Chapter II: Preface (2)

In the house of Miodchuart,[25] by princes surrounded, How noble his step when the trumpet was sounded, And his clansmen bore proudly his broad shield before him, And hung it on high in that bright palace o'er him; On the left of the monarch the chieftain was seated, And happy was he whom his proud glances greeted: 'Mid monarchs and chiefs at the great Fes of Tara, Oh! none was to rival the princely MacCaura!

To the halls of the Red Branch,[26] when the conquest was o'er, The champions their rich spoils of victory bore, And the sword of the Briton, the shield of the Dane, Flashed bright as the sun on the walls of Eamhain; There Dathy and Niall bore trophies of war, From the peaks of the Alps and the waves of Loire; But no knight ever bore from the hills of Ivaragh The breast-plate or axe of a conquered MacCaura!

In chasing the red deer what step was the fleetest?-- In singing the love song what voice was the sweetest?-- What breast was the foremost in courting the danger?-- What door was the widest to shelter the stranger?-- In friendship the truest, in battle the bravest, In revel the gayest, in council the gravest?-- A hunter to-day and a victor to-morrow?-- Oh! who but a chief of the princely MacCaura!

But, oh! proud MacCaura, what anguish to touch on The fatal stain of thy princely escutcheon; In thy story's bright garden the one spot of bleakness, Through ages of valour the one hour of weakness! Thou, the heir of a thousand chiefs, sceptred and royal-- Thou to kneel to the Norman and swear to be loyal! Oh! a long night of horror, and outrage, and sorrow, Have we wept for thy treason, base Diarmid MacCaura![27]

Oh! why ere you thus to the foreigner pandered, Did you not bravely call round your emerald standard, The chiefs of your house of Lough Lene and Clan Awley O'Donogh, MacPatrick, O'Driscoll, MacAwley, O'Sullivan More, from the towers of Dunkerron, And O'Mahon, the chieftain of green Ardinterran? As the sling sends the stone or the bent bow the arrow, Every chief would have come at the call of MacCaura.

Soon, soon didst thou pay for that error in woe, Thy life to the Butler, thy crown to the foe, Thy castles dismantled, and strewn on the sod, And the homes of the weak, and the abbeys of God! No more in thy halls is the wayfarer fed, Nor the rich mead sent round, nor the soft heather spread, Nor the "clairsech's" sweet notes, now in mirth, now in sorrow, All, all have gone by, but the name of MacCaura!

MacCaura, the pride of thy house is gone by, But its name cannot fade, and its fame cannot die, Though the Arigideen, with its silver waves, shine Around no green forests or castles of thine-- Though the shrines that you founded no incense doth hallow, Nor hymns float in peace down the echoing Allo, One treasure thou keepest, one hope for the morrow-- True hearts yet beat of the clan of MacCaura!

21. MacCarthaig, or MacCarthy.

22. The eldest son of Milesius, King of Spain, in the legendary history of Ireland.

23. The Round Towers.

24. The Tuatha Dedannans, so called, says Keating, from their skill in necromancy, for which some were so famous as to be called gods.

25. See Keating's "History of Ireland" and Petrie's "Tara."

26. In the palace of Emania, in Ulster.

27. Diarmid MacCaura, King of Desmond, and Daniel O'Brien, King of Thomond, were the first of the Irish princes to swear fealty to Henry II.

THE WINDOW.

At my window, late and early, In the sunshine and the rain, When the jocund beams of morning Come to wake me from my napping, With their golden fingers tapping At my window pane: From my troubled slumbers flitting, From the dreamings fond and vain, From the fever intermitting, Up I start, and take my sitting At my window pane:--

Through the morning, through the noontide, Fettered by a diamond chain, Through the early hours of evening, When the stars begin to tremble, As their shining ranks assemble O'er the azure plain: When the thousand lamps are blazing Through the street and lane-- Mimic stars of man's upraising-- Still I linger, fondly gazing From my window pane!

For, amid the crowds slow passing, Surging like the main, Like a sunbeam among shadows, Through the storm-swept cloudy masses, Sometimes one bright being passes 'Neath my window pane: Thus a moment's joy I borrow From a day of pain. See, she comes! but--bitter sorrow! Not until the slow to-morrow, Will she come again.

AUTUMN FEARS.

The weary, dreary, dripping rain,
From morn till night, from night till morn,
Along the hills and o'er the plain,
Strikes down the green and yellow corn;
The flood lies deep upon the ground,
No ripening heat the cold sun yields,
And rank and rotting lies around
The glory of the summer fields!

How full of fears, how racked with pain,
How torn with care the heart must be,
Of him who sees his golden grain
Laid prostrate thus o'er lawn and lea;
For all that nature doth desire,
All that the shivering mortal shields,
The Christmas fare, the winter's fire,
All comes from out the summer fields.

I too have strayed in pleasing toil
Along youth's and fertile meads;
I too within Hope's genial soil
Have, trusting, placed Love's golden seeds;
I too have feared the chilling dew,
The heavy rain when thunder pealed,
Lest Fate might blight the flower that grew
For me in Hope's green summer field.

Ah! who can paint that beauteous flower,
Thus nourished by celestial dew,
Thus growing fairer, hour by hour,
Delighting more, the more it grew;
Bright'ning, not burdening the ground,
Nor proud with inward worth concealed,
But scattering all its fragrance round
Its own sweet sphere, its summer field!

At morn the gentle flower awoke,
And raised its happy face to God;
At evening, when the starlight broke,
It bending sought the dewy sod;
And thus at morn, and thus at even,
In fragrant sighs its heart revealed,
Thus seeking heaven, and making heaven
Within its own sweet summer field!

Oh! joy beyond all human joy!
Oh! bliss beyond all earthly bliss!
If pitying Fate will not destroy
My hopes of such a flower as this!
How happy, fond, and heaven-possest,
My heart will be to tend and shield,
And guard upon my grateful breast
The pride of that sweet summer field!

FATAL GIFTS.

The poet's heart is a fatal boon,
And fatal his wondrous eye,
And the delicate ear,
So quick to hear,
Over the earth and sky,
Creation's mystic tune!
Soon, soon, but not too soon,
Does that ear grow deaf and that eye grow dim,
And nature becometh a waste for him,
Whom, born for another sphere,
Misery hath shipwrecked here!

For what availeth his sensitive heart
For the struggle and stormy strife
That the mariner-man,
Since the world began
Has braved on the sea of life?
With fearful wonder his eye doth start,
When it should be fixed on the outspread chart
That pointeth the way to golden shores--
Rent are his sails and broken his oars,
And he sinks without hope or plan,
With his floating caravan.

And love, that should be his strength and stay,
Becometh his bane full soon,
Like flowers that are born
Of the beams at morn,
But die of their heat ere noon.
Far better the heart were the sterile clay
Where the shining sands of the desert play,
And where never the perishing flow'ret gleams
Than the heart that is fed with its wither'd dreams,
And whose love is repelled with scorn,
Like the bee by the rose's thorn.

SWEET MAY.

The summer is come!--the summer is come!
With its flowers and its branches green,
Where the young birds chirp on the blossoming boughs,
And the sunlight struggles between:
And, like children, over the earth and sky
The flowers and the light clouds play;
But never before to my heart or eye
Came there ever so sweet a May
As this--
Sweet May! sweet May!

Oh! many a time have I wandered out
In the youth of the opening year,
When Nature's face was fair to my eye,
And her voice was sweet to my ear!
When I numbered the daisies, so few and shy,
That I met in my lonely way;
But never before to my heart or eye,
Came there ever so sweet a May
As this--
Sweet May! sweet May!

If the flowers delayed, or the beams were cold,
Or the blossoming trees were bare,
I had but to look in the poet's book,
For the summer is always there!
But the sunny page I now put by,
And joy in the darkest day!
For never before to my heart or eye,
Came there ever so sweet a May
As this--
Sweet May! sweet May!

For, ah! the belov'ed at length has come,
Like the breath of May from afar;
And my heart is lit with gentle eyes,
As the heavens by the evening star.
'Tis this that brightens the darkest sky,
And lengthens the faintest ray,
And makes me feel that to the heart or eye
There was never so sweet a May
As this--
Sweet May! sweet May!

FERDIAH;[28] OR, THE FIGHT AT THE FORD.

An Episode from the Ancient Irish Epic Romance, "The Tain Bo Cuailgne; or, the Cattle Prey of Cuailgne."

["The 'Tain Bo Cuailgne'" says the late Professor O'Curry, "is to Irish what the Argonautic Expedition, or the Seven against Thebes, is to Grecian history." For an account of this, perhaps the earliest epic romance of Western Europe, see the Professor's "Lectures on the Manuscript Materials of Irish History."

The Fight of Cuchullin with Ferdiah took place in the modern county of Louth, at the ford of Ardee, which still preserves the name of the departed champion, Ardee being the softened form of 'Ath Ferdiah,' or Ferdiah's Ford.

The circumstances under which this famous combat took place are thus succinctly mentioned by O'Curry, in his description of the Tain Bo Cuailgne:--

"Cuchulainn confronts the invaders of his province, demands single combat, and conjures his opponents by the laws of Irish chivalry (the 'Fir comhlainn') not to advance farther until they had conquered him. This demand, in accordance with the Irish laws of warfare, is granted; and then the whole contest is resolved into a succession of single combats, in each of which Cuchulainn was victorious."--"Lectures," p. 37.

The original Irish text of this episode, with a literal translation, on which the present metrical version is founded, may be consulted in the appendix to the second series of the Lectures by O'Curry, vol. ii., p. 413.

The date assigned to the famous expedition of the Tain Bo Cuailgne, and consequently to the episode which forms the subject of the present poem, is the close of the century immediately preceding the commencement of the Christian era. This will account for the complete absence of all Christian allusions, so remarkable throughout the poem: an additional proof, if that were required, of its extreme antiquity.]

Cuchullin the great chief had pitched his tent, From Samhain[29] time, till now 'twas budding spring, Fast by the Ford, and held the land at bay. All Erin, save the fragment that he led, His sword held back, nor dared a man to cross The rippling Ford without Cuchullin's leave: Chief after chief had fallen in the attempt; And now the men of Erin through the night Asked in dismay, "Oh! who shall be the next To face the northern hound[30] and free the Ford?" "Let it now be," with one accord they cried, "Ferdiah, son of Daman Dare's son, Of Domnann[31] lord, and all its warrior men." The chiefs thus fated now to meet as foes In early life were friends--had both been taught All feats of arms by the same skilful hands In Scatha's[32] school beneath the peaks of Skye, Which still preserve Cuchullin's glorious name. One feat of arms alone Cuchullin knew Ferdiah knew not of--the fatal cast-- The dread expanding force of the gaebulg[33] Flung from the foot resistless on the foe. But, on the other hand, Ferdiah wore A skin-protecting suit of flashing steel[34] Surpassing all in Erin known till then. At length the council closed, and to the chief Heralds were sent to tell them that the choice That night had fallen on him; but he within His tent retired, received them not, nor went. For well he knew the purport of their suit Was this--that he should fight beside the Ford His former fellow-pupil and his friend. Then Mave,[35] the queen, her powerful druids sent, Armed not alone with satire's scorpion stings, But with the magic power even on the face, By their malevolent taunts and biting sneers, To raise three blistering blots[36] that typified Disgrace, dishonour, and a coward's shame, Which with their mortal venom him would kill, Or on the hour, or ere nine days had sped, If he declined the combat, and refused Upon the instant to come forth with them, And so, for honour's sake, Ferdiah came. For he preferred to die a warrior's death, Pierced to the heart by a proud foeman's spear, Than by the serpent sting of slanderous tongues-- By satire and abuse, and foul reproach. When to the court he came, where the great queen Held revel, he received all due respect: The sweet intoxicating cup went round, And soon Ferdiah felt the power of wine. Great were the rich rewards then promised him For going forth to battle with the Hound: A chariot worth seven cumals four times told,[37] The outfit then of twelve well-chosen men Made of more colours than the rainbow knows, His own broad plains of level fair Magh Aie,[38] To him and his assured till time was o'er Free of all tribute, without fee or fine; The golden brooch, too, from the queen's own cloak, And, above all, fair Finavair[39] for wife. But doubtful was Ferdiah of the queen, And half excited by the fiery cup, And half distrustful, knowing wily Mave, He asked for more assurance of her faith. Then she to him, in rhythmic rise of song, And he in measured ranns to her replied.

MAVE.[40]

A rich reward of golden rings
I'll give to thee, Ferdiah fair,
The forest, where the wild bird sings,
the broad green plain, with me thou'lt share;
Thy children and thy children's seed,
for ever, until time is o'er,
Shall be from every service freed
within the sea-surrounding shore.
Oh, Daman's son, Ferdiah fair,
oh, champion of the wounds renowned,
For thou a charm`ed life dost bear,
since ever by the victories crowned,
Oh! why the proffered gifts decline,
oh! why reject the nobler fame,
Which many an arm less brave than thine,
which many a heart less bold, would claim?

FERDIAH.

Without a guarantee, O queen!
without assurance made most sure,
Thy grassy plains, thy woodlands green,
thy golden rings are but a lure.
The champion's place is not for me
until thou art most firmly bound,
For dreadful will the battle be
between me and Emania's Hound.
For such is Chuland's name,
O queen, and such is Chuland's nature, too,
The noble Hound, the Hound of fame,
the noble heart to dare and do,
The fearful fangs that never yield,
the agile spring so swift and light:
Ah! dread the fortune of the field!
ah! fierce will be the impending fight!

MAVE.

I'll give a champion's guarantee,
and with thee here a compact make,
That in the assemblies thou shalt be
no longer bound thy place to take;
Rich silver-bitted bridles fair--
for such each noble neck demands--
And gallant steeds that paw the air,
shall all be given into thy hands.
For thou, Ferdiah, art indeed
a truly brave and valorous man,
The first of all the chiefs I lead,
the foremost hero in the van;
My chosen champion now thou art,
my dearest friend henceforth thou'lt be,
The very closest to my heart,
from every toll and tribute free.

FERDIAH.

Without securities, I say,
united with thy royal word,
I will not go, when breaks the day,
to seek the combat at the Ford.
That contest, while time runs its course,
and fame records what ne'er should die,
Shall live for ever in full force,
until the judgment day draws nigh.
I will not go, though death ensue,
though thou through some demoniac rite,
Even as thy druid sorcerers do,
canst kill me with thy words of might:
I will not go the Ford to free,
until, O queen! thou here dost swear
By sun and moon,[41] by land and sea,
by all the powers of earth and air.

MAVE.

Thou shalt have all; do thou decide.
I'll give thee an unbounded claim;
Until thy doubts are satisfied,
oh! bind us by each sacred name;--
Bind us upon the hands of kings,
upon the hands of princes bind;
Bind us by every act that brings
assurance to the doubting mind.
Ask what thou wilt, and do not fear
that what thou wouldst cannot be wrought;
Ask what thou wilt, there standeth here
one who will ne'er refuse thee aught;
Ask what thou wilt, thy wildest wish
be certain thou shalt have this night,
For well I know that thou wilt kill this
man who meets thee in the fight.

FERDIAH.

I will have six securities,
no less will I accept from thee;
Be some our country's deities,
the lords of earth, and sky, and sea;
Be some thy dearest ones, O queen!
the darlings of thy heart and eye,
Before my fatal fall is seen
to-morrow, when the hosts draw nigh.
Do this, and though I lose my fame--
do this, and though my life I lose,
The glorious championship I'll claim,
the glorious risk will not refuse.
On, on, in equal strength and might
shall I advance, O queenly Mave,
And Uladh's hero meet in fight,
and battle with Cuchullin brave.

MAVE.

Though Domnal[42] it should be, the sun,
swift-speeding in his fiery car;
Though Niaman's[43] dread name be one,
the consort of the God of War;
These, even these I'll give, though hard
to lure them from their realms serene,
For though they list to lowliest bard,[44]
they may be deaf unto a queen.
Bind it on Morand, if thou wilt,
to make assurance doubly sure;
Bind it, nor dream that dream of guilt
that such a pact will not endure.
By spirits of the wave and wind,
by every spell, by every art,
Bind Carpri Min of Manand,
bind my sons, the darlings of my heart.

FERDIAH.

O Mave! with venom of deceit
that adder tongue of thine o'erflows,
Nor is thy temper over-sweet,
as well thine earlier consort knows.
Thou'rt truly worthy of thy fame
for boastful speech and lust of power,
And well dost thou deserve thy name--
the Brachail of Rathcroghan's tower.[45]
Thy words are fair and soft, O queen!
but still I crave one further proof--
Give me the scarf of silken sheen,
give me the speckled satin woof,
Give from thy cloak's empurpled fold
the golden brooch so fair to see,
And when the glorious gift I hold,
for ever am I bound to thee.

MAVE.

Oh! art thou not my chosen chief,
my foremost champion, sure to win,
My tower, my fortress of relief,
to whom I give this twisted pin?
These, and a thousand gifts more rare,
the treasures of the earth and sea,
Jewels a queen herself might wear,
my grateful hands will give to thee.
And when at length beneath thy sword
the Hound of Ulster shall lie low,
When thou hast ope'd the long-locked Ford,
and let the unguarded water flow,
Then shall I give my daughter's hand,
then my own child shall be thy bride--
She, the fair daughter of the land
where western Elgga's[46] waters glide.

And thus did Mave Ferdiah bind to fight Six chosen champions on the morrow morn, Or combat with Cuchullin all alone, Whichever might to him the easier seem. And he, by the gods' names and by her sons, Bound her the promise she had made to keep, The rich reward to pay to him in full, If by his hand Cuchullin should be slain. For Fergus, young Cuchullin's early friend, The steeds that night were harnessed, and he flew Swift in his chariot to the hero's tent. "Glad am I at thy coming, O my friend!" Cuchullin said: "My pupil, I accept With joy thy welcome," Fergus quick replied: "But what I come for is to give thee news Of him who here will fight thee in the morn." "I listen," said Cuchullin, "do thou speak." "Thine own companion is it, thine own peer, Thy rival in all daring feats of arms, Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son, Of Domnand lord and all its warrior men." "Be sure of this," Cuchullin made reply, "That never wish of mine it could have been A friend should thus come forth with me to fight." "It therefore doth behove thee now, my son," Fergus replied, "to be upon thy guard, Prepared at every point; for not like those Who hitherto have come to fight with thee Upon the 'Tain Bo Cuailgne,' is the chief, Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son." "Here I have been," Cuchullin proudly said, "From Samhain up to Imbule--from the first Of winter days even to the first of spring-- Holding the four great provinces in check That make up Erin, not one foot have I Yielded to any man in all that time, Nor even to him shall I a foot give way." And thus the parley went: first Fergus spoke, Cuchullin then to him in turn replied:

FERGUS.

Time is it, O Cuchullin, to arise,
Time for the fearful combat to prepare;
For hither with the anger in his eyes,
To fight thee comes Ferdiah called the Fair.

CUCHULLIN.

Here I have been, nor has the task been light,
Holding all Erin's warriors at bay:
No foot of ground have I in recreant flight
Yielded to any man or shunned the fray.

FERGUS.

When roused to rage, resistless in his might,
Fearless the man is, for his sword ne'er fails:
A skin-protecting coat of armour bright
He wears, 'gainst which no valour e'er prevails.

CUCHULLIN.

Oh! brave in arms, my Fergus, say not so,
Urge not thy story further on the night:--
On any friend, or facing any foe
I never was behind him in the fight.

FERGUS.

Brave is the man, I say, in battles fierce,
Him it will not be easy to subdue,
Swords cut him not, nor can the sharp spear pierce,
Strong as a hundred men to dare and do.

CUCHULLIN.

Well, should we chance to meet beside the Ford,
I and this chief whose valour ne'er has failed,
Story shall tell the fortune of each sword,
And who succumbed and who it was prevailed.

FERGUS.

Ah! liefer than a royal recompense
To me it were, O champion of the sword,
That thine it were to carry eastward hence
The proud Ferdiah's purple from the Ford.

CUCHULLIN.

I pledge my word, I vow, and not in vain,
Though in the combat we may be as one,
That it is I who shall the victory gain
Over the son of Daman, Dare's son.

FERGUS.

'Twas I that gathered eastward all the bands,
Revenging the foul wrong upon me wrought
By the Ultonians. Hither from their lands
The chiefs, the battle-warriors I have brought.

CUCHULLIN.

If Conor's royal strength had not decayed,
Hard would have been the strife on either side:
Mave of the Plain of Champions had not made
A foray then of so much boastful pride.

FERGUS.

To-day awaits thy hand a greater deed,
To battle with Ferdiah, Daman's son.
Hard, bloody weapons with sharp points thou'lt need,
Cuchullin, ere the victory be won.

Then Fergus to the court and camp went back, While to his people and his tent repaired Ferdiah, and he told them of the pact Made that same night between him and the queen.

The dwellers in Ferdiah's tent that night Were scant of comfort, a foreboding fear Fell on their spirits and their hearts weighed down; Because they knew in whatsoever fight The mighty chiefs, the hundred-slaying two Met face to face, that one of them must fall, Or both, perhaps, or if but only one, Certain were they it would their own lord be, Since on the Tain Bo Cuailgne, it was plain That no one with Cuchullin could contend.

Nor was their chief less troubled; but at first The fumes of the late revel overpowered His senses, and he slept a heavy sleep. Later he woke, the intoxicating steam Had left his brain, and now in sober calm All the anxieties of the impending fight Pressed on his soul and made him grave.[47] He rose From off his couch, and bade his charioteer Harness his pawing horses to the car. The boy would fain persuade his lord to stay, Because he loved his master, and he felt He went but to his death; but he repelled The youth's advice, and spoke to him these words-- "Oh! cease, my servant. I will not be turned By any youth from what I have resolved." And thus in speech and answer spoke the two--

FERDIAH.

Let us go to this challenge,
Let us fly to the Ford,
When the raven shall croak
O'er my blood-dripping sword.
Oh, woe for Cuchullin!
That sword will be red;
Oh, woe! for to-morrow
The hero lies dead.

CHARIOTEER.

Thy words are not gentle,
Yet rest where thou art,
'Twill be dreadful to meet,
And distressful to part.
The champion of Ulster!
Oh! think what a foe!
In that meeting there's grief,
In that journey there's woe!

FERDIAH.

Thy counsel is craven,
Thy caution I slight,
No brave-hearted champion
Should shrink from the fight.
The blood I inherit
Doth prompt me to do--
Let us go to the challenge,
To the Ford let us go!

Then were the horses of Ferdiah yoked Unto the chariot, and he rode full speed Unto the Ford of battle, and the day Began to break, and all the east grew red.

Beside the Ford he halted. "Good, my friend," He said unto his servant, "Spread for me The skins and cushions of my chariot here Beneath me, that I may a full deep sleep Enjoy before the hour of fight arrives; For in the latter portion of the night I slept not, thinking of the fight to come." Unharnessed were the horses, and the boy Spread out the cushions and the chariot's skins, And heavy sleep fell on Ferdiah's lids.

Now of Cuchullin will I speak. He rose Not until day with all its light had come, In order that the men of Erin ne'er Should say of him that it was fear or dread That made him from a restless couch arise. When in the fulness of its light at length Shone forth the day, he bade his charioteer Harness his horses and his chariot yoke. "Harness my horses, good, my servant," said Cuchullin, "and my chariot yoke for me, For lo! an early-rising champion comes To meet us here beside the Ford to-day-- Ferdiah, son of Daman, Dare's son." "My lord, the steeds are ready to thy hand; Thy chariot stands here yoked, do thou step in; The noble car will not disgrace its lord."

Into the chariot, then, the dextrous, bold, Red-sworded, battle-winning hero sprang Cuchullin, son of Sualtam, at a bound. Invisible Bocanachs and Bananachs, And Geniti Glindi[48] shouted round the car, And demons of the earth and of the air. For thus the Tuatha de Danaans used By sorceries to raise those fearful cries Around him, that the terror and the fear Of him should be the greater, as he swept On with his staff of spirits to the war.

Soon was it when Ferdiah's charioteer Heard the approaching clamour and the shout, The rattle and the clatter, and the roar, The whistle, and the thunder, and the tramp, The clanking discord of the missive shields, The clang of swords, the hissing sound of spears, The tinkling of the helmet, the sharp crash Of armour and of arms, the straining ropes, The dangling bucklers, the resounding wheels, The creaking chariot, and the proud approach Of the triumphant champion of the Ford. Clutching his master's robe, the charioteer Cried out, "Ferdiah, rise! for lo, thy foes Are on thee!" Then the Spirit of Insight fell Prophetic on the youth, and thus he sang.

CHARIOTEER.

I hear the rushing of a car,
Near and more near its proud wheels run
A chariot for the God of War
Bursts--as from clouds the sun!
Over Bregg-Ross it speeds along,
Hark! its thunders peal afar!
Oh! its steeds are swift and strong,
And the Victories guide that car.

The Hound of Ulster shaketh the reins,
And white with foam is each courser's mouth;
The Hawk of Ulster swoops o'er the plains
To his quarry here in the south.
Like wintry storm that warrior's form,
Slaughter and Death beside him rush;
The groaning air is dark and warm,
And the low clouds bleed and blush.[49]

Oh, woe to him that is here on the hill,
Who is here on the hillock awaiting the Hound;
Last year it was in a vision of ill
I saw this sight and I heard this sound.
Methought Emania's Hound drew nigh,
Methought the Hound of Battle drew near,
I heard his steps and I saw his eye,
And again I see and I hear.

Then answer made Ferdiah in this wise: "Why dost thou chafe me, talking of this man? For thou hast never ceased to sing his praise Since from his home he came. Thou surely art Not without wage for this: but nathless know Ailill and Mave have both foretold--by me This man shall fall, shall fall for a reward Just as the deed: This day he shall be slain, For it is fated that I free the Ford. 'Tis time for the relief."--And thus they spake:

FERDIAH.

Yes, it is time for the relief;
Be silent then, nor speak his praise,
For prophecy forebodes this chief
Shall pass not the predestined days;
Does fate for this forego its claim,
That Cuailgne's champion here should come
In all his pride and pomp of fame?--
Be sure he comes but to his doom.

CHARIOTEER.

If Cuailgne's champion here I see
In all his pride and pomp of fame,
He little heeds the prophecy,
So swift his course, so straight his aim.
Towards us he flies, as flies the gleam
Of lightning, or as waters flow
From some high cliff o'er which the stream
Drops in the foaming depths below.

FERDIAH.

Highly rewarded thou must be,
For much reward thou sure canst claim,
Else why with such persistency
Thus sing his praises since he came?
And now that he approacheth nigh,
And now that he doth draw more near,
It seems it is to glorify
And not to attack him thou art here.

Not long Ferdiah's charioteer had gazed With wondering look on the majestic car, When, as with thunder-speed it wheeled more near, He saw its whole construction and its plan: A fair, flesh-seeking, four-peaked front it had, And for its body a magnificent creit Fashioned for war, in which the hero stood Full-armed and brandishing a mighty spear, While o'er his head a green pavilion hung; Beneath, two fleetly-bounding, large-eared, fierce, Whale-bellied, lively-hearted, high-flanked, proud, Slender-legged, wide-hoofed, broad-buttocked, prancing steeds, Exulting leaped and bore the car along: Under one yoke, the broad-backed steed was gray, Under the other, black the long-maned steed.

Like to a hawk swooping from off a cliff, Upon a day of harsh and biting wind, Or like a spring gust on a wild March morn Rushing resistless o'er a level plain, Or like the fleetness of a stag when first 'Tis started by the hounds in its first field-- So swept the horses of Cuchullin's car, Bounding as if o'er fiery flags they flew, Making the earth to shake beneath their tread, And tremble 'neath the fleetness of their speed.

At length, upon the north side of the Ford, Cuchullin stopped. Upon the southern bank Ferdiah stood, and thus addressed the chief: "Glad am I, O Cuchullin, thou hast come." "Up to this day," Cuchullin made reply, "Thy welcome would by me have been received As coming from a friend, but not to-day. Besides, 'twere fitter that I welcomed thee, Than that to me thou shouldst the welcome give; 'Tis I that should go forth to fight with thee, Not thou to me, because before thee are My women and my children, and my youths, My herds and flocks, my horses and my steeds." Ferdiah, half in scorn, spake then these words-- And then Cuchullin answered in his turn. "Good, O Cuchullin, what untoward fate Has brought thee here to measure swords with me? For when we two with Scatha lived, in Skye, With Uatha, and with Aife, thou wert then My page to spread my couch for me at night, Or tie my spears together for the chase." "True hast thou spoken," said Cuchullin; "yes, I then was young, thy junior, and I did For thee the services thou dost recall; A different story shall be told of us From this day forth, for on this day I feel Earth holds no champion that I dare not fight!" And thus invectives bitter, sharp and cold, Between the two were uttered, and first spake Ferdiah, then alternate each with each.

FERDIAH.

What has brought thee here, O Hound,
To encounter a strong foe?
O'er the trappings of thy steeds
Crimson-red thy blood shall flow.
Woe is in thy journey, woe;
Let the cunning leech prepare;
Shouldst thou ever reach thy home,
Thou shalt need his care.

CUCHULLIN.

I, who here with warriors fought,
With the lordly chiefs of hosts,
With a hundred men at once,
Little heed thy empty boasts.
Thee beneath the wave to place,
Thee to strike and thee to slay
In the first path of our fight
Am I here to-day.

FERDIAH.

Thy reproach in me behold,
For 'tis I that deed will do,
'Tis of me that Fame shall tell
He the Ultonian's champion slew.
Yes, in spite of all their hosts,
Yes, in spite of all their prayers:
So it shall long be told
That the loss was theirs.

CUCHULLIN.

How, then, shall we first engage--
Is it with the hard-edged sword?
In what order shall we go
To the battle of the Ford?
Shall we in our chariots ride?
Shall we wield the bloody spear?
How am I to hew thee down
With thy proud hosts here?

FERDIAH.

Ere the setting of the sun,
Ere shall come the darksome night,
If again thou must be told,
With a mountain thou shalt fight:
Thee the Ultonians will extol,
Thence impetuous wilt thou grow,
Oh! their grief, when through their ranks
Will thy spectre go!

CUCHULLIN.

Thou hast fallen in danger's gap,
Yes, thy end of life is nigh;
Sharp spears shall be plied on thee
Fairly 'neath the open sky:
Pompous thou wilt be and vain
Till the time for talk is o'er,
From this day a battle-chief
Thou shalt be no more.

FERDIAH.

Cease thy boastings, for the world
Sure no braggart hath like thee:
Thou art not the chosen chief--
Thou hast not the champion's fee:--
Without action, without force,
Thou art but a giggling page;
Yes, thou trembler, with thy heart
Like a bird's in cage.

CUCHULLIN.

When we were with Scatha once,
It but seemed our valour's due
That we should together fight,
Both as one our sports pursue.
Thou wert then my dearest friend,
Comrade, kinsman, thou wert all,--
Ah, how sad, if by my hand
Thou at last should fall.

FERDIAH.

Much of honour shalt thou lose,
We may then mere words forego:--
On a stake thy head shall be
Ere the early cock shall crow.
O Cuchullin, Cuailgne's pride,
Grief and madness round thee twine;
I will do thee every ill,
For the fault is thine.

"Good, O Ferdiah, 'twas no knightly act," Cuchullin said, "to have come meanly here, To combat and to fight with an old friend, Through instigation of the wily Mave, Through intermeddling of Ailill the king; To none of those who here before thee came Was victory given, for they all fell by me:-- Thou too shalt win nor victory, nor increase Of fame in this encounter thou dost dare, For as they fell, so thou by me shall fall." Thus was he saying and he spake these words, To which Ferdiah listened, not unmoved.

CUCHULLIN.

Come not to me, O champion of the host,
Come not to me, Ferdiah, as my foe,
For though it is thy fate to suffer most,
All, all must feel the universal woe.

Come not to me defying what is right,
Come not to me, thy life is in my power;
Ah, the dread issue of each former fight
Why hast thou not remembered ere this hour?

Art thou not bright with diverse dainty arms,
A purple girdle and a coat of mail?
And yet to win the maid of peerless charms
For whom thou dar'st the battle thou shalt fail.

Yes, Finavair, the daughter of the queen,
The faultless form, the gold without alloy,
The glorious virgin of majestic mien,
Shalt not be thine, Ferdiah, to enjoy.

No, the great prize shall not by thee be won,--
A fatal lure, a false, false light is she,
To numbers promised and yet given to none,
And wounding many as she now wounds thee.

Break not thy vow, never with me to fight,
Break not the bond that once thy young heart gave,
Break not the truth we both so loved to plight,
Come not to me, O champion bold and brave!

To fifty champions by her smiles made slaves
The maid was proffered, and not slight the gift;
By me they have been sent into their graves,
From me they met destruction sure and swift.

Though vauntingly Ferbaeth my arms defied,
He of a house of heroes prince and peer,
Short was the time until I tamed his pride
With one swift cast of my true battle-spear.

Srub Daire's valour too had swift decline:
Hundreds of women's secrets he possessed,
Great at one time was his renown as thine,
In cloth of gold, not silver, was he dressed.

Though 'twas to me the woman was betrothed
On whom the chiefs of the fair province smile,
To shed thy blood my spirit would have loathed
East, west, or north, or south of all the isle.

"Good, O Ferdiah," still continuing, spoke Cuchullin, "thus it is that thou shouldst not Have come with me to combat and to fight; For when we were with Scatha, long ago, With Uatha and with Aife, we were wont To go together to each battle-field, To every combat and to every fight, Through every forest, every wilderness, Through every darksome path and dangerous way." And thus he said and thus he spake these words:

CUCHULLIN.

We were heart-comrades then,-- Comrades in crowds of men, In the same bed have lain, When slumber sought us; In countries far and near, Hurling the battle spear, Chasing the forest deer, As Scatha taught us.

"O Cuchullin of the beautiful feats," Replied Ferdiah, "though we have pursued Together thus the arts of war and peace, And though the bonds of friendship that we swore Thou hast recalled to mind, from me shall come Thy first of wounds. O Hound, remember not Our old companionship, which shall not now Avail thee, shall avail thee not, O Hound!" "Too long here have we waited in this way," Again resumed Ferdiah. "To what arms, Say then, Cuchullin, shall we now resort?" "The choice of arms is thine until the night," Cuchullin made reply; "for so it chanced That thou shouldst be the first to reach the Ford." "Dost thou at all remember," then rejoined Ferdiah, "those swift missive spears with which We practised oft with Scatha in our youth, With Uatha and with Aife, and our friends?" "Them I, indeed, remember well," replied Cuchullin. "If thou dost remember well, Let us to them resort," Ferdiah said. Their missive weapons then on either side They both resorted to. Upon their arms They braced two emblematic missive shields, And their eight well-turned-handled lances took, Their eight quill-javelins also, and their eight White ivory-hilted swords, and their eight spears, Sharp, ivory-hafted, with hard points of steel. Betwixt the twain the darts went to and fro, Like bees upon the wing on a fine day; No cast was made that was not sure to hit. From morn to nigh mid-day the missiles flew, Till on the bosses of the brazen shields Their points were blunted, but though true the aim, And excellent the shooting, the defence Was so complete that not a wound was given, And neither champion drew the other's blood. "'Tis time to drop these feats," Ferdiah said, "For not by such as these shall we decide Our battle here this day." "Let us desist," Cuchullin answered, "if the time hath come." They ceased, and threw their missile shafts aside Into the hands of their two charioteers. "What weapons, O Cuchullin, shall we now Resort to?" said Ferdiah. "Unto thee," Cuchullin answered, "doth belong the choice Of arms until the night, because thou wert The first that reached the Ford." "Well, let us, then," Ferdiah said, "resume our straight, smooth, hard, Well-polished spears with their hard flaxen strings." "Let us resume them, then," Cuchullin said. They braced upon their arms two stouter shields, And then resorted to their straight, smooth, hard, Well-polished spears, with their hard flaxen strings.[50] 'Twas now mid-day, and thus 'till eventide They shot against each other with the spears. But though the guard was good on either side, The shooting was so perfect that the blood Ran from the wounds of each, by each made red. "Let us now, O Cuchullin," interposed Ferdiah, "for the present time desist." "Let us indeed desist," Cuchullin said "If, O Ferdiah, the fit time hath come." They ceased, and laid their gory weapons down, Their faithful charioteers' attendant care. Each to the other gently then approached, Each round the other's neck his hands entwined, And gave him three fond kisses on the cheek. Their horses fed in the same field that night, Their charioteers were warmed at the same fire, Their charioteers beneath their bodies spread Green rushes, and beneath the heads the down Of wounded men's soft pillows. Then the skilled Professors of the art of healing came With herbs, which to the scars of all their wounds They put. Of every herb and healing plant That to Cuchullin's wound they did apply, He would an equal portion westward send Over the Ford, Ferdiah's wounds to heal. So that the men of Erin could not say, If it should chance Ferdiah fell by him, That it was through superior skill and care Cuchullin was enabled him to slay.

Of each kind, too, of palatable food And sweet, intoxicating, pleasant drink, The men of Erin to Ferdiah sent, He a fair moiety across the Ford Sent northward to Cuchullin, where he lay; Because his own purveyors far surpassed In numbers those the Ulster chief retained: For all the federate hosts of Erin were Purveyors to Ferdiah, with the hope That he would beat Cuchullin from the Ford. The Bregians[51] only were Cuchullin's friends, His sole purveyors, and their wont it was To come to him and talk to him at night.

That night they rested there. Next morn they rose And to the Ford of battle early came. "What weapons shall we use to-day?" inquired Cuchullin. "Until night the choice is thine," Replied Ferdiah; "for the choice of arms Has hitherto been mine." "Then let us take Our great broad spears to-day," Cuchullin said, "And may the thrusting bring us to an end Sooner than yesterday's less powerful darts. Let then our charioteers our horses yoke Beneath our chariots, so that we to-day May from our horses and our chariots fight." Ferdiah answered: "Let it so be done." And then they braced their two broad, full-firm shields Upon their arms that day, and in their hands That day they took their great broad-bladed spears. And thus from early morn to evening's close They smote each other with such dread effect That both were pierced, and both made red with gore,-- Such wounds, such hideous clefts in either breast Lay open to the back, that if the birds Cared ever through men's wounded frames to pass, They might have passed that day, and with them borne Pieces of quivering flesh into the air. When evening came, their very steeds were tired, Their charioteers depressed, and they themselves Worn out--even they the champions bold and brave. "Let us from this, Ferdiah, now desist," Cuchullin said; "for see, our charioteers Droop, and our very horses flag and fail, And when fatigued they yield, so well may we." And further thus he spoke, persuading rest:--

CUCHULLIN.

Not with the obstinate rage and spite With which Fomorian pirates fight Let us, since now has fallen the night, Continue thus our feud; In brief abeyance it may rest, Now that a calm comes o'er each breast:-- When with new light the world is blest, Be it again renewed."

"Let us desist, indeed," Ferdiah said, "If the fit time hath come."--And so they ceased. From them they threw their arms into the hands Of their two charioteers. Each of them came Forward to meet the other. Each his hands Put round the other's neck, and thus embraced, Gave to him three fond kisses on the cheek. Their horses fed in the same field that night; Their charioteers were warmed by the same fire. Their charioteers beneath their bodies spread Green rushes, and beneath their heads the down Of wounded men's soft pillows. Then the skilled Professors of the art of healing came To tend them and to cure them through the night. But they for all their skill could do no more, So numerous and so dangerous were the wounds, The cuts, and clefts, and scars so large and deep, But to apply to them the potent charms Of witchcraft, incantations, and barb spells, As sorcerers use, to stanch the blood and stay The life that else would through the wounds escape:-- Of every charm of witchcraft, every spell, Of every incantation that was used To heal Cuchullin's wounds, a full fair half Over the Ford was westward sent to heal Ferdiah's hurts: of every sort of food, And sweet, intoxicating, pleasant drink The men of Erin to Ferdiah sent, He a fair moiety across the Ford Sent northward to Cuchullin where he lay, Because his own purveyors far surpassed In number those the Ulster chief retained. For all the federate hosts of Erin were Purveyors to Ferdiah, with the hope That he would beat Cuchullin from the Ford. The Bregians only were Cuchullin's friends-- His sole purveyors--and their wont it was To come to him, and talk with him at night.

They rested there that night. Next morn they rose, And to the Ford of battle forward came. That day a great, ill-favoured, lowering cloud Upon Ferdiah's face Cuchullin saw. "Badly," said he, "dost thou appear this day, Ferdiah, for thy hair has duskier grown This day, and a dull stupour dims thine eyes, And thine own face and form, and what thou wert In outward seeming have deserted thee." "'Tis not through fear of thee that I am so," Ferdiah said, "for Erin doth not hold This day a champion I could not subdue." And thus betwixt the twain this speech arose, And thus Cuchullin mourned and he replied:

CUCHULLIN.

O Ferdiah, if it be thou, Certain am I that on thy brow The blush should burn and the shame should rise, Degraded man whom the gods despise, Here at a woman's bidding to wend To fight thy fellow-pupil and friend.

FERDIAH.

O Cuchullin, O valiant man, Inflicter of wounds since the war began, O true champion, a man must come To the fated spot of his final home,-- To the sod predestined by fate's decree His resting-place and his grave to be.

CUCHULLIN.

Finavair, the daughter of Mave, Although thou art her willing slave, Not for thy long-felt love has been Promised to thee by the wily queen,-- No, it was but to test thy might That thou wert lured into this fatal fight.

FERDIAH.

My might was tested long ago In many a battle, as thou dost know, Long, O Hound of the gentle rule, Since we fought together in Scatha's school: Never a braver man have I seen, Never, I feel, hath a braver been.

CUCHULLIN.

Thou art the cause of what has been done, O son of Daman, Dare's son, Of all that has happened thou art the cause, Whom hither a woman's counsel draws-- Whom hither a wily woman doth send To measure swords with thy earliest friend.

FERDIAH.

If I forsook the field, O Hound, If I had turned from the battleground-- This battleground without fight with thee, Hard, oh, hard had it gone with me; Bad should my name and fame have been With King Ailill and with Mave the queen.

CUCHULLIN.

Though Mave of Croghan had given me food, Even from her lips, though all of good That the heart can wish or wealth can give Were offered to me, there does not live A king or queen on the earth for whom I would do thee ill or provoke thy doom.

FERDIAH.

O Cuchullin, thou victor in fight, Of battle triumphs the foremost knight; To what result the fight may lead, 'Twas Mave alone that prompted the deed; Not thine the fault, not thine the blame, Take thou the victory and the fame.

CUCHULLIN.

My faithful heart is a clot of blood, A feud thus forced cannot end in good; Oh, woe to him who is here to be slain! Oh, grief to him who his life will gain! For feats of valour no strength have I To fight the fight where my friend must die.

"A truce to these invectives," then broke in Ferdiah; "we far other work this day Have yet to do than rail with woman's words. Say, what shall be our arms in this day's fight?" "Till night," Cuchullin said, "the choice is thine, For yester morn the choice was given to me." "Let us," Ferdiah answered, "then resort Unto our heavy, sharp, hard-smiting swords, For we are nearer to the end to-day Of this our fight, by hewing, than we were On yesterday by thrusting of the spears." "So let us do, indeed," Cuchullin said. Then on their arms two long great shields they took, And in their hands their sharp, hard-smiting swords. Each hewed the other with such furious strokes That pieces larger than an infant's head Of four weeks' old were cut from out the thighs And great broad shoulder-blades of each brave chief. And thus they persevered from early morn Till evening's close in hewing with the swords. "Let us desist," at length Ferdiah said. "Let us indeed desist, if the fit time Hath come," Cuchullin said; and so they ceased. From them they cast their arms into the hands Of their two charioteers; and though that morn Their meeting was of two high-spirited men, Their separation, now that night had come, Was of two men dispirited and sad. Their horses were not in one field that night, Their charioteers were warmed not at one fire. That night they rested there, and in the morn Ferdiah early rose and sought alone The Ford of battle, for he knew that day Would end the fight, and that the hour drew nigh When one or both of them should surely fall.

Then was it for the first time he put on His battle suit of battle and of fight, Before Cuchullin came unto the Ford. That battle suit of battle and of fight Was this: His apron of white silk, with fringe Of spangled gold around it, he put on Next his white skin. A leather apron then, Well sewn, upon his body's lower part He placed, and over it a mighty stone As large as any mill-stone was secured. His firm, deep, iron apron then he braced Over the mighty stone--an apron made Of iron purified from every dross-- Such dread had he that day of the Gaebulg. His crested helm of battle on his head He last put on--a helmet all ablaze From forty gems in each compartment set, Cruan, and crystal, carbuncles of fire, And brilliant rubies of the Eastern world. In his right hand a mighty spear he seized, Destructive, sharply-pointed, straight and strong:-- On his left side his sword of battle swung, Curved, with its hilt and pommel of red gold. Upon the slope of his broad back he placed His dazzling shield, around whose margin rose Fifty huge bosses, each of such a size That on it might a full-grown hog recline, Exclusive of the larger central boss That raised its prominent round of pure red gold.

Full many noble, varied, wondrous feats Ferdiah on that day displayed, which he Had never learned at any tutor's hand, From Uatha, or from Aife, or from her, Scatha, his early nurse in lonely Skye:-- But which were all invented by himself That day, to bring about Cuchullin's fall.