sky 
 
 There once a shepherd, Aibhric, high of race, 
 Marked them far off, and marking them so loved 
 
 That to the ocean's verge he rushed apace 
 With hands outspread. Shoreward the creatures 
 moved ; 
 
 And when he heard them speak with human tongue 
 
 That love he felt grew tenderer and more strong. 
 
 Day after day they told that youth their tale : 
 Wide-eyed he stood, and inly drank their words ; 
 
 And later, harping still in wood and vale, 
 He fitted oft their sorrow to his chords ; 
 
 And thus to him in part men owe the lore ! 
 
 Of all those patient sufferers bare of yore. 
 
 1 They met a young man of good family whose name was 
 Aibhric, and his attention was often attracted to the birds, and their 
 singing was sweet to him, so that he came to love them greatly, and 
 that they loved him ; and it was this young man that afterwards 
 arranged in order and narrated all their adventures.' The Fate of 
 the Children of Lir, prose version by Professor O'Curry.
 
 The Children of Lir. 103 
 
 For bard he was ; and still the bard-like nature 
 Hath reverence, as for virtue, so for woe, 
 
 And ever finds in trials of the creature 
 The great Creator's purpose here below 
 
 To lift by lowering, and through anguish strange 
 
 To fit for thrones exempt from chance or change. 
 
 There first the Four had met that sympathy 
 
 Yearned for so long : and yet, that treasure found, 
 
 So much the more ere long calamity 
 
 Tasked them, thus strengthened ; tasked and closed 
 them round, 
 
 And higher yet fierce winds and watery shocks 
 
 Dashed them thenceforth upon the pitiless rocks. 
 
 At last from heaven's dark vault a night there fell 
 The direst they had known. The high-heaped 
 seas 
 
 Vanquished by frost, beneath her iron spell 
 Abased their haughty crests by slow degrees : 
 
 The swans were frozen upon that ice-plain frore ; 
 
 Yet still Finola sang, as oft before, 
 
 ' Beneath my right wing, Aodh, make thy rest ! 
 
 Beneath my left, Fiacre ! My little Conn, 
 Find thou a warmer shelter 'neath my breast, 
 
 As thou art wont : thou art my little son ! 
 Thou God that all things mad'st, and lovest all, 
 Subdue things great ! Protect the weak, the small ! '
 
 IO4 The Children of Lir. 
 
 But evermore the younger three made moan ; 
 
 And still their moans more loud and louder grew ; 
 And still Finola o'er that sea of stone 
 
 For their sake fragments of wild waitings threw ; 
 And ever as she sang, the on-driving snow 
 Choked the sweet strain ; yet still she warbled low. 
 
 Then, louder when she heard those others grieve, 
 And found that song might now no more avail, 
 
 She said : ' Believe, O brothers young, believe 
 In that great God, whose help can never fail ! 
 
 Have faith in God, since God can ne'er deceive ! ' 
 
 And lo, those weepers answered : ' We believe ! ' 
 
 So thus those babes, in God's predestined hour, 
 
 Through help of Him, the Lord of Life and Death, 
 
 Inly fulfilled with light and prophet power, 
 
 Believed ; and perfect made their Act of Faith ; 
 
 And thenceforth all things, both in shade and shine, 
 
 To them came softly and with touch benign. 
 
 First, from the southern stars there came a breeze 
 On-wafting happy mist of moonlit rain ; 
 
 And when the sun ascended o'er the seas 
 The ice was vanquished ; and the watery plain 
 
 And every cloud with rapture thrilled and stirred : 
 
 And lo, at noon the cuckoo's voice was heard !
 
 The Children of Lir. 105 
 
 And since with that rough ice their feet were sore 
 God for their sake a breeze from Eden sent 
 
 That gently raised them from the ocean's floor 
 And in its bosom, as an ambient tent, 
 
 Held them, suspense : and with a dew of balm 
 
 God, while they slept, made air and ocean calm. 
 
 Likewise a beam auroral forth he sped 
 
 That flushed that tent aerial like a rose 
 Each morn, and roseate odours o'er it shed 
 
 The long day through. And still, at evening's close, 
 They dreamed of those rich bowers and alleys green 
 Wherein with Lir their childish sports had been. 
 
 And thrice they dreamed that in the morning gray 
 They gathered there red roses drenched with dew : 
 
 But lo ! a serpent 'neath the roses lay : 
 Then came the Tailkenn, and that serpent slew ; 
 
 And round the Tailkenn's tonsured head was light 
 
 That made that morning more than noonday bright. 
 
 Thus wrapt, thus kindled, in sublimer mood 
 
 Heaven-high they soared, and flung abroad their strain 
 
 O'er-sailing huge Croagh- Patrick swathed in wood, 
 Or Acaill, warder of the western main, 
 
 Or Arran Isle, that time heroic haunt, 
 
 Since Enda's day Religion's saintlier vaunt.
 
 io6 The Children of Lir. 
 
 And many a time they floated farther south 
 Where milder airs endear sea-margins bleak, 
 
 To that dim Head far seen o'er Shenan's mouth, 
 Or Smerwick's ill-famed cliff and winding creek, 
 
 Or where on Brandon sleeps Milesius' son 
 
 With ail his shipwrecked warriors round him Bonn. 
 
 The centuries passed : her loud, exultant lay 
 Finola sang, their time of penance done, 
 
 And ended : ' Lo, to us it seems a day ; 
 
 Not less the dread nine hundred years are run ! 
 
 Now, brothers, homeward be our flight ! ' And they 
 
 Chanted triumphant : ' Home, to Finnaha ! ' 
 
 Up from the sea they rose in widening gyre, 
 And hung suspended mid the ethereal blue, 
 
 And saw, far-flashing in the sunset's fire, 
 
 A wood-girt lake whose splendour well they knew ; 
 
 And flew all night ; and reached at dawn its shore 
 
 Ah, then rang out that wail ne'er heard before ! 
 
 There where the towers of Lir of old had stood 
 Lay now the stony heap and rain-washed rath ; 
 
 And through the ruin-mantling alder-wood 
 
 The forest beast had stamped in mire his path ; 
 
 And desolate were their mother's happy bowers, 
 
 So fair of old with fountains and with flowers !
 
 The Children of Lir. 107 
 
 More closely drew the orphans, each to each : 
 Twas then Finola raised her dirge on high, 
 
 As nearer yet they drifted to the beach 
 In hope one fragment of past days to spy ; 
 
 ' Upon our father's house hath fallen a change ; 
 
 And as a dead man's face this place is strange ! 
 
 ' No more the hound and horse ; no more the horn ! 
 
 No more the warriors winding down the glen ! 
 Behold, the place of pleasaunce is forlorn, 
 
 And emptied of fair women and brave men ; 
 The wine-cup now is dry ; the music fled : 
 Now know we that our father, Lir, is dead ! ' 
 
 She sang, and ceased, though long the feathered throat 
 Panted with passion of the unuttered song : 
 
 At last she spake with voice that seemed remote 
 Like echoed voice of one the tombs among : 
 
 ' Depart we hence ! Better the exile's pain ! ' 
 
 And they : ' Return we to rough waves again ! ' 
 
 Yet still along that silver mere they lingered 
 Oaring their weeping way by lawn and cape, 
 
 Till evening, purple-stoled and dewy-fingered, 
 
 O'er heaven's sweet face had woven its veil of crape ; 
 
 And tenderer came from darkening wood and wild 
 
 The voice far off of woman or of child.
 
 io8 The Children of Lir. 
 
 And when, far travelling through the fields of ether, 
 The stars successive filled their thrones of light, 
 
 Still to that heaven the glimmering lake beneath her 
 Gave meet response, with music answering light ; 
 
 For still, wherever sailed that mystic four, 
 
 With minstrelsy divine that lake ran o'er. 
 
 But when the rising sun made visible 
 
 The night-mist hovering long o'er banks of reed 
 
 They cast their broad wings on a gathering swell 
 Of wind that, late from eastern sea-caves freed, 
 
 Waved all the island's oakwoods t'ward the West ; 
 
 And seaward swooped at eve, and there found rest. 
 
 And since they knew their penance now was over, 
 Penance that tasks true hearts to purify, 
 
 Happier were they than e'er was mortal lover, 
 Happy as Spirits cleansed that, near the sky, 
 
 Feel, mid that shadowy realm expiatory, 
 
 Warm on their lids the unseen yet nearing glory. 
 
 Thenceforth they roamed no more, at Inisglaire 
 Their change awaiting. In its blissful prime 
 
 That island was, men say, as Eden fair, 
 
 The swan-soft nurseling of a changeful clime, 
 
 With amaranth-lighted glades, and tremulous sheen 
 
 Of trees full-flowered on earth no longer seen.
 
 The Children of Lir. 109 
 
 Not then the waves with that still site contended ; 
 
 On its warm sandhills pansies always bloomed ; 
 And ever with the inspiring sea-wind blended 
 
 The breath of gardens violet-perfumed ; 
 And daisies whitened lawn and dell, and spread 
 At sunset o'er green hills their under-red, 
 
 Faint as that blush which lights some matron's cheek 
 Tenderly pleased by gentle praise deserved 
 
 That island's winding coast from creek to creek 
 
 Like curves of shells with dream -like beauty swerved : 
 
 And midmost spread a lake ; from mortal eyes 
 
 Vanished this day like man's lost paradise. 
 
 Around that lake with oldest oakwoods shaded 
 Were all things that to eye are witching most, 
 
 Green slopes, dew drenched, and gray rocks ivy-braided ; 
 Yet speechless was the region as a ghost : 
 
 No whisper shook those woods ; no tendril stirred ; 
 
 Nor e'er beside the cave was ripple heard. 
 
 A home for Spirits, not home for man, it seemed ; 
 
 Or Limbo meet for body-waiting Souls 
 Of such in Pagan times the poets dreamed 
 
 That stillness which invests the unmoving poles 
 Above it brooded. In its circuit wide 
 A second Darvra lived but glorified.
 
 no The Children of Lir. 
 
 Upon its breast perpetual light there lay, 
 
 Undazzling beam, and uncreated light ; 
 For lake and wood the sunshine drank all day, 
 
 And breathed it softly forth to cheer the night, 
 A silver twilight, pure from cloud or taint, 
 Like aureole round the forehead of a saint. 
 
 There dwelt those Swans; there louder anthems chanted ; 
 
 There first they sang by day rapt song and hymn, 
 Till all those birds the western coasts that haunted 
 
 Came flying far o'er ocean's purple rim, 
 Scorning thenceforth wild cliff and beds of foam ; 
 And made, then first, that sacred isle their home. 
 
 So passed three years. When dawned the third May morn 
 The Four, while slowly rose the kindling mist 
 
 Showing the first white on the earliest thorn, 
 Heard music o'er the waters. List, O list ! 
 
 'Twas sweet as theirs more sweet yet terrible 
 
 At first ; and sudden trembling on them fell. 
 
 A second time it sounded. Terror died, 
 And rapture came instead, and mystic mirth 
 
 They knew not whence : and thus Finola cried : 
 ' Brothers ! the Tailkenn treads our Erin's earth ! ' 
 
 And as the lifted mist gave view more large 
 
 They saw a blue bay with a fair green marge.
 
 The Children of Lir. 1 1 1 
 
 On that green marge there rose an Altar-stone : 
 Before it, robed in white, with tonsured head, 
 
 Stood up the kingly Tailkenn all alone : 
 Not far behind, in reverence, not in dread, 
 
 With low bent brows a princely senate knelt, 
 
 Girding that altar as with golden belt. 
 
 Marvelling, as on they sailed that Rite they saw : 
 But, when a third time pealed that Tailkenn's bell, 
 
 They too their halleluias, though with awe, 
 
 Blended with his. The 111 Spirits heard their knell, 
 
 And shrieking fled to penal dungeons drear ; 
 
 And straight, since now those blissful Four drew near, 
 
 Saint Patrick stretched above the wave his hand 
 
 And thus he spake and wind and wave were stilled 
 
 ' Children of Lir, re-tread your native land, 
 For now your long sea- penance is fulfilled ! ' 
 
 Then lo ! Finola raised the funeral cry : 
 
 ' We tread our native land that we may die ! ' 
 
 And thus she made the lay, and thus she sang : 
 ' Baptize us, priest, while living yet we be ! ' 
 
 And louder soon her dirge-like anthem rang : 
 ' Lo, thus the Children's burial I decree : 
 
 Make fair our grave where land and ocean meet ; 
 
 And t'ward thy holy Altar place our feet.
 
 1 1 2 The Children of Lir. 
 
 ' Upon my left, Fiacre ; upon my right 
 
 Let Aodh sleep ; for such their place of rest, 
 
 Secured to each by usage and by right : 
 And lay my little Conn upon my breast : 
 
 Then on a low sand pillow raise my head, 
 
 That I may see his face though I be dead.' 
 
 She spake ; and on the sands they stept the Four 
 Then lo, from heaven there came a miracle : 
 
 Soon as they left the wave, and trod the shore 
 The weight of bygone centuries on them fell : 
 
 To human forms they changed, yet human none ; 
 
 Dread, shapeless weights of wrinkles and of bone. 
 
 A moment prone the wildered creatures lay ; 
 
 Then slowly up that breadth of tawny sand, 
 Like wounded beast that can but crawl, made way 
 
 With knee convulsed, and closed and clutching hand, 
 Nine-centuried forms, still breathing mortal breath, 
 Though shrouded in the cerements pale of death. 
 
 That concourse on them gazed with many a tear ; 
 
 Yet no man uttered speech or motion made, 
 Till now the Four had reached that altar-bier, 
 
 Their ghastly pilgrimage's goal, and laid 
 Before its base their bodies, one by one, 
 And faces glistening in the rising sun.
 
 The CJdidren of Lir. 113 
 
 There lying, loud they raised the self-same cry, 
 As Patrick o'er them signed the conquering Sign, 
 
 ' Baptize us, holy Tailkenn, for we die ! ' 
 The saint baptized them in the Name Divine, 
 
 And, swift as thought, their happy spirits at last 
 
 To God's high feast and singing angels passed. 
 
 Now hear the latest wonder. While, low-bowed, 
 That concourse gazed upon the reverend dead 
 
 Behold, like changeful shapes in evening cloud, 
 Vanished those time-worn bodies ; and, instead, 
 
 Inwoven lay four children, white and young 
 
 With silver-lidded eyes and lashes long. 
 
 Finola lay, once more an eight years' child : 
 Upon her right hand Aodh took his rest, 
 
 Upon her left Fiacre ; in death he smiled : 
 Her little Conn was cradled on her breast : 
 
 And all their saintly raiment shone as bright 
 
 As sea-foam sparkling on a moonlit night ; 
 
 Or as their snowy night-clothes shone of old 
 
 When now the night was past, and Lir, their sire, 
 
 Upraised them from the warm cot's silken fold, 
 And bade them watch the sun's ascending fire, 
 
 And watched himself its beam, now here now there, 
 
 Flashed from white foot, blue eyes, or golden hair.
 
 1 14 The Children of Lir. 
 
 The men who saw that deathbed did not weep, 
 But gazed till sunset upon each fair face ; 
 
 And then with funeral psalm, and anthems deep, 
 Interred them at that sacred altar's base, 
 
 And graved their names in Ogham characters 
 
 On one white tomb ; and, close beneath them, Lir's. 
 
 Those Babes were Erin's Holy Innocents, 
 
 And first-fruits of the land to Christ their Lord, 
 
 Though born within the unbelievers' tents : 
 Figured in them the Gael his God adored, 
 
 That later-coming, holier Gael, who won 
 
 Through Faith the birthright, though the younger son
 
 THE 
 
 FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE 
 
 'THE TAIN BO CUAILGNE 1 
 
 FIVE FRAGMENTS OF AN ANCIENT IRISH EPIC
 
 TO 
 
 SIR SAMUEL FERGUSON 
 
 THIS POEM IS DEDICATED, 
 
 IN TOKEN OF GRATITUDE 
 
 FOR 'CONGAL,' AND FOR MANY POEMS BESIDE, 
 
 THAT ILLUSTRATE ARIGHT 
 THE LEGENDS OF ANCIENT IRELAND.
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 SENCHAN, the king of bards, when centuries six 
 
 Had flowered and faded since the Birth Divine, 
 
 Summoned in synod all the island bards, 
 
 Demanding ; ' Is there who can yet recite 
 
 That first of Erin's songs, " The Tain " ? ' Not one 
 
 Could sing it, save in fragments. Then arose 
 
 Marbhan, and spake ; ' Send prayer to Erin's Saints 
 
 That, bowed o'er Fergus' grave, they lift their hands 
 
 For Erin at her need.' Five Saints obeyed 
 
 And o'er that venerable spot three days 
 
 Fasting made prayer while knelt the bards around. 
 
 Then on the third day as the sun uprose 
 
 Behold ! a purple mist engirt that grave ; 
 
 And from it, fair as rainbow backed by cloud, 
 
 Shone out a kingly Phantom robed in green, 
 
 With red-brown locks, close clustered, drenched in dew, 
 
 And golden crown, and golden-hilted sword ; 
 
 His hand was on it. They who saw that Shape 
 
 Well knew him, Fergus Roy, the Exile-King,
 
 1 1 8 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Gracious as in the old days, that king rehearsed 
 
 The Tale so long desired, though many an age, 
 
 And that grey empire of departed Souls, 
 
 Had quelled at last the strong ones of that strain, 
 
 Record half jest, half earnest. Marbhan spoke 
 
 Once more ; ' Lest Erin lose again this Tale 
 
 Through fraud of demons or all-wasting time, 
 
 Amid yon Saints elect some scribe, their best, 
 
 And pray that scribe to write it.' Straight, with help 
 
 It may be, of the bards, Saint Kiaran wrote 
 
 The Heroic Song on parchment fine, the skin 
 
 Of one he loved, his ' little heifer grey ' 
 
 That gave the book its name. Six centuries passed ; 
 
 Then in Saint Kiaran's House at Clonmacnoise 
 
 That book was found, and on it ; ' Reader, here 
 
 Are histories old with later fables blent, 
 
 Fancies full fair with idle Pagan vaunts : 
 
 Now therefore, since old things have in them worth 
 
 And teach by what they hold and what they lack 
 
 Whoso shall read this book, and know to choose 
 
 'Twixt Good and 111, my blessing on him rest ! '
 
 n 9 
 
 FRAGMENT I. 
 THE CAUSE OF THE GREAT WAR. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 MEAVE, Queen of Connacht, 1 and Ailill her husband, waking one 
 morning fall into a disputation, each claiming to be the worthier of 
 the two, and the wealthier. Their lords decide that the king and 
 queen are great and happy alike in all things save one only, namely, 
 that Ailill possesses the far-famed white Bull, Fionbannah. Meave 
 hearing that Conor Conchobar, King of Uladh,* boasts a black 
 Bull mightier yet, is fain to purchase it, but cannot prevail so far. 
 She therefore declares war against Uladh. There meets her Fayth- 
 leen the Witch, who prophesies calamity, but promises that in aid 
 of Meave she will breathe over the realm of Uladh a spirit of im- 
 becility. This she does ; yet Cuchullain, unaided, afflicts the whole 
 army of Meave by exploits which to him are but sports. Fergus, 
 the exiled King of Uladh, narrates to Meave the high deeds of 
 Cuchullain wrought in his childhood. 
 
 IN Cruachan, old Connacht's palace pile, 
 
 Dwelt Meave, the queen, haughtiest of woman's kind, 
 
 A warrioress untamed that made her will 
 
 The measure of the world. The all-conquering years 
 
 Conquered not her : the strength of endless prime 
 
 1 Now Connaught. * Now Ulster.
 
 1 20 The Poray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Lived in her royal tread and breast and eye 
 
 A life immortal. Queenly was her brow ; 
 
 Fulgent her eye ; her countenance beauteous, save 
 
 When wrath o'er-flamed its beauty. With her dwelt 
 
 Ailill her husband, trivial man and quaint, 
 
 And early old. He had not chosen her : 
 
 She chose a consort who should rule her not, 
 
 And tossed him to her throne. In youth her lord 
 
 Was Conor Conchobar, great Uladh's King : 
 
 She had not found him docile to her will, 
 
 And to her sire returned. The August morn 
 
 Had trailed already on the stony floor 
 
 Its fiery beam when, laughing, Ailill woke : 
 
 He woke, awakened by a sound that shook 
 
 The forest dews to earth, Fionbannah's roar, 
 
 That snow-white Bull, the wonder of the age, 
 
 Who, born amid the lowlands of the queen, 
 
 Yet, grown to strength, o'er-leaped her bound and roamed 
 
 Thenceforth the leaner pastures of the king, 
 
 For this cause, that his spirit scorned to live 
 
 In female vassalage. 
 
 That tale recalling 
 
 King Ailill laughed : his laughter roused the queen : 
 She woke in wrath : to assuage her Ailill spake ; 
 ' Happy and blest that dame whose lord is sage ! 
 Thy fortunes, wife of mine, began that day
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 121 
 
 I called thee spouse ! ' To him the queen, ' My sire 
 
 Was Erin's A.rd-Righ ! l Daughters six had he : 
 
 I, Meave, of these was fairest and most famed ! 
 
 This Cruachan was mine before we met ; 
 
 And all the Island's princes sued my hand. 
 
 I spurned their offers ! three things I required 
 
 A warrior proved, since great at arms am I ; 
 
 A liberal hand, since lavish I of gifts ; 
 
 A man not jealous, since, in love as war, 
 
 There where I willed I ever cast mine eyes. 
 
 These merits three were yours : I beckoned to you : 
 
 Dowered you with ingots thicker than your wrist ; 
 
 Made you a king, or kingling. What of that ? 
 
 I might have chosen a better ! Yea, I count 
 
 My greatness more than yours ! ' 
 
 With treble shrill 
 
 Ailill replied ; * What words are these, my queen ? 
 My father was a king ; my brothers kings ! 
 My hoards are higher heaped than yours ; my meads 
 More deep, more rich ! ' 
 
 Then loudly stormed the queen : 
 In rushed her lords, and stood, a senate grave, 
 Circling the couch : and while, each answering each, 
 Ailill and Meave set forth in order due 
 The treasures either boasted, kine, or sheep, 
 1 Chief King.
 
 1 22 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Rich cornfield, jewel'd robe, or gem-wrought car, 
 Careful they weighed the lists in equal scale 
 And 'twixt them found in value difference none. 
 Doubtful they stood. Anon rolled forth once more 
 Fionbannah's roar ; and, leaping from his bed 
 King Ailill shouted ; ' Mine, not thine, that Bull ! 
 Through him my treasure passes thine, my queen ! 
 My worth exceeds thy worth ! ' At once forth stepped 
 Mac Roth, old Connacht's herald, with this word : 
 ' Great queen, the King of Uladh boasts a Bull 
 Lordlier than ours, a broader bulk, and black, 
 Black as the raven's wing ! In Dare's charge 
 That marvel bides, the Donn Cuailgne named 
 Because his lowings shake Cuailgne"'s shore, 
 The southern bound of Uladh. Privilege 
 He hath that neither witch nor demon tempt 
 That precinct where he harbours.' Meave exclaimed, 
 ' Fly hence, Mac Roth ! Take with thee golden store, 
 Rich garments, chariots gemmed : bid Dare" choose ; 
 But bring me back that Bull ! ' 
 
 Three days had passed 
 Then by the tower of Dare" stood Mac Roth 
 And blew his horn ; and Dare's sons with speed 
 Flung the gate wide. The herald entered in 
 And spake his message. Proudly Dare mused, 
 ' Great Meave my friendship sues ; ' and made a feast,
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 123 
 
 And, -ijrhen the wine had warmed him spake ; ' Mac 
 
 Roth! 
 
 Cuailgne's Donn is Conor's Bull, not mine : 
 Yet, though the king should hurl me outcast forth, 
 To Meave that Bull shall go and bide a year. 
 Tell her the Donn is manlike in his mind, 
 And not like Bulls. Long summer eves he stands, 
 Or paces stately up the mead and down 
 Eyeing the racing youths, or glad at heart 
 Listening the music.' Thus he pledged his faith. 
 But Dare's sons at midnight, each to each, 
 Whispered ; ' the king will chase us from the realm ! 
 He hates Queen Meave, and well he loves the Donn ; ' 
 And stood next morn beside their sire, and spake, 
 ' Mac Roth is gone a hunting : ere he went 
 He sware that you had yielded him the Donn 
 Fearing his sword.' Then Dare's heart was changed, 
 And loud by all his swearing Gods he sware 
 ' Cuailgne's Donn shall ne'er consort with Meave, 
 Nor with her kine : ' and on his gate he set 
 The castle's Fool waiting Mac Roth's return, 
 And charged him with this greeting ; ' Back to Meave ! 
 Thy queen she is, not Uladh's ! Bid her know 
 Our Donn and we revere Fionbannah's choice, 
 Her Bull, that leaped her gate and swam her flood, 
 Spurning the female rule ! '
 
 i ? 4 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Then turned Mac Roth 
 His car ; and sideway shook one hand irate ; 
 And lashed the steeds, and reached great Cruachan, 
 And, instant upon all who heard his tale 
 Like lightning fell the battle rage. The queen, 
 Sent forth her heralds, east, and west, and south, 
 Summoning her great allies. Erin, that day 
 Save Uladh only, stood conjoined with Meave, 
 Great kings, and warriors named from chiefs of old 
 Sons of Milesius ; for King Conor's craft 
 And that proud onset of the Red -Branch Knights 
 Year after year had galled their hearts. 'Twas come ! 
 The day of vengeance ! In their might they rose 
 From Eyrus' vales to utmost Cahirnane, 
 From Oileen Arda on to Borda Lu, 
 And where the loud wave breaks on Beara's isle ; 
 And by the hallowed banks of Darvra's lake 
 Where, changed to swans, the Children Four of Lir, 
 Dowerless on earth, their home the homeless waves, 
 Darkling yet gladdening gloomier hearts with light, 
 And sad yet solaced through one conquering hope, 
 By song had vanquished sorrow. From the West, 
 Came Inachall, and Adarc. Eiderkool 
 Marched, ever shrilling songs and shaking spears : 
 And, mightier far, with never slumbering hearts 
 And eyes that stared through long desire of home
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 125 
 
 Uladh's three thousand exiles, driven far forth 
 When Conor Conchobar, trampling his pledge, 
 Slaughtered the sons of Usnach. At their head 
 Rode Fergus, Uladh's King ere traitor yet 
 Had niched its royal crown ; and by his side, 
 Faithful in exile, Cormac Conlinglas, 
 King Conor's bravest son. That host the queen 
 To Ai led, where Ai's four great plains 
 Shine in the rising and the setting sun, 
 Gold-green, with all their flag-flowers, meres, and 
 
 streams : 
 
 There planted she her camp ; thence ever rang 
 Neighing of horse, and tempest song of bard, 
 And graver voice of prophet and of seer 
 Who ceased not, day or night, for fifteen days 
 From warnings to the people, ' Be ye one ; ' 
 Yet one the people were not. 
 
 Meave the while, 
 
 Resting upon those great and growing hosts 
 Her widening eyes, rejoiced within, and clutched 
 The sceptre-staff with closer grasp, and heaved 
 Higher her solid, broad, imperial breast, 
 Amorous of battle nigh at hand. Yet oft, 
 Listening those bickerings in her camp she frowned : 
 For still the chieftains strove ; and one, a king 
 Briarind, had tongue so sharp, where'er he moved
 
 126 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 A guard was round him set lest spleen of his 
 
 Should set the monarchs ravening each on each. 
 
 'The hand of Fergus,' mused she, 'that alone 
 
 Might solder yonder mass. Men note in him 
 
 His front, his voice, his stature, and his step, 
 
 The one time King of Uladh. Held he rule 
 
 He shall not for my will endures it not ! 
 
 He props my war because, long years our guest, 
 
 His honour needs not less ; with us he marches 
 
 Athirst for vengeance and his native land, 
 
 Yet scoffs our cause, and sent, spurning surprise, 
 
 To Uladh challenge loud.' Again she mused, 
 
 ' A man love- worthy if he loved again ! 
 
 At best 'twould be to him a moment's sport ! 
 
 The battle and the stag-hunt, these alone, 
 
 He counts a prince's pastimes ! ' Sudden from heaven 
 
 Eclipse there fell on Ai's spacious plains, 
 
 And shadow black ; these noting, Meave revolved 
 
 That dread Red Branch in act and counsel one ; 
 
 And, brooding thus, with inner eye she saw 
 
 No longer men but skeletons of men 
 
 Innumerable in intertangled mass 
 
 Burthening the fields far spread. Aloud she cried, 
 
 ' On to Moytura where the prophet dwells ; ' 
 
 And straight her charioteer the horses smote 
 
 And tamed them with the reins : and lo 1 what time
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 1 2 7 
 
 The noontide sun with keenest splendour blazed, 
 Right opposite upon the chariot's beam 
 There sat a wondrous woman phantom-faced 
 Singing and weaving. Shapely was that head 
 Bent o'er her web, while back the sun-like hair 
 Streamed on the wind. One hand upreared a sword : 
 Seven chains fell from it. Sea-blue were her eyes, 
 And berry-red her scornful lip ; her cheek 
 White as the snow-drift of a single night ; 
 Her voice like harp-strings when the harper's hand 
 Half drowns their pathos. Close as bark to tree 
 The azure robe clung to that virgin form 
 Sinewy and long, and reached the shining feet. 
 
 Then spake the queen ; 'What see'st thou in that 
 
 web?' 
 
 And she, ' I see a kingdom's destinies ; 
 And they are like a countenance dashed with blood : 
 Faythleen am I, the Witch,' To her the queen ; 
 ' I bid thee say what see'st thou in my host, 
 Faythleen, the Witch ! ' And Faythleen answered slow, 
 ' The hue of blood : sunset on sunset charged.' 
 Then fixed that Wild One on the North her eyes, 
 And Meave made answer ; ' In those eyes I see 
 The fates they see ; great Uladh's realm full-armed, 
 And all that Red Branch Order as one man.' 
 Faythleen replied ; ' One man alone I see ;
 
 128 The Foray of Queen Meavf.. 
 
 One man, yet mightier than a realm in arms ! 
 
 That Watch-Hound watching still by Uladh's gate 
 
 Is mightier thrice than Uladh : on his brow 
 
 Spring-tide sits throned ; yet ruin loads his hand. 
 
 If e'er Cuchullain rides in Uladh's van 
 
 Flee to thy hills and isles ! ' Meave bit her lip : 
 
 But wildly sang the Witch ; ' Faythleen am I, 
 
 Thy People's patron mid the Powers unseen : 
 
 Beware that youth invisible for speed, 
 
 Who hears that whisper none beside can hear, 
 
 Sees what none other sees ; before whose eye 
 
 The wild beast cowers, subdued ! Beware that youth 
 
 Slender as maid, whose stature in the fight 
 
 Rises gigantic. Gamesome he and mild ; 
 
 To woman reverent and the hoary hair ; 
 
 Nor alms he stints nor incense to the Gods ; 
 
 But when from heaven the anger on him breaks 
 
 Pity he knows for none. No pact with him ! 
 
 Return with speed and march to-morrow morn : 
 
 The clan of Cailitin shall yield thee aid, 
 
 That magic clan which fights with poisoned darts. 
 
 To Uladh I, above her realm to spread 
 
 Mantle of darkness, and a mind that errs, 
 
 And powerlessness, and shame.' 
 
 Due north she sped, 
 Far fleeting, wind-upborne ! 'twixt hill and cloud,
 
 The Cause of the Great War. \ 29 
 
 To Uladh's cliffs, and thence with prone descent 
 Sank to the myriad-murmuring sea wine-dark, 
 And whispered to the Genii of the deep, 
 Her sisters : then from ocean's breast there rose 
 A mist, no larger than a dead man's shroud, 
 That, slowly widening, spread o'er Uladh's realm 
 Mantle of darkness, and an erring mind, 
 And powerlessness, and shame. 
 
 The queen returned, 
 
 And reached her host what time the sunset glare 
 With omnipresent splendour girt it round, 
 Concourse immortalised. Thereon she gazed 
 High standing in her chariot, spear in hand : 
 Her too that army saw, and raised the shout. 
 But Fergus, as she passed him spake : ' not yet 
 Know'st thou my Uladh, nor the Red Branch Knights ; 
 And one man is there mightier thrice than they.' 
 Meantime within Murthemne"'s land its lord 
 Cuchullain, musing like a listening hound, 
 For many a rumour filled that time the air, 
 Sat in remote Dun Dalgan J all alone, 
 Chief city of his realm. On Uladh's verge 
 Southward that lesser realm dependent lay 
 Girt by a racing river. Silent long 
 He watched : at last he heard a sound like wind 
 1 Now Duudalk.
 
 1 30 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 In woods remote ; and earthward bowed his head ; 
 And said ; ' that sound is distant thirty leagues, 
 And huge that host ; ' then bade prepare his car, 
 And southward sped, counsel to hold as wont 
 With Faythleen nigh to Tara. 
 
 Eve grew dim 
 
 When lo ! a chariot from the woods emerged 
 In swift pursuit : an old man urged the steeds, 
 A grey old man that chattered evermore 
 With blinking eyes that ceased not from amaze. 
 That sight displeased Cuchullain : ne'ertheless 
 He stayed his course ; and Saltain soon drew nigh, 
 Clamouring, ' O son and when was son like thee 
 Forsake not thou thy father ! In old time, 
 Then when some God had laid on me his hand, 
 Dectara, my wife, immured me in my house, 
 Year after year, and weighed the lessening dole : 
 But thou, to manhood grown, though even to her 
 Reverent, didst pluck her from that place usurped, 
 Lifting thy poor old father.' At that word 
 Cuchnllain left his car, and kissed his sire, 
 And soothed his wandering wits with meat and wine ; 
 And spake dissembling ; ' lo, these mantles warm ! 
 Prescient, for thee I stored them ! Night is near ; 
 Lie down and rest.' Thus speaking, with both hands 
 Deftly he spread them wide ; and Saltain slept :
 
 The Cause of the Great War. \ 3 1 
 
 Then, tethering first the horses of his sire, 
 Lastly his own, upon the chill, wet grass 
 He likewise lay, and slept not. 
 
 On, at dawn 
 
 They drave ; but Faythleen, witch perverse of will, 
 That oft through spleenful change her purpose slew, 
 Had broken tryst ; and northward they returned. 
 That day Cuchullain clomb a rock tree-girt 
 And kenned beyond the forest's roof a host 
 Innumerable, the standards of Queen Meave, 
 And Fergus, and the great confederate kings. 
 The warrior eyed them long with bitter smile ; 
 Few words he spake : ' At fifty thousand men 
 I count them.' To his father then he turned : 
 ' Haste to Emania ! Bid the Red Branch Knights 
 \ttend me in Murthemne". I till then 
 Hang on the invaders' flank, a fiery scourge.' 
 
 Saltain made answer : ' Be it ! northward I : 
 But Dectara, thy mother, and my wife, 
 Till thou art by my side I will not see ; 
 For dreadful are her eyes as death or fate ; 
 And many deem her mad.' 
 
 He spake, and drave 
 
 Northward ; nor ceased from chatterings all day long, 
 Since, like a Poplar, vocal was the man 
 Not less than visible. Meantime his son 
 
 K 2
 
 132 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Took counsel in his heart, and made resolve 
 To skirt, in homeward course, that eastern sea, 
 The woods primeval 'twixt him and the foe, 
 Still sallying night and day through alley and glade 
 And taming thus their pride. 
 
 Three days went by : 
 
 Then stood Cuchullain where great wood-ways met ; 
 And lo ! betwixt four yews a warrior's grave, 
 The pillar-stone above it ! O'er that stone 
 In mirthful mood he twined an osier wreath, 
 Cyphering thereon his name in Ogham signs : 
 For thus he said ; ' On no man unawares 
 Fall I, but warned.' The hostile host approached, 
 And, halting stood in wonder at that wreath ; 
 Yet none could spell the Ogham. Last drew nigh 
 Fergus, and read it : on him fell that hour 
 Memories full dear, and loud he sang and long ; 
 He sang a warrior's praise : yet named him not ; 
 He sang ; ' From name of man to name of beast 
 A warrior changed : then mightiest grew of men ! ' 
 And, as he sang, the cheek of Meave grew red. 
 
 Next morn Neara's sons outsped the rest 
 Car-borne with brandished spears ; and, ere the dew 
 Was lifted, came to where Cuchullain sat 
 Beneath an oak, sporting with black-birds twain 
 That followed him for aye. Toward the youths
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 133 
 
 He waved his hand ; ' Away, for ye are young ! ' 
 In answer forth they flung their spears : he caught them, 
 And snapt them on his knee ; next, swift as fire, 
 Sprang on the twain, and slew them with his sword, 
 One blow : anon he loosed their horses' bits, 
 And they, with madness winged, rejoined the host, 
 Bearing those headless bulks. Forth looked the queen ; 
 Beheld ; and, trembling, cried ; ' It might have been 
 Orloff, my son ! ' 
 
 That eve, at banquet ranged 
 The warriors questioned Fergus ; ' Who is best 
 Among the Uladh chiefs ? ' Ere answer came 
 King Conor's son self-exiled, Conlinglas, 
 Upleaping cried, ' Cuchullain is his name ! 
 Cuchullain ! From his childhood man was he ! 
 On Eman Macha ' ever was his thought, 
 Its walls, its bulwarks, and its Red Branch Knights, 
 The wonder of the world.' Then told the prince 
 How, when his mother mocked his zeal, that child 
 Fared forth alone, with wooden sword and shield, 
 And fife, and silver ball ; and how he hurled 
 His little spears before him as he ran, 
 And caught them ere they fell ; and how, arrived, 
 He spurned great Eman's gates, and scaled its wall, 
 And lighted in the pleasaunce of the king, 
 1 Armagh.
 
 1 34 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 His mother's brother, Conor Conchobar ; 
 And how the noble youths of all that land 
 There trained in warlike arts, had on him dashed 
 With insult and with blows : and how the child 
 This way and that had hurled them, while the king 
 Who sat that hour with Fergus, playing chess, 
 Gazed from his turret wondering. 
 
 Next he told 
 
 How to that child, Setanta first, there fell 
 Cuchullain's nobler name. ' To Eman near 
 There dwelt an armourer, Cullain was his name, 
 That earliest rose, and latest with his forge 
 Reddened the night : mail-clad in might of his 
 The Red Branch Knights forth rode ; the bard, the chief 
 Claimed him for friend. One day, when Conor's self 
 Partook his feast, the armourer held discourse ; 
 " The Gods have made my house a house of fame : 
 The craftsmen grin and grudge because I prosper : 
 The forest bandits hunger for my goods, 
 Yea, and would eat mine anvil if they might 
 Trow ye what saves me, Sirs ? A Hound is mine, 
 Each eve 1 loose him, lion-like, and fell ; 
 The blood of many a rogue is on his mouth : 
 The bravest, if they hear him bay far off, 
 Flee like a deer ! " Setanta's shout rang loud 
 That moment at the gate, and, with it blent,
 
 The Cause of the Great War, 135 
 
 The baying of that hound ! " The boy is dead," 
 King Conor cried in horror. Forth they rushed 
 There stood he, bright and calm, his rigid hands 
 Clasping the dead hound's throat ! They wept for joy : 
 The armourer wept for grief. " My friend is dead ! 
 My friend that kept my house and me at peace : 
 My friend that loved his lord ! " Setanta heard 
 Then first that cry forth issuing from the heart 
 Of him whose labour wins his children's bread ; 
 That cry he honours yet. Red-cheeked he spake ; 
 " Cullain ! unwittingly I did thee wrong ! 
 I make amends. I, child of kings, henceforth 
 Abide, thy watch-hound, warder of thy house." 
 Thenceforth the ' Hound of Cullain ' ' was his name, 
 And Cullain's house well warded.' 
 
 Stern of brow 
 
 The queen arose : ' Enough of fables, lords ! 
 Drink to the victory ! Ere yon moon is dead 
 We knock at gates of Eman.' High she held 
 The crimson goblet. Instant, felt ere heard, 
 Vibration strange troubled the moonlit air ; 
 A long-drawn hiss o'er-ran it : then a cry, 
 Death-cry of warrior wounded to the death. 
 They rose : they gazed around : upon a rock 
 Cuchullain stood. The warrior said in heart, 
 1 Cu in Irish means hound.
 
 1 36 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 ' I will not slay her ; yet her pride shall die ! ' 
 
 Again that hiss : instant the golden crown 
 
 Fell from her head ! In anger round she glared : 
 
 Once more that hiss long-drawn, and in her hand 
 
 The goblet, shivered, stood ! She cast it down ; 
 
 She cried ; ' Since first I sat, a queen new-crowned, 
 
 Never such ignominy, or spleen of scorn 
 
 Hath mocked my greatness ! ' Fiercely rushed the chiefs 
 
 Against the aggressor. Through the high-roofed woods 
 
 They saw him distant like a falling star 
 
 Kindling the air with speed. Ere long, close by 
 
 He stood with sling high holden. At its sound 
 
 Ever some great one died ! 
 
 The morrow morn 
 
 Cuchullain reached a lawn : tall autumn grass 
 Whitened within it ; but the Beech trees round 
 Were russet brown, the thorn-brakes berry-flushed : 
 Passing, he raised his spear, and launched it forth 
 Earthward : there stood it buried in the soil 
 Halfway, and quivering. Loud Cuchullain laughed, 
 And cried, ' It quivers like the tail of swine 
 Gladdened by acorn feast ! ' then drew he rein 
 And with one sword-stroke felled a youngling Birch 
 And bound it to that spear, and on its bark 
 Silvery and smooth, graved with his lance's point 
 In Ogham characters the words, ' Beware !
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 137 
 
 Unless thou know'st what hand this Ogham traced 
 Twine yonder berries mid thy young bride's locks, 
 But spare to tempt that hand ! ' An hour passed by 
 And Meave had reached the spot. Chief following chief 
 Drew near in turn ; yet none could drag from earth 
 That spear deep-buried. Fergus laughed ; ' Let be 
 Connacians ! Task is here for Uladh's hand ! ' 
 Then, standing in his car, he clutched the spear 
 And tugged it thrice. The third time 'neath his feet 
 Down crashed the strong-built chariot to the ground. 
 He laughed ! The queen in anger cried, 'March on !' 
 The host advanced, disordered. Foremost drave 
 Orloff, Meave's son. That morning he had wed 
 A maid, the loveliest in his mother's court, 
 And yearned to prove his valour in her eyes. 
 Sudden he came to where Cuchullain stood 
 Pasturing his steeds with grass and flower forth held 
 In wooing, dallying hand. Cuchullain said 
 ' The queen's son this ! I will not harm the youth,' 
 And waved him to depart. That stripling turned 
 Yet, turning, hurled his javelin. As it flew 
 The swift one caught it ; poised it ; hurled it home : 
 It pierced that youth from back to breast ; he fell 
 Dead on the chariot's floor. The steeds rushed on 
 Wind-swift ; and reached the camp. There sat the 
 queen
 
 138 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Throned in her car, listening the host's applause : 
 In swoon she fell, and lay as lie the dead. 
 
 Next morn again the invaders marched, nor knew 
 What foe was he who, mocking, thinned their ranks, 
 Trampled their pride ; who, lacking spear and car, 
 Viewless by day, by night a fleeting fire, 
 Dragged down their mightiest, in the death cry shrill 
 Drowning the revel. Fergus knew the man, 
 Fergus alone ; nor yet divulged his name, 
 Oft muttering, ' These be men who fight for Bulls 
 I war to shake a Perjurer from his throne, 
 And count no brave man foe.' Again at feast 
 Ailill made question of the Red Branch Knights : 
 Fergus replied ; ' Cuchullain is their best : 
 I taught him arms ! Hear of his Knighting Day ! 
 
 ' Northward of Eman lies a pleasaunce green : 
 The Arch-Druid, Cathbad, gazer on the stars, 
 While there the youths contended, beckoned one 
 And whispered, ' Happy shall that stripling prove 
 Knighted this day ! Glorious his life, though brief ! ' 
 That hour Cuchullain stood beyond the wall 
 South of the city, yet that whisper heard ! 
 He heard, and cried ; ' Enough one day of life 
 If great my deeds, and helpful ! ' Swift of foot 
 He sped to Conor. ' I demand, great king, 
 Knighthood this day, and knighthood at thy hand.' 
 But Conor laughed ; ' Not fifteen years are thine !
 
 The Cause of the G? eat War. \ 39 
 
 Withhold thyself yet three.' That self-same hour 
 
 Old Cathbad entered, and his Druid clan, 
 
 And spake ; ' King Conor ! by my bed last night 
 
 Great Macha stood, the worship of our race, 
 
 Our strength in realms unseen. " Arise," she said ; 
 
 " To Conor speed : to him report my will : 
 
 That youth knighted this day is mine Elect ! 
 
 I, Macha, send him forth ! " 
 
 ' She spake and passed : 
 
 Trembled the place like cliffs o'er ocean caves : 
 Like thunder underground I heard her wheels 
 In echoes slowly dying. 
 
 ' Fixed and firm 
 
 King Conor stood. Sternly he made reply : 
 ' Queen Macha had her day and ruled : far down 
 Doubtless this hour she rules, or rules aloft : 
 I rule in Eman and this Uladh realm : 
 I will not knight a stripling ! ' Prophet-like 
 Up-towered old Cathbad, and his clan black-stoled. 
 This way and that they rolled prophetic bolts 
 Three hours ; and brake with warnings from the stars 
 And mandates from the synod of the Gods, 
 The king's resolve. At last he cried, ' So be it ! 
 Since Gods, like men, grow witless, be it so ! 
 The worse for Eman, and great Macha's land 
 Stand forth, my sister's son ! ' He spake and bound 
 The Geisa, and the edicts, and the vows
 
 140 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Of that dread Red Branch Order on the boy, 
 And gave him sword and lance. 
 
 ' An eye star-keen 
 
 That boy upon them fixed, and, each on each, 
 Smote them. They snapt in twain. Laughing, he cried, 
 ' Good art thou, Uncle mine ; but these are base : 
 I need a warrior's weapons ! ' Conor signed ; 
 Then brought his knaves ten swords, and lances ten : 
 Cuchullain eyed them each and snapt them all, 
 The concourse marvelling. ' Varlets,' cried the king, 
 ' Bring forth my arms of battle ! ' These in turn 
 Cuchullain proved : they brake not. Up they dragged 
 A battle-car. Cuchullain leaped therein : 
 With feet far set he spurned its brazen floor 
 That roared and sank in fragments. Chariots twelve 
 Successive thus he vanquished. ' Uncle mine, 
 Good art thou,' cried the youth ; ' but these are base ! ' 
 King Conor signed, ' My car of battle ! ' Leagh 
 The charioteer forth brought it with the steeds : 
 Cuchullain proved that war-car and it stood. 
 Careless he spake : ' So, well ! The car will serve. ! 
 Abide ye my return.' 
 
 ' He shook the reins : 
 
 He called the horses by their names well-known : 
 He dashed through Eman's gateway as a storm : 
 Far off a darksome wood and darksome tower 
 Frowned over Mallok's wave : therein abode
 
 The Cause of the Great War. 141 
 
 Three bandit chieftains, foes to man : well pleased 
 
 Those bandits eyed the on-rushing car, and youth, 
 
 Exulting in their prey : arrived, with gibes 
 
 He summoned them to judgment : forth they thronged, 
 
 They and their clan : he slew them with his sling, 
 
 The three ; and severed with his sword their heads, 
 
 And fixed them on the chariot's front. His mood 
 
 Changed into mirthful : fleeter than the wind 
 
 Six stags went by him, stateliest of the herd ; 
 
 Afoot he chased them, caught them, bound them fast 
 
 Behind the chariot rail. Birds saw he next 
 
 White as a foam-wreath of their native sea, 
 
 Spotting the glebe new turned. A net lay near : 
 
 He caged them ; next he tied them to his car 
 
 Wide-winged, and wailing loud. To Eman's towers 
 
 Returned he then with laughter : at its gate 
 
 The king, the chiefs, grey Druids, maids red-cloaked, 
 
 Agape to see him on his chariot's front 
 
 The grim heads of those bandits ; in its rear 
 
 Those stags wide-horned ; and, high o'erhead the birds ! ' 
 
 The laughter ceasing, spake King Conor's son ; 
 ' Recount the wonder of those fairy steeds 
 That drag Cuchullain's war-car ! ' Fergus then, 
 Despite Queen Meave, who plaited still her robe 
 With angry hectic hand, the tale began. 
 
 ' Cuchullain paced the herbage thin that clothes 
 Slieve Fuad's summit. On that airy height
 
 142 Tke Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 A wan lake glittered, whitening in the blast, 
 
 Pale plains around it. From beneath that lake 
 
 Emerged a horse foam-white ! Cuchullain saw, 
 
 And straightway round that creature's neck high-held 
 
 Locked the lithe arms no struggles could unwind. 
 
 That courser baffled clothed his strength with speed : 
 
 From cliff to cliff he sped ; cleared at a bound 
 
 Inlet, and rocky rift ; nor stayed his course, 
 
 Men say, till he had circled Erin's Isle. 
 
 Panting then lay he, on his conqueror's knee 
 
 Resting his head ; thenceforth that conqueror's friend, 
 
 His 'Liath Macha.' Gentle-souled is she 
 
 ' Sangland,' the wild one's comrade. As the night 
 
 Sank on those huge red-berried woods of Yew 
 
 Loch Darvra's girdle, from beneath the wave 
 
 She issued, darker still. Softly she paced, 
 
 As though with woman's foot, the grassy marge 
 
 In violets diapered, and laid her head 
 
 Upon Cuchullain's shoulder. In his wars 
 
 Emulous those mated marvels drag his car : 
 
 In peace he yokes them never.' 
 
 Fergus rose : 
 
 ' Night wanes,' he said, 'and tasks await my hand : ' 
 Passing the throne he whispered thus the queen, 
 ' The Hound of Uladh is your visitant 
 Both day and night' The cheek of Meave grew pale.
 
 143 
 
 FRAGMENT II. 
 THE DEEDS OF CUCHULLAIN. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 FERGUS is sent to Cuchullain with gifts, and requires him to forsake 
 King Conor. This he will not do, yet consents to forbear Meave's 
 host till she has reached the border of Uladh, the queen engaging 
 that the warfare shall then be restricted to a combat between him- 
 self and a single champion sent against him day by day. Each day 
 Meave's champion is slain. Cailitin, lord of the Magic Clan, 
 counsels Meave to send against Cuchullain his best-loved friend 
 Ferdla ; yet she sends, instead, Lok Mac Favesh. When he too 
 falls, Cailitin and his twenty-seven sons, all magicians, fling them- 
 selves upon Cuchullain to slay him. Cuchullain slays them. The 
 Mor Reega, the War-Goddess of the Gael, prophesies to him that 
 there yet awaits him the greatest of his trials. After ninety days of 
 combat Cuchullain's father brings him tidings that all Uladh lies 
 bound under a spell of imbecility. 
 
 THUS ever day by day, and night by night, 
 Through strength of him that mid the royal host 
 Passed, and re-passed like thought, the bravest fell ; 
 For ne'er against the inglorious or the small 
 That warrior raised his hand. Then Ailill spake ; 
 ' Let Fergus seek that champion in the woods, 
 Gift-laden, and withdraw him from his king : '
 
 1 44 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 But Fergus answered ; ' Sue and be refused ! 
 That great one loves his country. Heard ye never 
 How when King Conor's sin, that forfeit pledge 
 Plighted with Usnach's sons, had left the Accursed 
 Crownless, and Eman's bulwarks in the dust, 
 Her elders on Cuchullain worked, what time 
 He came my work of vengeance to complete ? 
 They said, " Cuchullain loves his land o'er all ! 
 The man besides, though terrible to foes, 
 Is tender to the weak. Through Eman's streets 
 Send ye proclaim, ' Will any holy Maid 
 To save the city take her station sole 
 On yonder bridge, at parting of the ways, 
 That city's Emblem-Victim, robed in black 
 Down from her girdle to the naked feet ; 
 Above that girdle this alone the chains 
 Of Eman's gate, circling that virgin throat 
 And down at each side streaming? It may be 
 That dread one will relent, pitying in her 
 Great Uladh's self despoiled of robe and crown, 
 Her raiment bonds and shame.' Of Eman's maids 
 But one, the best and purest gave consent : 
 Alone she stood at parting of the ways : 
 While near and nearer yet that war-car drew 
 Wide-eyed she stood, death -pale : it stopp'd : she spake 
 Eman, thy Mother, stands a widow now :
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 145 
 
 And many a famished babe that wrought no ill 
 Lies mid her ruins wailing." To the left 
 The warrior turned his steeds. The land was saved.' 
 Then spake the kings confederate ; ' Hard albeit 
 That task, to draw Cuchullain from his charge, 
 Seek him, and proffer terms ! ' Fergus next morn 
 Made way through those sea-skirting woods, and cried 
 Three times, ' Setanta ; ' and Cuchullain heard 
 And knew that voice, and, beaming, issued forth, 
 And clasped his ancient master round the neck, 
 And led him to his sylvan cell. Therein 
 Long time they held discourse of ancient days 
 Heaven-fair through mist of years. The youthful host 
 Set forth their rural feast, whate'er the woods 
 And they that in them dwelt, swine-herds, and hinds, 
 Yielded, their best : nor lacked it minstrel strain, 
 Bird-song by autumn chilled, that brake through bou 
 Lit by unwarming sunshine. Banquet o'er, 
 Fergus his errand shewed, and named the gifts 
 By Ailill sent, and Meave. Cuchullain rose 
 And curtly answered ; ',Never will I break 
 My vow ; nor wrong the land ; nor sell my king : ' 
 Fergus too royal was to hear surprised, 
 Or grieved, his friend's resolve, nor touched again 
 Upon that pact unworthy. Happier themes 
 Succeeded, mirthful some. Of these the last 
 L
 
 146 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Made sport of Ailill. Fergus spake ; ' One night 
 
 To Heave's pavilion swift of foot I sped ; 
 
 War-tidings wait not. Ailill from afar 
 
 Furtively followed, stung by jealous spleen. 
 
 The queen had passed into the inner tent ; 
 
 I sought her there. In the outer Ailill marked 
 
 My sword, that morning thither sent, a loan, 
 
 For Meave had vowed with braided gems, her boast, 
 
 To out-brave its hilt His wrath was changed to joy 
 
 He snatched it up ; he cried ; " Hail, forfeit mine ! 
 
 Hail Eric just ! " and laughed his childish laugh. 
 
 Since then he neither frowns on me nor smiles : 
 
 He will not let me rule his foolish kings ; 
 
 Yet, deeming still my sword a charm 'gainst fate 
 
 Wears it. An apter one for him I keep : 
 
 One day 'twill raise a laugh ! ' In graver mood 
 
 At parting Fergus spake ; ' For thee unmeet 
 
 That pact of Meave, though not for her : but thou 
 
 Conceal not, know'st thou meeter terms, and fit ? ' 
 
 To whom Cuchullain ; ' Fergus, terms there be, 
 
 Other, and fitter. I divulge them not : 
 
 Divine them he that seeks them ! ' On the morn 
 
 Fergus these things narrated to the chiefs 
 
 In synod met Then rose a recreant churl, 
 
 And thus gave counsel ; ' Lure Cuchullain here 
 
 On pretext fair ; and slay him at the feast ! '
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 147 
 
 Against that recreant Fergus hurled his spear, 
 And slew him, and continued, ' Hundreds six, 
 Our best, have perished, and our march is slow : 
 Now, warriors, hear my counsel, and my terms. 
 Cuchullain scorns your gifts of such no more ! 
 Twixt southern Erin and my Uladh's realm, 
 Runs Neeth : across that river lies a ford ; 
 Speak to Cuchullain ; " By that ford stand thou, 
 Guarding thy land. Against thee, day by day, 
 Be ours to send one champion one alone : 
 While lasts that strife forbear the host beside ! " ' 
 
 Then roared the kings a long and loud applause, 
 Since wise appeared that counsel : faith they pledged, 
 And sureties in the hearing of the Gods : 
 Likewise Cuchullain, when his friend returned, 
 Made answer ; ' Well you guessed ! a month or more 
 My strength will hold : meantime our Uladh arms.' 
 To seal that pact he sought the hostile camp, 
 And shared the banquet. Wondering, all men gazed, 
 And maidens, lifted on the warriors' shields, 
 Gladdened, so bright that youthful face. At morn 
 Meave, when the chief departed, kissed his cheek : 
 ' Pity,' she said, ' that such a one should die ! ' 
 The one sole time that Meave compassion felt. 
 
 That eve Cuchullain drank the wave of Neeth, 
 And wading reached Murthemne"'s soil, his charge 

 
 T 48 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 And knelt, and kissed it. As the sun declined 
 He clomb a rocky height, and northward gazed, 
 And cried ; ' Ye Red Branch warriors, haste ! I keep 
 The ford ; but who shall guard it when I die ? ' 
 
 Next morning by that stream the fight began, 
 Two champions face to face : and, every morn, 
 Rang out, renewed, that combat ; every eve 
 Again went up from that confederate host 
 The shout of rage. Daily their bravest died , 
 Thirty in thirty days. Feerbraoth fell ; 
 And Natherandal, though the Druid horde 
 Above his javelins, carved at set of moon 
 From the ever-sacred holly stem, had breathed 
 Vain consecration, and with futile salve 
 Anointed them : confuted soon they sailed 
 In ignominy adown that seaward tide 
 With him that hurled them. Eterconnel next, 
 Dalot, and Cuir. Yet he who laid them low 
 Was beardless at the lip : While thus they strove 
 A second month went by. 
 
 Such things beholding 
 
 The queen was moved ; and in her grew one day 
 Craving for Cruachan. But on her ear 
 Rolled forth that hour the lowings of that Bull 
 Cuailgne"'s Donn : for he from Dare's house 
 Had heard, though far, the clamours of the host,
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 1 49 
 
 And answered rage with rage. Then Meave resolved, 
 Though all my host should perish to a man 
 This foot shall tread no more my native plains 
 Save with that Bull in charge ! 
 
 To her by night 
 
 Came Cailitin, who ever walked by night 
 Shunning mankind, and Fergus most of all, 
 Cailitin, father of the Magic Clan, 
 And thus addressed her ; ' Place in me thy trust ! 
 I hate Cuchullain, for he hates my spells 
 Resting his hope on virtue. In thy camp 
 Ferdia bides, a Firbolg feared of all. 
 Win him to meet Cuchullain. They in youth 
 Were friends : to slay that friend will lay a hand 
 Icy as death upon Cuchullain's heart. 
 Ferdia dies thus much mine art foreshews 
 Then I, since magic spells have puissance most 
 Upon a soul depressed and body sick, 
 Fall on him with my seven and twenty sons, 
 Magicians all. One are we : thence with one 
 May fight, thy pledge unflawed. A drop of blood 
 Shed by our swords, though small as beetle's eye, 
 Costs him his life.' Fiercely the queen replied, 
 ' A Firbolg ! Never ! ' Cailitin resumed, 
 ' Then send for Lok Mac Favesh ! ' 
 
 With the morn*
 
 1 50 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Mac Favesh sought her tent. Direful his mien ; 
 
 Massive his stride ; his body brawny and huge ; 
 
 For, though of Gaelic race, the stock of Ir, 
 
 With him was mingled giant blood of old, 
 
 Wild blood of Nemedh's brood that hurled sea rocks 
 
 'Gainst the Fomorian. Oft the advancing tide 
 
 Drowned both, in battle knit. Before the queen 
 
 Boastful the sea-king laid his club, and spake : 
 
 ' Queen, though to combat with a beardless boy 
 
 Affronts my name, my lineage, and my strength, 
 
 His petulance shall vex thine eye no more ! 
 
 Uladh is thine to-morrow ! ' At the dawn 
 
 By hundreds girt, the great ones of his clan, 
 
 Down drave he to the ford, and onward strode 
 
 Trampling the last year's branches strewn hard by 
 
 That snapp'd beneath him. Hides of oxen seven 
 
 Sustained the brazen bosses of his shield ; 
 
 And forth he stretched a hand that might have grasped 
 
 A tiger's throat and choked him. O'er his helm 
 
 Hovered an imaged demon raven-black. 
 
 Cuchullain met him ; hours endured the strife, 
 
 That mountained strength triumphant now, anon 
 
 Cuchullain's might divine. Then first that might 
 
 Was fully tasked. Upon the bank that day 
 
 Stood up a Portent seen by none save him, 
 
 A Shape not human. Terribly it fixed
 
 The Deeds of Cuchiillain, 1 5 1 
 
 On him alone its never-wandering eye \ 
 The dread Mor Reega, she that from the skies 
 O'er-rules the battle-fields, and sways at will 
 This way or that the sable tides of death. 
 He gazed ; and, though incapable of fear, 
 Awe, such as heroes feel, possessed his heart : 
 Its beatings shook his brain : his corporal mould 
 Throbbed as a branch against some river swift ; 
 And backward turned his hair like berried trails 
 Of thorn athwart the hedge. Three several times 
 He saw her, yet fought on. With beckoning hand 
 At last that Portent summoned from the main 
 A huge sea-snake : round him it twined its knots : 
 Then on Cuchullain fell the rage from heaven : 
 A sword- blow, and that vast sea-worm lay dead ! 
 A sword uplifted, and Mac Favesh fell 
 Prone on the shuddering flood. In death he cried, 
 ' Lay me with forehead turned to Uladh's realm ; 
 They shall not say that fugitive I died.' 
 Cuchullain wrought his will : then, bleeding fast, 
 Stood upright, leaning on his spear aslant ; 
 A warrior battle -wearied. 
 
 From the bank 
 
 Meantime, the dark magician, Cailitin, 
 He and his sons, with wide and greedy eyes, 
 That still, like one man's eyes, together moved,
 
 152 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Had watched that fight, counting each drop that fell 
 Down from Cuchullain's wounds. When faint he stood 
 At once their cry rang out like one man's cry ; 
 Like one their seven and twenty javelins flew : 
 As swift, Cuchullain caught them on his shield : 
 An instant more, and all that horde accursed 
 Was dealing with him. From the trampled ford 
 Went up a mist of spray that veiled that strife, 
 Though pierced by demon cries, and flash beside 
 Of demon swords. O'er it at last up-towered 
 On-borne, such power to blend have Spirits impure, 
 A single Form as when o'er seas storm-laid 
 The watery column reels, and draws from heaven 
 The cloud, and drowns the ship a single Form, 
 And Head, and Hand, clutching Cuchullain's crest : 
 Not wholly sank he. O'er that mist of spray 
 Glittered his sword. There fell a silence strange : 
 Slowly that mist dispersed ; and on the sands 
 That false Enchanter lay with all his sons 
 Black, bleeding bulks of death. 
 
 Amid them stood 
 
 Cuchullain ; near him, seen by him alone, 
 That dread Mor Reega, now benign. She spake : 
 ' I hated thee, since less in me thy trust 
 Than in great Virtue's aid. I hate no more.
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 153 
 
 Be strong ! a trial waits thee heavier yet 
 No man is friend of mine till trial-proved.' 
 
 Yet sad at heart that eve Cuchullain clomb 
 His wonted rock, and faint with loss of blood, 
 And mused ; ' My strength must lessen day by day ; 
 And northward gazed, thus murmuring ; ' All too late 
 To save the land those Red Branch Knights will come 
 When I am dead 
 
 My war-car, and my war-steeds are far off 
 And I am here alone.' Through grief that night 
 He slept not ; for the Magic Clan had power, 
 Though dead, to lean above him as a cloud 
 Darkening his spirit. Happy days gone by 
 They changed to grief and shame. 
 
 While thus he sat 
 
 He saw, not distant, on the forest floor, 
 In moonbeams clad, though moon was near him none, 
 A pure and princely presence. Lithe his form 
 In youthful prime : chain armour round him clung 
 Bright as if woven of diamonds. Glad his eye ; 
 Dulcet his voice as strain from Elfin glen 
 Far heard o'er waters. Thus that warrior spake : 
 ' My child, an ancestor of thine I come, 
 Great Ethland's son, in virtuous battle slain. 
 Among the Sidils now, and fairy haunts
 
 154 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Moon-lit, and under depths of lucent lakes, 
 Gladness I have who in my day had woe, 
 And youth perpetual though I died in age. 
 Repose thou need'st : for sixty days thine eyes 
 Have closed reluctant. Sleep a three days' sleep 
 Whilst I thy semblance bearing meet thy foes.' 
 Thus spake the youth, then sang Lethean song, 
 And, straight, Cuchullain slept. Three days gone by, 
 Again that vision came. ' Arise,' he said : 
 The warrior rose ; and lo ! his wounds were healed : 
 Down to the river sped he. 
 
 Waiting there 
 
 Stood up larion, champion of the queen, 
 There stood, nor thence returned. Eochar next 
 Perished, then Tubar, Chylair, Alp, and Ord, 
 In all full ninety warriors. Ninety days 
 Had fled successive since that strife began, 
 When, on the evening of the ninetieth day, 
 His strength entire, and victory eagle-winged 
 Fanning his ardent cheek, Cuchullain scaled 
 Once more that specular rock. Within his heart 
 Spirit illusive that, with purpose veiled, 
 Oft tries the loftiest most, this presage sang 
 ' Southward, not distant, thou shalt see them march 
 At last, that Red Branch Order, in their van 
 Thy Conal Carnach ! ' Other spectacle
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 155 
 
 Met him, a chariot small with horses small, 
 
 And, o er the axle bent, a small old man 
 
 Urging them feebly on. It was his sire ! 
 
 T'wards him Cuchullain rushed : the old man wept, 
 
 For gladness wept, and afterwards for woe, 
 
 Kissing the wounds unnumbered of his son : 
 
 Reverent, Cuchullain led him to his cell ; 
 
 Reverent, he placed before him wine and meat ; 
 
 Nor questioned yet. The old man satisfied, 
 
 Garrulity returned, though less than once, 
 
 Now quelled by patriot passion. Thus he spake : 
 
 ' Setanta ! son of mine ! I bring ill news : 
 
 Uladh is mad ; the Red Branch House is mad : 
 
 We two are mad ; and all the world are mad, 
 
 Mad as thy mother ! Through the realm I sped : 
 
 A mist hung o'er it heavy, and on her sons 
 
 Imbecile spirit, and a heartless mind, 
 
 And base soul-sickness. Evermore I cried, 
 
 " Arise ! the stranger's foot is on your soil : 
 
 They come to stall their horses in your halls ; 
 
 To slay your sons ; enslave your spotless maids ; 
 
 Alone my son withstands them ! " Shrewd of eye 
 
 Men answered ; " Merchant ; see thy wares be sound ! 
 
 No lack-wits we ! " Old seers I saw that decked 
 
 Time-honoured foreheads with a jester's crown : 
 
 I saw an ollamb trample under foot
 
 1 56 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 His sacred Oghams : next I saw him grave 
 
 His own blear image on the tide-washed sands, 
 
 Boasting, "The unnumbered ages here shall stoop 
 
 Honouring true Wisdom's image." Shepherds'set 
 
 The wolf to guard their fold. The wittof bade 
 
 The losel lead his wife to feast and dance : 
 
 Young warriors looked on maids with woman's eyes. 
 
 I drave to Dare*'s Dun : his loud-voiced sons 
 
 Adored the Donn Cuailgnd as their sire, 
 
 And called their sire a calf. To Iliach's tower 
 
 I sped : he answered ; " What ! the foe ! they corne ! 
 
 Climb we yon apple trees, and garner store ! 
 
 Wayfarers need much victual ! " Onward next 
 
 To Sencha's castle : On the roof he knelt, 
 
 Self-styled the kingdom's chief astrologer, 
 
 Waiting the unrisen stars. To Olchar's Dun 
 
 I journeyed : wrapp'd in rags the strong man lay, 
 
 Thin from long fast ; with eyelids well nigh closed : 
 
 Not less beneath them lay a gleaming streak : 
 
 " Awake me not," he said : " a dormouse I ! 
 
 Till peace returns I simulate to sleep." 
 
 I sought the brothers Nemeth : one his eyes 
 
 Bent on the smoke-wreath from his chimney's top, 
 
 One on the foam-streak wavering down the stream ; 
 
 While each a finger raised, and said " Tread light ! 
 
 Our earth is grass o'er glass ! " I sought the mart :
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 157 
 
 Men babbled ; " Bid the Druids find the king ! " 
 
 I sought the Druids' College : in a hall 
 
 Reed-strewn to smother sound they held debate 
 
 On Firbolg and Dedannan contracts pledged 
 
 Ere landed first the Gael. The Red Branch House 
 
 Was changed to hospital ; and knights full-armed 
 
 Nodded o'er lepers' beds. I sought the king : 
 
 From hall deserted on to hall I roamed : 
 
 I found him in his armoury walled around 
 
 With mail of warriors dead. There stood, or lay, 
 
 The chiefs by Uladh worshipp'd. Nearest, crouched 
 
 Great Conal Carnach patting of his sword 
 
 Like nurse that lulls an infant On his throne 
 
 Sat Conch obar in miniver and gold : 
 
 His eyes were on his grandsire's shield that breathed 
 
 At times a sigh athwart the steel-lit gloom : 
 
 Around his lips an idiot's smile was curled : 
 
 " What will be will be," spake the king at last : 
 
 " All things go well." ' 
 
 Thus Saltain told his tale : 
 One thing he told not how, a moment's space, 
 The passion of an old man's scorn had wrought 
 Deliverance strange for that astonished throng, 
 High miracle of nature. He, the man 
 Despised since youth, the laughter of the crowd, 
 Himself restored to youth by change like death,
 
 1 58 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Had rolled his voice abroad, a mighty voice ; 
 
 They heard it : from their trance they burst : they stood 
 
 Radiant once more with mind ! They stood till died 
 
 The noble anger's latest echo. Then 
 
 That mist storm- riven put forth once more its hand, 
 
 And downward dragged its prey. 
 
 Upon his feet 
 
 Cuchullain sprang, his father's tale complete : 
 That rage divine which gave him strength divine 
 Had fallen on him from heaven. He raised his hands, 
 And roared against the synod of the Gods 
 That suffer shames below. Beyond the stream 
 That host confederate heard and armed in haste, 
 And slept that night in armour. Far away 
 Compassion touched the strong hearts of the Gods, 
 The strongest most Mor Reega's. Ere that cry 
 Had left its last vibration on the air 
 High up the Battle- Goddess, adamant-mailed, 
 Was drifting over Uladh. Eman's towers 
 Flashed back her helmet's beam. With lifted spear 
 She smote the brazen centre of her shield 
 Three times ; and thunder, triple-bolted, rolled 
 Three times from sea to sea. The spell was snapp'd : 
 Humanity returned to man ! The first 
 Who woke was Leagh, Cuchullain's charioteer : 
 Forth from the opprobrious mist he passed like ship
 
 The Deeds of Cuchullain. 1 59 
 
 That cleaves the limit of some low marsh-fog 
 
 And sweeps into main ocean. Forth he rushed 
 
 Forth to Cuchullain's chariot-house, and dragged 
 
 Abroad that war-car feared of man and yoked 
 
 White Liath Macha, and his comrade black, 
 
 And dashed adown the vacant, echoing streets, 
 
 And passed the gateway towers : the warders slept : 
 
 Beyond them, propp'd against the city wall, 
 
 A cripple crunched his mouldering crust. Still on 
 
 He rushed, the reins forth shaking and the scourge, 
 
 Clamouring and crying ; ' Haste, Cuchullain's steeds ! 
 
 On Liath Macha ! Sable Sangland on ! 
 
 Your master needs you ! Aye ! ye know it now ! 
 
 The blood-red nostril smells the fight far off ! 
 
 On to Murthemne", and Cuailgne"'s hills, 
 
 And Neeth's remembered ford ! ' Unseen he drave ; 
 
 So slowly, clinging still to brake and rock, 
 
 And oft re-settling, vanished from the land 
 
 The insane mist That hurricane of wheels 
 
 Not less was heard by men who nothing saw : 
 
 On stony plain, in hamlet, and in vale : 
 
 They muttered as in sleep ; ' Deliverance comes.'
 
 i6o 
 
 FRAGMENT III. 
 THE COMBAT AT THE FORD. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 QUEEN MEAVE sends her herald to Ferdia the Firbolg, requiring 
 him to engage with Cuchullain in single combat. Ferdia refuses 
 to fight against his ancient friend ; yet, later he attends a royal 
 banquet given in his honour ; and there, being drawn aside through 
 the witcheries of the Princess Finobar, he consents to the fight. The 
 charioteer of Ferdia sees Cuchullain advancing in his war-car to the 
 Ford, and, rapt by a prophetic spirit, sings his triumph. For two 
 days the ancient friends contend against each other with reluctance 
 and remorse : but on the third day the battle-rage bursts fully forth : 
 and on the fourth, Cuchullain, himself pierced through with wounds 
 innumerable, slays Ferdia by the Gae-Bulg. He lays his friend 
 upon the bank, at its northern side, and, standing beside him, sings 
 his dirge. 
 
 MEANTIME the queen, ere dawned that ninetieth morn, 
 
 Mused, ill at ease ; ' Daily my people die, 
 
 And many a stormy brow on me is bent : 
 
 What if they turn on me like starving hounds 
 
 That rend their huntsman ? ' In her ear once more 
 
 Sounded the word of Cailitin ; ' The man 
 
 To fight Cuchullain is the man he loves :
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 1 6 r 
 
 His death were death to both.' Then came the kings 
 
 Confederate, saying ; ' Send Ferdia forth ! 
 
 Ferdla is the mightiest of our host : 
 
 Ferdia is Cuchullain's chief of friends : 
 
 Westward of Alba in the Isle of Skye 
 
 Scatha, that rock-browed northern warrioress, 
 
 In amplest lore of battles trained them both : 
 
 Except the Gae-Bulg, every feat of arms 
 
 Is known to each alike.' 
 
 The queen gave way : 
 She sent her herald to the man she scorned 
 With offers huge, tract vaster than his own 
 Not barren like his mountains billow-beat, 
 But laughing in the lap of Ai's plains ; 
 A war-car deftly carved and ribbed with brass ; 
 And, for his clansmen, raiment of all dyes, 
 Twelve suits. A stalwart man, yet fair as strong 
 The Firbolg towered, dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale-faced, 
 Unlike the Gael. Melodious was his voice 
 But deeper than a lion's. Ceaseless thought 
 On immemorial wrongs he brooded still 
 O'er glories of Moytura, and Tailltenn, 
 Their great assemblies, and their solemn games, 
 And kingly graves had cast upon his brow 
 Perpetual shade ; and ever, on the march, 
 If high on crags there stood some Gaelic tomb 
 M
 
 1 62 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Wind -worn a thousand years, he passed it by 
 
 With face averse, muttering, ' New men ! New men ! 
 
 We note not such ! ' The herald's task discharged, 
 
 He answered thus, not turning ; ' Tell your queen 
 
 That I, a Firbolg, serve, but not for hire, 
 
 A cause not mine. Cuchullain is my friend : 
 
 Better I died than he ! ' 
 
 O'er-awed though wroth 
 The queen despatched in statelier embassage 
 Three warriors, and three ollambs, and three bards : 
 With reverence they addressed him. ' Chief and Prince ! 
 True prince, though scion of a house deject, 
 The queen, who judges all men by their deeds, 
 This day hath in thine honour made a feast 
 And sues to it thy presence. Kings alone 
 Partake that banquet ; Ailill first, and she 
 Of princesses the fairest, Finobar ! ' 
 Scornful the Firbolg answered ; ' Finobar ! 
 She whose bright face hath frosted with death's white 
 Full four score faces of war-breathing men 
 Sent to that Ford successive ! Let it be ! 
 Tell them I join their feast : tell them beside 
 Their bribe shall prove base gold ! ' 
 
 In mantle blue 
 
 Clasped by a silver torque, and silver belt 
 Enringed with silver rings innumerable
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 163 
 
 That evening from his tent Ferdia strode 
 With large attendance. Ailill and the queen 
 Received him on their threshold. At the board 
 Princes alone had place. High up, o'er each 
 Glittered upon the wall his blazoned shield. 
 King Ailill placed Ferdia on his right ; 
 Beyond him sat the Princess. In her ear 
 Her mother whispered as she neared that seat : 
 She answered with her eyes. 
 
 Well stricken harp 
 
 Gladdened that festive throng ; and many a tale, 
 The rage of hunger lessening by degrees, 
 Ailill recounted of the heroic past, 
 When, youthful yet, he ranged 'mid friends and foes 
 Such men as breathed no longer. Servitors 
 Brimmed oft the goblets ; and Ferdla's brow, 
 As song to song succeeded, tale to tale, 
 Remitted its first sternness. Finobar 
 Unconsciously had dropp'd her jewell'd hand 
 Not far from his : her large and dusky eyes, 
 Shyly at first from his withdrawn, at last 
 Full frankly met them : on her lips the smile 
 Increased, though waveringly, then waned, not died, ' 
 And in it sadness mingled as she spake : 
 ' But late yon harper told us of a dream 
 My earliest of remembered dreams was sad ;
 
 1 64 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 I saw some princess of your earlier stock 
 
 Whose lover late had perished, slain in fight 
 
 By ours, methought them recent. At her feet 
 
 Why there I scarcely know I made lament : 
 
 " All thou hast lost for thy sake I renounce : 
 
 For me, like thee, no bridal rites forever ! 
 
 Dead on thy marriage garland lies mine own ; 
 
 For lo ! the stain accursed is on our sword : 
 
 Thy race came first : this Island should be theirs ! " 
 
 Ferdla listened ; and the icy pride 
 
 Thawed in his bosom. With a sudden change 
 
 The jubilant music into martial soared, 
 
 Wild battle-chaunt. Upon the warrior's hand 
 
 Still nigh to hers, there lay a scar. With eye 
 
 Reverently dewed the princess gazed thereon : 
 
 ' Aye, of your war-deeds I have heard so long, 
 
 It seems as though since childhood Whence that wound? 
 
 What battle left it there ? What sister bound it ? 
 
 I would that sister were my sister too, 
 
 Partaker of my heart, my hope, my life : 
 
 I have no youthful friend ! ' She paused : again 
 
 But now with paler cheek, and hurried, spake : 
 
 ' Beware my mother ! She would send you forth 
 
 Her knight to meet Cuchullain ! Shun that man ! 
 
 Cuchullain spares not : four score warriors dead 
 
 Avouch it. Chief of Gaels is he ! Ah me !
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 165 
 
 The last great battle 'twixt the old race and new 
 Would find the same sad ending as the first* 
 The Firbolg frowned : she faltered, ' Am I false, 
 False to my race ' and tears were in her voice 
 ' False to my race, who cannot wish such ending ? ' 
 She paused ; again she questioned of his wars : 
 He told her of his sire's. Like one who thinks 
 Not speaks, she murmured low ; ' A soothsayer 
 Thus warned my mother I was then a child 
 " Bring not that maid to war-fields ! She shall die 
 Grieving for some dead warrior."' 
 
 Changed once more 
 
 The martial songs to amorous and of mirth, 
 And once again the torches' golden flame 
 Laughed on the cup new-brimmed. Again she spake, 
 That lovesome one, ' I love not songs of love ! 
 Better the war-song ! Best, methinks, of all 
 That lullaby half war and sorrow half 
 Breathed by some bride while o'er her wounded lord 
 Softly descends the sleep : so softly sank 
 Cold dews of evening on this flower still wet.' 
 She took it from her breast, and held it near : 
 He smelt it ; kissed it ; kept it. With a smile 
 She added ; ' For your sister ? Have you one ? 
 If so, 'tis likely she resembles me : 
 They chide me oft ; " No Gaelic face is thine,
 
 1 66 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Dark-eyed, dark-browed, a rebel since its birth ! " ' 
 
 She ceased ; again she spake. : ' Even now, methinks, 
 
 That lullaby I spake of I can hear ! 
 
 Is it for thee, my friend, or Cuchullain ? ' 
 
 That hand, of flower amerced, drew nearer yet 
 
 To his. That smile had passed. Tearful she turned 
 
 On him those luminaries of love and death, 
 
 Her eyes, like stars in midnight waters glassed ; 
 
 Turned them, but spake no longer. Through his brain 
 
 Shivered their shrouded lustre ; through his blood : 
 
 The sanguine currents from the warrior's heart 
 
 Long sad, to female sympathies unused, 
 
 Drank up at once that splendour, and the tears 
 
 That splendour's strange eclipse. 
 
 And yet, that hour, 
 
 Seen in some lonelier region of his soul 
 Another presence, O how different, stood ! 
 Again, that hour, he saw those guileless eyes, 
 Blue as the seas they gazed on ; saw once more 
 That hair like winter sunshine, brow snow-white, 
 That unvoluptuous form and virginal, 
 That love-unwakened breast with love for all, 
 Those hands that knew not what their touch conferred, 
 Those blithesome, wave-washed, scarce divided feet : 
 The huge cliff smiled upon her ; seemed to say, 
 ' Ah little nursling mine ! Ah tender child
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 167 
 
 Of winds and rocks untender ! ' 
 
 Had he loved ? 
 
 Sadness is celibate and eremite : 
 His converse long had been with injuries past, 
 In Scatha's isle with frowning crags and clouds 
 Aye, but with one beside, a friend, his nearest, 
 Who loved that maid, and sued her grace. Ferdia 
 Had never spoken love ; nor thought, ' I love : ' 
 And yet, that hour, was false. 
 
 A hundred harps 
 
 Rang out together, and the feast was o'er : 
 Murmured the rose-red lips ; but what they said 
 He heard not. Mournfully at last withdrew 
 Those eyes, like eyes fated thenceforth to bear 
 One image on till death. She joined her mother. 
 
 The queen, as he departed, took his hand : 
 Alone they stood : she spake : ' That noble scorn 
 Which spurned a bribe, approves a Firbolg's worth : 
 'Twas Ailill sent that herald. 'Twas not I. 
 I know you now, and proffer royal terms 
 Confirmed by guarantee of all our kings : 
 Accept this combat ; and the princess wed ! 
 Ferdia ! I have made that offer thrice 
 To three dead warriors with the king's consent, 
 Never till now with hers ! ' 
 
 He pledged his word :
 
 1 68 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 The battle day was fixed ; the morrow morn : 
 
 She took that glittering torque whose splendours clasped 
 
 Her mantle red ; with it his mantle bound : 
 
 Then with attendance to his tent he passed. 
 
 Meantime, that night within his forest lair 
 In dreams Cuchullain lay, and saw in dreams, 
 Not recent fights, but ocean and that isle 
 Where with Ferdia he had dwelt in youth, 
 With Scatha and another. And in dream 
 He mused ; ' The dearest of my friends survives : 
 These wars will pass ; Ferdia then and I 
 Thenceforth are one for aye ! ' That self-same hour 
 Sadly from troubled sleep the Firbolg woke, 
 Murmuring, as one in trance, ' Against my friend ! 
 Against my only friend ! ' With gloomy brows 
 His clansmen watched him arming. One sole man 
 They feared ; that man Cuchullain. Morn the while 
 Was dawning, though nor glowing cheek she raised 
 Nor ardent eyes, with silver wand not gold 
 Striking the unkindling portals of the East ; 
 And, ere the sun had risen, Ferdia bathed 
 Three times his forehead in the frosty stream ; 
 And bade attend his charioteer ; and drave 
 Begirt by stateliest equipage of war 
 Down to the river's brim. In regal pomp 
 The host confederate followed, keen to watch
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 1 69 
 
 With Meave, and Ailill, and with Finobar, 
 All passions of a fight unmatched till then ; 
 While clustered here and there, on rock or mound, 
 Minstrel and food-purveyor groom and leech 
 With healing herbs, and charms. 
 
 The sun arose 
 
 And smote the forest roof dew-saturate 
 As onward dashed through woodlands to the Ford 
 Cuchullain's war-car. Nearer soon it rolled 
 Crushing the rocks. Above those wondrous steeds 
 That Great One glittered through the mist of morn, 
 Splendour gloom-veiled. Ferdia's charioteer 
 Half heard, half saw him. Spirit-rapt, yet awed, 
 Perforce thus sang he standing near the marge. 
 
 ' I hear the on-rushing of the car ! I see 
 There throned that warrior not of mortal mould 
 Swathed in the morning. Dreadful are his wheels ; 
 Dreadful as breaker arched, when on its crest 
 Stands Fear, and Fate upon the rock-strewn shore : 
 But not sea-rocks they crush, those brazen wheels, 
 But realms, and peoples, and the necks of men. 
 
 ' I see the war-car ! Terrible it comes, 
 Four-peaked ; and o'er those peaks a shadowy pall 
 Pavilioning dim crypt and caves of death : 
 I see it by the gleam of spears high held, 
 The glare of circling Spirits. Lo ! the same
 
 1 70 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 I saw far northward drifting, months gone by, 
 Ere yet that madness quelled the northern land.' 
 
 Then cried Ferdla, stationed where huge trees 
 Shut out unwelcome vision : ' For a bribe 
 Thou seest these portents, singing of my death ! ' 
 
 Once more, in agony prophetic, he 
 ' The man within that car is Uladh's Hound ! 
 What hound ? No stag-hound of the storm-swept hills 
 No watch-hound watching by a merchant's store : 
 The hound he is that tracks the steps of doom ; 
 The hound of realms o'er-run, and hosts that fly ; 
 The hound that laps the blood ! ' 
 
 Again he sang ; 
 
 ' The Hound of Uladh is a hound with wings ; 
 A hound man-headed ! Yea, and o'er that head 
 Victory and empire, like two eagles paired 
 Sail onward, tempest-pinioned. Endless morn 
 Before him fleeting over seas and lands, 
 With shaft retorted lights his chariot-beam. 
 That chariot stays not, turns not : on it comes, 
 Like torrent shooting from a tall cliff's brow, 
 Level long time ; then downward borne ! ' 
 
 ' A bribe ! ' 
 
 Once more Ferdla cried ; ' A bribe ! a lie ! 
 Traitor ! for Ailill's gold and gold of Meave, 
 Thou sing'st thy master's death-song ! '
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 1 7 1 
 
 By the stream 
 
 Cuchullain stood : not yet he knew his foe ; 
 That foe who slowly to the Ford advanced 
 Full panoplied, and in his hand a spear. 
 Long gazed they each on each. Cuchullain spake : 
 ' VVelcome howe'er thou com'st, Ferdia ! Once 
 In Scatha's isle far otherwise thou earnest 
 Morn after morn with tidings fresh of war 
 Plaything and pastime of our brother swords. 
 This day thou com'st invader of my land 
 Murthemne", bulwark broad of Uladh's realm ; 
 Thou com'st to burn my cities, spoil my flocks 
 A change there is, Ferdia ! ' Stern of brow 
 The Firbolg answered ; ' Friends we were ; not peers : 
 The younger thou. Twas thine to yoke my steeds ; 
 Arm me for fight. A stripling hopes this day 
 With brandished spear to make a mountain flee ! 
 Son of the Gael ! long centuries since, thy race 
 Trampled my race : their vengeance hour is near ; 
 I bid thee to depart ! ' To him his friend ; 
 ' Ferdia, in the old days on Scatha's Isle 
 Thou wert my tribe, my household-stock, my race ! 
 Questioned I then on battle-plain, or when 
 On frosty nights we couched beneath one rug, 
 Ancestral claims, traditions of the clan ? 
 A change there is, Ferdia ! '
 
 1 72 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Thus with words 
 
 Or mild, or stern in hope to save not slay, 
 Those friends contended. Sternest was the man 
 Whose conscience most aggrieved him. 
 
 ' To this Ford 
 
 Thou cam'st the first, old comrade ! choice of arms 
 Is therefore thine by right.' Cuchullain spake : 
 Ferdia chose the javelin. Arrow-swift, 
 While still the charioteers brought back the shaft, 
 The missiles flew. Keen-eyed as ocean bird 
 That, high in sunshine poised, glimpses his prey 
 Beneath the wave, and downward swooping slays him, 
 Each watched the other's movements, if an arm 
 Lifted too high, or buckler dropp'd too low 
 Left bare a rivet. Long that fight endured : 
 Three times exhausted sank their hands : three times 
 They sat on rocks for respite, each the other 
 Eyeing askance, not silent ; ' Lo the man 
 Who shields an ox-like or a swine-like race 
 That strikes no blow itself!' or thus ; 'Ah pledge 
 Of amity eterne in old time sworn ! 
 Ferdia, vow thy vow henceforth to maids ! 
 The man-race nothing heeds thee ! ' 
 
 Evening fell 
 
 And stayed perforce that combat. Slowly drew 
 The warriors near ; and as they noted, each,
 
 The Combat at the Ford. 173 
 
 The other bleeding, in its strength returned 
 The friendship unextinct : round cither's neck 
 That other wound his arms and kissed him thrice : 
 That night their coursers in the self-same field 
 Grazed, side by side : that night their charioteers 
 With rushes gathered from the self-same stream 
 Made smooth their masters' beds, then sat themselves 
 By the same fire. Of every healing herb 
 That lulled his wounds Cuchullain sent the half 
 To staunch Ferdla's ; while to him in turn 
 Ferdia sent whate'er of meats or drinks 
 Held strengthening power or cordial, to allay 
 Distempered nerve or nimble spirit infuse, 
 In equal portions shared. 
 
 The second morn 
 
 They met at sunrise : ' Thine the choice of arms ; ' 
 The Firbolg spake ; the Gael made answer ; ' Spears ! ' 
 Then leaped the champions on their battle-cars 
 And launched them into battle. Dire their shock 
 In fiery orbits wheeling now ; anon 
 Wheel locked in wheel. Profounder wounds by far 
 That day than on the first the warriors gored, 
 Since closer was the fight. With laughing lip 
 Not less that eve Cuchullain sang the stave 
 That chides in war ' Fomorian obstinacy : ' 
 Again at eve drew near they, slower now
 
 1 74 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 For pain, and interwove fraternal arms : 
 Again their coursers in the self-same field 
 Grazed side by side, and from the self-same stream 
 Again their charioteers the rushes culled : 
 Again they shared alike both meats and drinks, 
 Again those herbs allaying, o'er their wounds 
 With incantations laid. 
 
 Forlorn and sad 
 
 Peered the third morning o'er the vaporous woods, 
 The wan grey river with its floating weed, 
 And bubble unillumined. From the marge 
 Cuchullain sadly marked the advancing foe : 
 ' Alas, my brother ! beamless is thine eye ; 
 The radiance lives no longer on thy hair ; 
 And slow thy step.' The doomed one answered calm, 
 ' Cuchullain, slow of foot, but strong of hand 
 Fate drags his victim to the spot decreed : 
 The choice to-day is mine : I choose the sword.' 
 
 So spake the Firbolg ; and they closed in fight : 
 And straightway from his heart to arm and hand 
 Rushed up the strength of all that buried race 
 By him so loved ! Once more it swelled his breast : 
 In majesty re-clothed each massive limb, 
 And flashed in darksome light of hair and eye 
 Resplendent as of old. Surpassing deeds 
 They wrought, while circled meteor-like their swords,
 
 The Combat at the Ford, 1 75 
 
 Or fell like heaven's own bolt on shield or helm. 
 Long hours they strove till morning's purer gleams 
 Vanished in noon. Sharper that day their speech ; 
 For, in the intenser present, years gone by 
 Hung but like pallid, thin, horizon clouds 
 O'er memory's loneliest limit. Evening sank 
 Upon the dripping groves and shuddering flood 
 With rainy waitings. Not as heretofore 
 Their parting. Haughtily their mail they tossed 
 Each to his followers. In the self-same field 
 That night their coursers grazed not ; neither sat 
 Their charioteers beside the self-same fire : 
 Nor sent they, each to other, healing herbs. 
 
 Ere morn the Firbolg drarik the strength of dreams 
 Picturing his race's wrong ; and trumpet blasts 
 Went o'er him blown from fields of ancient wars : 
 And thus he mused, half-wakened ; ' Not for Meave ; 
 Not for the popular suffrage ; not for her 
 That maid who fain had held me from the snare, 
 Fight I that fight whose end shall crown this day : 
 O race beloved, this day your vengeance dawns 
 Red in the East ! The mightiest of the Gaels 
 Goes down before me ! What if both should die ? 
 So best ! Thus too the Firbolg is avenged ! ' 
 Thus mused he. Stately from his couch he rose, 
 And armed himself, sedate. Upon his breast
 
 176 The Foray of Queen Meave 
 
 He laid, in iron sheathed, a huge, flat stone, 
 For thus he said, ' Though many a feat of arms 
 Is mine, from Scatha learned, or else self-taught, 
 The Gae-Bulg is Cuchullain's ! ' On his head 
 He fixed his helm, and on his arm his shield 
 Sable as night, with fifty bosses bound, 
 All brass ; the midmost like a noontide sun. 
 
 Cuchullain eyed him as he neared the Ford, 
 And spake to Leagh ; ' This day, if slack of hand 
 Thou notest me, or wearied, hurl, as wont, 
 Sharp storm of arrowy railing from thy lips 
 That so the battle-anger from on high 
 May flame on me.' The choice of arms was his : 
 He chose 'the Ford-Feat.' On the Firbolg's brow 
 A shadow fell : ' All weapons there,' he mused, 
 ' Have place alike : if on him falls the rage 
 He will not spare the Gae-Bulg ! ' 
 
 Well they knew, 
 
 Both warriors, that the fortunes of that day 
 Must end the conflict ; that for one, or both, 
 The sun that hour ascending shone his last : 
 Therefore all strength of onset till that hour 
 By either loosed or hoarded, craft of fight 
 Reined in one moment but to spring the next 
 Forward in might more terrible, compared 
 With that last battle was a trivial thing ;
 
 The Combat at the Ford, 177 
 
 Whilst every weapon, javelin, spear, or sword, 
 
 Lawful alike that day, scattered abroad 
 
 Huge flakes of dinted mail ; from every wound 
 
 Bounded the life-blood of a heart athirst 
 
 For victory or for death. The vernal day 
 
 Panted with summer ardours, while aloft 
 
 Noontide, a fire-tressed Fury, waved her torch, 
 
 Kindling the lit grove and its youngling green 
 
 From the azure-blazing zenith. As the heat 
 
 So waxed the warriors' frenzy. Hours went by : 
 
 That day they sought not rest on rock or mound , 
 
 Held no discourse. Slowly the sun declined ; 
 
 And as wayfarers oft when twilight falls 
 
 Advance with strength renewed, so they, refreshed, 
 
 Surpassed their deeds at morning. With a bound 
 
 Cuchullain, from the bank high springing, lit 
 
 Full on the broad boss of Ferdia's shield, 
 
 His dagger-point down turned. With spasm of arm 
 
 Instant the Firbolg from its sable rim 
 
 Cast him astonished. Upward from the Ford 
 
 Again Cuchullain reached that shield : again 
 
 With spasm of knee Ferdia flung him far, 
 
 While Leagh in scorn reviled him : ' As the flood 
 
 Shoots on the tempest's blast its puny foam ; 
 
 The oak-tree casts its dead leaf on the wave ; 
 
 The mill-wheel showers its spray ; the shameless woman 
 
 N
 
 178 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Hurls on the mere that babe which was her shame, 
 So hurls he forth that fairy-child bewitched 
 Whom men misdeemed for warrior 1 ' 
 
 Then from heaven 
 
 Came down upon Cuchullain, like the night, 
 The madness-rage. The Foes confronted met : 
 Shivered their spears from point to haft : their swords 
 Flashed lightnings round them. Fate-compelled, their feet 
 Drew near, then reached that stream which backward 
 
 fled 
 
 Leaving its channel dry. While raged that fight 
 Cuchullain's stature rose, huge bulk, immense, 
 Ascending still : as high Ferdia towered 
 Like Fomor old, or Nemed from the sea, 
 Those shields, their covering late from foot to helm, 
 Shrinking, so seemed it, till above them beamed 
 Shoulders and heads. So close that fight, their crests 
 That waved defiance, mingled in mid air ; 
 While all along the circles of their shields, 
 And all adown their swords, viewless for speed 
 Ran, mad with rage, the demons of dark moors 
 And war-sprites of the valleys, Bocanachs 
 And Banacahs, whose scream, so keen its edge, 
 Might shear the centuried forest as the scythe 
 Shears meadow grass. To these in dread response 
 Thundered far off from sea-caves billow-beat
 
 The Combat at the Ford, \ 79 
 
 And halls rock-vaulted 'neath the eternal hills, 
 
 That race Tuatha, giant once, long since 
 
 To pigmy changed, that forge from molten ores 
 
 For aye their clanging weapons, shield or spear, 
 
 On stony anvils, waiting still their day 
 
 Of vengeance on the Gael. That tumult scared 
 
 The horses of the host of Meave that brake 
 
 From war-car or the tethering rope, and spread 
 
 Ruin around. Camp-followers first, then chiefs 
 
 Innumerable were dragged along, or lay 
 
 'Neath broken axle, dead. The end was nigh : 
 
 Cuchullain's shield splintered upon his arm 
 
 Served him no more ; and through his fenceless side 
 
 Ferdia drave the sword. Then first the Gael 
 
 Hurled forth this taunt ; ' The Firbolg, bribed by Meave, 
 
 Has sold his ancient friend ! ' Ferdia spake, 
 
 ' No Firbolg he, the man in Scatha's Isle, 
 
 That won a maid, then left her ! ' Backward stepp'd 
 
 Cuchullain paces three : he reached the bank ; 
 
 He uttered low ; ' The Gae-Bulg ! ' Instant, Leagh 
 
 Within his hand had lodged it. Bending low, 
 
 Low as that stream, the war-game's crowning feat, 
 
 He launched it on Ferdla's breast. The shield, 
 
 The iron plate beneath, the stone within it, 
 
 Like shallow ice-films 'neath a courser's hoof 
 
 Burst. All was o'er. To earth the warrior sank : 
 
 N 2
 
 1 80 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Dying, he spake : c Not thine this deed, O friend 
 'Twas Meave who winged that bolt into my heart ! ' 
 
 Then ran Cuchullain to that great one dead, 
 And raised him in his arms, and laid him down 
 Beside the Ford, but on its northern bank, 
 Not in that realm by Ailill swayed and Meave : 
 Long time he looked the dead man in the face ; 
 Then by him fell in swoon. ' Cuchullain, rise ! 
 The men of Erin be upon thee ! Rise ! ' 
 Thus Leagh. He answered, waking ; ' Let them come ! 
 To me what profit if I live or die ? 
 The man I loved is dead ! ' 
 
 But by the dead 
 
 Cuchullain stood ; and thus he made lament : 
 ' Ferdia ! On their head the curse descend 
 Who sent thee to thy death ! We meet no more ; 
 Never while sun, and moon, and earth endure. 
 
 ( Ferdia ! Far away in Scatha's isle 
 A great troth bound us and a vow eterne 
 Never to raise war-weapons, each on each : 
 'Twas Finobar that snared thee ! She shall die. 
 
 ' Ferdia ! dearer to my heart wert thou 
 Than all beside if all were joined in one : 
 Dear was thy clouded face, and darksome eye ; 
 Thy deep, sad voice ; thy words so wise and few ; 
 Dear was thy silence : dear thy slow, grave ways, 
 Not boastful like the Gael's.'
 
 Tfie Combat at the Ford. 1 8 1 
 
 Silent he stood 
 
 While Leagh in reverence from the dead man's breast 
 Loosened his mail. There shone the torque of Meave : 
 There where the queen had fixed it yet it lay. 
 Cuchullain clutched it ' Ha ! that torque I spurned ! 
 Dark gem ill-lifted from the seas of Death ! 
 Swart planet bickering from the heavens of Fate ! 
 With what a baleful beam thou look'st on me ! 
 'Twas thou, 'twas thou, not I, that slew'st this man ' 
 He dashed it on the rock, and with his heel 
 Smote it to fragments. 
 
 Then, as one from trance 
 
 Waking, once more he spake : ' Oh me oh me, 
 That I should see that face so great and pale ! 
 To-day face-whitening death is on that face ; 
 And in my hand my sword : 'tis crimson yet 
 That day when he and I triumphed in fight 
 By Formait's lake o'er Scatha's pirate foes 
 The woman fetched a beaker forth of wine, 
 And made us drink it both ; and made us vow 
 Friendship eterne. O friend, my hand this day 
 Tendered a bloody beaker to thy lip.' 
 
 Again he sang ; ' Queen Meave to Uladh's bound 
 Came down ; and dark the deed that grew thereof j 
 Came down with all the hosting of her kings ; 
 And dark the deed that grew thereof. We two 
 Abode with Scatha in her northern isle,
 
 1 82 The Foray of 'Queen Meave. 
 
 Her pupils twinned. The sea-girt warrioress 
 That honoured few men honoured us alike : 
 We ate together of the self-same dish : 
 We couched together 'neath the self-same shield : 
 Now living man I stand, and he lies dead ! ' 
 
 He raised again his head : once more he sang 
 ' Each battle was a game, a jest, a sport 
 Till came, fore-doomed, Ferdla to the Ford. 
 I loved the warrior though I pierced his heart. 
 Each battle was a game, a jest, a sport 
 Till stood, self-doomed, Ferdla by the Ford. 
 Huge lion of the forestry of war ; 
 Fair, central pillar of the House of Fame ; 
 But yesterday he towered above the world : 
 This day he lies along the earth> a shade,*
 
 FRAGMENT IV 
 THE INVASION OF ULADH-. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 CUCHULLAIN lies long in the forest nigh to death from his wounds, 
 and yet more through grief for FerdTa. The queen crosses the 
 Ford into Uladh, and captures the Donn Cuailgne. The con- 
 federate kings fall out among themselves ; Meave summons a war 
 council ; whereupon there bursts forth a second contention between 
 them and the Exile-Band. She makes the circuit of all Uladh ; yet 
 enacts nothing memorable. Lastly she marches against Eman, its 
 metropolis, but slowly, being encumbered by her spoil. Uladh 
 rouses itself daily out of its trance of imbecility. The death of 
 Ketherne. Finobar is fain to draw Rochad to the cause of her 
 mother, but fails. Her fate. The queen, falling into despond- 
 ency, re-crosses the frontier. 
 
 SILENCE amid the wide, confederate camp : 
 No clang of sword or shield ; no warrior's tread 
 Striding to Meave with battle-gage down flung 
 For him who kept the Ford. But when six days 
 Were past, and none had seen that threatening helm, 
 There went abroad a rumour, ' he is dead : ' 
 Then sped to her six champions claiming fight : 
 Whom from her presence spurning, Meave advanced
 
 184 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 With all her host o'er Ubdh's frontier line 
 By Dare's castle and the ill-omened gate 
 Whereon high-seated Dare's Fool had hurled 
 Against her scorn and gibe. As Meave drew near 
 Forth rolled the bellowing of Cuailgne's Donn, 
 Cause of that war. King Dare's sons had fled ; 
 But in the gate-way stood their old, grey sire, 
 Alone, and slew the first that entrance made : 
 The rest dashed in upon him, and he died. 
 
 Six days, and in Cuchullain's cell no change 
 The bud grew large ; the earlier violet died ; 
 He neither spake nor moved. His wounds were deep 
 Deeper his grief ; and stronger thence their power 
 Though dead, that c'an accursed of Cailitin, 
 With ghostly spells darkening the warrior's heart : 
 As lie the dead, he lay. 
 
 One eve, what time 
 
 The setting sun levelPd through holly brakes 
 Unnumbered dagger-points of jewel'd light 
 And 'neath the oak-stem burned a golden spot, 
 Leagh, standing near his couch, reproached him thus ; 
 ' In time of old the greatness of thy spirit 
 Had ever strength to salve thy corporal griefs : 
 But now through coward heart thou makest no fight, 
 Dying as old men die.' Cuchullain heard ; 
 But answered nought.
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 185 
 
 Next day, while near them buzzed 
 At noon the gilded insect swarm, he spake ; 
 ' While lived Ferdia wounds to thee were jest ; 
 Thy grief it is that drags thee to the pit ; 
 Grief ; and for what ? Of treasons worse is none 
 Than sorrow when thy country's foe is dead ! 
 Not man is he, the man who dies of grief.' 
 He spake : Cuchullain fixed a vacant eye 
 On that sad, wrathful face. 
 
 Then hastened Leagh 
 
 To where those giant coursers, side by side, 
 Stood tethered mid green grass and meadow-sweet 
 Within a lawn ; and led them to a stream, 
 And bade them drink ; and later led them home ; 
 And placed their corn before them, and they ate : 
 Next spake he ; ' Horses ye ; and yet ye know 
 To eat at need, while men self-sentenced starve ! ' 
 Thus of that man whom most he loved on earth 
 He made complaint. Liath, the lake's white son, 
 Tossed high his head in anger. By his side 
 Sangland, his dusky comrade, sadly ate, 
 Moistening with tears her barley. 
 
 Late that eve 
 
 Cuchullain beckoned Leagh ; ' To Conor speed : 
 Speak thus ; " Put on thine arms and save thy land 
 Since now the Hound that kept thy gate is dead : *
 
 1 86 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Make no delay 1 " ' At midnight Leagh went forth 
 Though loth to leave his master to the care 
 Of cowherd rude, or swineherd. Tenderer aid 
 Ere long consoled him. Beauteous as the dawn 
 Next morn two shepherd boys seeking a lamb 
 Came on the sick man in his forest nook ; 
 Long time they gazed on him compassionate ; 
 With voice benign and tendance angel-like 
 Onward into his confidence they crept ; 
 His lips with milk, the purest, they refreshed ; 
 They placed the dewy wood flowers in his hand ; 
 They sang him ballads old, not battle-songs, 
 Too loud such songs they deemed, but Fairy lore, 
 Or tale of lovers fleeing tyrant's rage : 
 Among the last unwittingly they sang 
 ' Cuchullain's Wooing ; ' how the youth had found 
 Eimer, the loveliest lady of the land 
 Within her bowery pleasaunce, girt with maids 
 Harping, or broidering fair in scarf deep-dyed 
 Blossom or insect : how he sued ; and how 
 She answered ; ' Woo my sister : woo not me ! ' 
 How, glorying in her loveliness, her sire 
 Had sworn no chief should ever call her wife 
 Who won her not by valour ; how that youth 
 Had scaled his rock and slain his guards and forth 
 Led her by hand, a downward-looking bride,
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 187 
 
 Majestic, unconsenting, undismayed, 
 But likewise unreluctant. As they sang 
 Above that suffering face there passed a smile ; 
 And where that smile had lain there crept a tear ; 
 And in few minutes more asleep he sank 
 Who had not slept nine days. 
 
 Swiftly meanwhile 
 
 On marched the host confederate : bootless speed ; 
 Since ever one day's progress by the next 
 Was cancelled ; tortuous mind made tortuous course 
 Now bent awry to capture spoil, anon 
 To avenge some private wrong. Fergus the while 
 Inly with fury raged ; for still his thought 
 Was ' Eman Vengeance.' Meave, to calm his wrath, 
 Albeit debate she scorned, a council called 
 And made demand, ' To Eman speed we, Kings, 
 With central wound striking at Uladh's heart, 
 Or wind, as now, at random through the realm, 
 With havoc huge, and plunder ? ' 
 
 Rose a chief 
 
 Aulnau, the son of Magach, one whose pride 
 Was not in war-deeds but in crafty brain, 
 And thus made answer. ' March to Eman ! Queen ! 
 Not difficult the emprise ; but whose the gain ? 
 Eman to burn, what were it but to sow 
 The sanguine seed of endless wars to come ?
 
 1 88 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 The Uladh chiefs live scattered. Email's fall 
 Touches not them. Their strength ere long revived 
 Southward in search of vengeance they will rush : 
 Slay them yet weakling ! Slay them ere they wake ! 
 Slay them in mountain hold and forest lair 
 In vale and glen : slay each apart, half-armed ; 
 Easy the task ! ' Arose the Exiled King : 
 ' ' " Easy the task ! " ' he cried j ' that Dar learned ! 
 Unarmed alone I saw the old man fall ! 
 " Easy the task ! " ' Then brake upon him Alp 
 That ruled in far lorras, speaking thus ; 
 ' Fergus, we love our queen ; but love not thee ! 
 Hostile to ours thy race : King Conor's fall 
 Thou seek'st ; not Uladh's. Hear me, Queen of Men ! 
 The siege of Eman means a three months' siege : 
 Be wary lest, ere yet that time is past 
 King Conor with his exiles makes a pact, 
 And they who now but rate thee drink thy blood : 
 Be wary likewise lest in half that time 
 Thy host melt from thee like a wreath of snow ! 
 The Gael is restless ; lives on chance and change ; 
 The clan grows home-sick : victory in its grasp, 
 Pines for the babe unkissed, or field unreaped : 
 My counsel then is Aulnau's. Like a flood 
 Wind devious through the land and strip it bare : 
 Till then let Eman be.'
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. \ 89 
 
 Debate ere long, 
 
 For chiefs there were who loved the nobler war, 
 Passed on to raging storm. Old friendships died ; 
 And from the dust of ages injuries old 
 Leaped up like warriors armed. In Fergus wrath 
 Gave way to scorn : with haughty port he spake, 
 A man majestical yet mirthful too. 
 
 ' Great Lords and Kings since Kings ye claim to be 
 King-vassals, world-renowned for mutual hate, 
 Alone of men I censure not your strifes, 
 Knowing their cause. The very air you breathe, 
 The founts whereof you drink, the soil you tread, 
 Are all impregnate with a sacred rage ; 
 And false alike to usage, country, blood, 
 Were he among you who, for three hours' space, 
 Discerned 'twixt friend and foeman. Lords and Kings, 
 Attend a legend from your annals old, 
 A laughing picture of man's life this day. 
 In Erin's earlier age there reigned two kings : 
 Each had a swineherd who, through magic power, 
 Assumed what form he would of shapes that live 
 In heaven, or earth, or sea. Friendship eterne 
 They pledged ; then strove ten years, with hosts allied 
 So huge that none remained to till the land. 
 At last the vanquished westward creaked, a crane : 
 A crane, the victor chased him. Twenty years
 
 1 90 The Foray of Queen Meave, 
 
 High up they fought ; to each side Erin's birds 
 Flocking in clans, the factions of the heavens. 
 Those twenty years run out, the vanquished crane 
 Dropp'd on a stream and straight to salmon changed ; 
 Instant his foe, to salmon turned not less, 
 From stream to sea pursued him. Far and wide 
 All scaly shapes that buffet Erin's waves 
 From sprat and minnow up to shark and whale 
 Beat up in finny squadrons. Forty years 
 With deepening rage they fought, till round the isle 
 Main ocean boiled, and from her ships black-ribbed 
 Melted the tar, and mist was over all. 
 Next changed those salmons twain to dragon-flies : 
 But while they sat in hate on neighbouring pools 
 A dun cow and a red cow drank them up 
 Unwittingly. From them two bull-calves sprang 
 That, grown, with battle thunders dinned the realm 
 For eighty years ! How say ye, Lords ? From these 
 Come not the Bulls that shake this day our land, 
 Fionbannagh, and the Donn ? For them we fight, 
 And in their honour hold, on peaceful days, 
 Like them our roaring synods ! ' 
 
 Fiercely and long 
 
 The unwise council strove ; and Meave, who feared 
 Far more the petulance of her lesser kings 
 Than that great exile's loftier wrath, resumed
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 1 9 1 
 
 Next morn her march erratic. On she passed, 
 
 The Dal Araidhe forests on her right, 
 
 Northward to Moira's plain and Clannaboy ; 
 
 And through the Glynns of Ardes glimpsed remote 
 
 Alba's blue hills. Dalriad fastnesses 
 
 She burned with fire, and seized full many a herd 
 
 On banks of Bann ; then westward turned, and kenned 
 
 The grass -green glitter soon of far Lough Foyle, 
 
 And where the winding river-sea divides 
 
 Fanad from Inishowen's cliffs forlorn. 
 
 Aileach she passed, more late the seat of kings ; 
 
 And, southward next, that lake whose lonely isle 
 
 Descends, through caves, to Spirit-worlds unknown. 
 
 Thus Meave a circle traced round Uladh's realm, 
 
 And heard the murmur of its three great seas, 
 
 Yet nothing wrought of perdurable fame. 
 
 Conor, meantime, round Eman ranged his hosts 
 
 There flocking night and day. ' I march not hence ' 
 
 He said, ' till Uladh's wound is wholly healed ; 
 
 Fergus I deem the sage of battle-fields, 
 
 Though fool in all beside.' 
 
 But sloth and fear 
 
 In manly hearts at worst rare visitants, 
 Leave them betimes, like vermin caught by chance 
 That quit ere long the clean. O'er Uladh's breadth 
 Daily some chief, or fragment of a clan
 
 192 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Long chilled by rumour of Cuchullain slain, 
 Despite King Conor's best assailed the queen 
 Marching, though late, on Eman. First of these 
 Was Ketherne. Hewing oaks on Fuad's crest 
 He marked her host, and rushed, a naked man 
 From waist to head, his axe within his hand, 
 In fury on it. Late that eve his kernes 
 Forth from the battle tore him bleeding fast 
 From fifty wounds. That night physicians five 
 Were bending o'er his bed : the eldest spake ; 
 ' Ketherne, thou son of Fintan, thou must die ! ' 
 Then Ketherne raised himself and with one blow 
 Smote him upon his forehead that he died. 
 In turn the second, ' Ketherne, thou must die : ' 
 And Ketherne slew him. Feebler-toned the third 
 Whispered, ' The man must die ; ' and died himself 
 Likewise the fourth. Old Ithal was the fifth, 
 A son of Alba. He with stealthy foot 
 Stepping o'er corpses of his brethren slain, 
 Made keen-eyed inquest of the wounds ; then spake 
 ' Of these the least is dangerous : fatal none : 
 Two cures for such there be, diverse in kind ; 
 Ketherne, thou son of Fintan, make thy choice ! 
 The first is slow but certain : where thou liest 
 Full three months thou must lie ; then rise restored : 
 The second is immediate : strength divine
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 193 
 
 It pours like light into a warrior's veins ; 
 
 Then dies its virtue, and the warrior dies ! ' 
 
 Ketherne laughed loud : ' My choice is quickly made 
 
 Three months bed- ridden, or one vengeance day 
 
 Joyous and glorious ! Leech ! I rather choose 
 
 With mine own hand to avenge eretime my death 
 
 Than trust that task to others ! ' At his word 
 
 Ithal prepared a wonder-working bath 
 
 Strewn with strange herbs, and bathed therein the man, 
 
 Then bade him drink of some elixir bright 
 
 Drawn from the sun. As one refreshed by sleep 
 
 He rose : he clomb his war-car ; sought the foe ; 
 
 Threescore he slew, their best. At last the strength 
 
 Ceased from his arm ; and opened once again 
 
 His wounds late closed ; and back he sank, and died. 
 
 Such hindrances, and every day had such, 
 Likewise huge herds and cumber of her spoil 
 Slackened the march of Meave. Full many a chief 
 Perished in bootless fight ; full many an eye 
 Turned on her, malcontent. But trial worse 
 Had found her through her daughter, Finobar. 
 Without an hour's misgiving or remorse 
 In beauty's pride not less than patriot zeal 
 Wilier she was than Meave, and haughtier far 
 Champion on champion she had sent to doom 
 Beside that fatal Ford. Ferdla most 
 o
 
 1 94 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Had tasked the sorceress, for in him alone 
 
 Vanity kept no place. She watched the fight 
 
 No pallor on her fruit-like cheek, no cloud 
 
 Dimming her star-like eyes. Without a sigh 
 
 She saw the Firbolg, last of all his race, 
 
 Fall on the soil once theirs. Even then she knew not 
 
 The inevitable shaft had pierced whate'er 
 
 Of woman heart was hers. The strong man's death 
 
 Lifted that veil his victory ne'er had raised : 
 
 Standing mid others she beheld him dead : 
 
 Thenceforth that deep-toned voice, that mournful front, 
 
 Those stern yet stately ways, so great and plain, 
 
 Haunted her memory. Oft with sudden spasm 
 
 She strove to shake that viper from her breast 
 
 Which sucked its life-blood. ' I, the Princess, love ! 
 
 And love a Firbolg ! ' She had never loved : 
 
 Self-love, sole regent of the unloving heart, 
 
 Had barred it 'gainst all other tenderer loves : 
 
 In vain the island chiefs had wooed and sued : 
 
 She spurned them each and all. 
 
 Of these the last 
 
 Was Rochad, and the proudest, in the North 
 A vassal prince of Conor's, oft his foe : 
 The passion she had kindled she had scorned : 
 Rochad had vowed revenge.
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 195 
 
 In wonder Meave 
 
 Noted the weary lids, the vanishing bloom, 
 The abrupt accost, though haught yet unassured ; 
 The movements to mechanic changed, the mind 
 Still strong, yet widowed of its flexile strength ; 
 These things she saw ; their cause she ne'er divined : 
 Love for the living Meave could understand : 
 For her the dead was dead. To Finobar 
 The one thing yet remaining was her pride : 
 Questioned, her answer ever was the same, 
 ' Onward, to Eman ! ' 
 
 Nearer it each day 
 
 They drew. One evening through the sunset mist 
 A camp, high-seated on a bosky hill, 
 Shone out, fire-fringed : aloof it stood as one 
 That halts 'twixt war 'and peace. Ere long they learned 
 Rochad that site had chos'n, with Uladh's King 
 Friendly but half, thence slow to prop his cause. 
 Then spake the queen ; 'The hand of yonder chief 
 Sustains our battle's balance. If his host, 
 Now dubious, joins the bands that vex our flank 
 No choice remains but this, a homeward course 
 Or, if a march to Eman, then the loss 
 Of half our hard-earned spoil and hate thenceforth 
 Of all our vassal kings.' Forth flashed the eyes
 
 1 96 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Of Finobar it was their latest flash 
 
 She answered thus ; ' The sequel leave to me ! 
 
 He loved me, Rochad, once : ere sets yon moon 
 
 I bring you tamed the lion of yon hills, 
 
 Aye, in a silken leash ! ' 
 
 Rochad far off 
 
 Beheld her coming ; marked it with a smile ; 
 Welcomed her gaily ; led her to the feast ; 
 Thence to his tent wherein was none beside. 
 There put she forth whatever subtlest art 
 In seeming-simple innocence disguised 
 Imagines of persuasive, whatsoe'er 
 Delicatest craft of female witcheries 
 Potent for man's destruction can devise, 
 To bend that warrior's will. The winter beam 
 Thaws not the polar ice : o'er Rochad's soul 
 So passed the syren's pleadings. Pleased not less 
 To stand implored, he dallied with her suit 
 Destined, and this he knew, to end in shame. 
 She, self-deceived, inly made vow ; ' This tent 
 I leave not, save victorious.' 
 
 Hours went by : 
 
 She noted not their flight. Once more with skill 
 Plastic as wind in woods, a measured strength 
 Varying as minstrel's hand that grazes now 
 Now sweeps the tenderer or the deeper strings,
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 197 
 
 To all the passions of the heart of man 
 Glory, Ambition, Love, Revenge, she tuned 
 The modulations of her passionate strain ; 
 While half the richness theirs aforetime throbbed 
 Again in those sad accents, half their light 
 For oft from out the present shines a past 
 Long dead returned to eyes that, seen of none, 
 Had wept away their splendours. Calm he sat, 
 Sternly quiescent Sudden on her broke 
 The fatal truth. She saw her power was gone ; 
 And all that posthumous life late hers sank back 
 In embers lost and ashes. On the West 
 Rested her gaze. A cloud of raven black, 
 Its veil for half that night, had drifted by, 
 And o'er that distant gleam, her mother's camp, 
 Slowly the moon descended. Finobar 
 That hour recalled her boast ; ' Ere sets yon moon 
 I bring you tamed the lion of yon hills, 
 Aye, in a silken leash ! ' 
 
 The Orient soon 
 
 Whitened with early dawn. Forlorn it lay 
 On hill and heath and plain and distant mere, 
 Forlorner on the haggard face for oft 
 A face, still fair, in anguish antedates 
 Its future of that woman as she knelt, 
 She knelt at last, low on that threshold low.
 
 198 The Foray of Qiteen Meave. 
 
 Then came the hour of Rochad's great revenge : 
 
 Then first he answered plainly ; ' Finobar ! 
 
 One day I knew you not : I know you now : 
 
 Your spells are null when once their trick is learned : 
 
 Likewise your face has lost its earlier charm. 
 
 Back to your mother ! Say, ere sets yon sun 
 
 I join the king my master, from his gate 
 
 Repel with scorn the invader.' Forth he passed 
 
 Without farewell. A clarion broke ere long 
 
 Her trance : adown the slope she saw his host 
 
 Winding t'ward Eman. 
 
 From a burning couch 
 
 She rose next eve ; and, strong with fever's strength, 
 Paced swiftly by that sunset-crimsoned stream 
 Which cut the camp in twain. Anon she marked 
 In all who met her, change inexplicable, 
 Strange eyes, strange faces, strange embarrassed ways ; 
 Sadly compassionate that change in some : 
 In others questioning glance and meaning smile 
 Hinted at things that through her flaming heart 
 Passed like a sword of ice. Whisperings not less 
 There were, but these she heard rxot ; ' What ! All 
 
 night ! 
 
 From eve to morn with Rochad in his tent ! 
 The men she fed on hopes she sent to death 
 Beside the Ford. Well ! pride must have its fall !
 
 The Invasion of Uladh. 199 
 
 Rochad is joined with Conor ! ' Slanders worse 
 Some chiefs whom most her haughtiness had galled 
 Ventured, vain-glorious. Late one eve the truth 
 Sprang like a tigress on her. In his tent 
 She heard her father with her mother speak ; 
 ' She yet may wear the crown : her maiden fame 
 Is lost forever ! ' 
 
 Three hours ere her death 
 Thus to her mother spake that sentenced one ; 
 ' Noise it among the host that grief for those 
 Her countrymen the Gael who, near the Ford 
 Ere yet that Firbolg shared the common fate, 
 Fell by Cuchullain, snapped her thread of life. 
 Bear on your march my body : raise the cairn 
 On the first hill that kens Emania's towers.' 
 
 So spake she ; and the queen obeyed her hest : 
 She flung that rumour forth ; and all who heard, 
 Heart-stricken now, believed it. But on Meave 
 A piercing sadness fell ; and by her bed 
 Orloff her buried son stood up, and spake ; 
 ' Home to thy native realm, and Cruachan ! 
 Not less a battle waits thee great and dread 
 'Twixt Gairig and Ilgairig.' One day's march 
 Eastward still marched she ; then upon a hill, 
 The first whose summit looked on Eman's towers, 
 Interred the all-beauteous one with Pagan dirge,
 
 2OO The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 And o'er her piled the cairn. Southward, next morn 
 She turned, and crossed the Ford. Fulfilled was thus 
 Cuchullain's word, breathed o'er Ferdia dead, 
 ' Finobar snared thee. Finobar shall die.' 
 But many a century later Uladh's sons 
 Rose up and said ; ' Great scorn it is and wrong 
 Yon stranger's grave should gaze on Eman's towers : ' 
 Then bore they forth those relics once so fair 
 With funeral rites revered and Pagan dirge, 
 And laid them by the loud-resounding sea, 
 And o'er them raised a cairn : and, age on age> 
 As sighed the sea-wind past it shepherds said 
 4 It whispers soft that sad word, Finobar t '
 
 201 
 
 FRAGMENT V. 
 Q UEEN ME A VE 'S RE TREA T. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 QUEEN MEAVE, having reached the sacred plain of Uta, sacri- 
 legiously encamps thereon. A Druid denounces the late war as 
 unrighteous, while Fergus contemns it as ineffectual ; and imme- 
 diately afterwards the Mor Reega manifests herself to the host. 
 Next evening, while division of the spoil is being made, Meave is 
 ware of the advance of King Conor ; and Ailill transfers the supreme 
 command to Fergus, who prepares for the attack. The battle is 
 gloriously won by Fergus. That night Meave is warned by signs and 
 omens ; and Cuchullain, weak from his wounds, arrives in the 
 Ulidian camp. From midnight to near sunset the next day he lies 
 in a trance, during which fair spirits minister to him again his 
 lost strength ; and there is shown to him a vision of some mystic 
 greatness reserved for Erin, yet of an order which he cannot under- 
 stand. When the second battle is well nigh lost Cuchullain wakes ; 
 and Meave is driven in utter overthrow across the Shannon. 
 
 AT last the war had whirled its giddy round ; 
 And Meave, well nigh returned, the Shenan ' near 
 Beside Ath-Luain streaming in its might, 
 Decreed to make division of her spoil 
 1 The Shannon.
 
 2O2 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Ere yet she crossed it. In the West the sun 
 
 Was sinking ; in the East the moon uprose ; 
 
 While camped her host on Uta's sacred plain 
 
 Betwixt the double glories. Far away 
 
 Immeasurably glittered the pastures green 
 
 Illumed with million flowers. Nor spade, nor plough 
 
 Till then that virgin region had profaned ; 
 
 Nor sound, save Shenan's murmur, stirred therein. 
 
 There stood the Tomb Heroic. Beams and showers 
 
 Alone might pierce that soil sabbatical; 
 
 Such reverence held the spot. Now all was changed ; 
 
 111 choice ; if chance, ill-omened. Neighing steeds 
 
 Dinned the still air ; while here at times was heard 
 
 Whistling of him that fixed his tent, and there 
 
 Wood-cleaving axe or feaster's laugh mistimed. 
 
 Higher and higher rose the moon full-orbed, 
 
 Mirrored in pool and stream. At intervals 
 
 Half lost in bard-song near or shout remote, 
 
 The slender wailing of some captive maid 
 
 Rang out and died. 
 
 The royal tent was set 
 
 High on a grassy platform. Meave that night 
 The first time since the death of Finobar 
 Was cheerful of aspect ; and, banquet o'er, 
 Rising her warriors she addressed with vaunt 
 Beseeming not a queen. 'A year,' she said,
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 203 
 
 ' Is past since northward to the war we marched : 
 
 Then forth she loosed the sheets and spread the sails 
 
 And bounded on the waves of proud discourse 
 
 Recounting all her triumphs ; first, her wrong ; 
 
 Lastly, the cause of war, Cuailgn^'s Bonn 
 
 Chief captive mid her captives ! Here her voice 
 
 Rang loudest, and her eyes their fiercest beamed. 
 
 Rapturous response succeeded ; one alone, 
 
 A Druid old, dissentient. Thus he spake, 
 
 Not rising, to that throng of courtiers crowned : 
 
 ' 111 doctrine have ye praised this evening, kings, 
 
 Unwise, to Erin's realms unprofitable, 
 
 Extolling war not based on righteous cause 
 
 Nor righteous ends ensuing. Kings and queen, 
 
 The end of war is retribution just 
 
 For deeds unjust ; ill cure for greater ill : 
 
 Wars there must be ; and woman-mouthed were he 
 
 Who railed against them : aye, but demon-mouth'ed 
 
 The man that boasts of war-dishonouring wars 
 
 Opprobrious, spiteful, predatory, base. 
 
 Sirs, how began this feud ? It rose from jest ! 
 
 And what its close ? A sacred site profaned, 
 
 Inviolate till this day ! ' The warriors frowned ; 
 
 Yet all men feared the Druid beard and rod : 
 
 They stood in silence. 
 
 Fergus rose, and spake :
 
 2O4 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 ' Sirs, I have heard a war this day extolled, 
 A war this day denounced On battle-field 
 Men say that I was born ; on battle-fields 
 Have lived from youth to age. What thing war is 
 I ought to know. Yet, sirs, these wearied eyes 
 Rolled many a day around from East to West 
 Still seeking war, and found it not : they saw 
 Six hundred men successive by the hand 
 Of one man slain, Cuchullain ; saw the torch 
 Hurl the red smoke-cloud o'er a thousand homes : 
 They saw a war-dance circle Uladh's coasts ; 
 They saw the ravished flock, and ravished herd, 
 The captive throng lance-goaded on its way, 
 Swine-herd and shepherd, hoary head, and maid 
 Beaming and basking in the healthful glow 
 Of youthful beauty. Sirs, they saw more late, 
 But saw from distance, Eman's walls high-towered : 
 This, this they saw not ; warriors, warrior-ruled, 
 Marching against them ! Mountebanks of war 
 They saw ; not warriors ! ' 
 
 Plainly Fergus spake : 
 Not otherwise than plainly could he speak, 
 A man to Truth predestined ; since his birth 
 By courage sealed to Truth. The legend saith 
 That down before him on his natal morn 
 All Erin's fays and sprites from river or rill
 
 Qiieen Meaves Retreat. 205 
 
 Their tributes laid. But, mightier far than they, 
 A winged goddess ran from sea to sea, 
 The island's breadth, to hail him ! As she sped, 
 The path before her, prone till then and low, 
 Rising ran out a 'craggy ridge sublime, 
 The same that for a hundred miles this day 
 Divides the realm. That highway lofty and straight 
 Foreshowed that ne'er in tortuous ways or base 
 Should walk that infant. 
 
 Raging, from their seats 
 
 The kings and chieftains leaped. A hundred swords 
 Flashed from their sheaths, and from a hundred mouths 
 One sentence issued ' Death ! ' By twos and threes 
 A score of stragglers from the exiles' band 
 Closed up behind him. Cormac Conlinglas 
 Beside him stood, sword drawn. 
 
 Again he spake ; 
 
 ' Queen, till that day of shame was battle none, 
 Nor on that day ; nor since ! But on that day 
 Beside your daughter's cairn more royal far 
 Though fortunate less was she we two conversed : 
 I said ; " Without one blow you think to pass 
 Eman, that cast me forth ! Without one blow 
 To cross your Shenan, reach your Cruachan, 
 There make your terms secure, the spoil retained, 
 The exiles sent to judgment ! Note you, Queen,
 
 206 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Those horsemen three a mile on yonder road ? 
 My heralds they ! The hour your flight begins 
 They speed to Eman. " 
 
 ' You retreated. They 
 Rode on to Conor. To that chief of foes 
 I wrote ; " Advance ! The queen retreats : make speed ! 
 She shall not 'scape the battle. Know besides 
 That battle of earth's battles till this hour 
 Shall prove the bloodiest. In it, sword to sword 
 We two shall meet ; one die." ' 
 
 In measureless scorn 
 
 Then turned he to the kings, continuing thus ; 
 ' What mean those clamours and those swords half 
 
 drawn 
 
 Which draw ye dare not ? Petty, titular kings ! 
 The shadow of that royalty once mine 
 Dwarfs you to pygmies by comparison ! 
 I heard a cry of " Treason ! " Let them lift 
 Their hands who raised it ! Kinglings mutinous, 
 Princes seditious, ye the traitors are ! 
 And on the nod of him whom ye traduce, 
 Your pageant crowns sit trembling. Ere three days 
 Uladh is on you ! I shall stand that hour 
 Your King Elect ; not Ailill's choice, but yours ; 
 The Battle-King ; for well ye know that I, 
 None else, have skill to range the battle-field,
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 307 
 
 And roll the thunders forth of genuine war. 
 Till that hour, silence, kings ! ' 
 
 Silence they kept, 
 
 Long silence. Then far off, as though from depths 
 By thought untraversable of cloudless skies, 
 Such sound was heard as reaches ships at sea 
 When, launched on airy voyage though still remote, 
 Nation of ocean-crossing birds begins 
 To obscure the serene heaven. That sound drew near : 
 From every tent the revellers rushed. Then lo ! 
 That portent seen alone in fateful times, 
 The dread Mor Reega ! Terrible as Fate 
 The goddess of the battles high o'er head 
 Sailed on full-panoplied, in hue as when 
 On Alpine snows, their sunset glories gone, 
 Night's winding-sheet descends. Upon her casque 
 And spear beyond it pointing glared the moon, 
 And on a face like hers that froze of old 
 The gazers into stone. As on she sailed 
 On that huge army coldness fell of death : 
 Yea, some there died. Next morning, from that spot 
 Northward to Eman lay a branded track : 
 Straight as a lance still stretched it, league on league ; 
 A bar of winter black through harvest fields, 
 A bridge of ice spanning the rippling waves ; 
 A pledge that men had dreamed not.
 
 2o8 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 In those days 
 
 Foreboding soon, like sorrow, passed away : 
 Ailill next morning counselled ; ' Ere the night 
 Cross we the Shenan. If the Red Branch comes 
 Fight we on Ai's plain ! ' But Meave replied 
 1 Not so ; I fly not ! One day here we rest : 
 Our kings await their spoil' 
 
 From morn to eve 
 
 That spoil's partition lasted ; first, huge herds ; 
 Flocks snowy-white through water-weeds and grass 
 Followed, hound-driven. War-horses few were there, 
 But many from the plough : with these, in crowds 
 Poor hinds, and swine-herds, maidens skilled in works 
 That knew to spin the flax or mix the dye 
 Or card the wool. Next followed wild-eyed boys 
 Bound each to each. No tear they shed, but scowled 
 Defiance on their lords and war-songs sang 
 Of Uladh and her vengeance. King and chief 
 Scanned each his prize with careless-seeming eye; 
 Yet oft their followers strove, while onward paced 
 The royal arbiters with wands high held, 
 Ruling the wrangling crew. 
 
 Upon a mound 
 
 Meantime the royal throne was set, a throng 
 Of warriors round it. Many a mirthful chance 
 Provoked their laughter : loudest laughed the queen ;
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 209 
 
 But when she spake she waited not reply. 
 Without a bound to east and west and south 
 The prospect spread. Her eye was on the north : 
 Not distant stood two hills : she asked their names : 
 Her great eyes darkened when the answer came 
 Of Gairig and Ilgairig. 
 
 'Twixt these twain, 
 
 Shone out, distincter as the sun declined, 
 Long northern ranges. Fergus marked her eye 
 That moved not from them, smiled, and made demand, 
 ' What find'st thou in our mountain ridges, Queen, 
 That merits gaze so fixed ? ' Then she ; ' I note 
 Girdling their slopes a mist feathery and soft, 
 As though of snow-flakes wov'n : above it peaks 
 Shoot up, like isles cloud-hid. Within that mist 
 I see strange lights that cross like shooting stars ; 
 Cross and re-cross, quick-bickering.' With a smile 
 That deepened, Fergus questioned once again : 
 ' Make large thine eyes and tell me what thou seest ! ' 
 Then Meave ; ' Through all that mist is movement 
 
 strange, 
 
 The agitation of some wondrous life, 
 And t'wards us on it rolleth.' Fergus next ; 
 ' Thine eyes see well ! If others saw like thee 
 Their tongues would clang less loudly. Hear'st thou 
 
 nought? ' 
 
 p
 
 2io The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 The queen made answer ; ' Many a sea I hear 
 That breaks on many a shore.' 
 
 Then Fergus cried 
 
 ' Thou seest my Uladh coming, and the way 
 And fashion of the advent of her war ! 
 For know, great Queen, even now the Red Branch 
 
 Knights 
 
 Car-borne descend yon slopes ! That mist thou saw'st 
 What is it but the tempest of their march, 
 The dust flung upwards and the sweat exhaled 
 And visible breath of warrior and of horse 
 That breathes the northwind and the sunny glare ? 
 What else the snow-flakes which thou saw'st but foam 
 Dashed from the horses' bits ? Thy bickering stars, 
 What else but flaming cars and fiery helms 
 This way and that way passing ? What thy peaks 
 Crowning that mist, but Uladh's hills remote 
 That send her children to avenge her wrong ? 
 And what that thunder sound of many seas 
 But music of their coming ? Well for thee 
 If o'er them sail not, veiled from mortal eyes, 
 That dread Mor Reega ! ' 
 
 Reddened as he spake 
 
 Meave's cheek late pale ; yet careless she replied ; 
 ' I see her not, therefore believe her not, 
 And breathe securely since that gleam far off
 
 Queen Meave s Retreat. 211 
 
 Is human, not demoniac or divine ; 
 For never feared I yet the arm of man : 
 Cuchullain dead, I hold at nought the rest.' 
 Thus Meave : but all the kings and chiefs arose 
 Clamouring to her and Ailill ; ' Lo, 'tis come ! 
 All Uladh, and a battle such as ne'er 
 Shook the foundations of this kingly isle ! 
 Now therefore bid him rule thy host, the man 
 That knows to rule ! ' 'Twixt passions twain at war 
 Meave silent stood. Ailill to Fergus turned 
 And spake ; ' Be thou henceforth our Battle-King :' 
 Thus spake he ; then, releasing from his belt 
 The sword usurped of Fergus, added thus ; 
 ' Receive once more thy sword ! in mirth erewhile 
 I made it mine : the virtue in that blade 
 Hath kept me till this hour.' Fergus replied ; 
 ' I take mine own : but one month past, this sword 
 Had cut the cancer out of Uladh's breast, 
 And made thy throne a praise on earth for aye ! 
 I take mine own, on thee a sword bestowing 
 That best becomes thee. Waiting long this hour 
 For thee I kept it.' Proudly Ailill clasped 
 Its glittering hilt : Fergus drew back the sheath ; 
 And lo, a wooden sword, for babes a toy ! 
 The concourse laughed ; the loudest Meave : though 
 wroth 
 
 f 2
 
 2 r 2 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Ailill a little whiffling laugh essayed 
 With sidelong face. 
 
 Then Fergus in the soil 
 Planting his sword upright before it knelt, 
 And spake ; ' O thou my sovereignty, my sword, 
 In many a battle, yet in none unjust, 
 So many a year my glory and my mate ! 
 Mine art thou, mine once more ! In all this host 
 Who shall henceforth reproach me ? ' 
 
 To his task 
 
 The strong one sped, and change was over all : 
 Again the voice of discipline was heard : 
 None drank in booths ; none rushed abroad ; with sloth 
 Fierceness had vanished. Followers of the camp 
 Alone were left in charge of flocks and herds : 
 The clansmen to their duties were restored, 
 The clans in order ranged. He delved a trench 
 Barring from Uta's plain the advancing foe, 
 And bridges o'er it flung, that so his host 
 Permission given, and not till then, might strike 
 Forth pouring torrent-like at Uladh's heart : 
 Pits too he dug bristling with stakes sod-hid. 
 He gave command like one that, born to power, 
 With courteous might scarce conscious puts it forth : 
 He spake the word : all heard him : all obeyed 
 Magnanimous to feel when majesty
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 2 1 3 
 
 Authentic stood before them. Duty done 
 Engendered strenuous joy, and strength, and hope : 
 Thus through the mass the spirit of one man 
 Triumphed, and ruling, raised it : on each face 
 His corporal semblance lived light hearted might, 
 Deliberate resolve. 
 
 The moonlight hours 
 
 Shone brightly on their labours. Six had sped 
 Ere Fergus sought the royal tent where sat 
 Revellers right ill at ease. As in he passed, 
 The concourse, Meave herself and Ailill, rose, 
 And did him regal honours. Of his toils 
 Nought spake he ; but their hearts who saw him swelled 
 And many marvelled why they late were sad : 
 Again the laugh ; again the tale ; the song 
 Then came a change. A gradual sound was heard, 
 Yet what and whence they knew not. It increased ; 
 It swelled ere long, voluminous ; grating next ; 
 Then dreadful like the splitting of a world 
 Whose strong foundations crumble. Forth they passed 
 Through hurrying clouds the moon rushed madly on, 
 Now dim, now fiercely glaring. From the north 
 In terror sped the forest beasts and dashed 
 Wild through the camp while panic fell on all. 
 The sole man unastonished, Fergus spake : 
 ' Sirs, late ye learn our warfare ! As the spring,
 
 214 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 When the first spray catches the amorous red, 
 
 Her song-bird sends, herald and harbinger, 
 
 So Uladh sends before her onward steps 
 
 Her shrill-voiced vanguard : men of might are they, 
 
 Hewers of war- ways for her battle cars 
 
 Advancing through the forests. First ye heard 
 
 Their axes only ; last, the falling trees : 
 
 What, Sirs, ye look like men ill-pleased ! Well, well ! 
 
 Not all delight in music. Sirs, good-night ! 
 
 When breaks the dawn be stirring.' 
 
 In the camp 
 
 Few slept that night. Vanished the moon in cloud : 
 Then shone the watch-fires on the northern hills 
 Like stars. 
 
 Next morn the Uladh host down swarmed 
 Betwixt those neighbouring hills and round their base 
 Far spread as flood that, widening on its way, 
 Changes the heights to islands. Countless wrongs 
 And shame at all that long inglorious trance, 
 Roused wrath to madness ; from them far they flung 
 Encumbering arms, and, bare from scalp to waist, 
 Worked on with brandished battle-axe. Three hours 
 That trench withstood them. Kelkar ruled their left, 
 Their right great Conal Carnach, while the king 
 Marshalled their centre. There the strongest bridge, 
 Tower-guarded, longest held their host at bay ;
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 2 1 5 
 
 Longer had held it, save that from his place 
 
 Fergus, the hour foreseen arrived, gave word 
 
 ' Fling wide the gates ! ' In rushed they ; but to meet 
 
 A foe unwasted yet. The Red Branch Knights 
 
 Surpassed their old renown. In fresher strength 
 
 The host confederate met them. Meave herself 
 
 With downward mace three champions slew that day, 
 
 Him last, that felon son of faithful sire, 
 
 Buini, the Ruthless Red, who, breaking pledge, 
 
 Betrayed the sons of Usnach for a bribe : 
 
 His father's prophecy the Accursed fulfilled 
 
 Slain by a woman's hand. Fergus, at last 
 
 Forth launched upon his native element, 
 
 Raced o'er the battle billows like a bark 
 
 When tempests stretch its canvass. Chief on chief 
 
 Went down before that sword that still, men sware, 
 
 With sweep that widened like a rainbow's arch 
 
 Ran from his hand and harvests reaped of death. 
 
 O'er-spent, not scared, that Northern host gave way 
 
 Sudden from east to west. It broke and fled. 
 
 Alone unvanquished Conor Conchobar 
 Maintained his place. He rallied twice and thrice 
 The fugitives ; thrice turned them on the foe ; 
 Then stabbed them flying. Last upon the bridge 
 He stood and sole. There met him face to face 
 The sole of foes his equal. Dreadful gaze
 
 2 1 6 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Long fixed they, each on other ; Fergus spake : 
 ' Is this indeed that king who filched that realm 
 Not his, then shamed it by a bloodier fraud ; 
 Who brake his pledge ; who murdered Usnach's sons 
 Who drave from Uladh, Uladh's rightful king j 
 And comes he at my hand to meet his doom ? 
 Just Gods, I thank you ! ' With a haughtier mien, 
 Yet kingly less, King Conchobar replied : 
 ' Thou know'st me ; and 'tis well 1 That king am I 
 Who, less than thou by lineage, but in mind 
 Loftier, attained that crown thou could'st not keep ; 
 That king, who, breaking through a jesting pact 
 As eagles through a mist, by doom deserved 
 Requited rebels proved. That king am I 
 Who, when with traitors thou true pact hadst made, 
 Forth hurled thee naked to the wild wolf's lair : 
 That was the worst I wished thee : worse by far 
 If aught of kingly once was thine thou found'st 
 Beneath a hostile roof the beggar's dole 
 Gorged on a golden platter, and the hand 
 Protectress, of a woman ! ' 
 
 Long that fight 
 
 Watched by two hosts in speechless stupor held, 
 Direful and long ! Equal in might those twain, 
 Equal in craft of war. The kinglier soul 
 Conferred alone the victory. Fergus raised
 
 Queen Meave's Retreat. 2 1 7 
 
 The unvanquishable sword so late restored : 
 
 It fell in thunder : with it fell the king, 
 
 Fell to his knees, a bleeding mass, and blind : 
 
 Again that sword was raised : a moment more 
 
 Had ended all : then leaped to Fergus' feet, 
 
 His knees enclasping, Cormac Conlinglas 
 
 King Conor's son. He spake these words alone : 
 
 ' My father ! Spare him ! ' Fergus ne'er had scorned 
 
 A look like his that hour. He turned : he spake ; 
 
 ' Take hence that reptile : holy is this plain ! 
 
 A true king here was buried ! ' Conor's kernes 
 
 Lifted him to his war-car. Slowly it moved ; 
 
 For Death was in the wheels thereof ; and Death 
 
 Stood at its door. 
 
 That night in Uladh's camp 
 Was silence strange and dread. By dying men 
 Sat men sore wounded. Scornful of their foe 
 And burning for revenge, the North had spurned 
 Science of war, their boast, and left, death- strewn, 
 Full half their host. Between their tents and Meave's 
 All that long night the buriers of the dead 
 Groped their sad way with red, earth-grazing torch, 
 Turning the white face up in search of friend, 
 Brother, or son. But in the tent of Meave 
 Triumph ruled all : a hundred spake at once 
 Each man his deeds recounting. Far apart
 
 2 1 8 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Sat Fergus ; on his brow alone was shade : 
 
 The deed was needful ; but his country's blood 
 
 Gladdened not him. Of those that marked him, some 
 
 Had reverence for his sadness : lesser souls 
 
 That long had hated, loathed the man that hour. 
 
 Sudden the din surceased. Far other sound 
 
 Quelled it : from Uladh's sorrowing camp it swelled, 
 
 A jubilant cry soaring from earth to heaven ! 
 
 Then flashed the eyes of Fergus, and he cried ; 
 
 ' Cuchullain lives ! That sound is Uladh's shout 
 
 What time the host he enters ! ' With a brow 
 
 Gloomy as night the queen replied ; ' 'Tis false ! 
 
 We know that in the forest, months gone by 
 
 Cuchullain perished ! ' Silent long they stood ; 
 
 Listening. At last rang out far different note 
 
 As piteous as the first was full of joy, 
 
 A funeral keen world-wide. Then cried the queen, 
 
 ' Cuchullain lived ! Cuchullain lives no more ! 
 
 Wounded and weak he came to aid his own : 
 
 Too great such effort for a wasted frame : 
 
 That was Cuchullain's death-dirge ! ' Fierce she stood 
 
 Glorying she spake, and with attendance passed 
 
 Forth from the hall of banquet to her tent : 
 
 But as she passed she heard at either side 
 
 She and her ladies with her, trembling heard 
 
 The rushing of a panic-stricken host
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 219 
 
 Invisible, though now the dawn was grey, 
 
 A host t'ward Shenan flying ! High o'er head 
 
 A dulcet strain, unutterably sad, 
 
 When ceased that phantom rush of fugitive feet, 
 
 Drifted far northward Then the queen was ware 
 
 These were her country's gods that left her host. 
 
 The legend adds that in her tent that hour 
 
 Faythleen, the witch, she saw, who sat and wove 
 
 A mystic web and sang a mystic song, 
 
 Seen but by her : and, later, o'er her bed 
 
 Men say that Orloff bent, her buried son, 
 
 And spake ; ' This day the battle shall be fought 
 
 Of Gairig and Ilgairig.' 
 
 He meanwhile, 
 
 The lord of all the battles, where was he, 
 Cuchullain ? Many a weary day and week 
 Within his loved Murthemn^'s woods he lay, 
 Sore-wounded man nigh death. Those shepherd 
 
 youths 
 
 Tended him still, or sang beside his bed ; 
 And ofttimes o'er his face the tears of Leagh 
 In passionate gust descended. But the might 
 Unholy of the clan of Cailitin 
 That nightly hung above him like a cloud 
 Began to wither when that mist accursed 
 Drifted from Uladh's borders. On the breast
 
 2 2O The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Pellucid, likewise, of Murthemne''s streams 
 
 Benignant spirits scattered flowers and herbs 
 
 With healing virtue dowered. He, morn and eve 
 
 In those clear currents laid, renewed his youth ; 
 
 And, pure as infant's, came again that flesh 
 
 Where festered late his wounds. At last, revived, 
 
 He passed, car-borne to Eman, north. The fields 
 
 Devastated, and wail from foodless glens 
 
 Filled him as on he sped with wrathful strength : 
 
 Next, tidings came of Conor's southward march : 
 
 Exultingly he followed. On that night 
 
 Of overthrow he reached the royal camp : 
 
 Far off they kenned his car, and raised that shout 
 
 Heard never save for him. When near he drew 
 
 Way-worn, and wearied, and around him gazed, 
 
 And saw that sight, and thought, ' too late ; too late ! ' 
 
 His cheek upon the shoulder sank of Leagh, 
 
 And all men deemed him dead. Then rose that wail 
 
 To Meave auspicious sound. 
 
 There are who deem 
 
 Cuchullain's tent that night was near the Well 
 Where, purer far, more late the royal maids 
 Fedelm and Ethna met that saint who gave 
 To God the isle of Fate. Blessing then too 
 That Well diffused, they say ; for from its brink 
 A runnel o'er the pebbles ran with sound
 
 Queen Meaves Retreat. 221 
 
 So sweetly tuned that on the warrior sank 
 Deep seal of peace divine. The war-shouts near 
 To him thus harboured seemed but ocean's sighs 
 Round islands ever calm. Then came, on winds 
 Fresher than earth's, divinities more high 
 He thought than those that late from elfin meres 
 Amid Murthemne's woods had dewed his face ; 
 And loftier songs were sung ; and balmier flowers 
 In holier fountains bathed were softlier pressed 
 On breast and brow ; while shone before his eyes 
 Visions more fair than lordliest battle-field, 
 Though what they meant he knew not nor divined 
 High-towered temples cruciform that rose 
 Far-seen o'er wood and street ; and from their gates 
 Vestal procession issuing white, that wound 
 Through precincts low where only dwelt the poor, 
 The halt, the lame, the blind ; and song he heard 
 With spiritual pathos changing sense to soul, 
 ' The end of all is peace.' In silence slid 
 The constellations down the western sky ; 
 And endless seemed that night 
 
 At break of day 
 
 Came Conal Carnach and the Red Branch Knights 
 To see the sick man's face. Thereon the morn 
 Laughed, dewy-bright : and lo ! where long had lain 
 Pallor of death, now burned a healthful red :
 
 222 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Not less they dared not touch him ; since with him 
 
 Geisa it was if any broke his rest. 
 
 They left him, and the battle-storm began. 
 
 Warned by defeat Uladh had raised ere morn, 
 
 Fronting her camp, three bulwarks : at the first 
 
 And distant most, three hours the conflict raged. 
 
 It fell at last When rose the conquerors' shout 
 
 Leagh to Cuchullain crept, and touched him not, 
 
 Yet knelt and whispered, ' Heard you not that sound ? ' 
 
 And thus Cuchullain answered still in trance j 
 
 ' I heard the runnels in Murthemn^'s woods 
 
 Snow-swoll'n in spring.' Then Leagh stood up and 
 
 mused 
 
 ' The hue of health is on his face, and yet 
 Because he will not wake the land is shamed.' 
 Next round the second bulwark raged the war 
 Hour after hour : heroic deeds were done : 
 Heroic deaths were died : at last it fell : 
 Again and nearer rose the conquerors' shout : 
 Again with bolder foot and forehead flushed 
 Leagh to Cuchullain moved and touched him not 
 But, bending, murmured, ' Heard you not that sound ? ' 
 And he, without awaking, answered thus ; 
 ' I heard the birds in Eimer's pleasaunce sing 
 To greet our marriage morn.' Then Leagh went forth 
 Groaning, and smote his hands, and wept aloud
 
 Queen M'eaves Retreat. 223 
 
 ' Because he will not wake the host must die ! ' 
 
 Around the loftiest bulwark and the last 
 
 Once more for hours the battle raged : it fell ! 
 
 And louder thrice that shout went up. The gaze 
 
 Of Leagh was on him fixed : he heard it not : 
 
 Slowly it died ; and as it died the wail 
 
 Came feebly forth from Uladh's host. A change 
 
 Flashed o'er Cuchullain's face : like fire it shone : 
 
 Into his tent he sprang midway ! Then lo ! 
 
 A marvel ! for the wounded man that slept 
 
 All day with bandages enswathed, up-towered 
 
 Full-armed for fight a champion spear in hand, 
 
 Work of some god ! Swift from his tent he strode : 
 
 Without the hand of man there stood his car 
 
 And those immortal steeds pawing the air 
 
 With wonted battle-cry ! A moment more 
 
 And forward to Ilgairig's slope they dashed : 
 
 ' Let but the armies see him,' inly mused 
 
 Leagh, ' and the work is done ! ' 
 
 Onward they sped ; 
 But not unnoted by that demon brood 
 That hate the works of justice. From below 
 Writhing in torment of their rage they heaved 
 The grassy surface upward into waves 
 Now swelling, now descending. Strong albeit 
 The immortal steeds staggered. Cuchullain cried,
 
 224 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 ' What ! children of the tempest-wakened lakes 
 Saw ye till now no billows ? Yours they are ! 
 Exult ye in your native element, 
 And waft your lord to vengeance ! ' They obeyed : 
 They reached Ilgairig's summit 
 
 On he sped 
 
 Mantled with sunset. Terrible he shone ! 
 Both armies saw him knew him ! Onward yet ; 
 While from his golden arms and golden car 
 Lightnings went forth incessant. In his van 
 Victory and Fear their pinions spread. He reached 
 Ilgairig's southern verge : he reined his steeds : 
 High in his car he stood ; with level hand 
 Screening his eyes he scanned that battle-field, 
 His future course decreeing. 
 
 On and on 
 
 Adown that slope he flashed and o'er that plain 
 Like zigzag sunshaft o'er the autumnal world ; 
 And ever where he came the host of Meave 
 Gave way before him. On and ever on ! 
 And now the nearest of those bulwarks three 
 He reached, and o'er its ruins swept, back driving 
 The conquerors late now conquered. On and on ! 
 And ever through that foe thick-packed he clave 
 A lane of doom and death. Ere long was reached 
 The second rampart. There it was he slew
 
 Queen Meave's Retreat. 225 
 
 The great ones of Clan Libna, and the clans 
 Guaire and Murdoc. Fiery faces thronged 
 The air around him, and the voice of Gods 
 Made smooth his way triumphant. 
 
 On and on 
 
 Nor ceased he ever hurling left and right 
 Destruction from his sling ; nor slackened sleet 
 Of javelins winged with fate. That brazen urn 
 With death-stones heaped exhausted not its store, 
 Replenished ever as by hand unseen 
 Work of some God ! That brazen cirque, not less 
 Where stood his javelins ranged was never void ; 
 Work of some God ! The on-rolling wheels devoured 
 Those serried ranks; the war- steeds trampled down : 
 Reached was that rampart furthest of the three ; 
 There in her war-car sat the queen ; in front 
 The Maineys seven were ranged : his sword forth flashed : 
 Four perished of the seven. Then faced the queen 
 Westward, and fled amazed. 
 
 He marked her flight : 
 
 Eastward he turned. As on he carved his course 
 Not now a lane alone of doom and death 
 But ever widening valleys ruin-strewn 
 Bore witness of his transit, for behind 
 Closed ever up Cuchullain's household clans 
 Murthemne's, and Cuailgne's. Perished there 
 Q
 
 226 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 The Ossorians, and the Olnemacian chiefs, 
 And many a champion famed from Slaney's bank 
 To Lee and Laune, from Caiseal's crested rock 
 To Beara's strand. Who died not, fled and left 
 Vet ampler 'twixt the bristling flanks of war 
 That vacant space ; and as the dolphin oft 
 Raptured by gladness of clear summer seas 
 While flames the noon on purple billows, swims 
 All round and round some ship full-sailed, so he 
 Circled on foot at times that car wind-swift 
 Mocking its slowness ; then with airy bound 
 Once more within it beamed. His boyhood's mirth 
 Returned upon him. On the chariot's floor 
 He marked those brazen balls, the sport that time 
 Of men way-faring, snatched them up, tossed high 
 While yet careering round the blood-stained field, 
 Then caught them as they fell : a glittering ring 
 They girt that glittering head. Not less his eye 
 Watchful pursued the flying foe ; his hand 
 Brought down to earth the fleetest. 
 
 From the crests 
 
 Of those twinned hills down rushed the total strength 
 At last of Uladh. Universal flight 
 Shook the vast field. The bravest men and best 
 Caught by its current on were dragged like trees 
 The sport of winter flood. Chieftain and king
 
 Queen Meave s Retreat, 227 
 
 Sought, each, his home. Meave, with a remnant small 
 Reached Shenan's bridgeless tide ; and there had fallen 
 Stretching to towered Ath-Luain helpless hands, 
 Save that Cuchullain, 'mid the narrower way 
 Standing with arms extended, terrible, 
 Abashed that host pursuing ; ' Stand ye back ! 
 One day I shared her feast : she shall not die ! 
 He spake, and set by Shenan's wave his shield. 
 Next morn the Ulidians where that shield had stood 
 In silence stern planted three pillar-stones, 
 White daughters of the tempest-beaten hills, 
 In Ogham graved, ' Vanquished by Uladh's sons 
 Here fled the invader, Meave.' 
 
 Fergus alone 
 
 The Exile- King, and they, the Exile Band, 
 Fled not that day. Though few and bleeding fast 
 Fearless upon a cloudy crag they stood, 
 Phalanx prepared to die, prepared not less 
 Dearly to sell their lives, while past them streamed 
 That panic-stricken throng. The host pursuing 
 Looked up, yet swerved not from their course. Once 
 
 more 
 
 Returning from the vengeance they looked up ; 
 Then passed in silence by. 
 
 That eve, men say, 
 While slowly paced Cuchullain t'ward the camp,
 
 228 The Foray of Queen Meave. 
 
 Lamenting strains of Goddesses were heard, 
 For whatsoe'er was female loved the man, 
 If earthly female, with a human love, 
 If heavenly, with a love compassionate, 
 Lamenting strains that, ere his youth had passed, 
 That starry head must lie by Fate's decree 
 Amid the dust of death. Cuchullain turned ; 
 Softly he answered ; ' Goddesses benign ! 
 Why weep ye ? I was Uladh's Mastiff- Hound : 
 The mastiff lives not long. What better lot 
 For him than this ; the bandits chased, to die 
 Beside his master's gate ? ' 
 
 So ends the Tain : 
 
 Not less, in mirth or spleen, that legend old 
 Primeval battle-chaunt of Erin's race, 
 Adds yet a second close. 
 
 Cuchullain led 
 
 That host Ulidian home ; while Meave made oath 
 Northward to send, and range round Eman's walls 
 Her spoil, the war's sole triumph, countless flocks, 
 The herds milk-yielding of the large-eyed kine, 
 The horses, and the asses, and the goats, 
 The household stuffs, rich vests, and precious dyes 
 The hinds laborious, and the men age-bent, 
 And maidens skilled in work ; but, first, and chief
 
 Quern Meave s Retreat. 229 
 
 That sable Bull, the cause of all the war. 
 
 Fulfilled were all these pledges save the last ; 
 
 For Meave upon that fatal day, while hung 
 
 Doubtful the battle-scales, had given command 
 
 To lead the Donn to Cruachan. Ill-pleased 
 
 He on his keepers turning slew a score, 
 
 Yet peaceful paced at last betwixt their ranks, 
 
 At each side fifty spears. Next day, far south, 
 
 Forth rolled the roar of Ailill's Bull snow-white, 
 
 Fionbannah. Bursting through his guard, the Donn 
 
 Rushed t'ward the sound. Upon the midway plain 
 
 The rivals met. All day that battle raged 
 
 While wood to wood thunder on thunder hurled, 
 
 And all the bulls of Erin sent reply. 
 
 Shepherds, through wood-skirts peering, saw the end, 
 
 The Donn, at sunset, rushing t'ward the north, 
 
 And, on his conqueror's back their horns entwined 
 
 Fionbannah dead ! All night that conqueror rushed 
 
 O'er hill and plain and prone morass. When dawn 
 
 Looked coldly forth through mist along the meads 
 
 Far off he kenned a rock : that rock he deemed 
 
 A second bull : collecting all his might 
 
 Thereon he hurled his giant bulk, and died. 
 
 Northward thus marched from Cruachan the kings ; 
 Then back. The Foray of Queen Meave thus far.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Page 9. He taught her all the Ogham Signs to read. 
 
 The Ogham characters are a species of alphabet, or as some call 
 them cypher, cut upon stones, or wooden staves. They are found 
 in many parts of Ireland ; and much has been written on them by 
 the most learned Irish antiquarians of recent times, especially by 
 Bishop Graves. 
 
 Page 38. By Geisa bound. 
 
 These Gesa, or Geisa, often as trivial in character as they were 
 rigidly enforced, have a large place in the legends of the Irish pre- 
 Christian times. Sometimes they applied to particular individuals 
 alone : thus, in the case of Cuchullain, it was a Gesa that no one 
 should wake him out of his sleep. Sometimes they were self- 
 imposed : thus Fergus Mac Roy and Cuchullain also, had bound 
 themselves in youth never to refuse an invitation to the feast of a 
 good man, however humble. The most remarkable illustrations of 
 the Gesa will be found in ' Conary,' the noble poem of my friend, 
 Sir Samuel Ferguson, who speaks of them as 'certain sacred in- 
 junctions, the violation of which was attended with temporal punish- 
 ment. The agents in inflicting such retribution appear in the form 
 of Fairies.' (Poems by Sir Samuel Ferguson, p. 61. McGee, 
 Dublin ; George Bell, London.)
 
 232 Notes. 
 
 Page 39. Drirdrl and he were playing chess together : 
 
 Chess was a favourite game with the Irish, and is frequently 
 alluded to in the earliest tales. 
 
 Page 73- The ' Lia Fail, ' and Ogham lore revered. 
 
 The ' Lia Fail, ' or ' Stone of Destiny, ' was the stone on which 
 the Irish 'Chief Kings,' or Ard-Righs, were crowned at Tara. It 
 was subsequently used for the same purpose during many centuries 
 in Scotland, to which it had been brought by the Dalriad Irish re- 
 corded by Bede, at the coronation of her Kings of Irish race. 
 It was removed by Edward the First from Scone to Westminster 
 Abbey, where it still supports the chair of Edward the Confessor. 
 (See 'Hist, of Scotland ' by Sir Walter Scott, vol. i. p. 34.) 
 
 Page 105. Or Acaitt ; 
 Now Achill Head. 
 
 Page 146. Hail Eric just. 
 The fine exacted for various offences by the Brehon law. 
 
 Page 151. The dread Mor Reega. 
 
 The War Goddess of the ancient Irish. An account of this 
 divinity will be found in the admirable essay contributed to the 
 ' Revue Celtique' (May 1870), by W. M. Hennessy, Esq. 
 
 Page 153. Among the Sidils. 
 The Fairy Hills. 
 
 Page 181. There shone the torque of Meave. 
 
 ' Take off his armour that I may see the Brooch for the sake of 
 which he undertook the combat. Leagh came, and stripped 
 
 Ferdia Cuchullain saw the brooch ; and he began to lament 
 
 and moan for him.' (MS. translation, by Professor O'Looney.)
 
 Notes. 233 
 
 Page 191. Ani, southward next, that lake. 
 Lough Derg in Donegal, a place of pilgrimage still frequented. 
 To this island properly belongs the legend illustrated by Calderon 
 in his ' Purgatory of St. Patrick,' so admirably presented to the 
 English reader by my lamented friend, the late Denis Florence 
 MacCarthy. 
 
 Page 201. fleside Ath-Lnain. 
 Now Athlone. 
 
 Page 226. From CaiseaFs crested rock. 
 Now Cashel. 
 
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