THE FORAY OF QUEEN MEAVE (continued 2)

Varying as minstrel’s hand that grazes now

Now sweeps the tenderer or the deeper strings,

197To all the passions of the heart of man

Glory, Ambition, Love, Revenge, she tuned

The modulations of her passionate strain;

While half the richness theirs aforetime throbbed

Again in those sad accents, half their light—

For oft from out the present shines a past

Long dead—returned to eyes that, seen of none,

Had wept away their splendours. Calm he sat,

Sternly quiescent. Sudden on her broke

The fatal truth. She saw her power was gone;

And all that posthumous life late hers sank back

In embers lost and ashes. On the West

Rested her gaze. A cloud of raven black,

Its veil for half that night, had drifted by,

And o’er that distant gleam, her mother’s camp,

Slowly the moon descended. Finobar

That hour recalled her boast; ‘Ere sets yon moon

I bring you tamed the lion of yon hills,

Aye, in a silken leash!’

Aye, in a silken leash!’ The Orient soon

Whitened with early dawn. Forlorn it lay

On hill and heath and plain and distant mere,

Forlorner on the haggard face—for oft

A face, still fair, in anguish antedates

Its future—of that woman as she knelt,

She knelt at last, low on that threshold low.

198Then came the hour of Rochad’s great revenge:

Then first he answered plainly; ‘Finobar!

One day I knew you not: I know you now:

Your spells are null when once their trick is learned:

Likewise your face has lost its earlier charm.

Back to your mother! Say, ere sets yon sun

I join the king my master, from his gate

Repel with scorn the invader.’ Forth he passed

Without farewell. A clarion broke ere long

Her trance: adown the slope she saw his host

Winding t’ward Eman.

Winding t’ward Eman. From a burning couch

She rose next eve; and, strong with fever’s strength,

Paced swiftly by that sunset-crimsoned stream

Which cut the camp in twain. Anon she marked

In all who met her, change inexplicable,

Strange eyes, strange faces, strange embarrassed ways:

Sadly compassionate that change in some:

In others questioning glance and meaning smile

Hinted at things that through her flaming heart

Passed like a sword of ice. Whisperings not less

There were, but these she heard not; ‘What! All night!

From eve to morn with Rochad in his tent!—

The men she fed on hopes she sent to death

Beside the Ford. Well! pride must have its fall!

199Rochad is joined with Conor!’ Slanders worse

Some chiefs whom most her haughtiness had galled

Ventured, vain-glorious. Late one eve the truth

Sprang like a tigress on her. In his tent

She heard her father with her mother speak;

‘She yet may wear the crown: her maiden fame

Is lost forever!’

Is lost forever!’ Three hours ere her death

Thus to her mother spake that sentenced one;

‘Noise it among the host that grief for those

Her countrymen—the Gael—who, near the Ford—

Ere yet that Firbolg shared the common fate,

Fell by Cuchullain, snapped her thread of life.

Bear on your march my body:—raise the cairn

On the first hill that kens Emania’s towers.’

So spake she; and the queen obeyed her hest:

She flung that rumour forth; and all who heard,

Heart-stricken now, believed it. But on Meave

A piercing sadness fell; and by her bed

Orloff her buried son stood up, and spake;

‘Home to thy native realm, and Cruachan!

Not less a battle waits thee great and dread

’Twixt Gairig and Ilgairig.’ One day’s march

Eastward still marched she; then upon a hill,

The first whose summit looked on Eman’s towers,

Interred the all-beauteous one with Pagan dirge,

200And o’er her piled the cairn. Southward, next morn

She turned, and crossed the Ford. Fulfilled was thus

Cuchullain’s word, breathed o’er Ferdīa dead,

‘Finobar snared thee. Finobar shall die.’

But many a century later Uladh’s sons

Rose up and said; ‘Great scorn it is and wrong

Yon stranger’s grave should gaze on Eman’s towers:’

Then bore they forth those relics once so fair

With funeral rites revered and Pagan dirge,

And laid them by the loud-resounding sea,

And o’er them raised a cairn: and, age on age,

As sighed the sea-wind past it shepherds said

‘It whispers soft that sad word, Finobar!’

201

FRAGMENT V.

QUEEN MEAVE’S RETREAT.

Argument.

Queen Meave, having reached the sacred plain of Uta, sacrilegiously encamps thereon. A Druid denounces the late war as unrighteous, while Fergus contemns it as ineffectual; and immediately afterwards the Mor Reega manifests herself to the host. Next evening, while division of the spoil is being made, Meave is ware of the advance of King Conor; and Ailill transfers the supreme command to Fergus, who prepares for the attack. The battle is gloriously won by Fergus. That night Meave is warned by signs and omens; and Cuchullain, weak from his wounds, arrives in the Ulidian camp. From midnight to near sunset the next day he lies in a trance, during which fair spirits minister to him again his lost strength; and there is shown to him a vision of some mystic greatness reserved for Erin, yet of an order which he cannot understand. When the second battle is well nigh lost Cuchullain wakes; and Meave is driven in utter overthrow across the Shannon.

At last the war had whirled its giddy round;

And Meave, well nigh returned, the Shenan^[35] near

Beside Ath-Luain^[36] streaming in its might,

Decreed to make division of her spoil

202Ere yet she crossed it. In the West the sun

Was sinking; in the East the moon uprose;

While camped her host on Uta’s sacred plain

Betwixt the double glories. Far away

Immeasurably glittered the pastures green

Illumed with million flowers. Nor spade, nor plough

Till then that virgin region had profaned;

Nor sound, save Shenan’s murmur, stirred therein.

There stood the Tomb Heroic. Beams and showers

Alone might pierce that soil sabbatical;

Such reverence held the spot. Now all was changed;

Ill choice; if chance, ill-omened. Neighing steeds

Dinned the still air; while here at times was heard

Whistling of him that fixed his tent, and there

Wood-cleaving axe or feaster’s laugh mistimed.

Higher and higher rose the moon full-orbed,

Mirrored in pool and stream. At intervals

Half lost in bard-song near or shout remote,

The slender wailing of some captive maid

Rang out and died.

Rang out and died. The royal tent was set

High on a grassy platform. Meave that night

The first time since the death of Finobar

Was cheerful of aspéct; and, banquet o’er,

Rising her warriors she addressed with vaunt

Beseeming not a queen. ‘A year,’ she said,

203‘Is past since northward to the war we marched:’

Then forth she loosed the sheets and spread the sails

And bounded on the waves of proud discourse

Recounting all her triumphs; first, her wrong;

Lastly, the cause of war, Cuailgné’s Donn

Chief captive mid her captives! Here her voice

Rang loudest, and her eyes their fiercest beamed.

Rapturous response succeeded; one alone,

A Druid old, dissentient. Thus he spake,

Not rising, to that throng of courtiers crowned:

‘Ill doctrine have ye praised this evening, kings,

Unwise, to Erin’s realms unprofitable,

Extolling war not based on righteous cause

Nor righteous ends ensuing. Kings and queen,

The end of war is retribution just

For deeds unjust; ill cure for greater ill:

Wars there must be; and woman-mouthed were he

Who railed against them:—aye, but demon-mouthed

The man that boasts of war-dishonouring wars

Opprobrious, spiteful, predatory, base.

Sirs, how began this feud? It rose from jest!

And what its close? A sacred site profaned,

Inviolate till this day!’ The warriors frowned;

Yet all men feared the Druid beard and rod:

They stood in silence.

They stood in silence. Fergus rose, and spake:

204‘Sirs, I have heard a war this day extolled,

A war this day denounced. On battle-field

Men say that I was born; on battle-fields

Have lived from youth to age. What thing war is

I ought to know. Yet, sirs, these wearied eyes

Rolled many a day around from East to West

Still seeking war, and found it not: they saw

Six hundred men successive by the hand

Of one man slain, Cuchullain; saw the torch

Hurl the red smoke-cloud o’er a thousand homes:

They saw a war-dance circle Uladh’s coasts;

They saw the ravished flock, and ravished herd,

The captive throng lance-goaded on its way,

Swine-herd and shepherd, hoary head, and maid

Beaming and basking in the healthful glow

Of youthful beauty. Sirs, they saw more late,

But saw from distance, Eman’s walls high-towered:

This, this they saw not; warriors, warrior-ruled,

Marching against them! Mountebanks of war

They saw; not warriors!’

They saw; not warriors!’ Plainly Fergus spake:

Not otherwise than plainly could he speak,

A man to Truth predestined; since his birth

By courage sealed to Truth. The legend saith

That down before him on his natal morn

All Erin’s fays and sprites from river or rill

205Their tributes laid. But, mightier far than they,

A wingèd goddess ran from sea to sea,

The island’s breadth, to hail him! As she sped,

The path before her, prone till then and low,

Rising ran out a craggy ridge sublime,

The same that for a hundred miles this day

Divides the realm. That highway lofty and straight

Foreshowed that ne’er in tortuous ways or base

Should walk that infant.

Should walk that infant. Raging, from their seats

The kings and chieftains leaped. A hundred swords

Flashed from their sheaths, and from a hundred mouths

One sentence issued—‘Death!’ By twos and threes

A score of stragglers from the exiles’ band

Closed up behind him. Cormac Conlinglas

Beside him stood, sword drawn.

Beside him stood, sword drawn. Again he spake;

‘Queen, till that day of shame was battle none,

Nor on that day; nor since! But on that day

Beside your daughter’s cairn—more royal far

Though fortunate less was she—we two conversed:

I said; “Without one blow you think to pass

Eman, that cast me forth! Without one blow

To cross your Shenan, reach your Cruachan,

There make your terms secure, the spoil retained,

The exiles sent to judgment! Note you, Queen,

206Those horsemen three a mile on yonder road?

My heralds they! The hour your flight begins

They speed to Eman.”

They speed to Eman.” ‘You retreated. They

Rode on to Conor. To that chief of foes

I wrote; “Advance! The queen retreats: make speed!

She shall not ’scape the battle. Know besides

That battle of earth’s battles till this hour

Shall prove the bloodiest. In it, sword to sword

We two shall meet; one die.”’

We two shall meet; one die.”’ In measureless scorn

Then turned he to the kings, continuing thus;

‘What mean those clamours and those swords half drawn

Which draw ye dare not? Petty, titular kings!

The shadow of that royalty once mine

Dwarfs you to pygmies by comparison!

I heard a cry of “Treason!” Let them lift

Their hands who raised it! Kinglings mutinous,

Princes seditious, ye the traitors are!

And on the nod of him whom ye traduce,

Your pageant crowns sit trembling. Ere three days

Uladh is on you! I shall stand that hour

Your King Elect; not Ailill’s choice, but yours;

The Battle-King; for well ye know that I,

None else, have skill to range the battle-field,

207And roll the thunders forth of genuine war.

Till that hour, silence, kings!’

Till that hour, silence, kings!’ Silence they kept,

Long silence. Then far off, as though from depths

By thought untraversable of cloudless skies,

Such sound was heard as reaches ships at sea

When, launched on airy voyage though still remote,

Nation of ocean-crossing birds begins

To obscure the serene heaven. That sound drew near:

From every tent the revellers rushed. Then lo!

That portent seen alone in fateful times,

The dread Mor Reega! Terrible as Fate

The goddess of the battles high o’er head

Sailed on full-panoplied, in hue as when

On Alpine snows, their sunset glories gone,

Night’s winding-sheet descends. Upon her casque

And spear beyond it pointing glared the moon,

And on a face like hers that froze of old

The gazers into stone. As on she sailed

On that huge army coldness fell of death:

Yea, some there died. Next morning, from that spot

Northward to Eman lay a branded track:

Straight as a lance still stretched it, league on league;

A bar of winter black through harvest fields,

A bridge of ice spanning the rippling waves;

A pledge that men had dreamed not.

208A pledge that men had dreamed not. In those days

Foreboding soon, like sorrow, passed away:

Ailill next morning counselled; ‘Ere the night

Cross we the Shenan. If the Red Branch comes

Fight we on Ai’s plain!’ But Meave replied

‘Not so; I fly not! One day here we rest:

Our kings await their spoil.’

Our kings await their spoil.’ From morn to eve

That spoil’s partition lasted; first, huge herds;

Flocks snowy-white through water-weeds and grass

Followed, hound-driven. War-horses few were there,

But many from the plough: with these, in crowds

Poor hinds, and swine-herds, maidens skilled in works

That knew to spin the flax or mix the dye

Or card the wool. Next followed wild-eyed boys

Bound each to each. No tear they shed, but scowled

Defiance on their lords and war-songs sang

Of Uladh and her vengeance. King and chief

Scanned each his prize with careless-seeming eye;

Yet oft their followers strove, while onward paced

The royal arbiters with wands high held,

Ruling the wrangling crew.

Ruling the wrangling crew. Upon a mound

Meantime the royal throne was set, a throng

Of warriors round it. Many a mirthful chance

Provoked their laughter: loudest laughed the queen;

209But when she spake she waited not reply.

Without a bound to east and west and south

The prospect spread. Her eye was on the north:—

Not distant stood two hills: she asked their names:

Her great eyes darkened when the answer came

Of Gairig and Ilgairig.

Of Gairig and Ilgairig. ’Twixt these twain,

Shone out, distincter as the sun declined,

Long northern ranges. Fergus marked her eye

That moved not from them, smiled, and made demand,

‘What find’st thou in our mountain ridges, Queen,

That merits gaze so fixed?’ Then she; ‘I note

Girdling their slopes a mist feathery and soft,

As though of snow-flakes wov’n: above it peaks

Shoot up, like isles cloud-hid. Within that mist

I see strange lights that cross like shooting stars;

Cross and re-cross, quick-bickering.’ With a smile

That deepened, Fergus questioned once again:

‘Make large thine eyes and tell me what thou seest!’

Then Meave; ‘Through all that mist is movement strange,

The agitation of some wondrous life,

And t’wards us on it rolleth.’ Fergus next;

‘Thine eyes see well! If others saw like thee

Their tongues would clang less loudly. Hear’st thou nought?’

210The queen made answer; ‘Many a sea I hear

That breaks on many a shore.’

That breaks on many a shore.’ Then Fergus cried

‘Thou seest my Uladh coming, and the way

And fashion of the advent of her war!

For know, great Queen, even now the Red Branch Knights

Car-borne descend yon slopes! That mist thou saw’st

What is it but the tempest of their march,

The dust flung upwards and the sweat exhaled

And visible breath of warrior and of horse

That breathes the northwind and the sunny glare?

What else the snow-flakes which thou saw’st but foam

Dashed from the horses’ bits? Thy bickering stars,

What else but flaming cars and fiery helms

This way and that way passing? What thy peaks

Crowning that mist, but Uladh’s hills remote

That send her children to avenge her wrong?

And what that thunder sound of many seas

But music of their coming? Well for thee

If o’er them sail not, veiled from mortal eyes,

That dread Mor Reega!’

That dread Mor Reega!’ Reddened as he spake

Meave’s cheek late pale; yet careless she replied;

‘I see her not, therefore believe her not,

And breathe securely since that gleam far off

211Is human, not demoniac or divine;

For never feared I yet the arm of man:

Cuchullain dead, I hold at nought the rest.’

Thus Meave: but all the kings and chiefs arose

Clamouring to her and Ailill; ‘Lo, ’tis come!

All Uladh, and a battle such as ne’er

Shook the foundations of this kingly isle!

Now therefore bid him rule thy host, the man

That knows to rule!’ ’Twixt passions twain at war

Meave silent stood. Ailill to Fergus turned

And spake; ‘Be thou henceforth our Battle-King:’

Thus spake he; then, releasing from his belt

The sword usurped of Fergus, added thus;

‘Receive once more thy sword! in mirth erewhile

I made it mine: the virtue in that blade

Hath kept me till this hour.’ Fergus replied;

‘I take mine own: but one month past, this sword

Had cut the cancer out of Uladh’s breast,

And made thy throne a praise on earth for aye!

I take mine own, on thee a sword bestowing

That best becomes thee. Waiting long this hour

For thee I kept it.’ Proudly Ailill clasped

Its glittering hilt: Fergus drew back the sheath;

And lo, a wooden sword, for babes a toy!

The concourse laughed; the loudest Meave: though wroth

212Ailill a little whiffling laugh essayed

With sidelong face.

With sidelong face. Then Fergus in the soil

Planting his sword upright before it knelt,

And spake; ‘O thou my sovereignty, my sword,

In many a battle, yet in none unjust,

So many a year my glory and my mate!

Mine art thou, mine once more! In all this host

Who shall henceforth reproach me?’

Who shall henceforth reproach me?’ To his task

The strong one sped, and change was over all:

Again the voice of discipline was heard:

None drank in booths; none rushed abroad; with sloth

Fierceness had vanished. Followers of the camp

Alone were left in charge of flocks and herds:

The clansmen to their duties were restored,

The clans in order ranged. He delved a trench

Barring from Uta’s plain the advancing foe,

And bridges o’er it flung, that so his host

Permission given, and not till then, might strike

Forth pouring torrent-like at Uladh’s heart:

Pits too he dug bristling with stakes sod-hid.

He gave command like one that, born to power,

With courteous might scarce conscious puts it forth:

He spake the word: all heard him: all obeyed

Magnanimous to feel when majesty

213Authentic stood before them. Duty done

Engendered strenuous joy, and strength, and hope:

Thus through the mass the spirit of one man

Triumphed, and ruling, raised it: on each face

His corporal semblance lived—light hearted might,

Deliberate resolve.

Deliberate resolve. The moonlight hours

Shone brightly on their labours. Six had sped

Ere Fergus sought the royal tent where sat

Revellers right ill at ease. As in he passed,

The concourse, Meave herself and Ailill, rose,

And did him regal honours. Of his toils

Nought spake he; but their hearts who saw him swelled

And many marvelled why they late were sad:

Again the laugh; again the tale; the song—

Then came a change. A gradual sound was heard,

Yet what and whence they knew not. It increased;

It swelled ere long, voluminous; grating next;

Then dreadful like the splitting of a world

Whose strong foundations crumble. Forth they passed

Through hurrying clouds the moon rushed madly on,

Now dim, now fiercely glaring. From the north

In terror sped the forest beasts and dashed

Wild through the camp while panic fell on all.

The sole man unastonished, Fergus spake:

‘Sirs, late ye learn our warfare! As the spring,

214When the first spray catches the amorous red,

Her song-bird sends, herald and harbinger,

So Uladh sends before her onward steps

Her shrill-voiced vanguard: men of might are they,

Hewers of war-ways for her battle cars

Advancing through the forests. First ye heard

Their axes only; last, the falling trees:—

What, Sirs, ye look like men ill-pleased! Well, well!

Not all delight in music. Sirs, good-night!

When breaks the dawn be stirring.’

When breaks the dawn be stirring.’ In the camp

Few slept that night. Vanished the moon in cloud:

Then shone the watch-fires on the northern hills

Like stars.

Like stars. Next morn the Uladh host down swarmed

Betwixt those neighbouring hills and round their base

Far spread as flood that, widening on its way,

Changes the heights to islands. Countless wrongs

And shame at all that long inglorious trance,

Roused wrath to madness; from them far they flung

Encumbering arms, and, bare from scalp to waist,

Worked on with brandished battle-axe. Three hours

That trench withstood them. Kelkar ruled their left,

Their right great Conal Carnach, while the king

Marshalled their centre. There the strongest bridge,

Tower-guarded, longest held their host at bay;

215Longer had held it, save that from his place

Fergus, the hour foreseen arrived, gave word

‘Fling wide the gates!’ In rushed they; but to meet

A foe unwasted yet. The Red Branch Knights

Surpassed their old renown. In fresher strength

The host confederate met them. Meave herself

With downward mace three champions slew that day,

Him last, that felon son of faithful sire,

Buini, the Ruthless Red, who, breaking pledge,

Betrayed the sons of Usnach for a bribe:

His father’s prophecy the Accursed fulfilled

Slain by a woman’s hand. Fergus, at last

Forth launched upon his native element,

Raced o’er the battle billows like a bark

When tempests stretch its canvass. Chief on chief

Went down before that sword that still, men sware,

With sweep that widened like a rainbow’s arch

Ran from his hand and harvests reaped of death.

O’er-spent, not scared, that Northern host gave way

Sudden from east to west. It broke and fled.

Alone unvanquished Conor Conchobar

Maintained his place. He rallied twice and thrice

The fugitives; thrice turned them on the foe;

Then stabbed them flying. Last upon the bridge

He stood and sole. There met him face to face

The sole of foes his equal. Dreadful gaze

216Long fixed they, each on other; Fergus spake:

‘Is this indeed that king who filched that realm

Not his, then shamed it by a bloodier fraud;

Who brake his pledge; who murdered Usnach’s sons;

Who drave from Uladh, Uladh’s rightful king;—

And comes he at my hand to meet his doom?

Just Gods, I thank you!’ With a haughtier mien,

Yet kingly less, King Conchobar replied:

‘Thou know’st me; and ’tis well! That king am I

Who, less than thou by lineage, but in mind

Loftier, attained that crown thou could’st not keep;

That king, who, breaking through a jesting pact

As eagles through a mist, by doom deserved

Requited rebels proved. That king am I

Who, when with traitors thou true pact hadst made,

Forth hurled thee naked to the wild wolf’s lair:

That was the worst I wished thee: worse by far

If aught of kingly once was thine thou found’st—

Beneath a hostile roof the beggar’s dole

Gorged on a golden platter, and the hand

Protectress, of a woman!’

Protectress, of a woman!’ Long that fight

Watched by two hosts in speechless stupor held,

Direful and long! Equal in might those twain,

Equal in craft of war. The kinglier soul

Conferred alone the victory. Fergus raised

217The unvanquishable sword so late restored:

It fell in thunder: with it fell the king,

Fell to his knees, a bleeding mass, and blind:

Again that sword was raised: a moment more

Had ended all: then leaped to Fergus’ feet,

His knees enclasping, Cormac Conlinglas

King Conor’s son. He spake these words alone:

‘My father!—Spare him!’ Fergus ne’er had scorned

A look like his that hour. He turned: he spake:

‘Take hence that reptile:—holy is this plain!

A true king here was buried!’ Conor’s kernes

Lifted him to his war-car. Slowly it moved;

For Death was in the wheels thereof; and Death

Stood at its door.

Stood at its door. That night in Uladh’s camp

Was silence strange and dread. By dying men

Sat men sore wounded. Scornful of their foe

And burning for revenge, the North had spurned

Science of war, their boast, and left, death-strewn,

Full half their host. Between their tents and Meave’s

All that long night the buriers of the dead

Groped their sad way with red, earth-grazing torch,

Turning the white face up in search of friend,

Brother, or son. But in the tent of Meave

Triumph ruled all: a hundred spake at once

Each man his deeds recounting. Far apart

218Sat Fergus; on his brow alone was shade:

The deed was needful; but his country’s blood

Gladdened not him. Of those that marked him, some

Had reverence for his sadness: lesser souls

That long had hated, loathed the man that hour.

Sudden the din surceased. Far other sound

Quelled it: from Uladh’s sorrowing camp it swelled,

A jubilant cry soaring from earth to heaven!

Then flashed the eyes of Fergus, and he cried;

‘Cuchullain lives! That sound is Uladh’s shout

What time the host he enters!’ With a brow

Gloomy as night the queen replied; ‘’Tis false!

We know that in the forest, months gone by

Cuchullain perished!’ Silent long they stood;

Listening. At last rang out far different note

As piteous as the first was full of joy,

A funeral keen world-wide. Then cried the queen,

‘Cuchullain lived! Cuchullain lives no more!

Wounded and weak he came to aid his own:

Too great such effort for a wasted frame:

That was Cuchullain’s death-dirge!’ Fierce she stood:

Glorying she spake, and with attendance passed

Forth from the hall of banquet to her tent:

But as she passed she heard at either side

She and her ladies with her, trembling heard

The rushing of a panic-stricken host

219Invisible, though now the dawn was grey,

A host t’ward Shenan flying! High o’er head

A dulcet strain, unutterably sad,

When ceased that phantom rush of fugitive feet,

Drifted far northward. Then the queen was ware

These were her country’s gods that left her host.

The legend adds that in her tent that hour

Faythleen, the witch, she saw, who sat and wove

A mystic web and sang a mystic song,

Seen but by her:—and, later, o’er her bed

Men say that Orloff bent, her buried son,

And spake; ‘This day the battle shall be fought

Of Gairig and Ilgairig.’

Of Gairig and Ilgairig.’ He meanwhile,

The lord of all the battles, where was he,

Cuchullain? Many a weary day and week

Within his loved Murthemné’s woods he lay,

Sore-wounded man nigh death. Those shepherd youths

Tended him still, or sang beside his bed;

And ofttimes o’er his face the tears of Leagh

In passionate gust descended. But the might

Unholy of the clan of Cailitin

That nightly hung above him like a cloud

Began to wither when that mist accursed

Drifted from Uladh’s borders. On the breast

220Pellucid, likewise, of Murthemné’s streams

Benignant spirits scattered flowers and herbs

With healing virtue dowered. He, morn and eve

In those clear currents laid, renewed his youth;

And, pure as infant’s, came again that flesh

Where festered late his wounds. At last, revived,

He passed, car-borne to Eman, north. The fields

Devastated, and wail from foodless glens

Filled him as on he sped with wrathful strength:

Next, tidings came of Conor’s southward march:

Exultingly he followed. On that night

Of overthrow he reached the royal camp:

Far off they kenned his car, and raised that shout

Heard never save for him. When near he drew

Way-worn, and wearied, and around him gazed,

And saw that sight, and thought, ‘too late; too late!’

His cheek upon the shoulder sank of Leagh,

And all men deemed him dead. Then rose that wail

To Meave auspicious sound.

To Meave auspicious sound. There are who deem

Cuchullain’s tent that night was near the Well

Where, purer far, more late the royal maids

Fedelm and Ethna met that saint who gave

To God the isle of Fate. Blessing then too

That Well diffused, they say; for from its brink

A runnel o’er the pebbles ran with sound

221So sweetly tuned that on the warrior sank

Deep seal of peace divine. The war-shouts near

To him thus harboured seemed but ocean’s sighs

Round islands ever calm. Then came, on winds

Fresher than earth’s, divinities more high

He thought than those that late from elfin meres

Amid Murthemné’s woods had dewed his face;

And loftier songs were sung; and balmier flowers

In holier fountains bathed were softlier pressed

On breast and brow; while shone before his eyes

Visions more fair than lordliest battle-field,

Though what they meant he knew not nor divined—

High-towerèd temples cruciform that rose

Far-seen o’er wood and street; and from their gates

Vestal procession issuing white, that wound

Through precincts low where only dwelt the poor,

The halt, the lame, the blind; and song he heard

With spiritual pathos changing sense to soul,

‘The end of all is peace.’ In silence slid

The constellations down the western sky;

And endless seemed that night.

And endless seemed that night. At break of day

Came Conal Carnach and the Red Branch Knights

To see the sick man’s face. Thereon the morn

Laughed, dewy-bright: and lo! where long had lain

Pallor of death, now burned a healthful red:

222Not less they dared not touch him; since with him

Geisa it was if any broke his rest.

They left him, and the battle-storm began.

Warned by defeat Uladh had raised ere morn,

Fronting her camp, three bulwarks: at the first

And distant most, three hours the conflict raged.

It fell at last. When rose the conquerors’ shout

Leagh to Cuchullain crept, and touched him not,

Yet knelt and whispered, ‘Heard you not that sound?’

And thus Cuchullain answered still in trance;

‘I heard the runnels in Murthemné’s woods

Snow-swoll’n in spring.’ Then Leagh stood up and mused

‘The hue of health is on his face, and yet

Because he will not wake the land is shamed.’

Next round the second bulwark raged the war

Hour after hour: heroic deeds were done:

Heroic deaths were died: at last it fell:

Again and nearer rose the conquerors’ shout:

Again with bolder foot and forehead flushed

Leagh to Cuchullain moved and touched him not

But, bending, murmured, ‘Heard you not that sound?’

And he, without awaking, answered thus;

‘I heard the birds in Eimer’s pleasaunce sing

To greet our marriage morn.’ Then Leagh went forth

Groaning, and smote his hands, and wept aloud

223‘Because he will not wake the host must die!’

Around the loftiest bulwark and the last

Once more for hours the battle raged: it fell!

And louder thrice that shout went up. The gaze

Of Leagh was on him fixed: he heard it not:

Slowly it died; and as it died the wail

Came feebly forth from Uladh’s host. A change

Flashed o’er Cuchullain’s face: like fire it shone:

Into his tent he sprang midway! Then lo!

A marvel! for the wounded man that slept

All day with bandages enswathed, up-towered

Full-armed for fight a champion spear in hand,

Work of some god! Swift from his tent he strode:—

Without the hand of man there stood his car

And those immortal steeds pawing the air

With wonted battle-cry! A moment more

And forward to Ilgairig’s slope they dashed:

‘Let but the armies see him,’ inly mused

Leagh, ‘and the work is done!’

Leagh, ‘and the work is done!’ Onward they sped;

But not unnoted by that demon brood

That hate the works of justice. From below

Writhing in torment of their rage they heaved

The grassy surface upward into waves

Now swelling, now descending. Strong albeit

The immortal steeds staggered. Cuchullain cried,

224‘What! children of the tempest-wakened lakes

Saw ye till now no billows? Yours they are!

Exult ye in your native element,

And waft your lord to vengeance!’ They obeyed:

They reached Ilgairig’s summit.

They reached Ilgairig’s summit. On he sped

Mantled with sunset. Terrible he shone!

Both armies saw him—knew him! Onward yet;

While from his golden arms and golden car

Lightnings went forth incessant. In his van

Victory and Fear their pinions spread. He reached

Ilgairig’s southern verge: he reined his steeds:

High in his car he stood; with level hand

Screening his eyes he scanned that battle-field,

His future course decreeing.

His future course decreeing. On and on

Adown that slope he flashed and o’er that plain

Like zigzag sunshaft o’er the autumnal world;

And ever where he came the host of Meave

Gave way before him. On and ever on!

And now the nearest of those bulwarks three

He reached, and o’er its ruins swept, back driving

The conquerors late now conquered. On and on!

And ever through that foe thick-packed he clave

A lane of doom and death. Ere long was reached

The second rampart. There it was he slew

225The great ones of Clan Libna, and the clans

Guairé and Murdoc. Fiery faces thronged

The air around him, and the voice of Gods

Made smooth his way triumphant.

Made smooth his way triumphant. On and on—

Nor ceased he ever hurling left and right

Destruction from his sling; nor slackened sleet

Of javelins winged with fate. That brazen urn

With death-stones heaped exhausted not its store,

Replenished ever as by hand unseen

Work of some God! That brazen cirque, not less

Where stood his javelins ranged was never void;

Work of some God! The on-rolling wheels devoured

Those serried ranks; the war-steeds trampled down:

Reached was that rampart furthest of the three;

There in her war-car sat the queen; in front

The Maineys seven were ranged: his sword forth flashed:

Four perished of the seven. Then faced the queen

Westward, and fled amazed.

Westward, and fled amazed. He marked her flight:

Eastward he turned. As on he carved his course

Not now a lane alone of doom and death

But ever widening valleys ruin-strewn

Bore witness of his transit, for behind

Closed ever up Cuchullain’s household clans

Murthemné’s, and Cuailgné’s. Perished there

226The Ossorians, and the Olnemacian chiefs,

And many a champion famed from Slaney’s bank

To Lee and Laune, from Caiseal’s crested rock^[37]

To Beara’s strand. Who died not, fled and left

Yet ampler ’twixt the bristling flanks of war

That vacant space; and as the dolphin oft

Raptured by gladness of clear summer seas

While flames the noon on purple billows, swims

All round and round some ship full-sailed, so he

Circled on foot at times that car wind-swift

Mocking its slowness; then with airy bound

Once more within it beamed. His boyhood’s mirth

Returned upon him. On the chariot’s floor

He marked those brazen balls, the sport that time

Of men way-faring, snatched them up, tossed high

While yet careering round the blood-stained field,

Then caught them as they fell:—a glittering ring

They girt that glittering head. Not less his eye

Watchful pursued the flying foe; his hand

Brought down to earth the fleetest.

Brought down to earth the fleetest. From the crests

Of those twinned hills down rushed the total strength

At last of Uladh. Universal flight

Shook the vast field. The bravest men and best

Caught by its current on were dragged like trees

The sport of winter flood. Chieftain and king

227Sought, each, his home. Meave, with a remnant small

Reached Shenan’s bridgeless tide; and there had fallen

Stretching to towered Ath-Luain helpless hands,

Save that Cuchullain, ’mid the narrower way

Standing with arms extended, terrible,

Abashed that host pursuing; ‘Stand ye back!

One day I shared her feast: she shall not die!’

He spake, and set by Shenan’s wave his shield.

Next morn the Ulidians where that shield had stood

In silence stern planted three pillar-stones,

White daughters of the tempest-beaten hills,

In Ogham graved, ‘Vanquished by Uladh’s sons

Here fled the invader, Meave.’

Here fled the invader, Meave.’ Fergus alone

The Exile-King, and they, the Exile Band,

Fled not that day. Though few and bleeding fast

Fearless upon a cloudy crag they stood,

Phalanx prepared to die, prepared not less

Dearly to sell their lives, while past them streamed

That panic-stricken throng. The host pursuing

Looked up, yet swerved not from their course. Once more

Returning from the vengeance they looked up;

Then passed in silence by.

Then passed in silence by. That eve, men say,

While slowly paced Cuchullain t’ward the camp,

228Lamenting strains of Goddesses were heard,

For whatsoe’er was female loved the man,

If earthly female, with a human love,

If heavenly, with a love compassionate,

Lamenting strains that, ere his youth had passed,

That starry head must lie by Fate’s decree

Amid the dust of death. Cuchullain turned;

Softly he answered; ‘Goddesses benign!

Why weep ye? I was Uladh’s Mastiff-Hound:

The mastiff lives not long. What better lot

For him than this;—the bandits chased, to die

Beside his master’s gate?’

Beside his master’s gate?’ So ends the Tain:

Not less, in mirth or spleen, that legend old

Primeval battle-chaunt of Erin’s race,

Adds yet a second close.

Adds yet a second close. Cuchullain led

That host Ulidian home; while Meave made oath

Northward to send, and range round Eman’s walls

Her spoil, the war’s sole triumph, countless flocks,

The herds milk-yielding of the large-eyed kine,

The horses, and the asses, and the goats,

The household stuffs, rich vests, and precious dyes,

The hinds laborious, and the men age-bent,

And maidens skilled in work; but, first, and chief

229That sable Bull, the cause of all the war.

Fulfilled were all these pledges save the last;

For Meave upon that fatal day, while hung

Doubtful the battle-scales, had given command

To lead the Donn to Cruachan. Ill-pleased

He on his keepers turning slew a score,

Yet peaceful paced at last betwixt their ranks,

At each side fifty spears. Next day, far south,

Forth rolled the roar of Ailill’s Bull snow-white,

Fionbannah. Bursting through his guard, the Donn

Rushed t’ward the sound. Upon the midway plain

The rivals met. All day that battle raged

While wood to wood thunder on thunder hurled,

And all the bulls of Erin sent reply.

Shepherds, through wood-skirts peering, saw the end,

The Donn, at sunset, rushing t’ward the north,

And, on his conqueror’s back—their horns entwined—

Fionbannah dead! All night that conqueror rushed

O’er hill and plain and prone morass. When dawn

Looked coldly forth through mist along the meads

Far off he kenned a rock: that rock he deemed

A second bull: collecting all his might

Thereon he hurled his giant bulk, and died.

Northward thus marched from Cruachan the kings;

Then back. The Foray of Queen Meave thus far.