Chapter XVII: Book XV

So, in a high hill-nook on Fedain Collna,
’Mid whitening bushes of wild, spiky thorn,
Cucullin lay, held to his sick-man’s bed
By hooks and ties and crooks. Through night’s dark shades
He heard the red More-reega’s calls and cries,
The blood-cries of the bitter-throated Bive.
Then, in the first grey whiteness of day’s light,
He called and said to his own charioteer,
Namely, to Laeg the son of Ree-angowra:
“O my friend Laeg,” he said, “through many a noon
Thou hast been guarding and protecting me
In my deep sleep in gaps and ways of danger;
And thou hast been a prince of charioteers.
It will be shameful to thee, truly, now,
If aught shall happen on yon field to-day,
On one side or the other, of the which
Thou hast for me no knowledge.” “Aught,” said Laeg,
“That I may know myself, O Cucucawn,
Shall be made known to thee. And now,” said Laeg,
“E’en in the first grey whiteness of day’s light,
Out of the camp upon the west I see
A herd of kine stray eastward. And I see
A band of gillies speed upon the plain
To hinder them and turn them; and I see
Out of the camp upon the east a band
Of beardless gillies speed upon that plain
To take the kine and capture them.” “’Tis true,”
Cucullin said. “That is a true beginning
Of a great contest and a good contention.
The herd of kine goes forth upon the plain;
The gillies from the west and from the east
Will clash together round the herd; and soon
The kings and battle-warriors will be roused,
And the great day of battle will begin.”
That thing was true which thus Cucullin said.
The little herd went forth upon the plain.
The gillies from the east and from the west
Clashed and encountered round the herd. “O Laeg,”
Cucullin asked, “who is now giving battle?”
“The young folk out of Ulster,” Laeg made answer.
“In what way fight they there?” Cucullin asked.
“’Tis manfully that there they fight,” said Laeg,
“Contending for that herd.” Cucullin said:
“Alas! that I have not my battle-strength
To go to them and help their gillie-fray!
Had I my strength, then clear and evident
My breach would be before them there this hour!”
“Comfort thyself, my Cucucawn,” said Laeg.
“This is no shame unto thy battle-honour,
No stain unto thy valour. Thou didst well
Before this hour; thou wilt do well hereafter.”
“Yet, O my friend, O Laeg,” Cucullin said,
“Arouse the men of Ulster towards this battle.
’Tis indeed time for them to rise.” Laeg went
To arouse the men of Ulster towards that battle.
Amidst the tents, amidst the sleeping hosts,
He spake his rhapsody of rousing words,
Bidding them wake and rise. “Arise,” he said,
“Arise with speed, deed-doing kings of Maha!
Arise with strength of valorous hero-deeds.
In all wide Erin there was never found
One like Cucullin son of Sooaltim,
Who hath defended you and fought for you,
And is laid, now, low with red, bitter wounds.
To save the captives and the kine of Cooley,
To-day with strength of valorous deeds arise!”
And all the men of Ulster in that camp,
Together, in obedience to their kings,
And in obedience to their chiefs and princes,
Roused by these words of rising served to them
Aloud by Laeg the son of Ree-angowra,
Rose as one man; and in this wise they rose—
Naked, save only for their sharp-edged weapons
Held in their hands; and every man whose tent
Opened to eastward, westward through his tent
Tore his way out, he deeming it too long
To circuit round the tent. And Laeg returned.
Cucullin said: “How rise the men of Ulster
Now toward the battle, O my friend, O Laeg?”
“Full manfully,” said Laeg, “for thus they rise,
Quite bare, quite naked, save for their sharp weapons
Held in their hands,” said Laeg, “and he whose tent
Opens to eastward, westward through his tent
Tears his way forth, because it seems to him
It were too long to make the circuit round it.”
“O Laeg,” Cucullin answered, “they are men
And kingly heroes who have risen there
Round about Conor at dawn of day to-day!
To say so is not overmuch!”
Howbeit,
This was the time when Conor son of Fahtna,
On his own mound of camping, where he was,
Said to wise-worded Shenca: “Go, O Shenca,
Utter thy cry of knowledge and white wisdom
Amidst the Ultonians. Let them not fare forth
Into this fight before the strength and omen
Of happy fortune shall have come to us,—
Until the radiance of the sun shall rise
Into the cloud-built rafters of the sky,
And fill with light each knoll and slope and hill
And hollow vale and glen throughout wide Erin.”
And the hosts tarried at the voice of Shenca
Speaking that cry of knowledge and white wisdom,—
Until the radiance of the sun arose
O’er the green-sided, chosen earth, and rose
Into the cloud-built rafters of high heaven,
And filled with light each glen throughout that Fifth.
“Good, O my friend, O Shenca,” Conor said;
“Arouse the Ultonians for the battle. Now
It is the time for them to rise.” And Shenca
Aroused them; and he spake these words of rising.
“Arise!” he said, “deed-doing kings of Maha!
Generous people! let the blood-red battle
Be fought by you. Let shields be rent in twain.
Let streams of blood flow beneath feet of men.
Let edgéd weapons be ground down. Let earth
Be angrily dug up. O men! O kings!
Let grief and sorrow fill the hearts of queens.
Let the Bive drink her crimson, bitter drink.
Arise! If only for your Bull of Cooley,
Arise! With strength of hero-deeds, arise!”
And Laeg was not long watching in his place
Ere he saw somewhat; for he saw the hosts
Of the men of Ulster and the men of Erin
Rise as one man. Above their heads they raised
The brown-sharp forests of their shining spears;
And they marched forth, each chief of them inciting
And heartening his own battle-troop. Ere long,
Upon the lands called Gawrig those two hosts
Clashed into combat; and they fell to smiting,
To hewing down, dismembering and maiming,
To slaying and to slaughtering each the other,
For a long while and a great space of time.
This was the hour wherein Cucullin said
To his own charioteer, even to Laeg
(For a bright, lustrous cloud was o’er the sun):
“Look for us, O my friend, O Laeg, how now
Fight the Ultonians in that battle.” Laeg
Replied: “’Tis manfully that there they fight.
For were I now to mount my battle-chariot:
Were Aen, the charioteer of Conall Carna,
To mount his own; and were we, side by side,
To drive our chariots from the one battle-wing
E’en to the other, o’er the points of weapons,—
Not hoof or wheel or hind-shaft would touch ground,—
Owing to the true closeness, sureness, firmness,
Wherewith their warrior-weapons are held firm
In hands of Ulster warriors at this hour.”
“’Tis grievous that I am not now of strength,”
Cucullin said, “to be amidst them there!
Were I of strength, then clear and evident
My battle-breach would be, e’en like the breaches
Which other warriors on that plain of battle
Will make amidst their foemen’s hosts this day!”
“Comfort thyself, O Cucucawn,” said Laeg.
“This is no shame unto thy battle-honour,
No stain unto thy valour. Thou didst well
Before this hour. Thou wilt do well hereafter.”
The hosts of Ulster and the hosts of Erin
Held still to battle-striking and to smiting,
To hewing down, dismembering and maiming,
To slaying and to slaughtering each the other,
For a long while and a great space of time.

This was the hour when, with great urgency,
The Helping Triads of the men of Erin
Arrived to help the battle. But the share
Which Maev, when they arrived, allowed to them,
Was this alone, namely, to render sure
The slaying of great Conor son of Fahtna,
If upon him the battle should be broken;
And, on the other part, to render sure
The safe retreat of Al-yill and herself,
If upon them there should be rout and flight.
And of these Triads of the men of Erin
There were three Abrat-rooas of Loch Ree:
There were three Mahn-yas of the Land of Murrisc:
There were three Lussens out of Looahar:
There were three Fintans from the Plain of Femen:
There were three each of very many names.
Now was the hour when, with great urgency,
Three battle-castles, three huge battle-wheels,
Arrived from Ulster, having come to Ulster
Over the many-billowed, white-foamed sea,
From a land nearer to the sunrise. Each
Of those huge battle-castles, those Bive’s-folds,
Was cased with shining shields; and each one bristled
With black, smooth, pine-long spears and blue-grey swords;
And each one had four doors sprinkled with gems,
So that from far they seemed like groups of stars;
And each was filled with men having round shields;
And each was drawn by full-maned, high, great steeds;
And o’er the three there flew three flocks of birds,
Whereof one flock was red and one was white
And one was black like ravens. And three bives,
Red-mouthed and black, circled around those towers
Amidst the air, and prophesied and sang;
And this is what they sang around those towers:
“Swaths of the battle—swaths and sheaves of slain.
Force of compelling. Terrible the deed.
Towers of Slaughter. Ravens shall be full.
Flood-red the ground. Men in the clay. Long swaths.
Swaths of the battle. Swaths and sheaves of slain.”
And Maev perceived those battle-castles come.
She, in the first grey whiteness of day’s light,
Had risen, and had ridden round her hosts
Three times, that she might know whether each band
Was fierce and terrible and well-arrayed
And active and prepared for valiant deeds.
And when the great, wide battle had begun,
She, from her mound of watching and of battle,
Had watched, and she had seen that neither side
Had gained advantage o’er the other side.
Then, when she saw those battle-castles come,
She said within herself: “If now in Fergus
The son of Roy there was that rage and ardour
Which was within him, when, in former days,
He broke great battle-rifts in distant lands—
He, notwithstanding yon strange battle-towers,
Would break this battle on the men of Ulster,
So that they should be driven hence to-day
With shame; and so that Conor here should fall.”
And then it was that she addressed to Fergus
Her rousing words; and she said these words there:
“O royal warrior of the world, O Fergus,
There was a time, of which men oft have spoken,
When ’midst the heroes of the western world,
There was not any greater than thyself
In valour and in prowess and in battle.
Thou, by thy prowess, brokest thirty battles
O’er chiefs in distant lands, e’en to the City
Of Moorn encircled by its wall of fire
In the far distant isle of ice and snow.
Thou, when thou wast with Esorb, King of Spain,
Didst go, with hosts and multitudes of Spain,
To Soda, King of Africa, and tookest
A city of the warlike folk of Carthage
By strength of war. There was none like to thee;
And all men spoke of thy renown and glory.
And then, because thou didst appear to him
Too great to be in the one Fifth with him,
Conor the son of Fahtna Fahee drove thee
Forth from thy place, with contumely and shame.
Much he deceived thee and insulted thee.
He slew the brightest Candles of the Gael
While they were underneath thy guard and honour.
There is no theme for jest and mockery
In Avvin and in Ulster and in Erin,
Save this—thy cringing to the men of Ulster
After they so have scorned and driven thee.
Tell me, O royal warrior of the world,
Whither have gone that great renown and power
And strength of hero-deeds which once were thine—
So that men now account thee not at all
When there is need of valour and achievements
And hero-power?”
These were Maev’s words to Fergus.
And with great joy she saw his wrath of rage
Come to his face, until it made his face
Red like pure, crimson flame. “Truly,” said Fergus,
“By all the gods by whom my people swear
I swear that if I had my sword to-day,
Skull-rooves of men should fly from cheeks of men;
Middles of men should break from thighs of men;
Fore-arms of men should part from arms of men;
And throats of men should fall with throats of men;
And fists of men should fall with fists of men;
And heads of men should fall with ears of shields;
Until they should be even as great in number
As hailstones on a plain ’twixt two dry greens,
Round which a high-king’s kingly steeds might race
On a fresh morn in spring. To east and west,
Through me, with heads and limbs of the Ultonians,
If I obtain my sword!”
This was the time
When Al-yill said unto his charioteer,
Namely, unto Faer-loga: “Let that sword
Which destroys skin come to me now, O gillie;
And I aver that if ’tis worse with thee
To-day in bloom and tendance than it was
Upon that day on which thou tookest it
In Cooley,—then, although the hosts of Erin
And Alba should attempt to save thee from me,
They should not save thee.” And Faer-loga went,
And brought with him the sword beneath its glory
Of gentle tendance, and beneath its flaming
Of flame-like radiance. And the sword was given
Into the hand of Al-yill, and by Al-yill
Was straightway placed into the hand of Fergus.
And Fergus made great joy before his sword.
“My love to thee!” he said, “O Caladcolg!
O sword of Leddy!—And on whom,” said Fergus,
“Shall it now play?” “On the great hosts,” said Maev,
“Around thee on the field on every side.
And let not anyone obtain from thee
Forgiveness or protection there to-day,
Unless he be some true friend who obtains it.”
Fergus then took his weapons, and he went
Forth to the battle; and the first great deed
Which he performed there was to clear a gap
Of a hundred with that sword, the Caladcolg,
In his two hands. And Al-yill took his weapons;
Maev took her weapons; and they each fared forth
Into the battle, into that great battle
Upon the fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig—
Into the last great battle of the Táin.
And Fergus played upon the Ulster hosts
The singing of his sword, so that the battle
Was three times routed toward the north before him;
Until those battle-castles from a land
Nigh to the sunrise, with their dreadful Coo-al
Of spears and swords, wheeled toward the men of Erin,
And three times forced and drove them backward.
Now,
Conor the son of Fahtna heard that thing
In his own place of battle where he was,
Namely, that thus the battle had been routed
Against him three times toward the north. ’Twas then
That Conor said to his own warrior-household,
The inward heart of the Creev Roe in Avvin:
“Keep ye this place a little, O ye men,”
He said to them, “this place in which I am,
That I myself may go to learn by whom
The battle has been three times driven and routed
So, toward the north, against us.” And ’twas then
That his own household answered him with fervour
And dearness. “We will keep this place,” they said.
“The heaven is above us and the earth
Is underneath us and the blue-rimmed sea
Is round us in a circuit. And unless
The firmament with all its showers of stars
Shall fall upon the firm face of the earth,—
Unless the many-furrowed, blue-rimmed sea
Shall veil the thick-haired forehead of the world,—
Unless the earth shall break and yawn beneath us,—
We will not yield a thumb’s breadth in retreat
Backward, till thou shalt come to us again,
Or till we shall be slain.” Then Conor went
Forth to that place, where, as he had been told,
The battle had been three times driven and routed
Against him toward the north. And it was there—
Even amid the hard-fought, crowded battle—
That a shield struck a shield. The shield of Fergus
Struck the Ō-hawn´, the many-victoried,
Great shield of Conor, which had four peaked ears
Of gold, and four ridged borders of red gold.
And Fergus struck his three Bive’s slaughter-blows
Against the shield of Conor; and thereat
The great Ō-hawn´, the shield on Conor, moaned;
And when it moaned, the three surge-waves of Erin,
The Wave of Rury and the Wave of Cleena
And the far northern Wave of Thoo-ig Inver,
Moaned through the air athwart the lands of Erin
In answer to the shield. And all the shields
Amidst the men of Ulster in that hour,
Upon their shoulders or within their chariots,
Moaned through the air across the plain of battle
In answer to the shield of Conor. Yet,
However great the valour and the power
Wherewith that warrior, Fergus, struck the shield
On Conor,—yet so great the battle-strength
And hero-power were wherewith the King
Maintained the shield against him—that the ear
Of the Ō-hawn´ ne’er touched the king’s own ear.
“Alas! O men,” said Fergus, “who is he
That can thus hold his shield against me here,
On this my day of vengeance and of battle—
Here where the Five Great Fifths of Erin meet
Upon the fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig—
Here in the last great battle of the Táin?”
“Leave thou this place, O Fergus,” Conor said.
“He who is here is younger and more perfect
Than thou art; and his mother and his father
Were better born than thine. He who is here
Is he who drove thee from thy patrimony
And from thy land and thine inheritance.
It is the man who put thee in the dwelling
Of hares and foxes and wild, forest deer.
It is the man who left thee not so much
As thine own stride of all thy fields and lands.
It is the man who put thee to be kept
And to be paid and ordered by a woman.
It is the man who violated thee
Concerning the three Candles of the Gael,
Slaying beneath thy very word and safeguard
Those three unfaithful, valorous sons of Usna,
Who had deprived him of his dearest jewel.
It is the man who will now beat thee back
In presence of these mighty hosts and throngs—
Conor the son of Fahtna Fahee son
Of Ross the Red-haired son of Rury More—
High-king of Ulster and distinguished son
Of a High-king of all the realms of Erin.”
And Fergus heard these words which Conor said.
Then ’midst his wrath of rage and battle-anger
And strength of ire, he held in memory
Those words he once had said in Avvin Maha,
Namely, that e’en if Conor should betray him,
And violate his honour and his safeguard
(A thing which he was sure would ne’er be done),
He would not seek the king’s own blood or flesh;
Though there was not another man in Ulster
Who should insult his honour and his safeguard
And from his hands should not obtain red death.
This was the promise which he once had given.
Yet this, indeed, is truth and not a lie,
Namely, that e’en had he ne’er given that promise,
It would have seemed an evil thing to Fergus
To seek to slay that king whom he had loved
In happy days in smooth-bright Avvin Maha—To
slay the High-king of his own dear land,
The land of Ulster. Then he turned his anger
Away from Conor; and he turned his anger
Against the Ulster hosts on every side
Throughout the battle. He hurled back his sword,
The Caladcolg, till its point touched the ground
Behind him, that he so might strike with it
Its three enchanted blows of doom and judgment
Upon the Ulster hosts on every side,
That so the dead amidst those hosts of Ulster
Might number more e’en than their quick should number;
(Because that sword from out the Shee was thus:
When a true warrior’s hands would strike with it
Its three enchanted blows of doom and judgment,
It would put on the curve and length and sheen
Of a rainbow in the air).
That now was seen
By Conor’s exiled son, Cormac Conlingish,
The head of the Black Exile; and he made
A rush as of the quick spring-wind, approaching
Fergus; and he closed his forearms round him.
“Unfriendly, and not friendly, were that deed!
Un-native, and not native, were that deed!
Of out-lands, not of Ulster, were that deed!
My master, Fergus!” Cormac said to him;
“And, O my tutor and my master, Fergus,
Let not the men of Ulster now be slain
By thy three blows of doom. Rather, O Fergus,
Think of the honour of thy native land,
Think of the honour of the men of Ulster,
E’en in thy day of vengeance and of battle.”
“Leave me! Away from me! O son,” said Fergus;
“Because I shall not live unless I strike
My three enchanted blows of doom and judgment
Upon the hosts of Ulster here to-day,
So that the dead amidst the hosts of Ulster
May number more e’en than their quick shall number.”
“Bend thy hand sideways, O my master, Fergus,”
Cormac Conlingish said, “and cut the hills
Which are beside this field and plain of battle;
And it will ease thy warrior-wrath of rage.”
Fergus delayed a moment; then he said:
“Let Conor son of Fahtna then return
To his own place of battle where he was.”
And Cormac said to Conor: “Go, my father,
To thine own place of battle where thou wast;
Because this man will not put forth his wrath
Now on the men of Ulster in this place.”
And Conor turned and went to his own place,
Where he had been. And Fergus bent his hand
Sideways; and o’er the heads of the great hosts
With the curved sword from out the Shee he struck
His three enchanted blows of doom and judgment
Upon the hills, which were beside the plain;
And struck their summits from the three low hills—That
those three Maels of Meath might be for men
A sign of shame and of reproach to Ulster
Even until the ending of all time.
And it was thus that Fergus son of Roy
And Conor son of Fahtna separated
Upon this Táin.
And so the wrath of Fergus
Was one part suaged; but still he made his path
A path of reddening; and his warrior-slaughters
Were still unscanty.

On high Fedain Collna,
Upon his sick-man’s bed, while hearkening
To the far noise and clamour of that battle,
Cucullin heard the great Ō-hawn´ of Conor
Moan through the air, when it was struck by Fergus
The son of Roy. “Good, O my friend, O Laeg,”
Cucullin said. “What man has now this daring—
The daring thus to smite the great Ō-hawn´
Of my dear guardian, Conor King of Ulster,
While I am yet alive?” Laeg said to him:
“It is the best of warriors and of men
Who smites it; he flings blood—increase of slaughter.
It is the man, Fergus the son of Roy.
His chariot-sword from out the Shee was hidden,
And now is with him once again. The steeds
Of Conor now have come unto the battle.”
“Loosen these hazel-bands, O gillie, swiftly,”
Cucullin said. “Blood shall be spent by men;
Swords shall sing music.” Then Laeg loosened them,
Albeit unwillingly. Cucullin leapt
Free from his bands, so that the hazel-bands
Went to Moy Thooaga amidst of Connaught;
And all his hooks flew to far Corcumroe,
Amidst the barren places in the west;
And the dry wisps and twists of moss and grass,
Which were within his wounds, rose through the air,
And through the firmament, even as far
As a lark flies on a bright day in summer,
Whereon there is no wind. His many sores,
And many hurts and gashes and deep wounds,
Seized him afresh thereat, so that each groove
And furrow of the earth was filled with gore
And with his streaming blood. None of his arms,
None of his weapons, had been left to him
Beside his sick man’s bed. Only his chariot
He found beside him there. He took the chariot;
And went unto the plain; and with the chariot
He struck and felled and hewed the men of Erin,
Until he reached the place wherein was Fergus
The son of Roy. And then he spake to Fergus.
“Come hitherward,” he said, “my master, Fergus!”
But Fergus answered not, because he heard not.
Cucullin spake and said those words again.
“Come hitherward,” he said, “my master, Fergus!
Or, if thou comest not, I then will grind thee
E’en as a millstone grinds fresh barley-malt.
Yea, I will cleave thee as a wood-axe cleaves
An oak of the forest: I will bind thee hard,
E’en as the woodbine binds great forest-trees:
I will attack thee as the hawk attacks
Small, helpless fledgelings: I will cast thee down
As fishes are cast down upon the sand:
Unless thou comest hitherward, O Fergus!”
“Is it to me that these Bive’s words are spoken?”
Said Fergus; “and who dares to speak these words
On this my day of vengeance and of battle,
Here where the Five Great Fifths of Erin meet
Upon the fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig—
Here in this last great battle of the Táin?”
Cucullin said: “It is thy foster-son,
The son of Dectora, of Conor’s sister—
The son who is beloved by all in Ulster,
And who hath fought for all and fended all.
And thou didst promise, O my guardian, Fergus,
At thine own turn of combat on this Táin,
That when thou shouldst behold me bleeding, faint,
And filled with hurts and filled with dangerous wounds,
In this last battle of the Táin, thou truly
Wouldst flee before me on this day of battle;
For I myself fled before thee, O Fergus,
Then, at thy turn of combat on the Táin.”
And Fergus looked and saw his foster-son,
The Hound of Ulster, covered with rough gore,
Bleeding and pierced and filled with dangerous wounds;
And he remembered all that he had said
Beside that ford on grass-green Moy Mweerhevna
At his own turn of combat on the Táin.
And then it was, indeed, that Fergus fled.
With his own war-troop—with the Ulster Exiles,
Who had departed with him out of Ulster
Full seven years before—he left the battle.
Toward Connaught, toward the Shannon, toward the west,
He strode his three all-powerful hero-strides;
And he broke forth, over the western hill,
Out of the battle. And the seven kings
From Munster, which had come upon that hosting,
When they perceived that Fergus left the battle,
Broke likewise forth, over the western hill,
Leaving the battle; and with each of them
Was his own cantred. And the hosts of Connaught
Were left alone, maintaining the great battle
Against the Ulster hosts before them there.
Those who were left maintaining it were these:—
Maev with her cantred: Al-yill with his cantred:
The seven Mahn-yas and the Sons of Mahga,
Each with his cantred. In that hour of day
When Fergus and the seven kings from Munster
Abandoned Maev, leaving their share of battle,
And this was told to her, there came, as ’twere,
Before her eyes a dizzy, dim, blind mist,
Blinding her eyes and eye-sight, so that men
And trees appeared the same to her. Howbeit,
From midday till day’s waning she maintained
The battle strongly. It was at midday
That first Cucullin came into the battle
From Fedain Collna. When the golden sun
Sank ’mid the tresses of the western woods,
The last of all the battle-troops of Connaught
Was driven and routed o’er the western hill,
Out toward the west. And of his battle-chariot
There remained then, grasped in Cucullin’s hands,
Only a handful of the curving ribs
Pertaining to the body, and a handful
Of spokes from the two wheels; for with his chariot
He had been slaying, hewing, and destroying
The men of Erin throughout all that time.
This was the hour when Maev took up her shield,
And put her shield of guarding and protection
Behind the hosts guarding their sad retreat.
This was the hour when she sent off the bull,
The Donn of Cooley, swiftly to Rath Croohan
By a long circuit, having fifty heifers
And eight of her own messengers around him,—
So that, at ending of that Táin and hosting,
Whoever might arrive or not arrive
In safety at Rath Croohan on Moy Wee,
The Donn of mountainous Cooley should arrive,
Even as she had promised and had sworn.
Then Maev herself came soon unto the place
Where Fergus was, nigh the great river-ford.
And on that queen at falling of that hour
There was great weakness, faintness, weariness,
After the long, hard, ever-toilsome battle;
And there was anguish, bitterness, dejection,
After that great abandonment by Fergus,
And all that hard defeat and overthrow.
She said to Fergus then: “O Fergus, put
Thy shield of guarding and of sure protection
Across their track, guarding the men of Erin,
That I may rest a little.” Fergus said:
“’Tis an ill hour to rest in.” “Yet,” said Maev,
“I shall not live unless I rest a little.”
Then Fergus put his shield of sure protection
Across their track, guarding the men of Erin;
And so Maev rested. E’en as she was resting
’Mid some young trees, Cucullin came on her.
He slew her not. He deemed it were unworthy,
Dishonourable, so to slay her. Then
Maev lifted up her eyes and saw Cucullin
Before her there. She said: “To-day, Cucullin,
I ask a boon of thee.” “What boon?” he said.
“Take thou these hosts,” said Maev, “beneath thy honour
And sure protection, that they so may reach
Across the ford to westward.” Of all men
Of Erin who were living in his time,
Cucullin was the best for giving gifts
And generous bestowing; and thereafter,
In after time, there would be only two
Who should be equal to him, namely these—
Neev Columkillé of the race of Niall,
And Goory son of Colman in the west.
And, because thus he was the best in Erin
For giving gifts, he said to Maev: “O Maev,
I give that boon thou askest.” Then Maev rose
(Though that was hard for her); Cucullin went
Around the men of Erin, and he put
His shield of guarding and of sure protection
Across one side, guarding the men of Erin.
The Helping Triads of the men of Erin
Came to the other side; and Maev herself
Returned to her own place and firmly put
Her shield of guarding and of sure protection
Behind their central troops; and, in that way,
They which were left of all those hosts of Erin
Passed the great ford and came once more to Connaught.
Before he left the Connaught river-shore,
His famous sword was brought unto Cucullin,
His wonder-sword, the wondrous Croo´-adeen;
And in the dusk above the darkening ford
It beamed like a king’s candle (and in days
To come that sword should come to Art’s son Cormac,
Greatest of monarchs of all Erin). Then,
With that straight sword, the wondrous Croo´-adeen,
Cucullin struck its three straight wonder-blows;
And struck their summits from the three low hills
Beside the ford, that those three Maels of Connaught
Beside the Connaught river-shore, for men,
Might answer the three Maels of Meath.
And Fergus
Was watching all those hosts pass from the ford
Westward toward Croohan and Moy Wee of Connaught;
And through his heart there was great bitterness.
He knew that now old age would come on him
Without his doing hero-deeds, or winning
Great battles like the battles he had won.
For he—thus severed from his native land
And from the folk and heroes whom he loved
Fervently, passionately, zealously—
Was (like a spear-head parted from its shaft)
Deedless, of no avail. And he was sure
That he would die in exile and be buried
In exile, in a strange land not his own.
’Twas then he turned to Maev, “Truly,” said he
(And he spake roughly, darkly, bitterly),
“Truly,” he said, “the outcome of this day
Is fit and natural for all these hosts,
Which have been led and marshalled by a woman.
To-day these hosts have been deprived and robbed.
And, e’en as when a mare precedes her foals
Into a land unknown, without a head
Of counsel and of guidance going before her,
And her young foals are robbed and reft from her,
So stands it with these driven hosts to-day.”
And Maev said naught to all those words of Fergus;
For there was on her too much grief and woe
And pain and dole and sadness, after all
That treachery and that abandonment
By Fergus son of Roy, whom she had welcomed,
And had maintained and cherished royally;
And there was anguish, grief, and hard dejection,
After that great defeat and overthrow.

Cucullin left the Shannon river-shore,
And fared to eastward; and he reached that place
Where Conor was, with all the chiefs of Ulster,
Awaiting him. And faintness, weakness, trembling,
Came on him there; because his rage and ardour
Had gone from him, and now his many sores
And many hurts and gashes and deep wounds
Pained freshly. Then the gillies and the striplings
From Avvin Maha, seeing thus their friend
And dear companion filled with gory wounds
And very faint, raised their great cry of woe,
And their great outcry and their lamentation,
Till even the stones and gravel of the earth
Answered their grievous clamour. And men laid him
On a fresh bed of comfort and of healing.
And Conor, the great king, came to that bed,
And bent above him; and he spake above him
His very earnest kingly words of pity
And sad deploring and strong praise and love.
“O Hound,” he said, “O Battle-hound of Cooley,
O King of Heroes of our own Creev Roe,
For Ulster thou hast borne much grief and harm;
And men in Ulster will remember thee,
And all which thou hast wrought for war-like Ulster,
Long as pure waves shall break on Ulster shores.
Drink now, and sleep; and bide in rest and healing.”
So nigh the fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig
The hosts of Ulster made their camp that night.
On Conor son of Fahtna Fahee there,
In his own tent, in his own place of camping,
There was depression and dark gloom that night;
And he was heavy-hearted. For, indeed,
Though he that day had broken that great battle
Upon the fields of Gawrig and Ilgawrig
Against the hosts of Connaught, ne’ertheless,
That did not change this fact, namely, that truly
Maev scarce had left a stead in all his Fifth,
E’en from the Boyne and fair Moy Bray to far
Dunseverick beside the northern sea,
Without destroying it and spoiling it
And leaving it a burned and blackened ruin;
And that great bull, the gold-horned Donn of Cooley,
She had made fast and borne with her to Croohan.
And this was true besides: to him a battle
In which no king had fallen did not seem
To be indeed a battle. So on Conor
There was deep gloom and heavy woe that night.

After that time Cucullin lay at healing
In Avvin Maha for a lengthened while;
But when his wounds were healed, he donned once more
His festal war-array, and travelled south
To rich Loolohta Lōha nigh the sea,
To take that maiden, who, ’midst other maidens,
Was as a sun ’midst pale, faint stars. He did
All that she had foretold that he would do
Ere he could reach her. Then he wedded her.
And they two—Emer daughter of Forgall Mona,
And many-victoried Cucullin—dwelt
In love throughout the space of twice five years;
Wherein Cucullin wrought great deeds, until
His foemen for the last time came against him
And he died young in years—even as Cathbad,
Cathbad, the lord of knowledge and wise druid,
Speaking sad truth of knowledge, had foretold.

Before Maev let the men of Erin part
And separate to reach their native homes,
She gathered them around herself in Croohan,
That they might see that combat of the bulls,
And the contention which should finally
Decide that contest and that strife and struggle,
Which had been fought through many lives and shapes.
When the high, gold-horned Donn of Cooley saw
That beautiful, all unknown land, which spread
Before him there in greenness and in beauty—
Namely, Moy Wee of Connaught—he raised up
His three loud-speaking, voiceful bellowings;
And the Find-benna heard him. Now no bull
Or male wild beast ’twixt the Four Fords of Wee—
The Ford of Moga and the Ford of Bercna,
The Ford of Shlissen and the Ford of Coltna—
Was wont to raise more than a little murmur,
Or a soft, timorous moaning, through his fear
Of that Find-benna. And the red Find-benna,
Hearing those speaking, voiceful bellowings,
Raised up his head and shook his three white manes,
Which were like snow upon a noble mountain,
And he came vehemently on toward Croohan
To meet the Donn of Cooley.
Of those bulls,
Each saw the other soon. Then both, in frenzy,
Raging, infuriated, frantic, maddened,
Pawed up the ground and dug the earth between them,
And flung the earth back o’er their shoulder-bones.
And their eyes glared red-hot within their heads,
Like fruits or berries of pure, sparkling fire:
Their cheeks and nostrils swelled and bulged, as bulge
A smith’s huge bellows in a forge. And each
Against the other dealt his sounding blow
Of doom and judgment; and each one began
To gore, to pierce, and to destroy the other.
This is the time wherein the red Find-benna
Of bright Moy Wee caused the dark Donn of Cooley
To swerve from his straight way and road and journey;
And in his side he thrust a curved, white horn;
And he was overcoming him. But Cormac
The son of Conor saw that thing. He took
A mighty spear-shaft which filled up his grasp;
And, with this spear-shaft, to the Donn of Cooley
He gave three long stroke-blows from ear to tail.
“This jewel is to us no lasting jewel,”
Said Cormac, “for there is not force in him
To match a calf of his own age.” That bull,
The Donn of Cooley, heard these railing words;
For he had man-like understanding. Then
He turned again against the great Find-benna;
And after that they, upon either side,
Were piercing and destroying each the other
For a long while and a great space of time.
And night descended on the men of Erin;
And after darkening night had so descended,
For all the men of Erin there was nothing
But to be listening to the storm and roaring
Of the great bulls throughout the land that night.
That night the two bulls ranged through Erin all;
So that there is not any place in Erin
Named Clo-na-Darriv, Rath-na-Darriv, Drum-na-Darriv,
Barna-na-Darriv, Moy-na-Darriv, Loch-na-Darriv,
But it was named from those two bulls that night.
At very early dawn upon the morrow
The men were not long watching nigh Rath Croohan,
Ere they perceived the Donn of Cooley come
From out the west; and their own great Find-benna
Was borne in mangled fragments and dead pieces
On his high, peakéd horns. The men arose;
And in the dusky dawn they were not sure
Which of the bulls he was. But Fergus said:
“O men,” he said, “if ’tis your own Find-benna,
Whom ye discern approaching, let him be;
And if it is the Donn of mountainous Cooley,
Leave him his trophy; for I say to you,
Unless ye leave it, that which has been done
Because of these two bulls, indeed is little
To that which shall be done to you this day.”
The Donn of Cooley came. He raised on high
His three loud, voiceful roars, vaunting his trophy.
He turned his right toward Croohan; and he turned
His face to go to his own far, dear land.
He reached the margin of that Shannon-ford
Which the great hosts had crossed. He stooped to drink,
And there he left a loin of the Find-benna,
Whence is “Athlone,” “Ford of the Loin.” He went
Still eastward; and he came to high Ardcullin,
And to the pillar-stone, and gazed abroad
O’er Ulster there before him. Then he lifted
His head with ardour, strength, and vehemence,
And shook the fragments of the slain Find-benna
Abroad o’er Erin; so that many places
Are named from those divided parts and fragments
Of the Find-benna. Then he reached Slieve Bray;
And thence he saw against the north-east sky
The pure-formed peaks of Cooley; and at seeing
The peaks of his own native land and country
There came on him a powerful mind and spirit;
And he strove forward.
At the hour of eve
The women and young lads and little folk
Within the beautiful, high-mountained cantred
Of Cooley of blossomful, sweet-watered glens,
Were wailing for their Donn of Cooley. Then
They saw him, where he came approaching them.
But there was on him blindness and great ire,
Because of his sore wounds. He, storming on,
Stormed up amongst them; and full many there,
Of women and young lads and little folk,
Fell on that hill-slope of high Cooley, slain
By their own Donn of Cooley. He lay down
Against the hill, and his great heart broke there,
And sent a stream of blood down all the slope;
And thus, when all this war and Táin had ended,
In his own land, ’midst his own hills, he died.

THE WRITING OF THE TÁIN

THE WRITING OF THE TÁIN

So to those saints that ancient warrior, Fergus,
Having been called from out his low, sad grave,
Had taught this history, this Táin Bo Cooley,
With its beginning and its deeds and end,
E’en as it had been acted in old days
Before the holy Faith had come to Erin.
And when he so had taught them all this tale,
He went from them; and the blind mist and fog,
Which had been round them, went; and they saw there
Only the flag-stone in that lonely place,
And the slow stream beside it. Then each saint
Left with his friends his tender, faithful blessing;
And each fared forth to his own place in Erin,
To his own cell, or church, or field, or hill.
But agéd Shen´-cawn went with holy Kieran
To Kieran’s holy field; and, as they went,
They crossed Moy Wee, and passed old, high Rath Croohan,
And passed the Place of Graves, where many mounds
Were green above high-kings and queens of Erin,
And above many kings and queens and princes
And noble chiefs of Connaught. There were buried
Al-yill and Maev—within their deep, green mound,
Enclosed from Gael and stranger. There were buried
In turfy mounds the seven sons of Mahga,
Brethren of Al-yill’s mother. There were buried
The seven Mahn-yas, sons of Maev and Al-yill,
In one mound, side by side. And there was buried
Dawthy, the last renowned high-king who reigned
Ere the Faith came to Erin: he, at warfare
In far-off Latin lands, had burned the home
Of a most holy hermit, and had died,
Slain by God’s lightning on the Alps; whereon
Awley, his son, had brought him o’er far seas,
For burial in Rath Croohan.
But those two,
Shen´-cawn and Kieran, left that heathen field,
And fared south-eastward; and at eve they came
To Kieran’s Green, to holy Clonmacnoise,
To Clonmacnoise upon a flowery slope
Amid a rushry by the pure, bright Shannon,
Where all was blest and still. And in that place
In after-time a sacred School and City
Should rise—Neev Kieran’s City—and should grow
Like a tall tree, whence rule and truth and wisdom
Should spread through half the land. And in that place,
Even in dew-bright, red-rosed Clonmacnoise,
Under rich, carven flags there should be buried
In after-time great kings and lords and chiefs,
And many prayerful abbots and wise bishops,
And many poets, who in after-days
Should die in faith. Yea, and Neev Columkillé
Said that, because of God’s great love for Kieran—
Sweet helper of the oft-times erring Gael—
It was at Clonmacnoise that the white souls
Of Erin should be gathered and assemble
Around Neev Patrick, when the Judgment-horn
Should blow from high Croagh Patrick o’er the lands
And hills and vales and sacred greens of Erin.
But at that time, when agéd Shen´-cawn came
To that blest place, there were but nine small cells
Of wattled boughs, and one small oaken church;
And in that place there was not yet one grave.
Then, when they so had reached that fair, blest place,
Neev Kieran took the wonder-working hide
Of his dun cow, who had fared forth with him,
Taking her calf, when he himself had fared—
He being young—to high renowned Clonard,
To learn beneath Neev Findian; and that cow,
While he was there learning pure truth and wisdom,
Had stayed with him, and always faithfully
Sustained him with her milk. He took that hide,
Which he had ever cherished tenderly;
And of that hide he made a noble book;
And in that book he wrote the Táin Bo Cooley,
With its beginning and its deeds and end,
E’en as it had been acted in old days
Before the holy Faith had reached their land;
That this famed history, this Táin Bo Cooley,
Which had been taught them by that warrior, Fergus,
Who had been sent from out his lonely grave,
Might so be known in after-days in Erin.

APPENDICES